#reporting of her shit takes is leaking into the tags i never want to hear anything she says about Marcille so glad I'm seeing none of that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pennyserenade · 3 years

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tags: nameless female oc x javier peña, nameless female oc x javier pena. rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, talks of violence, unprotected sex, heavy angst, mentions of death, guns, pregnancy. word count: 3k+ summary: not everything can be spoken the way it can be felt. notes: i somehow managed to do this despite feeling entirely unmotivated all day, so that’s nice. this takes place during episode 3, season 2, near the halfway mark. original gif by: @javierian

una guerra sin piedad

scene eight, scenes from a marriage

Javier is a good husband, or at least he tries to be. He doesn’t mean to do this--probably doesn’t even recognize that she knows he’s doing it. He is faced with so many objectives in a day's time, Javier doesn’t realize how easy it is to catch on to his lies. They are hardly coated, though, obvious to anyone who pays attention to him as much as she does, but that’s just it--he doesn’t pay attention at all.

He’s unaware that his fingers are shaking right now. It is a subtle act, a tremble hardly notable to the untrained eye, but these are the fingers that have been touching her for twelve years; she has seen them and felt them and come to know them better than her own. They have remained steady and nimble even after too many cups of coffee and one too many pieces of harrowing news, because they are trained to be fingers that don’t give way to anxiety. A stone body, a man meant to be unflinching in the face of the most awful of tragedies, but here with her, it allows his lies to leak out without his consent. It’s pleading, this body, asking for respite because he won’t go easier on it.

She holds his hands, keeping them steady before they can reach out and lay flat against her growing stomach. Javier looks at her and confusion sprinkles across features that are too pale to be normal, even to him. His eyes reveal an undeniable sadness, too, some sort of impact from war that he’s on the verge of losing simply because he refuses to ask for help. He is all alone in there.

“Me estás mintiendo, Javi,” she tells him, voice level and collected. “Te mientes a ti mismo también.”

He looks startled, and perhaps it is warranted. The glass case he enclosed himself in wasn’t so transparent or frail to him, after all.

He takes his hands away slowly.

“No,” he responds. “About what?”

“No sé. Not completely,” she shakes her head. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“Javi.”

“What?”

“The cigarettes.”

She watches his face fall.

“You smoke them when you think I’m asleep but I do your laundry, and I can smell them when you get back in bed,” she shrugs. “You don’t hang out the window far enough either, and you always get ashes on the ground.”

“I can’t quit,” he confesses. “Not now.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yo sé, pero…” he begins, but falters. “I wanted to.”

“I would rather you smoke than you lie.”

“Okay, but that’s all,” he confirms. “Only the cigarettes.”

“Javi.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You of all people should know withholding information is just as incriminating,” she huffs, “I’m stronger than you ever give me credit for. You aren’t the only one who sees the blood in the streets, you know. I saw it too, still do, because we live here and that’s the reality and I’m sick of having to deny it.”

“Baby,” he groans. “Please. I don’t ever ask you to postpone these things, but I cannot do this tonight. I cannot.”

“What happened tonight, Jav?”

He shakes his head. Lips straighten into a tight line and his Adam’s apple bops.

“It was nothing.”

“Please,” she pleads, in the same vein as his own. “You don’t know how bad I need to know what is happening in your mind.”

“Nothing.”

His eyes start going blank again, despite the small smile he forces onto his lips. It has gone quicker than it had come.

She frowns.

He senses that his control over this situation is ebbing away. Lies, denial, the cruel act of simply not telling—it oozes out of him.

Deception ages poorly, if this is anything to go by. It is grotesque what the truth can do to something beautifully fabricated as their marriage has been the past few months. Those tiny cuts that had existed before are now bloody wounds, infected with the spoils of their selfishness.

He cups her face in his hand; she lets him. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the warm skin, and looks into her eyes; she lets him. He leans forward to kiss her; she does not let him.

She’s never done that. It hollows him out, digging deeper in the already sensitive heart he’s carrying around.

“Te amo mucho,” she begins, taking the hand that cradled her face in her own, “but you are hiding from me and it hurts to see.”

He face twitches, as if he’s going to say something, but he grows hesitant. He realizes what he might lose, realizes what’s at stake.

It is not that she hasn’t seen the violence, or that he thinks her too weak to handle it. He knows what she can bear, knows that before he ever met her she was reporting on what he found. Anyone in Colombia, reporter or not, knows, because this is what happens. Violence. She can’t not know.

What she can avoid knowing is his involvement in it. Withholding the truth is just as incriminating, she is right, but she’s been here long enough to know that crime runs rampant. It infects the entire country with its allure—that promise of getting to better places faster—and he is someone who has been swept dangerously up in its tide.

She does not need to know. Some things shouldn’t be told, just as those things shouldn’t have been done.

Doesn’t need to know it had been a boy. Just a fucking mouthy kid who had been washed into a war he didn’t deserve to comprehend let alone contribute to.

The gun was held by someone who should’ve protected him, too. Noble American hero he was, Javi stood by and watched. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Steve—was coerced out the way he refused to be with her.

He swallows harshly and thinks once more about the line of English he muttered before it had happened. It was a plea the boy wouldn’t have understood or grasped, said because deep down Javier knew what was about to happen. He didn’t say it in Spanish, though. He has to reconcile with the fact that the plea was more for himself than it was the boy with the gun in his face. Has to reconcile with the fact that he won’t speak about it again, too, even though he knows it’s wrong. She doesn’t need to know that, does she?

“I’m not going to tell you,” he speaks with a harsh finality. Maybe it’s not so harsh; maybe it’s just the fact that it’s so final that really hurts.

She holds her breath, the pain of his answer sharp and sudden and irrevocably real regardless.

“I can’t,” he repeats.

There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hurting her now, and she supposes he’s doing this for a good reason, but the ache of it still burns just as bad.

“I know,” she says. Then, a sacrifice, “S’okay.”

Javier’s eyes shift down to her stomach. He has found an increasing need to keep his hands and arms wrapped around her nearly all of the time lately. Given, he has always loved the way she melts into his body when he wraps himself around her, but this is different; it is a sort of comfort that stems beyond liking the warmth of her. This is a need to protect.

His feelings about the child still lean more towards confusion than they do anything else, but he’s begun to accept the fact that it is real. It’s hard to deny such a thing as her stomach begins to grow, but a part of him sort of likes knowing that it’s there now. He has given her something that isn’t pain, something that will be beautiful and innocent. He watches her, too, sees the way she holds her stomach and hears the way she speaks to it when she thinks he’s in a different room.

He remembers when she had told him that she was meant to be so much more than just someone’s mother or just someone’s wife. That felt like a century ago, those two people entirely different than the ones that lay here now and talk with each other. He doesn’t mourn for it, that time and those people, but he does think about them.

She is still so much more than a wife and a mother, to be fair. Maybe she never accomplished everything she had envisioned when she had told him that, but there’s something so fiercely independent about her still, something entirely separate from anyone, even the one who grows inside her.

She kept her last name. She reads all the time and piles books all over the house, adding personality in a way he never favored beyond his own shit until she came. She still writes. She’s compiled an entire record collection, full of artists and bands he’s never heard, and sometimes ones he has, the special sort that remind him of being a kid. She can sew. She is good at puzzles. She always burns her own toast but never his. She is good at oral because in the same way she had dedicated herself to a lot of things in life, she had also dedicated herself to learning how to suck a cock (her words, not his). She is filthy in a way that makes him ache sometimes, it’s so goddamn hot. She is kind. She is his everything.

He isn’t happy or proud of the fact that he cannot find it in himself to admit what he has done. He knows she doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship filled with lies, ones so concealed she can’t even begin to find out what they are. Cigarettes are nothing in comparison to the things he witnessed tonight, and even those break her heart.

His love for her is selfish, but it is still the very best part of him.

“Let me touch you,” he whispers, hands ghosting lightly over her bare arms. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. Will you let me do that?”

She nods, and then, without him asking, she raises the slip she wears over her head, leaving her perfectly naked on top of him. He leans forward soon after and takes a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers rake through his hair as he runs his tongue against the sensitive flesh, but this time they do not tug. There is no rush or hunger in the way they are choosing to be with one other right now. Their bodies are too weak from emotional ware and tear, and their minds too numb from resisting the confrontation of the heaviness tonight has brought upon them.

His fingers travel down to her core and when they find her clit, she pulls her back from her chest and kisses him, stealing a moan from his mouth. She breathes into him. After she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his own. Javi focuses more intently on her pleasure, measuring his success from the way her breath begins to quicken and the way her hips begin to rock up into his hand, desperate for more. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she bites down gently at the skin of his shoulder, muffling herself as his fingers quicken the pace. She’s getting close, he knows.

“That’s it, mi amor,” he tells her as she works herself on his fingers. “Use me, baby.”

It doesn’t take long until her lips part from his skin and find themselves letting out sharp moans, hips coming to a slow halt as she finishes working herself through the wave of her orgasm on his fingers.

She presses her lips onto his, panting gently as she does so. When she allows herself to rest against him, he can feel how wet she is through the fabric of his boxers.

He grabs onto the back of her neck and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and begins to rub herself against him, and he lets her for a few moments, enjoying what he can of her like this, before he rests a hand on her hip to stop it.

“I want to taste you,” he tells her. She just looks at him. “Por favor.”

She nods, beginning to get off of him, but he grabs at her again, stilling her. Her eyebrows raise in confusion.

“Sit on my face.”

“Javi, I’m too—“

“No you’re not,” he assures. He begins to lay down, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “C’mon, you like it.”

“Baby,” she hesitates.

Javi tugs gently on her hand, urging her forward. She sighs, but caves in.

He helps her, guiding her forward on his chest and she goes, but he can feel how nervous she is still.

He nips at her thighs before he adjusts herself over him. “I like doing this,” he tells her before he guides her forward the last few inches, and immediately he can feel all the tension ease from her as his tongue dips into her.

She grabs a handful of his hair and licks between her folds, lapping up the last bit of her previous arousal. His nose grazes gently over her clit every so often and she cannot help the moan that escapes from her when it does. He is losing himself in her, transforming all the lies into nothing even for the briefest moments.

He may not be the best husband, but he can make her feel good. He likes it too, genuinely enjoys the taste of her on his tongue and the accomplished, satisfying feeling of knowing he makes her legs weak and is the cause of the moans that part from her when she truly gets lost in this. And God, how they fall now as he sucks her clit. She unintentionally moves her hips forward.

“Sorry,” she says, but Javi is quick to gently shake his head, not wanting to lose her. His hands wrap around her ass and he encourages it, going as far as moaning into her when she begins to develop a good pace. He gropes at her ass and she cums again, twitching gently this time. Javi cannot help the grin that forms on his lips as she does this.

She guides herself off of him, collapsing next to him in the bed. Before he has the chance to wipe her arousal off his lips, she’s pulling him into a kiss.

She loves this man. He may hurt her and hide from her, but she never feels unloved in his presence. Maybe that is enough. Maybe asking for any more than that is wrong. He is a good man.

She kisses a trail down his chest, moving back in between his legs before she reaches the halfway point.

“No,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Why?” she questions.

“You don’t need to just because I did,” he says. “You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“I want to, Javi,” she tells him, hands shimming down his underwear.

She kisses down his happy trail, then peppers light kisses around the base of his cock. His breath hitches, anticipating her next move, and he is delighted to find it is her tongue licking the underside of his sensitive member. He nearly jolts out of her hand, the sensation of her feels so good.

He cannot help but tell her, saying, “Fuck, you do it just right.”

Despite all the ache still present in her, she manages a soft, unaffected laugh. He notes that, feels just as moved by that as he does the way her mouth wraps around his member and begins to be worked.

She twirls her tongue around the top each time she comes back up, and she moves back down slowly, drawing multiple moans and “fucks” from his lips. He cannot look at her while she does it, unable to refrain from coming in her mouth if he does. He’s already dangerously on the edge as she includes her tongue when she’s going back down on his choke, running across each vein and causing his hips to twitch just as hers did.

“I’m gonna—“ he pauses, fighting the urge to release with all he has in him. “I’m going to cum soon and I want it to be in you. You—“ he pauses again, breath leveling, “—you gotta stop or I won’t make it.”

“I don’t want you to,” she manages, before returning to his cock, going up and down at an increased rate. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him as she does this, losing it when she moans against him. He can’t stop it, can’t resist the urge any longer and doesn’t truly want to, knowing she’s not going to let him.

He opens his eyes and watches her wipe a line of his arousal from her chin before she swallows down the rest of it. Tired and spent as he is, he still manages to rise from his back quickly to kiss her. He can taste himself on her lips, but he does not mind it. The kisses are not as lust filled, more tender and caring, and he is all the more pleased when she guides him backwards again, before settling next to him and wrapping one of her legs around his. His heart beats rapidly and his mind is not yet void of thought (he isn’t sure if it will ever be), but the tension between them has dissipated. Even if it is temporary, and even if it is something that is going to come back ten times worse, Javi values this for what is now and appreciates her submission once more into this fantasy land with him.

She herself wonders, despite all the unspoken heartbreak, and despite all the unknown truths, what their baby might look like and what qualities it might possess from him as she lies silently next to him. Wonders because what she has learned is that the future is her friend and that imagining it does no harm.

It is a place where nothing is broken or harmed, the future. A place where she can cling to the vestiges of hope she’s granted even when he holds her and doesn’t tell her what he’s done or seen. It’s a place beautifully untouched by the unfair quality of truth and pain; a place where he stands in the doorframe of their bedroom with a small, newly born child and looks happy in a way she hasn’t seen in so long; a place where she will never have to fret about whether she will ever get that from him or not, because it is hers and she does.

The future has always been kind to her, kind in the way the present never, ever seems to be. She clings onto Javi and even manages a sad sort of grin at the thought of a child who’s hair curls the same way his does when it gets too long.

She doesn’t share these thoughts with him, though—hardly ever does—because she needs things for herself. Admitting these notions into the world is to corrupt them, or to corrode the meaning they have to her now. She loves him, but these are her thoughts the way whatever he battles are his.

This is a scene of a war without mercy; this is scene eight from a marriage.

javi tag list : @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @over300books

forever/everything tag list : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo , @amneris21

scenes tags: @gravegoth , @sarahjkl82-blog , @cmonkeepmoving

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x oc #javier pena x nameless oc #javier peña x nameless oc #javier pena x female reader #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfic

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fruitcoops · 4 years

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Can you do one where it turns out greyback injuring Remus way back years ago was actually caught on camera and that video of young remus getting his shoulder ripped is like released at a hockey game on the screen or maybe just put online and everyone sees what happens Omg please I'm begging you to do this!!! ILYYY

Hello anon! This is a really interesting idea and I’ve been thinking about it for a while--the NHL doesn’t allow security cameras in locker rooms, but I assumed there would be audio somewhere from one nearby. People who leak ~scandalous information~ on the internet are literally the worst.

Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for graphic descriptions of injury (mostly the sounds)

“How did this happen?” Remus asked, wincing internally at the tremor in his voice. He was shaking from head to toe; it was a miracle he hadn’t started screaming yet. Then again, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to stop. “How the hell did this happen?”

“We don’t know,” Alice said quietly in the chair across from him. “This information was confidential and we haven’t even presented it to the NHL board for review. Someone must have leaked it to the press.”

“Why does this keep happening to me? First Sirius, and now—” He pressed his lips together as his voice cracked. There were a few beats of silence. “Why did you call me in here? I already saw it on the internet.”

“We need you to confirm it was you and Fenrir.” Alice looked him in the eyes. “If you don’t think you can listen to this, Remus, that’s okay, but it will help us build a stronger case to get him punished.”

He took a deep breath. “Can—can Sirius come and sit with me for it?”

“Of course.” She stood and left the room, leaving him alone with the coach.

“You’ve listened to it, haven’t you.”

Arthur nodded. “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

“I don’t need you to be sorry, I need people to not look at me like some sob story.” Bitter fury rose in his throat, though he wasn’t angry with Arthur. “I worked hard to get there and even harder to come back. I’m done dwelling on the past. This is going to undo everything and I’m sick of it.”

“Did the team know?”

“I told some of them when Sirius was at All-Stars.” Remus knew Arthur remembered the fight; he had chewed Sirius out for it as soon as practices resumed. “Didn’t tell my parents, though.”

Arthur closed his eyes and let out a long breath. The door clicked open behind him. “Re?”

“Hey, baby.” Instant relief washed over Remus, though he still felt like he would lose it at any moment.

Sirius settled into the chair next to him and held out his hand—Remus took it immediately, scooting their chairs closer together so their shoulders touched. “Are you ready?” Alice asked, picking up a remote. Remus nodded.

The video was grainy, but the audio was pristine. A few voices—familiar voices, I remember them clear as day—jumbled together as the last members of the team filtered out of the locker room. “See you tomorrow, Moony!” one called over his shoulder. “Great game!”

“Bye, Tags!” Remus said from inside. Did I really sound that young?

The hallway outside the locker room was empty; he heard himself shifting around inside as he stretched out. Left thigh, right thigh, left calf, right calf, reach and roll. “Hey, Lupin.” Fenrir’s gravelly voice made him freeze and Sirius rested his other hand on top of theirs.

“Sup, Backer.” A light smack signaled their fistbump. “That was a beautiful goal you had at the end of the third, by the way. The scouts definitely saw.”

“They certainly did. Are your folks here tonight?”

“Yeah, Jules was so excited. He’s been bouncing off the walls for the past couple days.” The unbridled fondness in his younger voice was a balm. Jules had been convinced that he would be drafted to the NHL right after that game.

“They’re saying you’ll be number one.”

“Really?” Young Remus laughed. “I dunno, man, there are a lot of players this year. You and me are neck and neck, right?”

Dumbass! he wanted to shout. Just shut up for once! “Neck and neck,” Fenrir muttered, barely loud enough for the camera to pick up. “Hey, do you need a hand with your stretches?”

“Sure, thanks. Might have a bruise from your pads tomorrow, eh?” The friendly joke made him wince. More shuffling noises followed. The hall stayed empty.

“Here?” Fenrir asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice and Remus swallowed around the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s—okay, that’s actually a bit too far, can you let up a bit? Fenrir, you’re pulling too hard.” Panic seeped in. “Fenrir, stop, you’re hurting me—”

There was a horrible cracking noise and younger Remus’ strangled shout cut off abruptly as his shoulder came out of the socket. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped Sirius’ hand. If he focused, he could still feel Fenrir’s fingers pressing his face into the mats.

“‘Look at me, I’m Remus Lupin, I’m the fastest player on the ice and I’ll be number one’,” Fenrir mimicked as Remus’ agonized whines continued. “You think you’re so clever. So perfect. You’ve never had to work a day in your life. I’m the best player out there and the scouts are fucking idiots if they think you’re better.”

A muffled wail ended with a gasp and a series of pops. “Please—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fenrir growled. “Look at you now, crying like a girl. You’re never going to tell anybody about this, because I know your secret.” Remus’ breath shuddered. “Oh, yeah, I know all about you. If you even think about tattling, everyone is going to know.”

“Ple—ah.” Sirius’ grip tightened around his fingers as Remus’ sharp cry caught in his chest. The green-tinted video fuzzed out for a moment, but still nobody walked past. Fenrir had planned this well.

“You’re nothing now, Lupin. You are damaged goods and you’ll never set foot on the ice again.” His voice lowered. “If you do, I’ll find you.”

There was a thud as he finally released Remus’ arm and quiet, wheezing sobs filled the silence. “What did you do to me? Oh my god, oh my god, it hurts so much, what the hell did you do?”

Remus tasted something salty on the edge of his lips and pressed his thumb against Sirius’ ring. This was real. This was his. Sirius loved him. The team loved him.

“I did what I had to do. Say hi to Jules for me.”

The locker room door opened a few seconds later and Fenrir walked out, flexing his hand. With the open door, Remus’ hoarse weeping was clearer as he was left alone on the floor. The video ended.

“Remus.” Alice held out a box of tissues, her voice gentle as the screen went dark. He reached out for one, but his hand was shaking too bad to grab it; Sirius took one and carefully wiped his cheeks dry with feather-light touches.

“That was him,” Remus managed around the boulder in his throat. “That was Fenrir Greyback, and that was me.”

“Would you be able to swear it in court?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Remus snarled. Sirius ran his thumb over his knuckles. “Do you want to see the scars on my shoulder, too? What reason do I have to lie?”

“I meant are you prepared to talk about this in front of people?” Alice rephrased, calm and collected as ever. “This is a traumatic event and I don’t want to force you into anything.”

“Remus, you’re a valued player on the team,” Arthur said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe in this league.”

“Don’t look at me differently. Now that you know this, now that everyone knows, people will treat me like I’m fragile. I’m the same person I was two days ago and this will not change how I play.”

“I know.” Arthur folded his hands on the desk. “You’re a fighter, Loops. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you on my team.”

“Do you two need a moment before you head back out?” Alice asked, glancing between him and Sirius. “We’re going to kick the reporters out and then everyone’s going to go home for the day while we talk to the board.”

“We do, yeah.” Remus’ voice wavered and coach stood, following Alice into the hall.

“Oh, mon loup,” Sirius murmured, standing and pulling him into a hug. A kiss pressed against the top of his head and Remus grabbed the back of his soft shirt like it was the only thing holding him steady. “I am so sorry.”

“You already knew.”

“No, I didn’t. You told me, but—” Sirius faltered. “I had no idea how bad it was. The things he said to you…”

“Were wrong.” Remus finished. He had spent so many long nights and dark days convincing himself of that.

“They were wrong. You are not damaged goods,” Sirius said fiercely, pulling back to hold his face in his hands. His eyes were fiery. “Listen to me, Remus. You are not damaged. You are everything to me and I love you for exactly who you are.”

“I love you, too.” Remus’ lower lip wobbled and he rested his forehead on Sirius’ chest again. “Hearing it—I already knew what happened, but hearing it was horrible.”

“It was.”

“I’m sorry I made you listen with me.”

“Don’t be sorry, mon amour. I’m with you through the good, the bad, and everything else. I’m glad I was with you for this.”

“The team…” He trailed off and sighed. “I don’t want them to see that. My folks, too.”

“I think they already have,” Sirius admitted. “But they love you so much and they’ll be here for whatever you need.”

“We have to go sometime.” He took a deep breath and stepped back, rubbing his eyes and kissing Sirius quickly. “Alright, let’s go.”

They made it four steps down the hall before James appeared and engulfed Remus in a hug. “Holy shit, I’m so angry,” he choked out on a harsh breath. “I love you, man.”

“Love you too, J. Where’s everyone else?”

“Inside. I called dibs on first hug.”

“Have they all seen it?”

“Some of it. I don’t know if anyone watched it all the way through.” He sniffled and squeezed Remus tighter. “I don’t know how you came back from that.”

“PT helped.” He closed his eyes and leaned into James. “So did you guys. I couldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“Neither could we.” James pulled back. “Do you want to see them or are you heading out?”

“Heading h—”

“I want to see them,” Remus interrupted quietly. Sirius raised his eyebrows. “It’s going to happen sometime. Might as well be now.”

James nodded and walked over to the locker room door. “Ready?”

Remus laced his fingers with Sirius’. “Let’s do it.”

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

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

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

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence.

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm

“He did what?”

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.

“He took a bullet for someone.”

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.

“You sure your blood matches?”

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn.

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy.

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes.

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get.

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years.

Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down.

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with.

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight.

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier.

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both.

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them.

It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you.

You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust.

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore.

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again.

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t.

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good.

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass.

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start.

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly.

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange.

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them. The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper.

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry.

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys.

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds.

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did.

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh.

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up. “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!”

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder.

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

“Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter.

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles.

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets.

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle.

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected.

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week.

‘The story of my life! I take her home,

I drive all night to keep her warm and time,

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope,

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

“You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious.

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party.

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does.

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head.

Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick.

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of.

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.” You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired.

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare.

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky.

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating.

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no.

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

“You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you.

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance.

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it.

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider.

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress.

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though.

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar.

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion.

“Kind of you to show up!”

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right.

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season.

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it.

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank.

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore.

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw.

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you.

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you.

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn.

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you.

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be.

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you.

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor.

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds.

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs.

The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference.

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last.

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda.

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart.

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!”

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed.

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either.

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’.

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest.

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up.

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae.

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup.

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck.

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart.

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip.

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise.

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake.

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires.

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows.

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter.

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk. “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic.

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar. “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip.

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance.

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him.

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier.

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut. “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.”

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him.

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back. “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet. “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half. To protect and be protected.

“Let’s go.”

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

#steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers x reader #reader x avengers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #to topple #a giant #by Moni #captainsimagines #mob fanfic #trigger warnings listed #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #mini-series #part eight #chapter eight #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist

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winter-fox-queen · 4 years

Text

I only have my self to blame...

Frankie Morales x you fic

Tags: A lot of cursing. So much cursing. Drug use. Angst.

Summary: I kept thinking about the coke rap they mention in the story. And I thought, what if Frankie was innocent? So most of this is about that, with a tense change so that when the reader enters the picture, it’s “you” -- no y/n.

I have never written a fic before. I am no nervous AT ALL. But I wanted to give something back, even though it’s not really romantic. I logged into my laptop so I could use cuts. XD I am ashamed at how long it took me to remember my password.

2,083 words.

It was, really, a bullshit coke rap, but it was still Frankie’s fault. He was flying one of the boss’s nicer planes, a pretty little Cessna Caravan, fitted out for luxury in the back, a curtain separating the pilot from the main cabin. The curtain was partly folded back, so the rich folks in the cabin behind him with their booze, lounging in their leather seats don’t have to stare at the back of Frankie’s tousled, ball cap covered head.

It also meant that he could hear what they were saying, the headset over one ear was quiet, but he’d already decided they were a bag of dicks and he wasn’t going to pay attention to them, as they laughed like a bunch of frat boys behind him. There was a mirror, angled so he could see what was going on, and once in awhile he’d look. There were five men and one woman, the men acting like a bunch of frat boys, the woman trying to pretend she was amused.

Frankie knew, of course, that the trouble was men like that made that secret chip on his shoulder come out. The one he tried to ignore. Because I’m better than that, right? They ain’t got nothing that I want. But they did. They didn’t have to worry about money…they didn’t have a new baby to worry about, they didn’t have to play the game of if-I-pay-this-bill-I-can-pretend-I-didn’t-get-that-one. He was tired, worried about his lady, scared that he was going to fucking fail her, fail their little girl, Luna.

He let out a long, pent up sigh. He itched to put on some music, was considering it when the shuffle of curtain fabric told him he was no longer alone.

The sole woman from the back gave him a shy smile. “Do you mind? They’re acting like idiots back there.” She had a stylish, blunt cut, a white button shirt and a short, black skirt. Everything was fitted perfectly so the clothes molded against her. It looked polished rather than cheap. He smiled politely and shrugged as she arranged herself gracefully into the copilot chair.

“So, you said your name was Frankie?” She reached out with a foot and nudged his chair. She’d shed her high heels, and, despite the shortness of her skirt was gathering her legs under her.

Lady, you might as well have a danger sign around your neck. He nodded, feeling a little out of his depth.

“Macey. Pleasure to meet you. You been a pilot long?”

He nodded.

“You don’t speak much, do you?” She was flirty enough that even he, usually captain obvious, caught on.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I’m trying to figure out how to slip the face I have a wife and kid into the conversation.” Wife was a stretch. He wanted to marry you, he dreamed about it. He wanted to give you everything – a nice ring, a pretty dress. A day to be a be special, to feel loved. Proof to all your friends and family that he could take care of you, that he was worthy. He was scraping up money, setting it aside. If he didn’t go for a diamond, maybe he could get her something else nice. Maybe an opal. Opal rings couldn’t be that expensive, right?

She laughed. “Sorry. I’m bored.” She held up a hand. “Scout’s honor, I will do nothing to hurt your marriage.”

He gave her a grin. “Well, then, tell me a story.”

“A story?”

“Yeah. Once we touch down in…” He looked at the time “About two hours, we won’t see each other again. So tell me a story. Something you’ve always wanted to tell someone, but you couldn’t.”

She arched an eyebrow provocatively.

“Not like that, not a secret. Just a story you want to tell. Can be anything, I don’t care.”

She looked bemused for a second. Then she starts, haltingly, as if she’s never had t actually make real conversation. As if she’s never had anyone to listen to her. And the thing is, she’s funny. Clever. He finds himself laughing as he does his thing, even throwing back a couple of smart remarks of his own. She has a gift of making him feel like he has a wicked sense of humor, and for a little bit, the cares he’s been harboring fall silent.

So does the cabin behind him, once. He has a mirror, set low, so he can see behind him. The ringleader of the group is glaring at him, not looking too happy.

Well, fuck him. What can he do?

A lot, apparently.

They land, and Macey gets up to go out the back. “Thanks, Frankie. Good luck with everything.”

“You, too, thanks for passing the time with me,” he says, and sets about the tasks. He checks gauges, writes things down, and finally, goes back and checks over the cabin. He gets out a basin from a cabinet and puts the used rocks glasses in it. He won’t wash them – he’ll just dump the basin on the sideboard inside the hanger. He doesn’t have to do the cleaning, but Allie, the janitor who usually cleaned up the planes, had hurt her back and everything, like picking up candy bar wrappers and throwing them away, checking the seats to see if anything had been left behind was an extra chore she did not need.

The plastic baggy was almost invisible against the beige leather of the seats. He picked it up, made a shocked little huff, like he’d put his hand on a snake. Coke. A pretty good amount of it, too. The old craving raised its head, making his hand shake a little. He heard voices, and shoved the baggy in his pocket. I’ll pitch it. He had to take a leak, anyway, he’d go, flush that garbage down the toilet, and there. Done. He wasn’t that man any more. It was the one thing he could do for you.

He grabbed the waste basket and put it next to the door, grabbed the tub of glasses and put it under his arm.

“Frankie? You in there?”

“Yeah, boss…coming.” Snagging the clipboard to put on top of the glasses so he’d have a free hand if he needed it, he went down the steps and onto the tarmac.

Hector stood there, hands in his pockets, looking ore hang dog than usual. “Yeah, boss?”

“The passengers said you were flying high, Frankie.”

That stopped him dead, like to concussion from a bomb, hitting his face and chest and taking out the air in his lungs. “What? No, I’d never…”

“They said that they saw you – just before take off. And you know, I don’t want to believe it, but looking at your eyes…they do look awful red.”

“I’ve been up late with Luna. She’s not been sleeping that great, and I can’t leave it all on…”

Hector nodded, as if he believed him, but Frankie had a feeling he didn’t. He’d give real money to know exactly what the fuck had been said. “Turn out your pockets, Frankie.”

You jackass. He attacked himself. Did you really think they just accidentally left that much coke behind? You fucking jackass. “I found some shit they left behind, but you gotta believe me, Hector, I am clean. I’ve been clean for a couple years now.”

“Just show me your pockets, son, then we can just leave this behind.”

He took the coke out. “I told you, I found it on the plane.”

Hector shook his head, and started to walk away.

“Look, I’ll take a test.” He jogged a little, caught the other man’s arm. “Seriously. You can watch to make sure I’m not cheating. You’ll see. I’m clean. I’ll take a drug test right now.”

“You just happened to find a baggy of coke? That the passengers happened to leave behind? And why would they accuse you, if it’s not true?”

Frankie dropped his hand. I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I said some asshole thought I was flirting with his girl and thought he’d get back at me…hell, I’m not sure I believe it.

“I’ll be reporting you. They’ll suspend you. Maybe they will go easy on you, you being a Vet and this being your first offense…but you need to clean out your locker. I’ll write a check for what we owe you.”

“I…I need this job.” He could hear an edge of pleading in his voice, and he hated it, but he’d go down on his fucking knees and beg if he had to.

Hector’s eyes hardened. “And I don’t need to send a druggie up in one of my planes.”

Frankie took the back roads home. There was an old farm gate, a place where he could pull off the road and stare, blindly, at overgrown fields.

“What am I gonna do?” He whispered, over and over, like a mantra. “What am I gonna fucking do?” His hands clutched the steering wheel, knuckles white. He could barely breathe, and when the words wouldn’t come he just sat there, panting, beating his head against the steering when and wondering how he’d survive this.

When his breathing steadied, he got back on the road, and went home. It was the only thing he could do.

You knew something was wrong, he could see it, but he wasn’t being exactly subtle, pressing his spine against the doorframe like he was ready to run.

“Hey baby,” you say, and he smiles a little. Tries, anyway.

“Where’s Luna?” He’s surprised how hoarse his voice is. He shouldn’t be. He’d been in some bad situations, but he’d never felt this a drift, this terrified.

“Laying down.” You say it sweetly, like everything is OK. You’re cooking bread in the over, something’s in the crock pot and everything smells like home and like everything left to lose.

You lean against the sink. If you reached out, you could almost touch him, but you don’t. There’s a look in your eyes, like Frankie is a wild animal, easily spooked and so you’re going to move slow and careful.

“I lost my job.” He says it so quietly he’s not sure you heard, until your shoulders drop a little.

“Oh, honey, what happened?” No recrimination. Not yet. You take a step closer to him.

So he tells you. He doesn’t lie, just lays it all out there. Not looking at you, not daring to, instead staring at the refrigerator door and all the magnets and photos and clutter. But seeing them, either.

“He didn’t believe you?” You practically shriek it out. “What the fuck…you’ve been an awesome employee for what? A year and a half now and he wouldn’t even let you take a damned test to let you prove yourself? Seriously? I’m going to kick his ass…”

The baby monitor interrupts her, Luna making fitful little noises. After all, the house was not that big. You hold a finger up to Frankie. “Hold that thought.” You leave the kitchen, shaking your head, and Frankie stands there, feeling like he’s on the edge of the precipice.

“Ah, Luna, baby, what’s wrong?” He can hear you, a much gentler, sweeter voice echoing out of the monitor. He stands over it, hands clutching the counter on either side of it, listening. You are both everything to him. Everything.

He listens to you say nonsense as you change the little baby, to you muttering about how such a tiny, adorable thing can smell so bad. “You must get it from your daddy,” you say a little louder, as if you know Frankie is there, listening, and he grins a little.

He doesn’t move, when you come back out into the kitchen, when you wrap your arms around him. You hug him tight and he starts to feel a little less adrift.

He turns, looks down into your eyes. “You believe me?” Puts his arms around you carefully, like he’s still not sure of his reception, because he still doesn’t feel like he deserves this, the right to touch you.

You reach up and cradle his cheek. “Always, mi vida. Always.” And he starts shaking, and he starts crying and he buries his face in your neck so you can’t see, and you toss aside the ball cap so you can stroke his hair. “It’s going to be alright, honey. We’ll figure it out. Its going to be alright.”

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #fix it fic #pedro pascal #our soft boi is innocent #mostly

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kenzieam · 4 years

Text

Us This Way - Oneshot

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst, heartache, some language ****TRIGGER WARNINGS****

Word Count: 4417

Tags: @jewels2876 @moonbeambucky @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iammarylastar @captstefanbrandt @badassbaker @pinknerdpanda @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink

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Okay, so this frickin’ song gets me every time.

Kudos to the beautiful Lady Gaga for this hauntingly beautiful gem.

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Lev swallowed past the lump in her throat, skimmed the note in her hand one last time. She’d wrote and rewrote the words so often in her head she knew them by heart, but it didn’t make reading them any easier.

James,

By the time you sober up and read this, I’ll be gone.

I can’t do this anymore, the drinking, the fights, the lies.

You aren’t the same man I fell in love with, and I can’t say anymore that I’m the same girl you knew either.

When we started this journey, you told me things would never change; that it would be just the two of us, against the world, travelling and sharing your music and voice and I, naively I guess, believed it.

But everything is different. You’re drunk all the time, drinking to excess and its only going to be a matter of time before your followers see it too, there’s already gossip on the fan sites about your behaviour.

And I’m not leaving because of that, I could deal with the alcohol if it weren’t for the craziness that comes with it.

These women aren’t here for you, they’re here for the idea of you, the Rockstar, and I can’t watch you take them into your hotel rooms anymore, I can’t hear you through the walls with them.

I deserve better and, to be honest, so do you but I can’t help you anymore.

God knows I’ve tried.

I hope one day you find peace and closure from whatever haunts you so badly and discover your voice again.

I love you; I always have.

I always will,

Levi

A tear burned hot down her cheek, but she wiped it away absently, clearing her throat. She’d already wasted so many tears, she couldn’t spare any more.

Laying the note silently on the bedside table, Lev took one last lingering glance at the man, her former lover and friend, current rockstar touring and conquering the world, now passed out face down in the hotel bed, back scratched and red from his latest groupie foursome she’d chased out just minutes ago, two or three empty liquor bottles visible among the tangled sheets, then turned and left the room.

*******************************************************************************

A throbbing headache dragged him from oblivion later and, for a time, James just lay there, eyes half-open, trying to piece together the last hours.

He remembered two, or was it three? Groupies: giggling girls with fake tits and trout pouts, wearing little more than ace bandages and laughing at his every word like he was the most charming asshole on Earth and everything that fell out of his mouth was pure gold.

Lev had never put up with his shit. She’d always set him straight with a few well-chosen words, a sharp glare with her hypnotizing violet eyes.

Come to think of it, where was Lev? Usually she was prodding him awake by now, pushing coffee into his face, talking about getting up, getting showered and getting on the damn bus.

Bottles clinked as he moved, struggled in the tangled sheet to push himself upright. His back stung and faint memories surfaced, one of the harpies scratching him, moaning theatrically as he fucked her, wishing it were Levi beneath him still instead of this random stranger.

God, he hoped he’d worn a condom, not that it stopped theses psychos; Christ, every week there was a new accusation, a new girl stepping forward claiming he’d impregnated her.

Thank fuck for his lawyer, Sam Wilson; the man was a gem, with the retainer bills to prove it.

“Lev?” He croaked, wincing as fresh pain shot through his skull.

No answer.

“Lev!” He chanced a shout, growling and grabbing his throbbing temples. “Fuck, where are you?”

He turned his head, squinting before freezing as his glare landed on the letter.

***********************************************************************************

“So, you just left, huh?” Steve asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, and staring at it contemplatively.

“Yeah, same as you.” There was a hint of venom in Lev’s voice and the blond man smirked.

“Yeah, same as me. Got tired of the shit.”

“Everyday.”

Steve sighed, staring out at nothing, thoughts a thousand miles away. “Remember when we first started out?”

“You, me and James in that old van? Driving from bar to bar and playing for peanuts?”

“You’d go up on stage when he reached for you, join him for a few songs?”

Lev sighed sadly. “Long time ago, man. We were just fucking kids.”

“Yep, but you two? Timeless. I remember when I first saw you. First day of grade three in Ms. Hawthorn’s class; James elbowed me and said, ‘that’s the girl I’m going to marry’.”

“He did not!” Lev fought a smile, she’d heard this story so many times, her reaction varying from honest disbelief to warm-hearted nostalgia depending on how fresh her latest pain was.

“He did.” Steve replied, smiling fondly. “Couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Yeah, well… something else has caught his eye now.”

“You can’t save him, Lev. He has to want to save himself.”

“I know… it just hurts.”

“I know.” Steve murmured quietly. “I know.”

*****************************************************************************************

‘Rockstar James Barnes’ newest run-in with the paparazzi, next on TMZ’

Lev groaned and turned off the TV, throwing the remote onto the scarred coffee table.

Obviously, he was perfectly capable of carrying on with his shenanigans without her, not that her pleas for him to stop had ever fallen on anything but deaf ears.

She glanced at her cell phone, then cursed and purposefully looked away. Every day for years she’d seen his name come up on her display, multiple times a day, through the night and she’d come to expect it.

The calls after she’d left had come heavy and hot, barely a pause in between except for increasingly abusive texts and voicemail messages. When they had changed to broken, mournful, pleading messages she’d thrown her cell away, smashed it for good measure.

It was just habit to look for his name now, a useless throwback.

She had left a month ago and James’ spiral of self-destruction was becoming a nightly news story.

She didn’t envy Pepper, his long-suffering publicist, nor Nick, the rep from Fury Records; word was both were close to dropping him soon, if he didn’t get his act together.

Cursing herself afresh, Lev reached for the remote and flicked the set back on. She was a fucked up as him sometimes, intent on making it hurt.

James’ face appeared on the screen and Lev was shocked at how haggard he now looked, pale and drawn. His hair was lanky, in his face, clothes wrinkled. As the paparazzi swarmed him, leaving the latest club, he glanced up at the cameras and Lev was struck dumb by the utter misery on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, either from sleep problems (something he’d had more than his share of in the time Lev had known him) or he’d taken up hard drugs.

The pap screamed questions at him, jostling each other and him as he struggled through the mob, the slightly shell-shocked bottle-blonde woman on his arm being all but dragged behind. What security James hadn’t chased off was all but overwhelmed by the reporters and fans, light flashes strobing the scene.

“Just leave me the FUCK alone!” James roared, pushing hard at one spectacled paparazzi, knocking him to the ground and only inflaming the mob more.

Lev felt a surge of fear, mixed in with a healthy dose of rage at the sight. Someone could easily get hurt tonight, lines could be crossed that would never be forgotten. James was juggling with the remains of his career right now and he had the shakes.

“Are the rumors true?” One pap screeched.

“Where’s Lev?” Another yelled and Lev winced. They were still asking him, four weeks into her departure.

“Is the picture of you snorting a white substance outside The Down Low real?”

Shit.

James didn’t answer beyond a wild-eyed sneer then he was scrambling into a large black SUV, the confused milling of his few remaining security guards telling Lev they hadn’t expected him to drive; then the SUV was screeching away, paparazzi and security scattering like flies, their shouted questions turning into screams of shock and fear and Lev clapped her hands to her mouth, biting back her own scream.

He had totally gone crazy; without Lev there to anchor him, he was dangerously adrift.

The clip ended and the TMZ crew started rehashing it, some expressing sympathy for James and others outright condemning him for losing his shit so badly.

“Does anyone know where she went?” Harvey asked, sipping on his trademark straw.

“Who, Levi Riel?” One the lackeys frowned in confusion.

“Who else?” Harvey laughed. “I mean, James Barnes was a wild man before but now he’s completely off the rails. Something’s happened there but his camp won’t comment. Any luck on contacting Lev herself?”

They’d tried, endlessly, until Lev had smashed her phone and gotten a new number; so far, that hadn’t been leaked but the pap was sneaky and resourceful, Lev had been in the spotlight long enough as James’ gal Friday to know how it worked and she didn’t expect to remain incommunicado forever. Besides, she was already fielding calls from other musicians, hearing she was free and desperate for her services. So far, she’d said no, it was still too raw for her to go back into the industry, but her savings wouldn’t last forever.

Would she be alright? Running into James at an award show somewhere, contracted to another singer, seeing him with some other woman (not that that was in any way new), or perhaps worse, doing just fine now without her? How long would he last like this? There were plenty of examples out there of musicians who’d self-destructed, died by suicide or misadventure, and if James had been spotted snorting white powder already, he was well on his way to joining the club.

Her phone rang and Lev almost dropped her glass, despite staring at the damned thing almost compulsively looking for James’ name, the sound still made her heart race.

“Hey, Steve.”

“You saw that?” His voice was resigned. “TMZ?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Every miserable second.”

“You going to tell me to go back to him?” A part of Lev wanted Steve to say no, but a larger part wanted to hear yes.

“No. I was going to tell you to make sure you stay the hell away. This isn’t your mess anymore, hon.”

“But… my leaving-”

“Didn’t do anything, he was already circling the drain, you were right to get yourself out when you did.”

Lev blinked back tears, wiped them angrily away. “When did it all go so wrong, Steve?”

He exhaled sadly. “Who knows? After Clint overdosed?”

“After my miscarriage?” Lev whispered, the memory of James holding her, crying with her on that hotel bathroom floor, blood smeared on her inner thighs rushed back into her mind’s eye.

They… he’d wanted a child so badly, back in the good years, when they’d lay sated and exhausted in bed together, murmuring softly before sleep claimed them both.

“I want a baby,” he’d whisper, eyes searching hers. “You’d be such a good mama.”

“Not right now,” she’d always answer, although the thought of growing round with his seed sparked heat low in her belly. “It’s not the right time, you’ve had five consecutive number one hits, you’re on top of the world.”

“We are.” He’d reply, reaching up and stroking his calloused thumb over her bottom lip.

“Maybe.” Steve replied softly. “It’s still not your fault, Lev.”

She couldn’t hear anymore; the memories were rushing back too hard and too fast. “Goodbye, Steve.”

********************************************************************************

A part of her expected the call, and she reached for the phone, half-awake, when it rang sometime after two a few nights later.

“Miss Riel?” A clipped, professional voice. “This is Dr. Keening from the UCLA Medical Center, I'm calling about your husband, James.”

********************************************************************************

Lev wouldn’t let herself examine the reasons why she dropped everything and booked the next flight to Los Angeles, maybe it was seeing him so distraught on TV, maybe it was thinking about their past; the way he’d held her so tightly, so lovingly, even as he cried so hard with her that night, the realization so fresh that their child, almost too early to even be called a baby yet, had left them already.

She gave the Uber driver directions then leaned back in the seat, staring out the window without really seeing and, all too soon, the car was pulling to a stop in front of the hospital.

The sterile smell inside made her stomach roil and she almost turned around and left, then squared her shoulders and pressed the elevator button for the right floor.

A nurse directed her to the correct room then had the grace to leave her alone. Lev milled around the hallway for a beat, chewing on her lip and struggling to find a reason, any reason, why she should walk through that door.

This…. He wasn’t her problem anymore, she’d left.

But they could both use some closure.

He was asleep when she entered the room but before she could turn around and leave his eyelids fluttered. He’d always been able to sense when she was near, and that connection apparently hadn’t faded in their separation. The instant his gaze landed on her the cloudiness vanished and a desperate, clinging hope took its place.

“Lev?” His voice cracked with exhaustion, his hand shaking as he reached for her and Lev was surprised by how hard it was to not step forwards and take it, smooth back the dark hair plastered on his sweaty forehead. He’d lost weight, dark rings under his eyes, the muscles that always flexed so deliciously as he moved fading away.

She squeezed her fist around the handle of her bag and waited, not moving forwards.

His fingers twitched, confusion joining the hope. “Levi?” His voice was plaintive.

“What are you doing, James?” She clipped.

“What?” His brow furrowed, his breathing beginning to speed up. Finally, he dropped his hand, pulling it back into his lap, fingers clenching.

“Acting like this? Getting caught by the gossip rags snorting coke? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’d obviously not expected to be chastised and wasn’t that the heart of the issue; he’d always gotten his way before, the coddled rockstar, no one calling him out with any degree of seriousness, no one but Lev anyway and she’d always caved before laying out any real boundaries, never done something so extreme as leave before.

Was that why she’d come back then, because she felt responsible for this?

The furrow in his brow deepened, the simple hope in his face vanishing. Now came the temper, the short bursts of fury meant to force his will, likening him to a spoiled child, an attitude that Lev regretted not shutting down years ago when it first started raising it’s ugly head.

He stared at her, eyes dark and wounded, “you left,” he hissed.

“I couldn’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” A compulsive snap, he knew exactly what she was talking about, but he’d never owned up to it, never, not once.

“Watch you with all those girls, see you take them into your room, hear you fuck them through the walls, chase their skanky asses out the next morning so I could get you out of your drunken stupor and looking like a human being only to have you treat me like a piece of shit by doing it all over again the next night!” Lev hissed, enraged to feel the prick of tears in her eyes.

For a moment she was surprised to see betrayal flash through his eyes. “They don’t mean anything. They’re just groupies-”

“So that makes it alright? And telling people I’m your wife? What the fuck, James?!”

“Well, you should be!” He snarled. His arm snapped out, sweeping across the rolling table hovering over his bed, loud crashes sounding as everything on it hit the floor. “I fucking asked you enough times!”

He had. So many times, and every time she’d said ‘no’. What had held her back?

“Grow up.” Lev snapped, her face heating. How many times had they argued like this? How many times had they danced this twisted dance?

Too many fucking times.

“Fuck you.”

“No, James. Fuck you. I’m done. I don’t know why I came here anyway… I’m, I’m done. Have a nice life, what’s left of it anyway.” She turned to leave before the fury she was feeling was overwhelmed by the hurt and disappointment; what had she expected? Why did she always do this? Hadn’t she learned yet that he would never grow up and be the man she saw deep inside him? When would she stop hurting herself trying to draw that out?

She needed to stop trying.

“Hey. What are you doing?” James demanded but Lev ignored him, marching back out the door she’d just entered moments ago. “Hey!”

Lev stopped and took a deep breath, collecting her words. Without turning she swiveled her head enough to look at him.

“I’m done, James. I can’t watch you self-destruct anymore. I tried for years to be there for you, because I love you… but I can’t do this anymore, I need to live my own life.” Without waiting for an answer, she swiveled back, let her feet carry her away even as she felt her heart break anew in her chest.

If this was the right thing, why did it hurt so bad, why did she feel like she was abandoning him just when he needed her the most?

“Levi!” His voice broke on the scream, reverberating around her in the hallway but she didn’t turn back.

******************************************************************************

Ten Months Later

Lev sorted through her mail, separating the junk from the real then paused, lifting a large, cream coloured envelope from the pile.

Who sent letters anymore?

Splitting the seal, Lev pulled out folded sheets of thick paper, the same colour of the envelope, definitely expensive. As it opened, another smaller piece of paper fell out and Lev reached for it, brows drawn in confusion.

JAMES BARNES – STRIPPED BARE

A SPECIAL EXCLUSIVE, ACCOUSTIC ONLY ENGAGEMENT

She stopped reading, dropping the ticket to the table, and focussed on the letter instead.

Levka.

It’s been a while since we spoke, but I wanted to send you this anyway.

I understand why you left, and I applaud you for having the strength to do it. It seems to be the kick he finally needed.

James took a break from music, as you may or may not have realized but has recently decided to return, albeit in a much different capacity from before.

He has done away with the show, or ‘bullshit’ as he so eloquently puts it. No more pyrotechnics, no more lightshows and theatrics; he said he wants to return to the way he started, just him and his guitar, the band behind him.

Enclosed is a ticket to his first show and a plane ticket, first class, to reach it. The seat is in the back, where James won't be able to see you, if that is your wish.

I leave it up to you whether you attend but understand that James has not asked me to do this, and I have not told him I have.

Regards, Pepper

Lev stared at the letter for a full minute, marveling despite herself at the publicist’s flowing handwriting, her graceful hand.

She had stayed with James after all, even when Lev had left.

The second sheet was a printed plane ticket, leaving the next morning. Lev, if she took it, would land in mid-afternoon, giving her a few hours to gird herself before going to the show.

She recognized the venue listed; James had played it in his earlier years, just as he was starting to become famous and it was smaller, intimate, suited to an unplugged show. The seat shown was in the back, just as Pepper said; Lev could attend the show and leave again without James ever seeing her.

But did she want to?

What would it feel like to see him again, to hear him sing again the way he used to, his voice clear and full? When he’d reach his hand out to her, pull her onstage and sing with her, gaze at her so lovingly as they shared a microphone, voices melding and complimenting each other so beautifully?

Could she handle seeing him again?

She hardly knew.

*************************************************************************

Taking a deep breath, Lev opened the door and stepped inside. Other ticket holders milled around, no one paying her any mind. She prayed no one would recognize her, going so far as to dye her auburn hair a lustrous blue-black, switch out her contacts for the thick wayfarer frames she usually only wore in quiet moments spent relaxing or working from home.

The show was going to start in only a few minutes, but Lev resisted the urge to find her seat just yet, drifting until she gathered the will to enter the main area.

Finding her seat, Lev stared at the stage, hardly noticing as others shuffled to find their own places. Although small, the venue appeared to be sold out. Scott sat at the drums; Thor held an acoustic bass and James sat on a stool at the front, head bent over his favourite redwood acoustic guitar, the one he’d always said reminded him of Lev’s hair.

One jean-clad leg bent, worn biker boot on the footrest, he looked better than Lev remembered. Some of his physique had come back, thigh straining the jean’s stitching, biceps visible through the t-shirt he wore as he plucked the strings slowly, listening for the sound.

He looked good. He looked healthy again, his hair lustrous under the light, cheeks dark with just the right amount of stubble, fingers strong and sure, the boot flat on the stage floor tapping slowly to the beat in his head.

Lev felt a riot of emotions swell in her chest. This was the James she’d fallen in love with, the man she’d spent their early years with, before the vampire of fame began to bleed him dry.

He lifted his head, flashed a gorgeous smile at the audience and the show began.

It was beautiful, James’ voice strong and clear; the audience sat spellbound, hypnotized and Lev knew he’d made the right decision; to go back to his roots, let his talent speak for itself. He would enjoy a long career like this, unplugged and real.

Time passed like the blink of an eye and suddenly, too suddenly, James was standing, setting his guitar in its rest and stepping to the side of the stage. The spotlight followed, leaving Thor and Scott in the dark and illuminating a gleaming grand piano. The audience cheered in building excitement as he sat, adjusted the microphone.

He had not played piano is one of his shows for years, Lev wasn’t even sure he knew how to anymore.

The din died down, waiting and James looked out over them as he began to speak, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips.

“A while ago my life fell apart,” he stated simply. “I got tangled up in fame and being a rockstar and pushed away everyone that cared. Even Lev, the most important person in the world to me.”

Lev felt her cheeks warm, edginess creeping into her limbs. Was he about to blast her? Was she about to get her proverbial ass handed to her? Did he know she was here?

“She left,” he continued. “And I crashed. The only woman I’ve ever loved, and I hurt her everyday until she couldn’t take my bullshit anymore.” He swiped at a tear and Lev bit her lip.

“I hit rock bottom and Lev came to see me one more time. But instead of being grateful, of begging her for another chance, I acted like a total asshole and pushed her away again. And that was finally it, Lev leaving me like that was the push I needed to get my life together. I haven’t seen Lev since, I don’t deserve to…. but I owe everything to her.”

Lev heard sniffles around her.

“A while ago I heard this song for the first time. It made me cry like a baby and I listened to it for hours, until I couldn’t cry anymore. It brought about this idea I had about ‘stripping bare’ and starting over again…. This song is for you, Lev. I love you, baby.”

He focussed on the keys and a haunting melody began. Lev recognized it immediately, for it too had provoked her own tears the first time she’d heard it.

That Arizona sky burnin’ in your eyes.

You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire.

It’s buried in my soul, like California gold.

You found the light in me that I couldn’t find.

His voice was heart-breaking, emotion pouring through as he sang, the piano a poignant, moving accompaniment, his fingers sure on the keys.

So when I’m all choked up,

But I can’t find the words.

His voice broke, but he pushed through.

Every time we say goodbye baby, it hurts.

When the sun goes down

And the band won’t play,

I’ll always remember us this way.

The band joined in quietly and Lev was lost in the sound, swaying slightly to his beautiful voice as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Too soon, the song ended, James’ head bowing as he breathed the last words, the last notes fading and the audience sat still, stunned silent for a beat before exploding.

Lev exhaled raggedly, wiping at her tears. As she watched, James tipped his head back, tears shining on his face and swallowed hard, seeming to gather himself before returning to the show.

The crowd continued to scream and cheer as James nodded once in acknowledgement, the smile on his lips tempered by the pain in his eyes.

He was open and vulnerable, stripped bare and he’d never been more beautiful in Lev’s eyes.

God, she still loved him, but was that enough?

Was she the key to his success, or the poison?

Should she go to him, step through the crowd and join him onstage, forgive him and start their next chapter together?

Or leave, let them both live their lives and follow the song, simply ‘remember us this way’?

She decided.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #au bucky angst #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #au bucky fanfic #au bucky barnes fanfiction #au bucky drama

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twokinkybeans · 4 years

Text

FALLEN LIKE SNOW - CHAPTER 2: MIXED FEELINGS

Written by @jeranasblog and Kinkybeanlien!

Moodboard by @jeranasblog -

Peter’s first day in Austria is... Interesting.

Notes: Adult Peter Parker, Fake dating, One sided enemies to lovers, No powers!AU, Mutual pining, Sugar daddy!Tony, Sugar baby!Peter, Fluff, Smut and Angst.

Smut tags (some for later): Wet Dream, Dry Humping, Daddy Kink, Mirror Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Bondage, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Fingering, Edging, Lingerie, Dom/Top!Tony, Sub/Bottom!Peter

Read Mixed Feelings on AO3!

Peter was lying in the middle of his bed. The windows of the small apartment were open and he could feel a fresh breeze caressing his skin. It was dark outside, probably past midnight, but he was wide awake. With each passing second, he became more and more aware of his surroundings. The soft sheets he was laying on, the obscene panties which were the only fabric covering his skin and the other man who was caging him in, keeping him pressed against the mattress. Peter blinked, the fog in his mind slowly vanished, and his brain started to work again. Tony Stark was looking at him as if he were the most beautiful creature on the planet. He didn’t wear a shirt, his muscular chest on display, and Peter’s mouth watered from the appealing sight. “Fuck, baby. Look at you,” the billionaire cooed, his breath ghosted over Peter’s skin. A shiver ran down his spine and his cock started to harden in his panties. “Daddy-” Peter wasn’t thinking anymore, all his nerves were vibrating from the sensation, just from the feeling of having the other man close. He felt trapped, caged underneath the impressive body and there was no place he rather wanted to be.

“Baby, you look like you’re mine,” Tony growled, a deep, possessive sound that made Peter’s cock twitch with arousal. The man still wasn’t touching him, but the tension alone was enough for him to lose his mind. “You’re so beautiful, dressed in the panties I bought you, lying on the sheets I picked out. Do you like it? Like being my sugar baby?” “Yes, yes, Daddy, please.” Peter wanted to scream the words, wanted to tell the other man how much he loved the thought of being owned by him, but the only sound that left his mouth was a high-pitched moan. Pleasure buzzed through his entire body, heating him up, and driving him mad with want. Peter arched his back, trying to press himself closer to his Daddy’s body. He craved the feeling of Tony’s hands on his body, holding him down and choking him, telling him what a good boy he was for his Daddy. He wanted the man to finger him open, spread him and make him ready for his cock. The thoughts were making him even more desperate and he could see himself bouncing on his Daddy’s cock, dressed in nothing but the finest silk his Daddy bought for him. “Sweetheart, look at you,” amusement was dripping from Tony’s words. “So desperate for me, so eager to feel your Daddy. Tell me what you are, baby. Tell Daddy.” Peter was sobbing, his mind blissfully empty and every cell of his body was aching for the other man’s touch. “I-I’m your s-sugar baby, D-Daddy. Your g-good boy. Your eager little s-slut.” Tony purred, his whole chest was vibrating from the sound and Peter’s eyes rolled back in arousal. It felt like torture. Being so close to his Daddy, his scent surrounding him and his breath ghosting over his skin, while Peter was forced to endure the sensation on his own. “Daddy, touch me, please, it hurts.” Tears were running down his cheeks, dripping from his chin and soaking the sheets. He didn’t care anymore how he was looking, didn’t care if he was too eager, too needy. His shame was washed away once Tony had started talking. Being denied any touch felt like dying and Peter was slowly falling apart. “Turn around for me,” Tony ordered, his voice firm but gentle. “Show me what I’m working with, baby. Show me what’s mine.” Peter hurried to obey, scrambling to his knees, and turning around. His shoulders sank into the mattress, his face pressed into the cushions while his ass was raised in the air. He felt vulnerable, completely at his Daddy’s mercy, and the thought made his insides clench. “Such a good boy.” The praise washed over him like a breeze and Peter couldn’t stop the mad grin that spread on his face. He was good, the best boy for his Daddy. “Your ass looks amazing in my panties, baby, plump and ripe for me to take. Tell me you are mine, sweetheart. Tell me you belong to me.”

“Yours, Daddy. Only yours, but please touch me!” Peter was screaming by now, his body twisting on the sheets. He arched his back even further, spreading his legs for Tony to touch. “All right, baby boy. You’ve earned it.” Relief crashed over him, so strong that he felt like he was flying, and he turned his head to watch his Daddy. Tony was looming above him, looking so much stronger, so much more powerful and Peter was basking in the feeling of being under him. His Daddy controlled his pleasure, knowing so much better what he needed, and everything he had to do was take. He could see how Tony was lowering his hand. It was hovering above his ass, rapidly coming closer. Peter moaned. His Daddy would spank him, would show him that he belonged to him, that he was owned by him. He could almost feel the smack, could feel how his insides were trembling with anticipation. Every muscle in his body was tensing; he dreaded and craved the light pain at the same time. But the smack never came. Instead, a loud noise echoed through the room, tearing him from the first sexual dream he had had in years. It took Peter a second to realize that he was in a huge bed in Austria and that the loud noise was coming from the door. He blinked twice, taking his time to orientate himself, and slowly the events of the last day came back into his head. Tony and Peter had arrived late last night after seven hours in the billionaire’s private jet. Thankfully, the lobby of the hotel had been quite empty and they hadn’t met other attendees of the Charity event. Peter wasn’t sure if he would have been able to act as Tony Stark’s boyfriend when his only thought had been to fall into bed. Of course, Tony booked the biggest room; a penthouse with multiple open bedrooms. Peter picked the first room he saw and almost instantly jumped into bed. Tony had apparently chosen another room. And now, he had a sex dream about Tony Stark while he was sharing a penthouse with him and had to pretend to be the billionaire’s boyfriend for a week. He let out a frustrated groan, his cock still rock-hard, and he took a deep breath, trying to suppress the memories of how needy he had been, crying for his Daddy to take him. God, he had called Tony ‘Daddy’ in his dream, he could never look the other man in the eyes again. The fog in Peter’s mind slowly started to clear and he noticed that the knocking sound didn’t stop. “Good morning, Mr. Stark.” A woman’s voice with a thick German accent came from the closed door. “I’m coming in now. Your friends have ordered the ‘lovely couple’ room service for you.” Oh, no. Oh shit. Peter could still feel the arousal that was buzzing through his body, making his skin tingle with want. His cock was leaking inside his sleep pants, which were - by the way - the only clothes he was wearing at the moment, and outside of the door was someone who wanted to bring them a ‘lovely couple’ experience? That couldn’t get any worse. Well, he was wrong because it obviously could. Ten seconds later a very naked Tony came rushing out of the bathroom. He had apparently taken a shower just yet since water was still running down his muscular chest and his thick thighs, dripping on the floor and leaving a puddle behind. Peter couldn’t not stare. However he had imagined Tony Stark to look in his dream, the reality was a million times better. Or worse if he considered the annoying problem in his pants. Tony was buff. His chest was ripped and defined, unusual for a man close to his fifties and his skin was golden brown. Peter tried his best not to stare, but he failed. Strong arms that could pin him against the wall, thick thighs he could bounce on while he was riding Tony’s cock and long, elegant fingers that would feel more than good inside his body. But the worst thing was that Peter could see everything and didn’t have to imagine anymore how well-endowed the billionaire was. He was thick and beautiful, and the primitive part of his brain wanted to spread his legs and offer himself to the other man right now. “I’m so sorry, Peter, but we have to keep it up,” Tony said apologetic, coming closer and closer while Peter tried not to panic. It was one thing to admire a naked Tony Stark from afar and another to have him standing next to him. He could hear how the door was opened at the same moment that the other man slipped into his bed. Under the blanket. Naked. While Peter was still hard from his dream. Peter could barely suppress a loud moan when the billionaire’s body touched his, skin against skin, and the thin sleep pants didn’t hide anything. He could feel the other man’s hip rubbing against his erection and a small whimper escaped his lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.” The woman of the room service sounded horrified as they saw them lying in bed. “I thought you might have already left, I just wanted to bring in breakfast. Your friend Pepper Potts has ordered the ‘lovely couple’ experience.” Tony put on his fake smile, the one he wore in public or for reporters, and he pulled Peter closer against his chest, trying to keep up the appearance. “Mrs.-“ He took a look at her name tag. “Schmidt. Thank you very much, but we are busy right now. Would you mind placing the tray at the table?” Peter couldn’t stop the blush that was spreading on his face. Fuck. The situation was embarrassing as hell, and on top of that, there was no way Tony hadn’t noticed the huge bulk in his pants. Just in this moment, the billionaire started to shift his weight, unintentionally increasing the pressure against his erection and a loud moan slipped past Peter’s lips. Bright hot pleasure was buzzing through his body, his eyes rolled back, and he couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting against the other man twice. The woman drew the wrong conclusion and looked at them horrified, quickly apologizing again and almost running out of the door. Peter was frozen. He knew he couldn’t say anything to make it better, the evidence still very much visible in his pants. “Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry, I-,“ his voice broke, nothing he could say would make it better anyway. “Don’t worry kid,” Tony tried to reassure him. “We all get morning wood, don’t we?” Peter whimpered pathetically, struggling to keep his hips from moving. Although he was thoroughly embarrassed, he still had to fight the urge to rub himself against the warm body, to beg the other man to help him. He wanted to call him ‘Daddy’, wanted to bounce on his cock, tightly pressed against his naked body. “Yeah, morning wood.” Peter’s voice was trembling, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to die of mortification. “Let’s get going.” Tony jumped out of bed and Peter relaxed in an instant. “We still have to get you some gear before we go up the mountain, but maybe you wanna take care of your problem first?” Tony winked at him and Peter blushed even harder. “Yeah, good idea.” Peter smiled constrained and hurried to get to the bathroom. He could never ever look the billionaire in the eyes again. … At around eleven, Tony and Peter went out to get Peter ski gear. The young man had admitted he’s never skied before, something Tony assumed already. Still, it felt stupid to say. “I’ll have to take some classes,” Peter pondered out loud while the retailer pushed and pulled at the weighty shoes on Peter’s feet. “Nonsense,” Tony exclaimed, waving his hand dramatically. “I’ll teach you.” “That’s nice of you, Mr. Stark, but I’m sure you have more important things to do.” The guy from the shop pulled the shoes off Peter’s feet after ushering him to sit down on the bench again. “Stop it. You’re here because of me and you’re my boyfriend. Allow me to teach you the ways of the skis.” Peter snorts. “That’s the most terrible Star Wars reference I’ve ever heard.” “Hmm, that’s true, my jokes are usually better than this.” Tony leaned back casually. He obviously already had his own fitted gear since he went skiing and organized this event every year. So, once again, the billionaire was watching Peter with his intense eyes, both men knowing he’d be spending a lot of money on the student yet again. The shop clerk took Tony and Peter with him to another corner to have a look at the actual skis. Peter just let it all happen, knowing that his lacking knowledge would only make this shopping session take longer than necessary if he got involved in the conversation. Which he didn’t want to anyway. “Stimmt,” the man from the shop nodded at something Tony said with a smile and disappeared for a minute. He came back with a couple of sticks. “Let’s see how long your poles should be?” The comment made Tony chortle. “How about as long as what I had the pleasure of touching this morning?” Tony winked at Peter, who nearly collapsed in shame. The air was knocked out of his lungs and he stared at Tony wide-eyed and red-faced. The man from the shop laughed genuinely and raised the longest pole he was holding. “This one?” “Perfect,” Tony quipped with a smirk, seemingly relishing in how Peter’s blush crept to his ears. When the retailer walked to some kind of device that matched Peter’s weight to what the skis could carry, the student whipped around to face Tony. “Woah, there, kid, if this were a cartoon there’d be steam coming from your ears.” “Why did you have to bring up this morning?!” Peter tried his best to keep his voice down. Tony shrugged, pursing his lips. “I’m Tony Stark. Everyone who knows me knows that I can’t have a single conversation without mentioning sex.” “Well, thanks for the warning,” Peter seethed through gritted teeth. “I-” Tony frowned slightly and took a step back. “I’m sorry, truly. I should’ve thought this through.” “You can’t keep doing things like what you did in the elevator, or this morning with the unexpected room service, or casually discussing the size of my dick with a stranger and expecting me to just be A-OK with all of it because you apologize afterward.” Peter couldn’t believe he was actually scolding the Tony Stark in the middle of a shop. Luckily it wasn’t very busy and they were in a secluded corner. “You say you’re big on consent? Then prove it!” Tony looked at Peter stunned. This time, however, Peter didn’t regret what he said. If Tony wanted him to play along, the inventor needed to stop assuming he could just do whatever. “You sound like Pepper,” Tony whispers. Peter was about to combust with rage. Did Tony really just compare Peter to his ex?! “What?” “She…” Tony looked down at his feet. Peter couldn’t believe he rendered his boss speechless. Tony tapped his hands on his thighs twice before collecting himself and making eye contact with Peter, sniffing once. The student was surprised to see the mask Tony wore in public had disappeared, the look in his eye genuine and deep. “She used to fight back too.” “Is that why you left her?” The question slipped from Peter’s lips before realizing it was an intrusive one. “No, actually…” A slight smile crept up on Tony’s face. His eyes were kinder and softer than they normally were. Right now, Tony wasn’t the Don Juan Peter knew him to be. This wasn’t Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist. This was Tony. Pure and true. “It’s why I stayed.” … Peter and Tony fell quiet after that. Tony paid for the gear and they both went downstairs to the locker room to suit up and put away the belongings they wouldn’t need up on the mountain. Tony swiftly went on his knees to help Peter with his shoes that he still couldn’t quite figure out himself and not long after, they went back upstairs with their skis, poles and helmets in their hands. It was only when they entered the gondola with just the two of them, that Tony broke the silence. “I’m sorry.” Peter looked up at him, his initial reflex to open his mouth to tell Tony he was doing the exact same thing as he was before, but Tony’s eyes told him it was different now. “Thank you.” “I- I’m aware I’ve grown comfortable with being the center of my universe and I want to change that.” Tony shuffled in his seat opposite Peter and he leaned forward slightly, the fabric of his thick winter coat ruffling. “I know I’m asking a lot of you already but I’d be most grateful if you will keep holding me accountable like you did in that shop.” A grin spread on Peter’s face. “Gladly.” His answer made Tony laugh and the man mirrored Peter’s laid back position. “On one condition, though,” Peter said quickly. “Anything.” “If you want me to fake being your boyfriend, I want you to properly ask me to be just that.” “Alright, sounds fair. Peter Benjamin Parker, would you-” “No.” Tony was taken aback by Peter’s reply. The younger man smiled mischievously and cocked his head. “Tony Stark, the man known for his romantic side, asks me to be his boyfriend in a gondola? Tsk.” Peter shook his head once. “You can do better than that.” Tony smirked, with one corner of his mouth curled up. “You know what? You’re right.” The man crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. “Prepare to be blown away, kid.” … When they neared the top of the mountain, Tony shuffled his hand into his pocket and took out a tube of sunscreen. He twisted off the top and covered his face. Peter shamelessly stared at the fingers covered in cream. How they traced Tony’s face and evaded his neatly trimmed beard. He finished up, but instead of screwing the top back on, he leaned forward again, to offer it to Peter. There was a beat before Peter jolted to sit upright. Though, when he reached forward, he realized he was already wearing his gloves. “Oh, shit-” Peter brought his hands together to take off the gloves, but Tony suddenly inched closer. “Wait, let me help.” Peter pressed his lips on top of each other, holding his breath and staring at Tony’s hands yet again. At how they took some white cream from the tube and how they reached out for Peter’s face. Peter closed his eyes to refrain from watching Tony’s concentrated expression, but when he expected Tony’s fingers to touch his skin, nothing happened. He opened his eyes again, only to see Tony pulled back slightly. Waiting. The breath Peter was holding slowly escaped his lips and something bubbled inside him. Consent. Tony was waiting for Peter to say yes. He nodded slightly, forcing the corners of his mouth to curl up. Tony moved in to gently rub the sunscreen into Peter’s cheeks. Peter tried to hold back a soft gasp, but the second Tony’s calloused fingers touched his skin it felt like the man had electrified him. Slowly, Tony worked in the cream, circling Peter’s closed eyes, then carefully coating the lids. He traced the plump of Peter’s lips with his thumb. Peter didn’t mean to part his lips, nor did he want his mind and body to betray him like this. He wanted to suck on Tony’s digits. Wrap his mouth around the thumb and press his tongue up against it. He felt like moaning to entice Tony to do more, but- no. No, he disliked the man, didn’t he? When Tony pulled his hands back, Peter nearly followed him, as if in trance. His eyes fluttered open and he watched the other man quietly twist the lid back on. There was a slight, focussed frown on his face and Peter wondered if Tony had noticed the student’s neediness. He hoped not. “T-Thank you,” Peter stuttered. “Well, we don’t want you to get sunburnt, do we?” “No-” Peter huffed with an awkward smile. “No, for all of this.” Tony only looked up at Peter with his eyes as he wiped the grease off his hands with his handkerchief. “You’re giving me more than I could ask for.” “I like to spoil my significant other.” The last words came out with a chuckle. “It’s only fair I spoil you too. ‘Specially with everything you’re putting up with this week.” He vaguely gestured at himself. “Or well, this... Me.” Peter laughed out loud at that and went to stand up as the gondola reached its destination. Suddenly, it halted and Peter was flung forward. With a yelp he landed in Tony’s lap and both men immediately scrambled to stand upright as they needed to get out of the gondola before it would head down the mountain again. Tony’s strong arms lifted Peter to his feet and when they got out, the man grabbed both his and Peter’s skis from the outside of the gondola. Peter nodded gratefully and scoffed a laugh as he took the skis from his boss’s hands. “Thanks, again.” “No biggie. Let’s get you down this mountain in one piece.” “Yeah,” Peter chuckled, half-afraid at the implications behind Tony’s words. “Let’s.” … Peter felt downright embarrassed at the top of the kiddie hill. Five-year-olds were zooming past him at speeds Peter didn’t even dare try. His attempts at not looking like a cramped elderly man didn’t work and he had to give it to Tony, the billionaire was surprisingly patient. “You’re doing great, Pete, by the end of the day we’ll have gone down the Ebenfeld!” Tony waved up at Peter, whose knees were locked in place. “Doesn’t that have a bit of red?” Peter’s voice was shaky. If a green/blue piste was already a lot for him to handle, a red one was definitely too much. “Eh, just a tiny bit!” Tony downplayed it with a dramatic wave of his hand. A string of swear words silently slipped past Peter’s lips as he prepped to ski towards Tony. The man made it look so awfully easy. “Alright,” Peter whispered to himself, trying to gather the courage to take off. “You got this, you got this, you got this-” “Pizza, fries, Pete! Pizza, fries!” Peter finally moved forward a little and he took his first corner. “Permission to make a comment on one of your body parts?” “We’re on the kiddie hill, Tony!” “So?” “Fine, this can’t get any worse anyway-” Peter shouted as he took another turn. “As much as you have a lovely butt, if you want this to go easier you should bend your knees a little more.” “Well, that wasn’t half ba-aaah!” Peter lost control of his skis, going straight down, headed right for the billionaire. “PETER!” “HELP!” Bam! Peter skied into Tony and they both toppled over during Tony’s attempt to grab Peter to keep them upright. One of Peter’s skis detached from the shoe and after a few soft thuds, the men laid in the snow. Peter expected falling to hurt more. Then again, the adrenaline might have made it less bad too. He scrambled up to chuckle at Tony, who groaned as he pushed himself up. Surprisingly, Tony looked up at Peter wide-eyed. “Are you okay?” He asked worried. “I am! You?” “I might’ve broken a bone or two.” Peter immediately crawled down to get closer to Tony. “What? Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, oh, God, I-” His panic is interrupted by Tony erupting into laughter, throwing his head back and patting Peter on the shoulder. “I’m messing with you, kid!” Peter blew up his cheeks in faux anger and gave Tony a gentle push. “Meanie!” “Only to you, sweet pea.” Tony stuck out his tongue and got up. He glanced down to see Peter’s escaped ski stuck in the snow. “I’ll fetch the ski, you stay right here.” Peter watched as Tony skied down a little and he felt the air escape his lungs. Tony was patient. Kind. Funny. Caring… Nothing Peter thought he was. Maybe Tony wasn’t as bad as he seemed. ... Peter was standing in front of the penthouse mirror and fumbled with his sleeves. He felt weird in the thousand-dollar suit, like someone had forced him to dress up and only the thought that Tony had bought it for him made the situation bearable. They had to go to the first group dinner in less than ten minutes and suddenly, Peter was scared. Pretending to be the billionaire’s boyfriend in front of paparazzi was one thing but acting as his ‘significant other’ in front of his friends was a million times worse. What if he would screw it up? What if everyone would notice how nervous he was? “Hey, Pete, ready to go?” Tony entered his room in a black tux and Peter had to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. Of course, the man looks like sex on legs and suddenly, Peter felt even worse. “Are you all right?” Tony gave him a concerned look and Peter considered to lie for a brief second, but if he wanted Tony to open up, he had to do his part as well. “A little nervous.” “Do you think a hug would help to make you feel better?” Peter blinked, once, twice until he slowly started to nod. He wasn’t sure if it would really help, but he didn’t want to refuse the friendly gesture. The billionaire stepped closer, wrapped his arms around his middle and pressed him against his chest. “Don’t worry, Pete. We got this.” Tony let him go soon after, but it had already been too late. Peter could still smell his scent, could still feel the warmth of his body, and against all odds, he felt a little more settled. He took a deep breath and smiled tentatively at Tony. “All right, let’s go.” The laugh he got in return was worth the fear. Meeting Tony’s friends and colleagues was scary as hell. The billionaire had told him beforehand with whom they would spend their time, and Peter already knew that not everyone liked Tony equally. Pepper Potts, Tony’s ex-wife, and her husband would sit at their table and Peter was glad the woman would be next to them. Seeing some friendly faces would probably help his case. Furthermore, the Osborns would join them, father and son, a power duo that was slowly taking over the armor industry. Tony didn’t know much about them besides their business relationships, so Peter didn’t know what he should expect. The last seat of their table belonged to Justin Hammer and Tony had already warned Peter of the guy. He was tactless and rude, making a fool of himself occasionally. Tony couldn’t stand him and wasn’t shy to tell him, so Peter was mostly afraid to screw up in front of Hammer. … “If this isn’t Tony and his new ‘significant other’,” Hammer scoffed when they entered the restaurant. “Didn’t know you’re into kids now, Stark. How old is he, sixteen?” Peter could see Tony grimaced, but thankfully the billionaire didn’t say anything. As much as he wanted to strangle Hammer, it wouldn’t be wise to start a confrontation while they were still standing. So, he took a deep breath and put on a fake smile. “That’s so kind of you, Mr. Hammer,” Peter said cheerily as he sat down on the table next to Tony. “I’m 22, but it’s always a pleasure to hear that I’ve aged well.” Tony didn’t hide the distaste on his face, the Osborns grinned a little too broadly and even Pepper had to conceal her laugh with a cough. Hammer on the other hand just looked confused and a little disappointed that Tony didn’t lose his temper. Tony gave him a proud smile and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Peter tensed a little. He knew the billionaire would touch him this evening, take his hand or loop an arm around his middle because Tony had asked him back in their room if Peter would be fine with it. Still, he couldn’t force his muscles to relax. The close proximity to the billionaire was doing things to him and he wasn’t quite ready to face what these ‘things’ were about. “Can I introduce you to my boyfriend Peter?” Tony gave everyone a smile, although the one for Hammer was a little stiff. “Peter, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Pepper and this is my husband Marcus.” Her voice was filled with warmth. “I was a little confused when Tony told me he would bring someone because he had never mentioned you before.” She gave Tony a disappointed look and Peter could see how the shoulders of the billionaire sank down. “It was my fault.” He lied, trying his best not to look in the direction of his ‘boyfriend’. He felt a sudden urge to save Tony, to protect him from her subliminal accusation. “I didn’t want everyone to know about us too early because of the age gap.” Immediately, her expression turned to sympathy and she took a quick look at Hammer. “I understand that. People can be so judgmental these days.” Peter laughed at her words and knew the ice was broken. “Peter, tell us. What are you doing? Working, studying?” Osborn junior asked, he was probably around Peter’s age. “I’m studying biochemical engineering and have an internship at Stark Industries.” “Sleeping with the boss? That’s a wise tactical decision.” Hammer smiled disgustingly sweet during his words, and Peter clenched his fists, trying to hold back. Tony, however, snapped. “Peter is actually quite brilliant in his field and doesn’t need to convince other people of his worth. He had the best bachelor’s degree of his year and there is a reason he didn’t sign at Hammer Industries.” Hammer’s face turned red, anger sparking from his eyes and he struggled to find words. His rage made Tony grin confidently and he pulled Peter closer to his side. It was a good feeling to be protected by the billionaire, and Peter couldn’t stop the blush that was spreading across his face. Although Peter would have loved to see Hammer lose his temper, he was still glad Pepper cut him off and changed the topic. “That’s really impressive. When did you two meet?” “Five months ago-” “Three months ago-” Shit. Everyone at the table was looking at them confused and Peter felt how he started to sweat. They had talked so much about how they wanted to handle the Charity Event, but not once had they discussed the backstory of their relationship. Thankfully, Tony was a better actor than he was. “We actually met five months ago when Peter started his internship, but everything was strictly professional. I asked him out for the first time two months later.” “That’s lovely.” It was the first time Osborn senior spoke up. “Mr. Stark, would you mind talking about the new plans of Stark Industries? I still have a couple of questions about the expansion to China.” It was obvious that he wasn’t interested in their relationship and the attempt to change the topic wasn’t even subtle, but Peter couldn’t be more relieved. He started to squirm on his chair, afraid he would somehow manage to fuck things up, steering the focus away from him gave him time to breathe. For the next half hour, Peter was quiet. Tony and Osborn were talking business, something about stock prices and the bankruptcy of a big company that Peter wasn’t interested in, while the rest of the table was absorbed in a conversation about the Charity cause. It became clear very quickly that Hammer wasn’t interested in LGBT rights and only attended the event for the prestige, but today Peter didn’t feel like defending different sexualities. The day had been stressful enough and skiing was even more exhausting than he had thought, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally, Tony seemed to realize how tired Peter was and he cut the dinner short. “I think we might bring the evening to an end now. Today was Peter’s first day on skis and we both need some rest.” Everyone but Hammer looked at them sympathetically. “Are you going to join us tomorrow? We’re headed to the Platten,” Osborn junior, Peter had learned his first name was Harry, asked. Tony gave them an apologetic smile and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Peter still isn’t steady on skis, so we'll go somewhere else.” Although Peter was tired, he felt some kind of relief. These were Tony’s friends, at least some of them, but the billionaire still decided to keep him company. He didn’t know what he would have done if Tony decided to join his friends. “We understand that.” Pepper gave them a gentle smile. “Good night you two. See you at breakfast.” When they’d finally said good-bye to everyone and opened the door to their penthouse, Peter was more than glad the dinner was over. As nice as Pepper and the Osborns had been, he didn’t want to spend even another second in Hammer’s presence. Unfortunately, he very likely had to.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

Text

addiction, m | myg, ksj | 4

WARNING: A suicide attempt occurs in this one. There are no tags because I don’t want someone floating through tags finding this by accident. If you’ve read this far, be warned and be safe.

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader

summary: Min Yoongi suddenly becomes aware that his roommate is involved in some fucked up shit. Kim Seokjin meets Yoongi. Kim Taehyung makes an appearance. Everything is going downhill. ??? is revealed.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, violence, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

He heard a crash and loud swearing, even though the music in his headset. He looked at the time. It was the middle of the night. Frowning, Yoongi looked away from his computer screen. His roommate was usually quiet and, most of the time, he never heard her when she came and went.

Was it a burglar?

Carefully, he removed his headset and placed his ear to the door of his room. Someone was in the kitchen. Breathing heavily, swearing softly. He recognized that voice. It was definitely her. His hand closed around the doorknob and he opened it slowly, as quietly as he could.

She was leaning against the kitchen sink. He recognized the black hoodie and the black jeans from earlier in the day. The kitchen light was on and he could see they were covered in dirt. She was peeling the black gloves off her hands and tossing them on the floor. He narrowed his eyes. She seemed to be cradling her right arm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

She shrugged off the hoodie and it fell. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. Then she used her left hand to pull the black sweatshirt over her head, right arm still inside it. He almost looked away to give her some modesty, but instead his eyes widened.

She wore a black bra with a thick band, but, even then, he could see her sides and shoulders were battered. There was a small tattoo under her left shoulder blade. It looked like the simple outline of a sun, but the bra covered half of it so it was hard to tell. Her skin was covered in bruises that were rapidly turning shades of blue, purple and black. Her breathing was labored and with each breath he could see her spine shudder with pain.

What the fuck…?

She seemed to be bracing herself. He couldn’t see her face, just the back of her matted hair, tangled and covered in dirt. It was eerily quiet. With a deep breath, she raised her left hand to touch the edge of the sleeve still hanging on. He held his breath. The sound that came out of her was between a muffled scream and a sobbing cry as she peeled the right sleeve from her arm, knees almost giving out. It made his heart sting and drop at the same time.

The sleeve was wet. The sweatshirt fell to the floor and he could see the red blood streaming down her right arm, caked onto her skin.

“Holy shit.”

She whipped her head around, holding her arm with her left hand, eyes wide and bloodshot as he burst out of his room. Her right arm was covered in cuts, with a particularly large one on her forearm.

“What the fuck happened?”

He almost yelled, which was very uncharacteristic of him. Even he was surprised. But not surprised enough to avoid seeing the curve of her breasts as she stumbled to the floor. He rushed forward and then stopped, torn between what to do. “We need to take you to the hospital,” he said hurriedly, fumbling with his pockets to get his phone.

“No,” she croaked. “Yoongi-ssi, stop.”

He managed to grab his phone but it fell from his hands. Undeterred, he scrambled to get it from the floor, only for her to kick it aside.

“Yoongi, stop.”

He froze at her cold tone. His head lifted to see her straining as she stood up again, sighing. She reached over to the sink and turned on the water.

“You wouldn’t…” he breathed.

Her left hand tightened into a fist. Her knuckles were white. She stuck her bloody arm under the water. The sound that came out of her wasn’t human. It was the pained yowl of an injured animal, jaw strained as she ground her teeth.

“You’re insane.”

She didn’t respond. Tears streamed down her face as she attempted to wash off as much blood as possible, even reaching to wipe the dried bits away with her free hand. He stood up, reaching for a white towel. She shook her head furiously, snatching it away from him and running it under the water.

“That cupboard,” she growled, pointing. He opened it to see a first-aid box.

He took it out and opened it for her. “What happened?” he asked, gently this time.

She pushed the contents around, picking things out of the box messily. “Got jumped.”

His jaw dropped. “We should report it.”

“I am not going to report it, Yoongi.”

He watched her rip open the butterfly bandages with her teeth, applying them carefully to the largest cut. He had the strangest feeling she had done this before.

“… What were you doing?”

She scoffed. She hadn’t dried the tears on her face. Her eyes were very red. “Walking.”

He stepped forward and accidentally kicked her hoodie. There was something very solid in there. He looked down, but then she called his name.

“Get me the gauze in the same cabinet,” she commanded tiredly.

He reached over and handed it to her. By that time, she had pushed her clothes to the other side. She wrapped her arm expertly, focusing the gauze on the cuts and applying medical tape to hold it together. The cuts were still leaking a bit of blood, making his stomach turn.

“Sexual assault?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, sighing. “No, but it was about to be.”

He bit his lip. “You shouldn’t go out alone.”

The black orbs flickered to him, surrounded by red. Even through the crying, the pain, the blood, she still looked at him like he was the insane one. There was a cut on her lip, caked with blood.

“Don’t pretend to care.”

Before he knew it, he reached out and touched her hand, taking the medical tape from her. She narrowed her eyes at him. He shrugged it off.

“You can’t bandage the upper arm properly with one hand,” he said sternly.

She seemed to hesitate, but accepted his help, silently holding her arm out. He worked quickly and carefully, placing gauze down on the cuts before wrapping it. Thankfully there weren’t any deep cuts on her upper arm.

“You don’t seem like the type to let some guys beat you up,” he commented.

“Maybe I wanted to disappear for once,” she muttered.

He paused. He stole a glance at her eyes. It felt like he was looking into the abyss and he looked away quickly, disturbed.

She took the medical tape from him and checked her arm. “Thanks,” she mumbled quietly. She began to collect the refuse from the band-aids.

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t say anything, just tossing the things into the trash. She began to collect the medical supplies, but he placed a hand on hers, making her stop. Her thin hand was shaking. He said her name and she didn’t even look up at him.

“I’ll put them away,” he murmured.

She turned and tried to pull her hand out of his grasp but he held on.

“I know what it feels like to want to disappear.”

There was a short, tight silence. Then she yanked her hand out of his hold.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t succeeded yet,” she hissed.

She winced as she knelt down, grabbing her black sweatshirt. He watched her ball it up carefully, tucking the bloody towel and the bloody sleeve in the center of the mass of fabric. He found himself chewing on his lower lip nervously.

“Do you want ice?”

“I’m fine, Yoongi.”

She collected her clothes before standing up again. She stopped, not looking at him.

“If you tell anyone about this, I will end you.”

She did not move. It was definitely a threat.

He reached over to the sink and turned it to warm water. He ran the towel under it, dampening it. She turned her head to glare at him but he reached up and gently wiped her face. Her eyes widened as he calmly dabbed her tears away. He gave her an awkward smile.

He was too afraid to say anything.

Yoongi had just finished washing the dishes. He dried off his hands on the spare towel, remembering her words to him a few moments ago. They had been sitting at the kitchen counter, not speaking as they ate the meal he had prepared. She looked worse today. He could see the bruise under her hair.

“Thanks for the meal.”

She had said it so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. He had turned his head and saw her staring at the rice in her bowl as she chewed in small bites.

“Ah.”

It was hard to talk about it because it seemed like she didn’t want to. He was awkward anyway when it came to this kind of stuff. He hoped being near another human being was enough for now. He told her he would do the dishes and she had thanked him before slinking back into her room.

The sun streamed in though the kitchen window, lighting his hands as he folded the dish towel. He knew her mental state wasn’t his responsibility. He could just ignore it and walk away. But that wasn’t what he wanted to do. And that was the problem.

A sharp knock rattled him out of his thoughts.

He looked up, turning his head to look at the front door. The knock came again, persistent. He frowned and went up to the door, looking at the intercom.

It was a man. Elegantly dressed in a black coat, white shirt, and black pants. He had one hand in his pocket. Broad shoulders. Dark hair, suspiciously handsome face. Yoongi had never seen him before and he would remember a face like that. Somehow, he already felt annoyed.

He opened the door only a little. “Yes?” He kept his voice terse.

The man smiled at him. He had an easy smile, with full lips. Yoongi noticed the man’s coat wasn’t any old black coat. It had two overlapped C’s on it. His white shirt collar was embroidered with red and silver threads, crystals sewn into the fabric. The pants were well tailored and his black shoes were definitely high-grade leather. He even smelled rich.

“You’re the roommate, huh?”

That wasn’t what Yoongi expected to hear. He narrowed his eyes.

The man nodded, as if this was what he expected as a response. “I’m here to check up on her.”

“Who are you?” Yoongi retorted. He began to close the door, but the man slammed his palm on it, stopping him. He was still smiling, but there was an edge to his gaze now.

“He’s Kim Seokjin.”

They both reacted to her voice. Yoongi spun around, taking his hand off. She was standing at the entrance of her room, wearing the same black t-shirt and loose black pants from lunch, closing the door behind her as she limped out. Seokjin pushed his way inside, snapping the front door shut behind him. Yoongi glared at him and opened his mouth, but Seokjin beat him to it.

“I didn’t expect you to have a male roommate,” Seokjin said casually. Despite his nonchalant tone, Yoongi felt the coldness in his words.

She glared at Seokjin, completely ignoring Yoongi’s annoyed look. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, smile gone now. They seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes. Yoongi looked from one to the other. Her bruised, tired face and the face of a pristine, privileged man who seemed to be fuming with anger.

She cocked her chin at him. “Who was it?”

Seokjin snorted. “Jungkook. You don’t give him enough credit. Kid told me you were acting weird so I followed up on it.”

He sent someone to stalk me. She clicked her tongue and looked at the ground before glaring back at Seokjin. “Well, I’m fine, so you can leave.”

Seokjin scoffed. He pointed to the arm she was cradling. “That’s fine?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not dead, am I?”

“You will be if you keep acting like this.”

She didn’t say anything. Instead she stubbornly looked away from them, staring at the wall. Yoongi kept silent, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He had always seen her as a strong person, but, at this moment, it felt like he was witnessing vulnerability that he wasn’t meant to see. Even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation, he understood enough by Seokjin’s words alone. Seokjin, on the other hand, acted as if Yoongi wasn’t even there. He was only focused on her. His Moon.

“I can handle myself,” she said to the wall.

“Will you stop acting as if people wanting to keep you safe is a crime?” Seokjin scolded, making her shudder at his tone.

Her eyes shifted and fixated at them, as if she was addressing them both at once. Yoongi knew what that look meant. Back off. He had used it himself, many times. Seokjin glared back pointedly, not breaking the gaze. She sighed, looking away from them and going into her room. For a moment, Yoongi thought that she was exiting the conversation, but then she emerged from the room holding a black paper bag. She placed it in front of Seokjin and took a step back, looking up at him pointedly. Yoongi could see black fabric and dirt.

Her clothes from that night?

Seokjin’s brown orbs flickered downwards before making eye contact with her again. “The gun, too.”

Yoongi’s eyes grew wide. Gun? She didn’t look at Yoongi, instead frowning at Seokjin. Then she turned her heel and went back into her room, only to pop back out with a smaller plastic bag. She shoved it into the black bag with her left hand.

“There, satisfied?”

Seokjin’s expression was irate. She knew if she was at his house right now, he would be less restrained but Yoongi was here so he wasn’t giving her his choice words. Instead he pointed to Yoongi beside him, addressing his presence for the first time since entering.

“He doesn’t know anything, does he?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wanting to be around someone who isn’t crazy isn’t a crime either, Seokjin.”

Seokjin sneered, picking up the black bag and turning around, placing his hand on the doorknob.

“He’s crazy if he continues to stay here after this.”

And then Seokjin opened the door and left, leaving Yoongi standing with her, the two of them staring at the closed door. She bit her lip. She didn’t look at Yoongi.

“So… that’s why the room was so cheap, huh?”

She looked at the floor, fiddling with the medical tape on her arm. “Something like that.”

Yoongi nodded to himself. For some reason, Yoongi wasn’t afraid of the appearance of Seokjin, his uncanny ability to know that she had been hurt, or the fact that she had a gun. It was obvious now that whatever was going on was illicit at best. No, what bothered him most was the fact that she didn’t seem like herself. At least, not the self she was when she was around him, before all this happened. He quietly said her name, and she turned her head to let him know she was listening.

She still didn’t look at him.

“I’m going to guess you’re not supposed to have the gun.”

She paused and shook her head slowly. “That was my gun.”

Yoongi was stunned into silence.

She took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t remember how many guys it was. Three or four. They thought I was a guy because the hood was up, so they dragged me into an alley and beat me up. Probably wanted money or something. But one of them yanked the hood off and they realized I was a girl. I hadn’t made much sound, so I guess they didn’t notice sooner.” She was looking into the distance, not quite there with him anymore. “One of them had a knife. I fired off a warning shot when he stabbed me in the forearm. That’s what made them scatter.” Deep breath. She looked up at the ceiling.

Yoongi pursed his lips, contemplating. “He took the evidence to help you.”

She chuckled. “You think too highly of him.”

There was a deafening silence. He whispered her name, softly, and she turned more towards him, staring at his hands. His fingers were twisted together. He was picking at his cuticles aimlessly.

“Why do you have a gun in the first place?”

The side of her lips curved upwards, but there was no mirth in that smile. It was at that moment that she finally looked up at him. Her dark, dark eyes found his brown ones, trapping him in the abyss. For some reason he felt his heart drop, pulled down into the blackness. Maybe, if he tried really hard, he could escape. He just had to look away.

But he didn’t really want to.

“I don’t want you to be involved, Yoongi. You don’t deserve that.”

His throat felt dry. “Involved in what?”

Her smile became a sad one. “My demons.”

He took a step towards her. It was like a dream, looking into those eyes. It felt like he was running, running into the forbidden forest, burrs and branches snagging on him and trying to pull him away.

“Is it the reason why you look so empty all the time?”

Her lips parted. Then she closed her eyes, freeing him from her gaze. She nodded.

“Yeah.”

A few days later, another man showed up. A younger man, with a backpack and a boxy smile.

“Yo!”

Yoongi blinked at him. This man was wearing a patterned purple shirt and loose black pants with a pair of loafers. The unknown man bowed to him, boxy smile never leaving his face.

“I’m here to see the patient,” he said cheerfully in his deep voice.

“What patient?” Yoongi grumbled. “And who are you, anyway?”

“Me?” He placed a tan hand on his chest. “I’m the Doctor. I’m here to redress Moon-noona’s wounds.”

Yoongi made a face. “Who the fuck is Moon?”

The young man pointed inside the apartment. “Your roommate.” He kept smiling despite Yoongi’s grumpy attitude. “Seokjin sent me.”

At the mention of his name, Yoongi frowned and backed up, allowing him to enter. He had no reason to comply, but the sudden appearance of this guy wasn’t a coincidence. This is one of Seokjin’s minions? He watched as the young man shuffled to her door and knocked in it gently. He didn’t seem like a minion. Actually, he seemed quite harmless compared to the authoritative air Seokjin gave off.

“Moonie-noona? Are you awake?”

Whatever happened to no guests? Yoongi felt annoyed at his development, but judging from the expression that suddenly appeared at the bedroom door, he wasn’t the only one.

“Why are you here, Taehyung?” she mumbled through squinting eyes.

Taehyung grinned. “Here to take care of you. Hyung said you didn’t do a very good job.”

She frowned and came out of her room. She had to lift the sleeve of her large grey sweatshirt to reveal her arm.

“It’s fine.”

The medical tape was peeling and the gauze definitely needed to be changed.

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. “Looks like a good try.”

Yoongi winced and turned around to escape to his room as she groaned. Taehyung was leading her to the kitchen, patting her back reassuringly.

“Could you dampen a towel, please?”

Yoongi froze. Taehyung’s deep voice was directed in his direction. He turned around to see Taehyung’s large, expectant puppy eyes staring at him. Yoongi pointed to himself. “Me?”

Taehyung nodded cheerfully. “Thank you!”

Yoongi shot him an indignant look, but Taehyung was already helping her to take off the sweatshirt carefully, completely ignoring Yoongi’s reaction. She was wearing a tight black tank top underneath. Taehyung looked over the bruises that were turning greenish-yellow. He shook his head, frowning at her.

“You should have changed these sooner,” he scolded softly. He opened his backpack and sat her on the floor, spreading out his supplies.

She sighed. “I know, I know.”

Taehyung began to undo her work gently, careful not to pull on the tape too hard. “You could have asked your cute roommate to help you.”

“Shut up.”

Taehyung smirked. “O-oh?”

She didn’t reply. Yoongi appeared with the damp towel. Taehyung smiled and thanked him again, placing it beside him. He leaned over her to catch Yoongi’s attention once more.

“Trash can?”

Yoongi’s eye twitched, but he retrieved it. He came back to the sight of her forearm cut exposed, clotted and brown from being under the bandage for so long. He winced. Taehyung gently wiped it clean, clicking his tongue.

“Who bandaged your upper arm anyway? There’s too much tape,” Taehyung complained.

“I did,” Yoongi muttered. He squinted as Taehyung peeled the tape away. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

Taehyung exhaled exasperatedly. “It’s excessive. You need to let wounds breathe and have blood circulate properly.”

Yoongi’s face fell. “… Did I make it worse?”

Taehyung was about to say something, but he caught her glaring at him. He changed his words into a faint whistle, giving her a cheeky smirk. “You should have contacted me. I’m the doctor after all.”

“You look too young for a doctor,” Yoongi commented, suspicious.

She rolled her eyes. “He likes to think he is.”

“I’m very knowledgeable!” Taehyung exclaimed. “Don’t berate me.”

Yoongi watched as Taehyung expertly applied ointments and adhesive bandages to each cut. Taehyung continued chattering away and she begrudgingly responded to him. Yoongi wasn’t listening, fascinated by Taehyung’s quick work. Alright, and his pride was little hurt by Taehyung’s comment.

“Moonie-noona, hyung is worried about you.”

“Hyung can take that worry and shove it up his ass,” she shot back.

Taehyung clicked his tongue as he cleaned her skin with an alcohol wipe. She flinched, but he held her still with his strong hands.

“Why does he keep calling you that?” Yoongi suddenly interjected.

“Hm?” Taehyung cocked his head at Yoongi. “Oh? Doesn’t she seem like the moon? Elusive, only shows up at night, often hiding?”

She smacked Taehyung’s shoulder with her left hand. “Stop saying nonsense. It’s a nickname from a long time ago.”

“Not that long ago.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Taehyung’s lips formed a small ‘o’ and he nodded, giving Yoongi a strange expression.

“What?” Yoongi snapped.

“Nothing,” Taehyung responded lamely, placing the last bandage on her upper arm. He tapped the hem of her tank top. “Show me the bruises.”

She made an aggravated noise. “Taehyung, they’re just bruises.”

He sighed. “You’re so stubborn. Alright.” He separated some medical supplies and stood up, opening a cupboard to pull out the first aid kit. Yoongi’s eyes widened. Taehyung had picked the correct cupboard on the first try. Realization hit him and he pursed his lips, thinning his mouth into a line. Taehyung tucked the bandages into the first-aid box. She got off the floor, and Yoongi spied the sun tattoo once again, half-covered by the edge of the tank top.

“Thanks, Taehyung.”

“You want to get back to work?”

She pulled up the sleeve of her bomber jacket. “It’s healed.” There was only a small bandage left.

Seokjin frowned. She leaned her head against his chest. She had come and sat in his lap without him asking. It made him suspicious.

“I’m bored of being at home.”

She even smelled nice. Some kind of musky, cherry perfume. He puffed his cheeks. It was almost like old times. She placed a hand on his thigh and traced patterns on the fabric, making his heart skip a beat.

“Do you really think you’re ready, Moon?”

Her face turned up, eyes on his. Lips so close that he could feel her breath on his skin.

“Don’t you trust me?”

He heard her enter the apartment. He stared at the folder on his desktop. It was right there. He could stand up and show her right now. He had it on his phone too. All he had to do was stand up.

Why are you so nervous, Min Yoongi?

He could hear the audible click of her door closing.

It bothered him that he kept thinking about her hands. He wanted them laced around his, wanted to know what her touch felt like. He kept dreaming about those dark orbs, seeing them in his mind’s eye, trapped in their darkness. He kept wondering about that sun tattoo on her back.

What does it mean?

He told himself it was normal. Maybe his mind was dreaming up scenarios for him, starved for intimate attention. It wasn’t actually her. It was natural instinct.

I can’t even believe my own bullshit.

He slid down in his chair, fixated on the computer screen but seeing nothing. He knew she was involved in some crazy shit. She had a fucking gun after all. Perhaps she was part of the mafia or a gang. His hands ran through his hair and he pulled his head back facing the ceiling. He knew he should report her to the police and yet he did nothing because he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

If I was… if I could be…?

He frowned, knowing how that question ended.

She was sitting at her table, sitting in front of ten lines.

Ten lines.

Ten neat lines of white powder she had made herself. She had made those lines very calmly on her glass palette. Surely, ten lines was enough. And if it wasn’t, the bottle of pills was nearby. It was supposed to be for Jimin, but with luck she wouldn’t even have to deliver to him.

With luck, she would never have to deliver anything ever again.

She looked up from the ten white lines to the pictures above them. So many pictures. She had printed them out for once. Memories. Of him. She never told him but she loved taking pictures of him. He looked good in all of them, even if he insisted the candid ones were terrible. The heart-shaped smile shone back up at her like a beacon of hope. She loved his smile most of all.

It was an accident.

Just a dumb argument that escalated to him leaving the apartment, crashing a party. Someone gave him drugs and he took them. He was confident and gullible. Not everyone gave clean cocaine. Sometimes it was mixed with other substances – for the thrill, the potency, and the idiocy. When he started going into shock, everyone had run. She knew why. They didn’t want to get caught. Police didn’t find him until hours later and by then there was no pulse.

She thought she had cried all her tears, but they threatened her once again. Maybe she would let them come this time. The last time.

“Hoseok…” she breathed, his name leaving her lips for the first time in a long while. It felt a little foreign at this point. “Hoseok, I really tried. I tried for so long.” She felt her voice starting to crack, a hard lump forming in her throat. “But I’m weak. I can’t do this anymore. I know I’m a coward…” Her whisper trailed off. The images started to blur and she felt drops fall onto her black sweatpants. His sweatpants. “If you could see me now, you wouldn’t even recognize me anymore.”

She had always been stubborn in what she wanted to do, ignoring her parents’ wishes and running forward on her own. Her constant rebellion made her parents cut ties with her, but at that young age, she had seen it as a blessing. After investing in cryptocurrency, she had enough money to live on her own as a young adult. She could do whatever she desired – party it up, drink all night, fuck shit up. That’s when she had met Jung Hoseok, a ball of boundless energy, cheerful and cute, coupled with an infectious laugh and always going on about his dreams of becoming a dancer. Slowly but surely, she had become the moon to his sun. His light had shone on her and she followed him everywhere he went, circling him with her blind love. There was just that small problem of his slow-forming but highly addictive coke habit. But why did that matter? They were in love and love triumphed over all.

Didn’t it?

He had been very adamant for her not to start. Whether it was selfishness of his own habit or actually looking out for her, it didn’t matter. She was wrapped around his finger and his dreams. The coke habit was such a little thing.

“We had fun, didn’t we?”

Her chest hurt from holding back her tears. It felt like she was suffocating.

Every day was a wild ride of this and that, of partying with Seokjin and friends. She had sex before, but she made love to Hoseok. She could still remember how much he enjoyed being petted and caressed, cuddling for hours. It made the nights screaming back and forth about withdrawal nothing. It made the begging and pleading with Seokjin bearable as he handed Hoseok another dose. None of it mattered because he would kiss her at the end of the day and smile at her. He was her hope and she was his.

Or so he said.

She curled up in her floor cushion, sliding to the floor as she tried to stifle her crying, wrapping her head with the sleeves of the grey sweatshirt. No. His. She was always his.

“I just want to see you again.”

She knew how pathetic it was. How stupid it was. And yet.

It took her a long time to collect herself. She had to wipe her tears and her snot and sit back up. She needed a clear nose for this. She had chosen this way to end it all because it seemed fitting. She locked eyes with Hoseok’s picture, his heart-shaped mouth smiling at her one more time. The last time.

She leaned over the table.

There are two endings.

Click here for Kim Seokjin’s ending.

Click here for Min Yoongi’s ending.

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canumoveurseatup-no · 5 years

Text

Survive- Where it all Started

summary: no one knows how it began, all they know is that it’s here.

pairings: tony x OC!daughter; later on tony x black!reader

warnings: familial death, zombies, blood, guns.

a/n: i’m excited for this series, i hope i do it justice. keep in mind though, if you’ve ever seen/ played TLOU, not everything will be the exact same. please like and reblog! If you want to be tagged, let me know!

————

“Steve! Steve listen to me, he’s- he’s the contractor okay? I can’t lose this job,”

Sarah stirred in her sleep on the couch, she had fallen asleep waiting for her dad to get home- she always stayed up, just to make sure he made it home safe

“I understand- let’s talk about it in the morning, okay? Alright... goodnight”

Sarah yawned, sitting up on the couch, noticing her dad was on the phone.

“Hey,”

“Scoot,” Tony grunts, moving his hand for her to move over so he could finally rest his feet after being on them all day.

“Fun day at work, huh?,” Sarah curls up on the couch, making conversation, this was the only time she could really talk to him as he had early mornings and late nights.

Tony sighs, running a hand over his face, “What are you still doing up? It’s late,”

Sarah gasps, “Oh crud, what time is it?!,” she turns quickly to look up at the close on the wall

Tony hated for Sarah to wait up for him, she was young, she needed all the sleep she could get.

“It’s way past your bed time,”

“But it’s still today,” she shakes her head in a teasing manner. She crawls off the couch and reaches under it to grab something but Tony thinks she just wants to joke and play around.

“Honey, please not right now. I do not have the energy for this,” Tony was exhausted. This job was killing him, but it paid well and kept him and his daughter fed with a good home. Sarah hands him a box and he looks at her as if she grew two heads.

“What’s this?,”

“Your birthday,” is all she says. Tony opens the box and is surprised by what’s inside. A watch, a brand new on at that.

“You were complaining that your other one was broken, so I figured.... ya know,” Sarah was nervous, she was always nervous about getting people presents, afraid they wouldn’t like them.

Tony immediately takes it out the box and puts it on.

“Ya like it?,” she wore a big smile on her face, absolutely hopeful.

Tony stares at the watch and frowns, “H-honey this is...,” he holds it up to his ear

“What?,” her smile dropped and she leaned in to see what was wrong

“It’s nice but I- I think it’s stuck... it’s not..,”

“What?,” her eyes go wide and she snatched his wrist to look at the watch, “No no no no,”

She stops and realizes the watch is working just fine, she pushes his arm away and rolls her eyes, sitting back in her spot, “Oh, ha haa,”

Tony laughs to himself and shakes his head, “Where did you get the money for this?,

She lies back down and shrugs, “Drugs... I sell hardcore drugs,”

“Oh good, you can start helping me with the mortgage then,” he leans forward for the remote and turns the tv on for them both to watch.

“Mtch,” she scoffs, “You wish,”

They both watch the tv for awhile until Sarah’s eyes get heavy and she’s back in a deep slumber. Tony makes sure she’s asleep all the way before picking her up and moving her to her room where she can comfortably sleep in her own bed.

“Goodnight, baby girl,” Tony plants a kiss on her head and lets her rest.

————

Sarah woke back up to the phone ringing, it’d been ringing for a while but it just now seeped its way into Sarah’s subconscious later waking her up. Trudging to the house phone she answers it to hear her frantic uncle.

“Hello?,”

“Sarah, honey. I need you to get your daddy on the phone,” he kept it short and simple.

“Uncle Steve? What time is it?,” she runs the sleep from her eyes wondering why her uncle is calling at a time like this

“I need to talk to your dad now. There’s someth-,”

Before Steve could finish, the line went dead and it left Sarah confused.

“Uncle Steve? Hello!,” she looks at the phone weird before just hanging up and putting it back on the dock.

“What was that all about?,” she mutters to herself, “Dad? Dad? You here?,” she roams the housebij search for Tony. She goes to his room expecting to find him there only to find it empty, but with the tv on, on the news.

“It appears that what we initially reported as riots seem to be somehow connected to the nationwide pandemic.,” the reporter states but Sarah has no idea what she’s talking about.

“Where the heck are you?,” talking to herself yet again, she stops to watch the report.

“We've received reports that victims afflicted with the infection show signs of increased aggression and--“

“That’s nearby,” she realizes.

A cop’s voice breaks into the feed, “We need to get everybody out of here now, there’s a gas leak,” —- “Hey, move!,”

“There’s some commotion coming from behi-,” the reporter continues speaking, not realizing the cop is talking to her.

“Get out of here!- lady, get the hell outta here right-,” An explosion. That’s what Sarah heard- not only on the tv but right out the window- she could see it right from the window.

“Uh- what was that?,” realizing she’s alone, Sarah begins to worry.

“Dad??,” she shouts, leaving his room to look throughout the house, “Dad?? What is going on?,” She wasn’t sure what to do. She heard a faint vibrating when she heads downstairs, realizing it’s Tony’s phone.

“There’s his phone,” she picks it up, “8 missed calls?,” She opens his phone to see frantic messages from her uncle.

“Where the hell are you? Call me!," — "On my way"... she reads to herself.

All she can hear is her neighbor’s dog barking and car alarms. She heads to her dad’s den and sees him rush in from the sliding glass door.

“There you are!,” she sighs in relief.

“Sarah, you okay?,”

“Yeah?”

“Has anyone come in here?,” her dad’s behaviornis throwing her off.

Tony begins to go through his drawers to look for his gun. Finding the box and taking it out to load it. Ready for anything to come.

“No? Why would anyone come in here?,”

“Don’t go near the doors! J-just stay back there,”

“Dad, you’re kind of freaking me out,” Sarah’s voice begins to tremble- what the hell is going on? Why is everyone so frantic?

“It’s the Coopers. S-Something isn’t right with them. I think they’re sick,”

But why would them being sick warrant a gun?

“What kind of sick?,”

Before Tony can answer his daughter, Jimmy Cooper bangs on the door, startling the two.

“Jesus!,”

“Dad?,”

“Jimmy!,”

Sarah hears the clicks of her dad’s gun. Something isn’t right.

“Honey, c’mere, c’mere,” Tony puts Sarah behind him.

“It’s okay,” she whispers to herself.

Jimmy keeps banging on the glass door until the glass gives and he runs inside. Her dad was right, he was sick. But what kind of sickness could cause him to act like this?

“J-Jimmy just stay back! Jimmy I’m warning you!!,”

“Oh my God,” Sarah backs further away.

Jimmy begins to run toward Tony and Tony shoots him, he had not other choice.

“Oh God!,” Sarah screams.

“Go. Go!!,”

Tony has to drag Sarah away from the scene.

“Y-you shot him,” tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t comprehend anything right now. She has no idea what the hell was going on. She was scared, beyond scared.

“Sarah,”

“I just saw him this morning!,”

“Listen to me. Something bad is going on,” he hold her shoulders so she can pay attention to him, “We have got to get out of here. Do you understand me?,”

Sarah didn’t argue, she didn’t fight it. Whatever was happening she wanted to get away from it... now.

“Yeah,”

Tony notices headlights as a car pulls into his driveway.

“Steve,” whispering to himself, “C’mon honey,”

They rush outside and Steve gets out, “Where the hell have you been? You have any idea what’s going on out there?,”

He rushes to get Sarah in the car, “I got some notion. C’mon baby, get in the car,”

Sarah was trembling. Safety. That’s all she wanted.

“Holy shit, you got blood all over you,” Steve points out.

“It’s not mine,” Tony grunts, “Lets just get outta here,”

Steve gets back in the truck, “They're saying half the people in the city have lost their minds.”

Tony didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted to get out of there, “Can we just please go?,”

Steve wouldn’t shut up, he wouldn’t just shut up, hearing what he was saying worked Sarah up even more, “Some sort of parasite or somethin'. You gonna tell me what happened?,”

“Later.”

Steve begins to pull out of the driveway, “Hey Sarah. How ya holding up, honey?,”

“I’m fine,” she swallows thickly. She wasn’t fine, she was far from fine. “Can we hear what’s on the radio?,”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Steve begins to drive away from the house but little did anyone know that they’d never see it again. Life how it was an hour ago would never be like that ever again.

Steve tried to find a steady station but it’s all just static. Tony has no signal. They were fucked.

“No cellphone. No radio. Yeah, we're doin' great” Tony scoffs.

“A minute ago the news man wouldn’t shut up,”

“Did they say where to go?,”

Steve thinks, recalling the specific details and instructions, “He said, ah... Army's puttin' up roadblocks on the highway. No gettin' into Travis County,”

“That’s means we need to get the hell out. Take 71,”

“S’where I’m headed,”

Sarah had so many questions she wasn’t sure where to start. She sees and hears a bunch of cop cars with their sirens on, speeding in the opposite direction of where they were going.

“Did they say how many are dead?,” she was curious but she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know.

“Probably a lot,” Steve answers, “Found this one family all mangled inside their house,”

“Steve,” Tony scolds. Sarah didn’t need to hear all that right now.

“Fuck,” Tony couldn’t believe everything went to shit so fast, “How the hell did this happen?,”

Steve sighs and shrugs, foot heavy on the gas, “They got no clue. But we ain't the only town. At first they were saying it was just the South. Now they're going on about the East Coast, the West Coast... Holy hell,”

They were passing many homes and buildings that were on fire. Sarah worries if they’d make it out safely.

“Are we sick too? Like... Jimmy!,”

“No. No of course not,” Tony wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job convincing her but he couldn’t have her freaking out right now even if he was unsure.

“How do you know?,”

“They uh,” Steve needed a recovery, “They said it's just ah, people in the city. We're good,”

“Didn't Jimmy work in the city?,”

Tony couldn’t admit all her questions were making him anxious. He just wanted silence but he did what he had to do to calm her.

“That's right, he did,”

“We're fine. Trust me,” Steve reassures

“A- Alright,”

Steve notices some people on the side of the road and slows down

“Let’s see what they need,”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?,” Tony’s eyes were wide, “keep driving!,”

Tony had survival instinct. As bad as it seems you can stop for just anyone in these predicaments.

“They got a kid, Tony,”

“So do we!,”

“But we have room,” Sarah butts in

“Hey!!,” the passerby is waving their arms back and forth to get Steve to stop.

“Keep driving, Steve,”

“Heeey! Stop stop, please!!,”

Steve reluctantly kept driving and Tony is relieved that he didn’t make the stupid decision to stop.

“You haven’t seen what I seen. Someone else will come along,”

“We should have helped them,” Sarah felt bad. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if that was them in the spot of those people back there.

Steve makes it into the city, only to find a traffic jam on 71. Everyone else and their mother had the same damn idea.

“Oh this is bad,” Steve slams his hands o the steering wheel.

“Well.. we could backtrack and-,”

“Hey, what the fuck man, let’s go!!,” a man gets out of his car, yelling at those ahead of him. More of the sick people come running out of nowhere and attack him. His screams echo in Sarah’s ears but she couldn’t look away.

What is wrong with these people? What sickness, what parasite could cause this?!?! They’re tearing him apart!!

“Holy shit,” Steve swears

“oh my God,” that’s all Sarah can say. She’s seen too many things in such a short time span.

“Get away!!,”

“Turn us around, Steve. Steve!!,” Tony has to snap Steve out of it.

“Holy shit,” Steve repeats himself. The sick begin to run to the truck and Steve quickly puts it in reverse to get away. Sarah screams as the car stalls while Steve puts it back and drive and the sick bangs on the window.

“What the fuck just happened?!,” Steve shouts, “did you see that?,”

“Yes. I saw it,” Tony couldn’t find it in himself to shout about what just played out in front of his eyes. His goal was to get as far away as possible.

“Turn here, turn here,” Tony instructs. They turn onto a side street to find it flooded with people trying to run away. Everything up in flames.

“Come on people, move!,” Steve lays it down on his horn.

“What are they running from?” Sarah questions. But her question is ignored.

“Get us outta here, Steve,”

“Can’t you see I’m trying!,”

Sarah couldn’t handle their bickering. All of this was too much for her but she couldn’t bring herself to cry, not now, no.

“We can’t stop here, Steve,”

“Well I can’t fuckin’ drive through em all, Tony!,”

“Well back the hell up then,”

“They’re behind me too!!,” So many people running everywhere. So many screams. Too much noise of glass breaking and things exploding. Sarah wasn’t sure what to focus on.

“There,” Tony points, “There! There!,”

“Hold on!,” Steve warns

“Go!,”

Steve gets around the motor home that was blocking the passage.

Sarah gasps loudly as she sees an oncoming car ready to t-bone them,

“Look out!!,”

———

Sarah wakes up to the cries and grunts of the sick. Tony still knocked out in the front seat as she’s surround by broken glass

“Dad?” Sarah calls, “Hey, hey,” shaking him awake.

“What?,” he sees one of the sick, thrashing as its trapped in a car, “get back, baby. Get back, look, I’m okay,”

Tony gets himself out by stomping the windshield out. Before he can straighten himself up to get Sarah out, one of the sick attacks him and he’s doing his best to fight it off but Steve comes and bashes it’s head in

“Dad!,” Sarah calls out

“I’m here, baby,” Tony opens the door to get her out, “I’m here. C’mone gimme your hand,”

He helps her out and notices she’s limping

“What is it?,”

“My leg hurts,” she whines, trying to keep herself together but the pain in her leg was a pain she’s never felt before.

“How bad?,”

“Pretty bad,”

“Guys,” Steve gets their attention as he scopes out the area, “We’re gonna need to run,”

“Oh God,” Tony sighs, he hands his gun to Steve and picks Sarah up. It’s the only option, “Keep us, safe,”

“Hold on tight, Sarah,”

“Okay,” she buries herself into his chest, “I’m scared, dad,”

Tony couldn’t let her know he was too. He had to be strong for his babygirl. He had to get her out of there.

“Tony watch out!,”

“Sarah, keep your eyes closed, honey!,”

Whether she kept her eyes closed or not, it didn’t help the sound of the screams. Blood-curdling, terrified screams, she was experiencing a horror movie first hand. She hears more screams as yet another blast goes off

“Keep running!!,” Steve shouts over all the commotion.

“Those people are on fire, dad,” her eyes have never seen such terror before today.

“Don’t look baby, just keep looking at me,”

“Okay,”

“Over there!,”

Tony follows Steve towards an exit but see that there’s a pileup that’s preventing them from getting through.

“We’re gonna get out of this, honey. I promise,” he whispers to Sarah.

“There’s to many of them,” Steve huffs, clearly out of breath, “this way! Through the alley, go!,”

Just when they were about to turn a corner, one of the sick jumps out and tries to attack Tony, he nearly drops Sarah trying to keep it away but Steve comes and kills it with a single gunshot. The sound makes Sarah jump.

They continue to run, Sarah had no idea where but as long as it gets them away, “We’re almost there. We’re almost to safety, honey,” They get to a bar and in through the back door but more of the sick are coming and Steve has to hold em off.

“Go! Get to the highway!,” Steve shouts over the growls of the sick

“What?,”

“You got Sarah! I can outrun em,”

“Uncle Steve!!,”

“I’ll meet you there,”

Tony would bring Steve back to life just to kill him again if he didn’t make it. Tony continues to run, despite Sarah’s protests of not wanting to leave him.

“He’s gonna be alright. He’s gonna make it. We’re almost there,”

Sarah can hear the sick people getting closer, and there’s more, “they’re getting closer, dad!,”

Gunshots ring through the air and she hears no more noise of the sick. A bright light shines in their faces and they see it’s a soldier. This calms both of their nerves as they feel safe. He would lead them to safety. Right?

“Hey! We need help,” Tony steps closer only for the soldier to keep his gun raised

“Stop!,” the soldier is visibly shaking.

“Please!,” Tony begs, “It’s my daughter. I think her leg is broken,”

“Stop right there!,” the soldier was adamant.

Sarah was confused. Aren’t the soldiers there to help?

The soldier picks up his radio and Tony watches closely.

“Got a couple of civilians in the outer perimeter. Please advise.”

“Dad, what about uncle Steve?,”

“We’re gonna get you safe first and go back for him okay?,”

“Sir... there’s a little girl,”

The soldier’s tone didn’t sit well with Tony. Whoever was on the other side of that radio had no plans to save them.

“But... yes, sir”

“Listen, buddy. We’ve just been through hell. Okay we just nee-,”

The soldier cocks his gun, ready to shoot them. Tony tries to slowly back away, “Oh shit,”

He fires rounds, making Tony fall back down the hill they just came from and Sarah screams. The soldier runs after them and shines his light in Tony’s face. Barrel of the gun at point blank range.

“Please don’t!” Tony’s hands are reached out in front of his face. But before the soldier could pull the trigger, more shots sound off and he falls dead.

Steve comes out the woodwork and and runs up to them but before he can get anything out, the cries of Sarah are heard and that stops everyone in their tracks.

“Oh no,” Steve mumbles.

Tony rushing over to here and sees her holding her stomach.

“Sarah! Okay honey, move your hands, baby”

Sarah squeals in pain. It’s a seering sensation and it’s hard for her to breathe. She grabbed hold of his neck with one hand and held herself with the other.

Tony sees that she was hit. Tony feels sick to his stomach. His voice is quivering, he doesn’t know what to do. All this time he was being strong for her but now he’s scared. Actually scared.

“I know baby, I know,” he can feel his throat tightening as he tries to hold back tears.

All he can think to do is add pressure to her wound but she just screams in pain. Her sobbing is uncontrollable and she can feel her grip on what she knew as life to be loosening.

“Listen to me, I know this hurts, baby. You're gonna be okay, baby. Stay with me!,” he was losing faith. Her hiccuping and clawing at his hands made chills run down his spine, “Alright, I'm gonna pick you up. I know, baby. I know it hurts. Come on, baby, please. I know, baby. I know”

He was pleading with her and Steve could only stand there and watch. He knew his niece wasn’t going to make it but he couldn’t just say that. Steve himself had to turn away as tears welled in his eyes.

Tony looks to Steve for help when Sarah’s cries finally cease. No hiccuping, no squeals, no thrashing, nothing.

He looks back to her to see her just staring up at him, “Sarah!,” he calls for her, “Baby,” he wheezes for air as he realizes what’s happened. But he doesn’t want to believe it, “don’t do this to me baby,”

He was rocking her back and forth, he couldn’t let her go. There’s no way he’s just let her go. His voice was trembling and finally he lets himself cry. Tony was willing to give any and everything just to have her back, just to have her breathing in his arms again.

“Come on... No, no... Oh no, no, no... Please. Oh, God. Please, please, don't do this. Please, God...”

——————

well I hope y’all enjoyed the first chapter of Survive!!!

Please reblog and comment!! it means so much

Tags: @mbaku-babygirl @blackreaders-assemble @yournonlocalpoc @vozit @veryhellshdia @hisxblackxqueen @dumbchick @warmchick @unicornslothfish @homeorbust @babybubastis @blackmissfrizzle @retroxvailles @spideys-wife @xye-weirdo @here-for-your-bullshit @valynsia @valkyriesnymph @chonisberonica @crawlingnightmares @valentinevirgo @hail-meezus @pastelastronomy24

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sergeantjbuckybarnes · 5 years

Text

Poly!Tomdaya x F!Reader HeadCanon # 5

Reading headcanon # 1, 2, 3, 4 here: x, x, x, x.

NOW TAKING REQUEST FOR THIS PAIRING

*this was an idea from the lovely @shawnsassymendes, please go check out their account !!

messing around with the paparazzi

one day, tom brings up the idea of going to a red carpet together

he brings it up during date night at your place

when the three of you are playing video games

you immediately that shut down

not because you don’t want to go with tom

you would love to attend a red carpet with zendaya and tom

but,,,

you know that reporters and the media

are a classified b i t c h

when you bring it up

zendaya is one that soothes you

but it’s important to outright come out with the relationship

instead of trying to hide it

because the media will try and spin their own narrative on it

so you agree to go

preparation. lots of preparation.

lots of skincare

you’ve never tried on more dresses than before

h e e l s

zendaya never thought she could been turned on by heels but holy shit

the day of the red carpet event, you get to barely spend any time with either of them

video-chatting while getting your makeup done

you looking fucking stunning

when you get to see Tom, oh boy

suits are definitely his thing

you’re nervous the whole drive over there

knee shaking, finger-tapping

you would bite your nails if they hadn’t been done

Tom taking your hand to calm you down

hand holding

kisses to the back of your hand

the actual event isn’t that bad

except for the flashing lights

consistent posing

the reporters are going crazy

tom makes it 100 percent worse when he holds your hand

in front of everyone

the media has gone insane

you still have a good time despite it

the next morning however

your phone is blaring

text messages, tweets, phone calls

you have to turn your phone off at some point

but you get to see an article that popped up

it’s not a surprise that you start crying

people are calling you a “homewrecker”

“whore”

every name in the book

multiple tweets saying you should die

telling Zendaya to call you out

articles saying that you broke them up

that tom and zendaya are over

you feel like shit

you take a long shower so you can cry without them hearing you

but zendaya was awake the moment you left the bed

she gets to see the shitstorm that is going on

waking tom so they fix this

and make you feel better too

within the next few weeks

zendaya brings up the idea of going to a fashion show together

it gets you nervous again

but you agree

because you want to try again

and you like seeing your girlfriend in extremely stunning clothes

clothing that is high-class

items made just for you

h e e l s

matching jewelry

you’re still nervous going down another red carpet

she presses kisses into your hair

hand holding

the reporters are a little bit more low-key here

a lot less flashing lights

zendaya looks ethereal in her outfit

she shines when she answering questions

heart eyes emoji

Photographers take pictures of you two together

it doesn’t phase you that you’re still holding hands

the media is going yet again insane

nobody knows what’s going on

yet nobodies pointing out the obvious

more tweets calling you everything but nice names

people tagging tom in posts about the situation

articles saying that you’re a fluke

still being accused about breaking them up

having to delete every social media app on your phone

angry tom

angry zendaya

furious rants

you try to tell them it’s not a big deal and that’s fine

(hint: it’s not fine)

trying to fix things but lol you gotta go back to work so

back home you go

tom and zendaya go out to dinner one night

which was fine with you

it was supposed to be low-key,

no paparazzi, fans, etc

but as usual, pictures got leaked

they looked very cute, sitting at the table

holding hands

sharing dessert

UwU

(if you keep the pictures saved, they’ll never know)

but oh boy the media is hella confused like

nothing is making sense

articles are saying that saying two different ideas

“tomdaya is over”

“tomdaya isn’t over”

nobodies saying the obvious thing

like not one media outlet is getting the truth

at this point, it’s a joke between the three of you

like you have a competition of who can find the funniest articles

(you are in lead with “have aliens wormed their way into the tomdaya relationship ?”)

with a major premiere coming up

a pr person brings up the idea of all three of you guys attending at the same time

how’s that even work though

but it low-key makes sense

so,,,

matching outfits

like put tom in his maroon suit

and zendaya in a black dress

and you ??

a combination of a maroon and black dress

the same piece jewelry is worn three different ways

ot3 tbh

the most stunning trio e v e r

so the premiere ??

did I mention you’re scared like

this is a big time

like there’s no coming back after this

big time

hand h o l d i n g

despite the nervousness, there’s excitement in the air

wanting the world to know about you

showing you off

so the red carpet has the three of you walking together

two of you holding hands and posing while the other looks in adoration

ot3 posing

media is like wildfire

everybody is going insane

fans are starting to sway in opinion

tweets coming out about shipping you three

heart meme edits

some fans are still angry

they think you’re ruining the relationship

but all in all,

its lit fam

the end of the night leave you much happier than the night began

tom looking at his best girls with adoration

zendaya has never been happier

#tom holland x reader #zendaya x reader #tom x reader x zendaya #tomdaya x reader #poly imagines

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greekowl87 · 6 years

Note

Kiss prompt: 3?

3. Kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person

A/N: I love ‘Tithonus.’ I’ve written two post ep fics for it. Well, I did a third because I freaking love that episode. Sorry, this took so long @momdadimpoppunk ! I finally have time to get to this wonderful prompt and I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any typos. Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder had been in the archives researching the lead for Scully when he knew something was wrong. He had felt the sharp stabbing pain in his gut like a knife carving out a piece of him. The pain had been so much that he had dropped the files to the ground. He knew then something was horribly wrong. He had only had felt something similar to this twice in his life: Scully’s abduction and cancer.

He wasn’t a big believer in fate despite being a believer in UFOs and little gray men. He learned to believe after Samantha’s abduction. He was open to any alternative to the truth; anything to keep a glimmer of hope alive. Ever since he met Scully, it gave him reason to hope but for a different reason. After Antarctica and everything that had conspired the past summer, she stuck with him. She was his reason he still went into the FBI every day even after they had lost everything. It was small things. A humorous smile for a sly joke slipped between background interviews. Companionable solidarity as they chased fertilizer leads across the country. He never asked why but he never took her for granted.

But right now, Mulder knew something wrong. Very wrong. He didn’t care if Kerch would chew his ass out or burn him at the stake. He needed to go to New York right now.

… …

The phone call came right before the jet left for Laguardia.

Mulder drove his car to the airport, grabbed the backup overnight bag he kept in the trunk of his car, and paid with his own credit card for the quickest flight to New York. He picked the phone up on the first ring, somehow already knowing what the phone call was about. There was no greeting or anything. Straight to the point.

“Is this Fox Mulder?”

Mulder recognized that tone of voice. It came from a woman this time but it was just like all the others. Short and to the point. No friendly chit chat or scorning. Just getting the job done.

“This is.”

“Sir, I have you listed as the next of kin for a one Dana Scully? Is that correct.”

“It is.”

“Sir, Agent Scully was brought in earlier this afternoon with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. She’s currently in surgery.”

“What hospital is she staying at,” he demanded.

“Sir, it’s really too soon to tell or jump on a flight to New York.”

“I’m already here. What hospital is she at?”

“St. Catherine’s in Manhattan but as I told you there really is no need now.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

Mulder hung up and shoved his cellphone into his pocket without another thought. Taxi, taxi, taxi, Mulder thought desperately. Despite all their cases, his time at the FBI, and growing up on the Vineyard, he had only been to Manhattan a handful of times. He found the taxi zone and promptly ordered one straight to the hospital. As the cabbie drove, Mulder stared listlessly out the window as his brain went through countless scenarios on what could have gone wrong. Gunshot. Surgery. Was it serious? Life-threatening? Or just a scratch?

By the time he reached the hospital, Mulder was no less calm.

He demanded information, made a scene, and almost got escorted from the hospital despite him waving his badge. Between this chaos, he was able to discern a few things: abdominal gunshot wound that should have killed her, and fired by Agent Ritter. Eventually, he was directed to the third floor, the surgery ward wherein the waiting area he found the little shit Agent Ritter. Mulder felt a burning rage. Rage against Them that orchestrated Scully’s abdication. Rage against the Smoking Man who could have cured her cancer. Rage against sonofabitch Agent Ritter for getting trigger happy and shooting Scully before even identifying the proper suspect. The difference was this time, Ritter was real and corporal in front of him. He had someone to work out his rage. He could do something.

Without the care of the consequences or what may happen, Mulder dropped his overnight bag and flew to Agent Ritter, slamming him against the wall as the picture shook. Ritter tried to struggle against him but Mulder had the element of surprise and physics on his side. Pushing his arm into Ritter’s neck, he barked, “How could you shoot another agent? Are you that stupid? Scully was right there and you shot her!”

Ritter gasped for breath. “Accident…it was…an accident.”

“Fuck that! You almost killed her!”

“Accident…”

He was so angry and desperate to do something. His rage withered and he through Ritter against the wall. “Fucking bastard,” he spat. “Get lost before I do something I regret.”

Mulder should have been reported or even arrested but Ritter bit his lip, nodded, and slouched away down the hall towards the elevator. Mulder ran his hands through his hair in anger. There wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

… … .

Seconds ticked away on the large white clock.

The big hand inched around full circle as the little hand slowly slouched toward one a.m. How long had Mulder been here? How long had Scully been in surgery? He had pulled his tie loose and tossed his jacket over his bag.

There had been no news. He watched the hospital staff and random strangers walking the halls like ghosts. Mulder began to make up stories for everyone he saw. Skinny man was a magician that didn’t tell anyone. That nurse cross stitched cats on everything. He smiled sadly at the game he used to play with Scully. There was a doctor approaching him now. He was different from everyone else as he came towards Mulder a purpose. He looked tired and disheveled but smiled at the FBI agent.

“Agent Mulder?”

“Yes. Is Scully all right?”

The old doctor smiled. “Agent Scully is very, very lucky to be alive.” He took a deep breath and took off his glasses. “The bullet entered right above the stomach. Hit the spleen. I’m not going to coat it lightly. She should have hemorrhaged on the apartment, in the ambulance, or on my table. She should have died but she never stopped breathing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen anything like it?” Brief memories of an old man from the archived files flashed in his head. “She’s alive, right?”

“She should have died instantly.” The doctor snapped his fingers for emphasis. “But she wouldn’t give up. Just came out of surgery in the last hour. She’s in recovery and then we’ll be moving her to a room if nothing happens in the next hour.”

“I want to stay.”

“Agent Mulder, she could wake up now or 24 hours from now. I recommend you get some sleep.”

“I want to be the first thing that she sees when she wakes up.”

The exhausted doctor stared at Mulder for a moment before nodding. “I’ll have the nurse come get you when we move her.”

… … .

The staff moved Scully sometime around three a.m to a private room. The nurses must have taken pity on Mulder because they left him with a blanket and small pillow to use with the recliner that was in the private room. By four a.m, Scully was still passed out and Mulder made a vain attempt to get comfortable by turning the room’s tv on low and stretching his lanky body out in the chair next to her. He reached for her hand and simply held it.

Mulder turned onto his side slightly and watched as the early morning light began to show through the blinds. The rays danced across Scully’s face and mused red hair. He thought he could already seeing color coming back to her face. The steady beat of her heart on the monitor lulled his exhausted mind asleep.

… … . .

Mulder dreamed of kissing Scully.

He dreamed of her a lot ever since the first time he had almost lost her the first time. His own dreams began to grow more adventurous. He would kiss her so much that his own body would curve around her. He dreamed of kissing her like there was no tomorrow. She suffered so much and she deserved the world. She deserved everything. Mulder dreamed of showing Scully how much he cared for her, wanted her, and how much she deserved better. From him, from everyone. Of course, in his dreams, he was able to do it right and take care of her. But not in real life. A new image of Scully appeared in his dreams, bloody, crumpled, and starring lifelessly off into the distance.

No, no, no!

He dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to her abdominal wound. The blood leaked through his fingers. Her eyes looked for him and he saw fear. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Scully, you hear me? We’re going to be okay.”

“Mulder,” she whispered. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid.”

“I know, I know.” His mind raced as he pulled her against him. “You don’t die though, Scully. The doctor said you are going to be fine.”

“Mulder, I saw him. I saw death.”

“Stop talking like that.” He could feel his own tears running hot down his face. “You can’t leave like this. It isn’t fair to either of us.”

“Tell me. “Her weak bloody hand cupped his cheek and forced him to look at her. “Tell me, Mulder.”

“I love you,” he whispered and kissed her as if that was enough to save her.

… … .

Something was weakly squeezing Mulder’s hand as he awoke from his nightmare. He jumped awkwardly in the recliner but the weak hand grasp anchored him. He immediately remembered his bedridden partner who was likely still asleep and unconscious. He turned his bewildered gaze onto Scully who, beneath the hospital blankets and machinery, watched him sleepily.

“You were talking in your sleep.” Her voice sounded so small. “I would have woken you but you kept saying, ‘I love you.’ I thought you might have been dreaming about sunflower seeds.”

“No,” he said through his laughter. Tears were streaming down his cheeks again and he didn’t know why. “You’re awake.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Of course I am.” She tried to shift in the hospital bed and winced in pain. “Where am I?”

“Still New York.”

Mulder got up, never letting go of her hand. He could not contain himself anymore. He bowed over her and kissed her. Within the kiss, he poured ever possible emotion and feeling he had for her. Scully pulled him closer as much as her injuries would allow. “Wow,” she chuckled. “Talk about the breath of life.”

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I should have been there.”

Scully watched him as he tried to get comfortable next to her on the bed and shifted this way and that, left and right, until she stilled him with her other hand. “Just be here now, Mulder.” She looked down to her abdomen where under the blanket hid her hospital gown, the bandage, and her wound. “I imagine you have already given Ritter a piece of your mind.”

He gave a weak smile. “I’m surprised I’m still here.”

She nodded. “You were crying too in your sleep.”

“Just a bad dream. It’s better now.” Mulder did not care anymore and threw caution to the wind. He kissed her again and again. “I’m just glad you are going to be okay.”

Scully smiled weakly and encouraged him to lounge back beside her. He gave her an easy smile and nuzzled her hair. Both of them turned their gaze to the window and the morning light. “Do you want me to close the blinds for you, Scully so you can get some more sleep?”

“No, this is good. This is perfect.”

#prompt #asked and answered #xfiles #xf fic #txf fic #txf #msr fic #msr #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #tithonus

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lainelannister · 5 years

Text

So as I mentioned earlier today...I did some #MeToo-inspired re-writing to an old modern AU of mine, “Slayers and Stones”. You’ll find the edited version below- I’d love any feedback anyone can provide! If you’ve read the old version, I’d love to hear if the edits are working for you...and if this is your first time reading, those responses are also super valuable!

Her father calls her into his study early in the morning, a rare smile on his serious face as he passes her a laminated name badge. “Your internship begins tomorrow.”

Sansa looks down at the red-and-gold tag. The Lannister Inc. logo emblazoned across the top, her pseudonym (“Alayne Stone,” she likes the sound of it well enough) in bold font below, and beneath that...

“Marketing and PR?” She cannot keep a dark frown from pulling at her lips; Lannister Inc. has a top-notch corporate analysis program, and she’d hoped that she might have a chance to experience it first-hand...

But of course, this isn’t strictly a learning experience, is it?

“It’s the best place for you. You’ll be privy to every nasty rumor that passes through that place, which is very, very useful to us.” Ned Stark still wears his smile, but it has yet to reach his eyes- corporate espionage is not attractive to him, and if not for Jon Arryn’s urging, she doubts that he’d be encouraging her to do this in the first place.

“Besides, the PR department handles press releases, events, parties...it would be the most fun for you, love.”

Sansa grinds her molars together at that; she may have graduated cum laude from Bryn Mawr with plans to start at Harvard Business School in the fall, but in her father’s eyes, she’ll always be that giggly, vapid seventeen year old, throwing a tantrum because another girl wore the same dress to the prom.

But she just smiles back and nods. “I’m sure you’re right, Daddy. I’ll go and do my best.”

“That’s my girl.” And in spite of her annoyance, Sansa feels a flush of pride at her father’s affectionate words, and she eagerly steps into his open arms and lets him hug her tight.

“You’ll fit right in over at Lannister. They’ve got a thing for blondes.”

Sansa glares at her brother, who leans casually against the doorframe of her bedroom. She reaches up to run a self-conscious hand through her newly-highlighted hair; auburn curls now shine strawberry-blonde, and she has yet to become used to it.

When she doesn’t answer, Robb steps into the room and crosses his arms over his chest, a bright smile on his handsome face. “What are you planning to wear?”

“That.” She gestures to her closet door, where she’s hung the sensible pantsuit that her mother gave her right after graduation- “Classic, good for interviews,” Catelyn Stark had said.

Robb plucks at the fabric before shaking his head in distaste. “Sansa, I’ve been to Lannister Inc. You can’t wear that...you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

It’s not like her brother to pay attention to women’s fashion; the novelty of the conversation is enough to hold Sansa’s interest. “It’s a high-powered corporation. You’re telling me that the women don’t wear business suits?”

“They do...but not like that.” She’s starting to understand his implication, and her cheeks blush, just a little.

“Then what should I wear, Robb?”

To her surprise, her brother opens her closet door and begins to rifle through her clothing. It’s a comical sight, and she laughs.

“You seem to know your way around a girl’s closet. Do you pick out outfits for Jeyne, too?”

He makes some retort, but his head is buried deep enough in the closet that she cannot make out the words. Finally, he re-emerges, passing her a set of hangers and a pair of shoes.

“There. That’s what you should wear.”

Sansa huffs an incredulous breath through her nose- her brother has selected a black cocktail dress, short and tight. The other hanger holds a fitted black blazer, and the shoes are four-inch stiletto heels.

“What, is Lannister, Inc. an elaborate cover for a fancy prostitution ring?”

Robb rolls his eyes and smirks before heading to the door.

“Fine, don’t listen to me. But you’ll go there tomorrow, and you’ll see that I was just trying to help.”

When Robb leaves, Sansa evaluates her options. And with a beleaguered sigh, she places the sensible pantsuit back in her closet.

When she arrives at the skyscraper that houses Lannister Inc., Sansa realizes that Robb was completely correct. There are more svelte, leggy blondes here than there are at Conde Nast, everyone dressed to the nines. And not just the women; every man here looks like he walked off the set of a GQ photo shoot. She thinks for a moment of the lax dress code at Stark Incorporated: her father’s worn Frye boots, Robb’s polo-and-khaki uniform, Theon’s leather jacket. The comparison makes her giggle under her breath.

After a brief meeting with Kevan Lannister, the head of HR (an older, somewhat stern man, but pleasant enough), she’s ushered into the office of Genna Frey, the director of marketing. She takes a seat beside a handsome blonde man who appears about her age; her heartbeat skips when he smiles at her and asks her name, but the excitement quickly abates when he continues to speak, and she realizes how dreadful, pompous, and unpleasant he is. She makes a mental note to stay clear of this one ( Jeffrey, was it?) and turns her attention to the heavy-set, no-nonsense woman behind the wide mahogany desk.

The tasks she sets for the interns are very menial at first: archiving press clippings, calling publications to follow up on print deadlines. Sansa is a good listener, always has been, but even her best efforts at eavesdropping reap few results. She returns home each evening with dread building in her stomach, for she hates to look at her father and Uncle Jon night after night and tell them that no, she still hasn’t learned anything new. Failure sits heavily on her shoulders and keeps her awake deep into the night.

And yet she forces down coffee after coffee (even sneaking the occasional Adderall from Arya’s medicine cabinet) and throws herself into the work. Tedious as it is, she strives to surpass the other interns, and when Ms. Frey lectures her co-workers, holding up Alayne’s work and declaring, “This is how you document. I don’t want to see any more half-assed shit from you people, I want to see this ,” she blushes as brightly as she does at her father’s praise.

Finally, at long last, Sansa receives a reward for her hard work. There’s a meeting scheduled with the senior executives to discuss “the family matter”, and Genna invites her to come along and take notes.

(She does not invite Joffrey into the closed-door session, in spite of his Lannister blood, and Sansa feels a sudden admiration for Genna’s value of talent over nepotism.)

Sansa is, of course, well acquainted with the PR disaster that has befallen Lannister Incorporated. In fact, it would not exist at all without Ned Stark and Jon Arryn; they gained knowledge of the story from an executive at the Baratheon Corporation, and they’ve installed Sansa at Lannister to report on the fall-out.

Goosebumps prickle up and down her arms as she takes a seat beside Genna. The CEO is not present- in the weeks since she started here, Sansa has never once seen the mysterious Tywin Lannister, and she finds herself imagining him as a disembodied head surrounded by smoke, like the Wizard of Oz. But Kevan is here, along with CFO Petyr Baelish, Junior Vice President Tyrion Lannister, and Senior Vice President Jaime Lannister.

Everyone at the table appears tense, but as she looks at the man seated directly across from her, she thinks that she’s never seen a person more drained and empty-looking than Jaime Lannister.

She’s noticed him before, of course, sauntering down the hallways in his perfectly-tailored Italian suits, golden hair neatly combed back, tall and confident and devastatingly handsome. The junior associates whisper his legend in the break room and by the water cooler- he’s a ruthless, predatory raider, known for crushing smaller companies beneath his feet and pillaging the spoils. “The Slayer,” they call him in tones of hushed reverence. She’s watched with distaste as assistant after intern after associate tries to flirt with him, only to be rebuffed by a distant smile and words of cool courtesy. He’s only spoken to Sansa once, asking to borrow a pen and Post-It. But he winked at her when he handed the pen back, and she’s sure that the smile she gave him in reply was every bit as insipid as the ones she’d seen from all those other silly girls.

But now he does not look at anyone. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes as Tyrion catalogues the leaked information. And it is, as Genna would say, an absolute shitstorm. The former junior vice president, Cersei Lannister, had listened to some extremely bad advice and made an absurd, careless power play for the company. Her illicit dealings and failed investments cost Lannister Inc. millions of dollars, and reports of her questionable character and distasteful personal life brought shame and derision upon the mighty Lannister dynasty.

Tyrion concludes his report by informing everyone that Cersei has been removed from public view and will be unable to do any more harm to the family or the company.

“Where is she?”

Jaime’s voice rings out rather more loudly than is appropriate, and no one can bring themselves to look at him.

(Sansa thinks of some of the more salacious rumors that Jon Arryn has drummed up about Cersei Lannister and her handsome brother, but Uncle Jon has always had a flair for the dramatic...)

“It doesn’t matter, Jaime...”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” He turns on his brother, emerald-green eyes flashing with rage, and Tyrion, usually so poised and glib, actually appears a bit frightened.

But the moment passes quickly, and the younger Lannister brother speaks in as even a tone as he ever does.

“I mean that we need to distance ourselves from her, for the sake of the company. Any outward show of support would make us all look weaker...but if she’s just the bad egg, that’s something that could happen to any family. She’s an embarrassment, and we need to acknowledge that.”

Suddenly, Sansa feels a discordant twang in her stomach at the coldness of it all. Yes, Cersei Lannister is a class-A fuck-up, but she’s still their sister, still one of them...and to just abandon her like that...

Her voice sounds strange in her ears, as though it belongs to someone else. “But she’s your sister.”

Every head whips around to stare at Sansa; Genna’s face glows red with rage as she mutters, “Alayne. Be quiet.”

“What was that, Miss Stone?” Tyrion asks.

She knows that she should shut up, that she must shut up. But the words fall from her lips of their own accord- “She’s family...how can you just hide her somewhere and...and throw her away…?”

“Alayne. Go get my Starbucks order and leave it on my desk. Now, ” Genna seethes.

As she rises from her chair, trying and failing to keep from shaking, she happens to glance across the table. Jaime Lannister watches her, beautiful eyes unblinking and intense.

And then his lips curve into a smile.

When she arrives at work the next day, Sansa finds herself immediately re-routed to HR. Her stomach sinks; she hasn’t told her father about the disaster of yesterday’s meeting, and she has no idea how she’ll explain getting fired...

But Kevan Lannister barely even speaks to her before directing her to a conference room. “Go in, please,” he says.

She mentally steels herself for an apoplectic Genna or a sneering Mr. Baelish, but she finds herself face to face with Brienne Tarth instead.

Sansa took an immediate liking to Jaime Lannister’s executive assistant; she rejects the couture that is the office standard in favor of loose, comfortable suits (“Probably buys them at the Big and Tall Men’s Wearhouse,” one of the catty, pretty office drones once snarked), and she gives off an undeniable air of competence. She’s calm, collected, capable, and discreet, and Sansa considers these qualities far more valuable than any pretty facade.

“Please sit down, Miss Stone,” Brienne says, gesturing to a chair. Sansa sits and waits for the other woman to continue.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve just been promoted.”

“Oh! Congratulations,” Sansa replies, and Brienne’s pretty blue eyes crinkle in a grin.

“Thanks. It’s a great opportunity for me- I’ll be a junior associate in the Boston office.”

“Then you’re leaving?”

“Yes, I move at the end of the week. And that’s why I’ve called you in.”

“Oh?” Sansa lifts a brow in surprise, while her insides jiggle in a hopeful dance- maybe I’m not getting fired...oh, thank God...

“The thing is, this all happened really suddenly, and HR’s been so backed up lately that they haven’t really had time to deal with new hires. Finding a replacement for me will definitely be a long process, lots of interviews...I’ve been with Jaime for five years, and he’s...very particular.”

“Of course.” Five years, that’s a long time...but it makes sense, he obviously relies on her so much...

“Anyway, until we can find someone he’ll like, we need a person to sit at that desk and answer his phones and manage his calendar. It will be a lot more hours than what you’re used to, at the same intern pay rate, so I completely understand if you don’t want to take on the added responsibility-”

“You want me to be Jaime Lannister’s assistant?”

She must be quite a sight- eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar- because Brienne laughs brightly before nodding.

“He asked for you specifically. Will you do it?”

Sansa thinks of the locked folders on the company drive, filled with information only available to the top executives and their assistants- she imagines having access to Jaime’s calendar, intimate knowledge of the second-in-command’s comings-and-goings...she begins to salivate, and she swallows it down.

A red-gold ponytail bobs up and down as she eagerly nods.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

She should have known better. Sansa curses herself for her naivety; just because Jaime gave Brienne the password to the locked files doesn’t mean he’ll hand it over to a twenty-three year old intern he’s barely met. She lets herself wallow in disappointment for a few brief moments, but then forces the feeling aside- there’s got to be another way. She’ll just bide her time; she’s good at being patient.

And so she fields phone calls and handles his e-mail correspondence and schedules meetings. The scheduling is by far the most interesting part of the job; he’s on the board of numerous organizations, and every night is a different gala, a different opening night, a different photo op.

She’d seen his picture on Page Six that morning, taken at a heart-disease benefit the evening before. He wore a tuxedo- he’s even better-looking in a tux than in a suit- and stood with his arm wrapped around his date’s narrow waist: Margaery Tyrell, the heiress to Highgarden Communications, beautiful and striking in Alexander McQueen. The Lannister PR machine desperately wants New York to believe that Jaime and Margaery are romantically involved, but when she considers that she must always arrange for a separate car for Margaery at the end of these events, Sansa thinks it rather unlikely.

Maybe he’s gay, she thinks to herself as she returns from the dry cleaner and enters Jaime’s vacant office, hanging his tux on the door and placing the newly-shined dress shoes beneath it. He certainly dresses well...and Margaery’s gorgeous, but he’s definitely not sleeping with her...

She crosses the room to water the little tree in the corner; Brienne schooled her carefully in the care and keeping of the plant.

She bends over to tip the watering can toward the back of the tree, and she does not hear the door open behind her. When she stands upright, she locks eyes with Jaime, who watches her with a peculiar expression.

“I think it has enough water. You’ve been very thorough.” Sansa nods and places the watering can down as Jaime furrows his brow, gesturing to the tuxedo.

“Where am I going tonight?”

“The opera, Mr. Lannister,” she replies, taking a small step toward the door, in spite of the fact that he’s directly blocking her path.

“Fuck, that’s right.” He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and sighs. “Which one is it?”

“’La Boheme’,” she replies.

“Hmm. I haven’t seen that before.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sansa volunteers with a soft smile. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“You like opera?”

“Yes.” She’s nearly at the door now, but he still hasn’t moved- she’s near enough to catch the scent of his cologne- musk and sandalwood- and her mouth begins to go dry... snap out of it, you’re being an idiot...

“Duly noted.” He grins at her, pivoting his body just enough to give her space to slide through the doorway, but not enough to keep her from brushing her chest against his arm as she tries to pass. “I’ll get you tickets next time.”

“I..I would like that very much. Thank you.”

When she closes the door behind her, Sansa falls into her chair and presses her palm to her heart. She scowls at the quickness of the beats and restrains the urge to smack her head on the keyboard over and over again.

It’s nearly midnight, and she’s completely alone. She’s sure of it- even the cleaning people have left for the weekend. Still, her eyes dart about anxiously as she retrieves the zip drive from her purse and plugs it into her computer. It will work...it has to work.

Bran had been surprised, when she approached him to ask about computer hacking. “I hack into gaming sites, Sansa,” he’d sighed with exasperation. But the same principles must apply, she imagines- she adjusted the codes, tweaked the infrastructure on her own computer, saved it all to the drive. And now she’ll be able to get into the locked files and secure her father some information far more valuable than the Cersei Lannister gossip.

Her toes tap and her fingers twitch with exhilaration- this is it, this is it, I’ll really prove myself now...

So engrossed is she that she does not notice the door behind her swinging open, not until a low voice echoes through the empty office-

“Still here, Alayne?”

She shrieks, whirling her chair around. Jaime stands in the doorway of his office, tie loosened and shirt untucked, a tumbler of scotch in one hand.

But no, I saw him leave for the museum gala, I called the car and got his tux...when did he have time to come back? When I was in the bathroom, maybe...God, I should have checked his office first, stupid, stupid, stupid...

She tries to push her self-loathing aside long enough to answer his question. “Yes, Mr. Lannister. Just trying to finish up the agenda for the next board meeting before the weekend.”

“I appreciate your dedication,” he drawls with a smile. “But can I persuade you to take a break?”

He opens the door to his office wider and gestures to her to enter. She hastily closes the open windows on her computer and complies, shutting the door behind her.

“Do you like scotch?” he asks. She doesn’t really, but her brothers and uncle are fond of it, and she knows she can hold it down when necessary.

When she nods, he fills another tumbler from a crystal carafe and hands it to her. “It’s good, smooth. Aged seventeen years.”

She takes a sip, trying not to wince at the burn of the liquid as it courses down her throat.

“Thank you.”

He sits on the sofa at the corner of his office and nods pointedly to the space beside him. As she lowers herself down, he removes his tie and tosses it on a side table, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt. Sansa fights to keep from staring at the glimpse of his chest left exposed...she takes another sip and regrets the squeakiness of her voice when she asks,

“Why aren’t you at the gala?”

Jaime replies with a dry laugh. “I’m not in a very festive mood tonight.” His eyes darken a bit, and Sansa is reminded of the calls she’d forwarded to him that day from the private investigator. They still won’t tell him where she is, he has to hire his own detective...it’s insane.

She finds herself unable to keep the sympathy out of her expression when she nods. His gaze sharpens, but his tone remains calm and still.

“So, Alayne. Are you enjoying yourself here?”

“It’s a great opportunity for me. I’m learning a lot.”

“And what is it that you want to do? What’s your big career dream?”

Sansa answers with more candor than she originally intended. “I want to go to business school, then become an analyst. And eventually, I want to run a company like this one.”

“Not exactly like this one, I hope,” he sniffs derisively. “But you’re ambitious...everyone loves ambition here. They eat, sleep, and shit ambition.”

He refills her glass before she has time to protest, and the hard set of his jaw prompts her to change the subject.

She’s an easy conversationalist, and she turns the talk to music, art (he has an impressive collection), higher education. He makes her laugh with stories of his undergrad fraternity days at Yale, recommends business schools (he went to Harvard himself, and she bites her lip to keep from revealing her acceptance and inundating him with questions). And he keeps the liquor flowing, until Sansa drops her heavy head onto the back of the sofa, just a hairsbreadth away from his shoulder.

“May I ask you something?” She looks up at the clean profile of his face and breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of peat and alcohol and expensive cologne.

“Whatever you like.”

“Why did you ask for me? When you were picking an intern to help you, I mean. Why me?”

He reaches for her tumbler, and she relinquishes it. After placing both his glass and hers on a nearby table, he reclines back against the sofa and runs a hand through his thick golden hair.

“It was what you said in the meeting that day. About family...there are plenty of ambitious people around here, like I said. Lots of smart people and driven people, but there aren’t a lot of compassionate people.” He props his elbow on the back of the couch and leans closer; she can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and she inches nearer...

“What you said...it was very human of you. And that’s fucking refreshing.”

Their knees are touching now; if she moves her head just a fraction, her brow will fall against his. She sees the prickling of stubble along his jawline, the way his eyelashes become light at the tips. A lock of her hair falls across her face, and he reaches up to smooth it back behind her ear.

“You’ve got a lot of red in your hair,” he comments, twisting the strands around his finger. “Very pretty.”

So, so tacky, a cutting voice reverberates at the back of her mind. Powerful executive trying to get into his young assistant’s pants...he honestly couldn’t be more cliche if he tried.

His mouth barely hovers over hers at this point. And she’s not sure whether it’s defiance against those bitter voices coursing through her head or simply a total lack of fear (a middle-aged guy acting inappropriate with an intern, even in this day and age...that’s just sad), but she figures that she has nothing to lose.

She tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against his. Jaime cups her cheek in his hand, and the way he kisses her- soft, patient, gentle- stokes a fire in her belly, sending tingles up and down her limbs and between her legs.

Jaime’s tongue teases at the seam of her lips, and she opens her mouth for him willingly, knotting her fingers in his soft hair. He massages her tongue with his, and when he wraps a strong arm around her and eases her down onto the sofa cushions, she’s almost embarrassed by the ease with which her legs fall to either side, giving him unambiguously-direct access.

“Oh-” she sighs when she realizes that he’s settled his hips into the space between her thighs, his mouth lavishing attention on her neck, kissing and biting and sucking (enough to make her whimper and writhe, but not enough to leave marks- won’t have to break out the concealer, at least....).

It’s all moving along at an alarming pace, and the sensible side of Sansa, the one that regularly talked Arya down from her more fantastical flights of fancy and stopped Mya and Jeyne from becoming the subjects of especially-vicious high school gossip, urges her to slow things down-

“Mr. Lannister,” she begins (not very convincingly- she doesn’t actually want him to stop, although she knows it’s the right thing to do)-

“Jaime,” he pants into her skin, his tongue dipping into the groove of her collarbone. “It’s Jaime.”

“Jaime,” she repeats- it’s a good name to whisper nearly breathless, a good name to sigh- she imagines herself screaming it as she comes, and she spreads her legs wider, quivering with anticipation.

(And the practical part of her slinks into the wings, completely forgotten for the time being.)

Her nimble fingers slide between them, unfastening the buttons of his shirt. Her hands roam over the perfectly-contoured muscles of his body, and she’s momentarily distracted by the thought of the personal-training appointments Jaime’s had her schedule for 4:30am every day. “Who gets up that early?” she’d asked Kevan’s assistant Joy after sharing this story at one of their impromptu mid-afternoon coffee breaks. Joy had replied with a smirk, rolling her green eyes as she muttered, “Someone with something major to prove.”

He fingers the hem of her camisole, and she helps him pull it up over her shoulders, nearly surprised by her own lack of hesitation- she hasn’t been touched so intimately since she broke up with Harry almost a year ago, she should probably be more reluctant, more shy...

But the way Jaime presses his face into her chest and softly kisses the tops of her breasts...the way he mouths her nipples through the thin cotton of her bra...the deft way he reaches beneath her to pull the hooks open- nothing like Harry at all.

“You like that, don’t you?” he breathes as he scrapes his teeth over her left nipple. She pulls his hair tight and whimpers in response, and he laughs, taking one breast in each hand and pushing them together until he can suck both nipples into his mouth at once.

She lets out a little peep of objection when he releases her breasts, but then his lips trail lower, skimming over her stomach, tongue swirling into her navel. He lifts her skirt up and slides his fingers over her through her underwear, and she digs her nails into the leather of the sofa.

When he replaces his fingers with his mouth, kissing her through her boy-shorts, she growls his name low in her throat, surprised by her own abandon. The tip of his tongue teases at her clit, and the warmth, the soft pressure, the friction of the fabric- she reaches down to grip his shoulder, scratching at the golden skin, while her other hand kneads her own breast.

“Oh, please...” she begins, but soon interrupts herself with a sigh of delight as he catches her underwear in his teeth and pulls them down her legs. Jaime peppers soft kisses on her ankle, the inside of her knee, all up and down her inner thighs before spreading her folds and licking into her.

He’s slow and patient in his exploration, taking his time to discover the way she likes to be touched. When he curls his fingers inside her just so, his tongue softly massaging her swollen outer lips before resting flat on her clit, she finds herself moaning just the way Harry always wished she would, bucking her hips up and feeling her wetness pool over his fingers and his lips.

He kisses his way back up her body and then captures her mouth- she licks her own release from his lips and tongue. She can feel him pressed against her belly, and she quickly unbuckles and unbuttons until he’s in her hand, hot and hard. Sansa kisses along his jaw and takes his earlobe in her mouth as she begins to stroke; her other hand pinches his nipple, and he grabs her hip tight and releases a breathy trail of obscenities.

Then she brings her hand to his face and looks him in the eye, those gorgeous cat’s eyes, set in this laughably-perfect face- “The Slayer”, they call him, he has no soul, no conscience...but would a man with no soul care so deeply for his disgraced sister? Would a man with no soul place such a premium on compassion, on “human” behavior?

She kisses him again, hungrier than before, as she rubs the head of his cock against her. He moans into her mouth- “Alayne”, and she tries not to feel a prick of sadness- and his hips start to shift-

“Do you have a condom?” she thinks to ask him, just in time. His brows knit together, and she’s blessedly able to stop herself before she rolls her eyes. There’s something strangely vulnerable about him as he leans down to retrieve his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and fishes within until he finds a Trojan.

“Not sure how long this has been there…” he begins, trying to sell the curve of his lips as a gesture of good humor...but he’s fragile in a way she can’t quite understand, and she chooses to be merciful.

She takes the rubber from him and tears the package open with her teeth, sprawling flat on her stomach to apply it with her mouth.

Once this crucial task is complete, she guides him into her and lifts her knees to her chest, savoring the deep thrusts, the hard grip of his hands on her thighs.

Jaime lifts her legs so that her ankles rest on his shoulders, and he lowers one hand to caress her, turning his head to kiss the side of her calf. She comes again, even harder than before, and when he slides out of her, she wraps her hand around him and pulls off the condom before raining kisses over his shoulders and neck and chest until his ejaculate leaks over her fingers, pooling in the spaces between.

They do not move right away, content to stay coiled around each other, exchanging leisurely kisses with generous tongue. Sansa starts to truly consider what she’s done- this man is her father’s rival, a top executive in the company that Stark Incorporated is trying to destroy.

And these facts shouldn’t make her want him more. That’s childish nonsense...but there’s an appeal here that she can’t deny, can’t ignore. Between the leather and the sandalwood and the musk and the scotch and this powerful, beautiful man sucking on her lower lip-

But then she remembers the red zip drive conspicuously plugged into the side of her computer, and she pulls away.

“I should finish up and go home,” she murmurs. He does not object, but he keeps his arms around her as she tries to put her clothes back on, slowing down the process with his kisses and touches and wicked insinuations.

After she slips her top back on and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, he whispers, “Come home with me. I want to fuck you in the back of the town car-” He brushes his lips beneath her ear- “-and in the elevator-” His stubble scratches at her collarbone as he moves down- “-and in every room in my apartment.” He gently squeezes her breast, and she shifts closer, nearly sitting in his lap-

But then she stops. She pulls away and stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

“Not tonight,” she replies with a soft smile. He looks disappointed, but when she reaches down to brush an errant lick of golden hair out of his eyes, she can feel him smile against the thin skin of her wrist.

“We ought to clean ourselves up,” she says, watching as he tucks his cock back into his pants and crosses toward the closet. He drops a kiss on her shoulder as he passes her, opening the closet door and retrieving a clean white dress shirt.

“Very sensible, I’m sure.” He slides the shirt over his arms, and the fabric clings to his sweat-dampened chest as he fastens the buttons.

Before she loses her wits entirely, Sansa hastens out the door, shutting it behind her.

She gathers her things quickly, shuts off the lights, powers down her computer (but not before ejecting the zip drive and slipping it back into her purse).

Jaime emerges from his office a few minutes later in perfectly-clean clothes, briefcase in hand. He approaches her, graceful steps putting her in mind of a lion stalking its prey. When he closes in on her, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, her lower back pressed against the desk, she feels that she wants to be ravaged and savaged and ripped apart. Of course, she reflects as she observes a thin scratch on his neck, courtesy of her sharp fingernails, I’d be able to give plenty of my own back, too.

“Will you let me drive you home, at least?” he asks, and she forces her head into a vehement shake.

“No, thank you. The cabs are lined up around the block at this hour.” She tries to straighten her posture, but he holds her fast against the desk. Just one more, she thinks as she pulls his face down to hers, the force of the kiss pushing her up onto the desk, her leg rising to wrap around him again-

A clatter of metal, and they both look down- she’s knocked her stapler and tape dispenser onto the floor. They separate, and she leans down to retrieve the supplies. When she stands back up, Jaime places a thumb on her lips, just a gentle pressure.

“Good night, Alayne,” he whispers before turning on his heel and heading toward the elevator bank.

She waits by the window until she sees his town car pull away. Only then does she leave; she opts against taking a cab, choosing instead to walk the thirty blocks to her parents’ townhouse.

Sansa strolls out to the river park, walking along the water that frames the west side. She slips a hand into her purse and closes it around the zip drive. And then she thinks.

Regardless of what just occurred between them (a #MeToo moment waiting to happen...she’s ashamed of the flippant nature of this thought, at the ease with which she left her own complicity out of the equation), Jaime seems to be a decent person. And Genna is decent in her way, and Kevan and even Tyrion...is it fair, is it right to help her father tear their company up like this? The information she’s stolen has the potential to obliterate Lannister Inc.... Can she...will she...?

She rests her hand on the railing that separates the pathway from the water below. The little red drive nestles in her fist, and she loosens her fingers-

But instead, she returns the drive to the inner pocket of her purse. Shutting the bag with a resolute zip, Sansa continues on her way home.

#my fics #jaime x sansa #modern au #fanfiction time travel #rewriting my stories from 7 years ago #you know #like you do

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unbefuckinglieveable · 6 years

Text

Remember Me Pt 9

The Traitor sighed softly after he finally left the Zen Garden, he'd weighed the positives and negatives to the situation and deemed to accept the condition. So he left the restroom and walked silently to the darkened living room. It was almost time to wake Connor. He wanted to get the deviation over with before his elder woke. The machine hadn't even sorted the clothes for himself and Connor. He wannted quietly into the living room, he didn't need to turn on the lights, the android was more than capable of seeing in the dark living room.

Richard gently touched The leader’s arm shaking him lightly. Markus opened his eyes to the darkness, and grabbed Richard's arm by the shoulder and elbow flipping him onto his back Richard starred up at the ceiling, “Markus, it's me, Richard, you told me to wake you when I got an affirmative from Amanda.” The machine said in a bored manner, not reacting because he understood the reflex.

“ Turn on the light next time, I could have killed you! I don't have night vision and didn't know it was you touching me!”

“I doubt you would have killed me.”

Markus rubbed his face with his hand, “Just turn on the light.”

Richard stood slowly and walked to the light switching it on casually. “It is 5:33 a.m. and I received the permission.”

“I don't have any idea how you pulled that off, but give me your arm” The older model said with a sigh as he reached out his arm, Richard took the arm for only a moment.

He felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, then he felt the leaders hand connect with his face causing him to recoil. “ What was that for?” Richard questioned looking at the leader who stood up. His face looked angered, like he had just lost his revolution.

“That is for agreeing to her condition! For a detective model, you are so- You know what - I gotta go. Tell Connor to call me later.” Without warning he walked out the front door slamming the door and the screen door on his way out. Richard took a moment to look back on his agreement, from a machine point of view it looked great, as a deviant though? He knew he deserved the slap, and so much more.

Richard wouldn't go back on his word now, not when he knew how much Connor was suffering. He opted for his initial justification:

It may help Hank remember.

Casually he picked up the bags from the previous night and walked into Connor’s room setting the bags down. He walked to the light switch and turned it on so to not scare him like he scared Markus. Connor was curled up in a small ball in the middle of the bed. The big dog by his side, Sumo. Richard set out two outfits for himself and Connor . Connor could not abandon dress shirts and slacks he also got a tie ( for one of his ensembles) , and Richard took a light fabric turtleneck and a sport coat with blue jeans. He layed the outfits out taking the tags off.

The Traitor knelt by Connor and shook him lightly the older model jolted upright looking at Richard and sighed softly. “ I thought I heard you.. for a moment in the mind palace.”

“In the Zen Garden, where Amanda is we are connected so she can compare reports, simultaneously give us orders and aid in missions. She paused your function when she heard me enter. “

“Since when could she do that?”

“They updated her permissions with my addition to the Zen Garden. She can pause our function, and basically admin for us while we are there.”

“What about the-”

“It is still there, Kamski hid that very well in our code, they'd have to deactivate us to reach it. The likelihood of us being able to reach it is just lower. Not without a lot of effort.” Richard explained with a sigh as he moved to get dressed. “ Go clean yourself, Hank will worry if he sees you like this. You are wearing the same clothes as yesterday.”

What that said to Connor was that he hadn't changed since the morning before the incident. He stood sighing softly pinching the bridge of his nose as he gathered his outfit and stalked to the restroom to bathe. He knew what was important, keeping Hank happy and keeping Hank from worrying. He was just glad the pause in his function allowed for his stress levels to go down.

While Connor got clean, The Traitor got dressed, left a note for Connor, and took Sumo for a walk reflecting on the decision he'd just made. Amanda had played dirty, she used the calculating side of him as a machine to let him make a decision. Yeah it would help Hank remember and cover for verbal slip ups at the office. Not to mention it would serve against the purpose introducing someone entirely new. He did not take in Connor’s fragile state of being. In fact he didn’t consider the older model at all.

The walk continued while he thought, how mad Cole will be. Then he thought more into it, how mad will Hank be when he snaps out of it? Cole had lied to him, and made Hank inclined to live the glory days only for it to be eventually ripped from under him. ‘Connor, his name is Connor’

‘it may as well be Cole.’ Amanda laughed in his min d, richard shook his head with a sigh.

“Stay out of my head. I didn't earn it by your standards. Until I do. Get out.”

‘Very well, I'll see you later, Richard.’

The sun had come up before he knew it, his internal clock told him it was 6:45 in the morning, he had walked for nearly an hour. He started back to the house not in a rush. He didn't want to go see the Lieutenant, but he had promised Col-Connor he would.

Even Sumo was hoping to get home already, he didn't want to be gone so long, what if Hank came home? The beloved boy walked in haste his four paws moving quickly on the ground tugging the traitor along faster and faster. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe, just maybe his dad would be there waiting for him, with steak. Maybe, hopefully his other best friend would stop leaking that liquid from his eyes while hugging him at night, shaking. None of Sumo’s whimpers, or nudging had comforted him. And he refused to put dad's bottle in the trash, luckily that little girl from the day before had. It had made the house smell better with it gone.

Richard didn't understand why Sumo was dragging him. Didn't he know that it didn't matter? It won't for a long time. It might never be the same again. Never. The same. Again. That was what he had gathered from Connor anyway, it had only been three days since the incident. In three days, the older model android had turned from the goal focused detective to… whatever he even was now. Quiet, sulking, tense,and even bitter were good words for it.

And now Richard had to make it worse, or he'd be in the same condition, and that hardly help anything.

Connor sat upon the porch of Hank's house with a dull expression the door open so Sumo could go right in, Sumo pulled free from Richard's hand and ran to Connor wagging his tail as he nudged the other’s hand hopefully. Connor sighed and pet the dogs head, he looked around the yard, the WB200 had done a good job. ”He isn't here Sumo, we gotta go to work. Be a good boy, okay?”The family pet whined, bowing his head. He gently took Connor’s hand and tugged towards the door. He wanted Connor to stay. “Sumo. I can't. I need to go to work. Please.” Sumo released the hand and barked demandingly.

“Sumo, just get in the damn house.”Connor sighed standing slowly, Sumo bowed his head and stalked into the house with a little growl. Connor locked everything up and started walking Richard stayed close but the walk on its own was as quiet as church, and just as solemn. This was it, the walk to the hospital to see Hank. Connor didn't speak and it left a sense of unease in Richard.

‘It is void, nothing, there is nothing.’ The thought bounced in Connor’s head, it stuck. And Connor realized he was already dead. If Connor hadn't waited, if only he'd taken a moment and gone to Jimmy's to apologize. Everything would have been fine.

Angelo sat with his head on his desk sweating lightly. It felt hot in the lobby. Connor distracted him, a story untold. Connor's knuckles knocked chastly on the counter bringing Angelo back to reality, immediately he pulled two visitors badges and set them on the counter. Connor picked it up and handing one to the traitor who was silent behind him. And no words needed to be said. Connor was not okay.

Richard felt like this march to his death was moving too fast. Any respect he had with Connor was about to go out the window. The click of two pairs of shoes in perfect synchronization as they walked to the elevator. Connor still didn't speak. The silence was maddening to Richard. He hoped that the older would lighten up, in the elevator he watched as Connor forced himself to smile and perk up. “Connor why not just tell him the truth? This is clearly damaging to your mental stability.”

“I made a promise and I will keep it. That is my primary objective, and you will not interfere with my mission, am I clear?” Connor said turning to Richard and walking towards him in a manner that backed the traitor into the back wall of the elevator. Richard understood his objective and wasted no time saying so.

When the elevator stopped, Connor smiled.“Good, now I hope you remember that my name is Cole Anderson. Okay?”

Richard nods gently and followed Connor to Hank's room his held high even though he wanted to hide. He paused his simulated respiration waiting to hear Cole shatter when Hank failed to recognize him for the third time in a row.

“Hi dad, how are you today?” Cole asked with a gently smile as he entered the pale walled room. Hank wasn't in bed. Connor’s eyes darted around the room wildly until a raspy voice called from the bathroom.

“I'm good,shaving the shit off my face, i don't know why I let it grow so long. You on your way to work?” Hank said stepping out of the restroom.

His beard shaved away and his hair brushed back into a nubby ponytail. His face clean, he looked… healthy….and happy. Cole swallowed the pang of anger that welled within himself as he watched his hank start to disappear.

“Yeah I wanted you to meet our new partner, and let you know his girlfriend kicked him out, so he stayed with me last night. He might need to stay a few days.” Cole said gently looking at his dad a smiled on his artificial lips.

“I hear ya, I hear ya, he is welcome to stay as long as he needs. What is your name kid?” Hank questioned with a smile offering a handshake to Richard who gave a carefully firm shake.

“My name is Connor, it is a pleasure to meet you Hank.” Richard said with a smile pulling his hand away, and not daring to look at Connor.

“Of Course your name is fucking Connor! I mean that is what Fowler put on your badge right?” Cole shouted before reigning himself in to play it off as teasing in the second half.

“Cole stop swearing, it doesn't sound right. And there is nothing wrong with his name, I like the name Connor, sounds… pleasant.” Hank smiled at Richard who looked at the floor. Not looking at Cole, who’s glare was felt on the side of his face. And then it stopped. Richard looked up to see Cole hugging his father and crying.

“ I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Please don't be mad. It has been so stressful with you gone. I didn't mean to snap like that.” The older model said softly trying to keep himself under control at the feeling of agony he felt.

Pure agony.

“It is okay son, relax, just relax. You know what you can do?” Hank said rubbing circles into his son's back. Connor mumbled a what into his shoulder. “Go to work, catch the plastic asshole who put me here, you'll feel better. In fact don't visit for a couple days, this is hard for you I can tell, I'll see you when you pick me up. You have my keys, right? “

“Yeah. I do.” Cole whispered pulling away wiping the tears away.

“ Good use it till I get back, you know I don't like letting it sit. Get goin. I love you, don't hurt yourself by coming here.” Hank said with a smile.

The real Connor nods softly. “Okay, I love you too, take it easy dad.” He said walking to the door Richard on his heals.

“Hey Connor!” The Lieutenant called out Richard and Connor stopped looking back. “Take care of my son.”

“Yes sir.” He said before leaving with the real Connor who walked towards the elevator briskly. Richard didn't not want to get into the elevator but he did.

The doors shut and Connor grabbed The Traitor by the throat and slammed him against the far wall denting it as the white under Richard's synthetic skin was exposed by force.

“The only thing keeping me from dismantling you is that it'd break continuity. Am I clear?” The older model said with a cold voice.

“Yes. “ Richard said looking away not fighting Connor, after all dick deserved it.

// can't fit everyone in tags so @prettyboysjello @softgreysweatersbutwithfanfic @therealhmmlingle @pyrsrcool @my-crow-nest @vampirzyca13

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imagine-tom-hiddleston · 6 years

Text

The Script, Chapter 2

Author: Finney13s Fandoms: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, British (UK) Actor RPF Rating: Not Rated Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character Characters: Tom Hiddleston, Eva Pond Additional tags: Angst

2.1

On the next morning Eva had rang Tom’s doorbell and the man had kept her waiting and almost panicking that she had the wrong door. But when the door had been opened and Tom had cheerily welcomed her in the panic had melted and turned into hunger thanks to the divine smell of cooking that had lured into her nose from the house.

“What are you cooking here” she had asked “this was supposed to be just a breakfast meeting!”

“Well, I am making the breakfast as I promised and it happens to be a English one” he had replied laughing while guiding her to the kitchen “I did say I would serve it hot and steaming. Please, have a seat, it is almost done.”

“So… you liked my script then?” she had asked sheephisly when she couldn’t come up with any other opener.

“Very much, yes. I think the lead character is in a tough spot and you’ve managed to make his situation very compelling. I was hooked already once I had read the first few scenes” Tom had replied while setting the table. “I was told you had written it specifically for me?”

“Yes, yes I did” she had answered blushing, “The role is layered and not every actor can do it. I think you’re perfect for it and I am very happy that you agreed to meet with me and are interested in playing the role.”

“Well, you have my full attention now. Well, apart from the food that is. Tuck in, let’s talk while we eat”

They had spend well over an hour eating and talking about the script and getting excited about the prospect of actually getting it produced as a film. Tom had been eager to give feedback and views from his perspective on the lead character’s forthcomings that Eva hadn’t thought of earlier. He had also agreed to take the role if she could sell it, so she was able to use his name in the sales pitch.

And while they both had kept the whole meeting very professional, she had gotten stuck looking at Tom’s blue eyes way too many times and absolutely forgotten what she was talking about. Tom had made her laugh and they had laughed together with tears in their eyes. Chemistry between them had been undeniable from the get go.

“Goodness, where has the time gone! I need to get prepared for the next meeting ” Tom had said when his phone had bleeped to remind him of another meeting. “Even though this was definitely the most fun breakfast meeting I have had in a while”

“Likewise! I don’t have to eat anything else today thanks to you and I have also laughed so much I must have added few years into my life” Eva had replied smiling while gathering her noted script and pens back to her bag and heading for the door.

“Listen, I’m definitely on board with this project” Tom had said while helping her coat on “But not just because the script is awesome. I always want to support independent projects such as this whenever I can, too. But it’s also because I can’t remember when I have had such good connection with the person who is the driving force behind the project. I know you have worked hard on this and I can only do as much to make sure to present your creation as authentically as I can”

“Wow. I… I am… I think I am speechless” she had chuckled “Thank you! That means a lot. And yes, I agree, we do have a good connection” she continued while blushing on which Tom had replied only with a smirk.

Before she could step outside Tom had hugged her unexpectedly, looked her in the eyes and told her that he was very happy to have met her.

Eva had walked out of the door in the most pink haze she ever had had. His scent had lingered in her nose for a long time afterwards and the hug had given her a definite answer on whether Tom’s body was actually as tight as it looked. She had definitely been happy that she had managed to get Tom aboard the project.

But she had also had mixed feelings about having been given signs by Tom that maybe he was interested in other things as well than just merely working with her.

She was married. Not necessarily happily, but married nonetheless. A promise had been made to stay loyal to one person even though that person now felt like belonging to a whole another lifetime.

She had decided not to let her feelings get the better of her. Not now when her life’s work, the script, was on the line. This was just about work and that was the way it had to stay.

2.2

Eva arrived at the airport alone. The airport being surprisingly quiet she decided to check in early and go have something proper to eat as she had enough time to do that before the flight.

On the cafe with a large mug of coffee and a big sandwich she tried to call her ex to make sure he was coming to pick her up. They had stayed in good relations despite the divorce happening and picking her up was kind of the last request she had asked him to do for her.

But there was no answer even after three tries. She knew he was already at work but he usually did pick up the phone no matter what. Not stressing about it she then tried to call her best friend back at home. That gal answered even if she was getting her head chopped off.

No answer.

“Ok then” Eva wondered “what the actual hell is going on?”

She tried to call also her mother and sister but they propably were just busy at the moment as they did not answer her calls either.

This can’t be good. This can not mean anything good. Eva was now panicking and had totally lost her appetite.

She just wanted to hear some friendly voice but Tom was in the States and it was night there anyhow so she couldn’t bother him. She wouldn’t bother him now, he had a lot on his plate already. Her neighbour and friend Dani was definitely busy making breakfast to her kids before waking them up and she didn’t feel it was right to disturb her on that.

While there was nothing she could do but wait the people she’d tried to reach to call back she decided to go through the sales proposition for the production houses. She was about to present her script to few of them on the following week once she had returned from her ex-home to London, her now-home. The pressure on that took her mind off the knot in her stomach at least for a while.

When she was just about to board her flight her phone woke up. It was Luke, Tom’s publicist. She answered and told him how happy she was to finally hear a friendly voice.

“Listen Eva, I’m afraid I don’t have good news” Luke said seriously and continued “I’m going to be very blunt right now as I know you’re about to get into the plane. I just found out that someone has leaked your and Tom’s relationship to the press at your homecountry. Once your plane lands there will be press and paps waiting for you for sure asking for you to comment.”

She stood stunned in the middle of the corridor that lead to the plane. That was it. That was why no one back at home had answered her calls. She was speechless.

“Eva, are you still there?” Luke asked worryingly.

“Yes, yes I am. I just…” she sighed deeply “How this could happen? Do you know who leaked the story?”

“Well it depends on who have you told about it” Luke said honestly “If it had been in the press here it would’ve been easier for me to find out, now I really have nothing to start with.”

“But I have only spoken about it to few people, just to a friend who I have known since childhood and my mother and sister” she said and the lump in her throat started swelling.

“Well, then those are the most likely options for the leak.” Luke said.

She had never felt so betrayed and alone in her life as she was hurried into the plane and onto her seat by the stuart.

“What am I supposed to do now? What do I do when I land?” she asked sobbing.

“When you land, don’t give any comments to anyone. Don’t make any contact with any reporters or paps at the airport, ok? I’ll make sure someone is at the airport to take care of your safety and with a ride to take you from the airport directly to your hotel. Give me a call once you get there. I’ll have more details and better picture of the situation then. I’ll help you through this Eva, ok” Luke said assuringly.

“Thank you Luke” she sighed into the phone “You are an angel”

“No I’m not, I’m just someone who deals with this shit all the time. I’ll start working on it now. Welcome to the big league Eva.”

Eva stared out from the plane’s window. Tears poured from her eyes. She couldn’t believe she had been betrayed by someone she trusted. She had known that the press would find out about the relationship eventually but she, and Tom too, had hoped it would happen only once her divorce was through.

But the cat was already out from the bag. All she could do now was to embrace for impact.

—-

You can also follow the series on TheScriptSeries.Tumblr.com.

#tom hiddleston #submission

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ephemeralem0tions · 7 years

Note

OKAY A PROMPTTT: Levi is a boat captain a long time ago during the age of exploration, and Hanji stows away on his boat because she wants to travel the world and find STRANGE CREATURES, and Levi catches her and they fall in love (:P sorry if you dont like the prompt i dont even know)

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I FREAKED OUT WHEN I GOT YOUR REQUEST! I LOVED THE IDEA!! (Sorry for tweaking it a bit though but I hope you like it! **Puts whole heart and soul writing this**) But if ever the government thinks I’m plotting on taking over the world after searching geography, war positions and the navy, its all on you joke :P. Anyways, PLEASE ENJOY AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING THIS FIC.

For other people who would want to send in requests, please send me some here.

Stow Away (LeviHan - Sailing)

Theme: Captain Levi and Stow Away

Rating: PG

Warning: Curse Words, Eye Water? Maybe, Graphic Depictions of Violence (is this considered nsfw?)

AO3 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

A ‘tsk’ escaped his lips as the soles of his boots padded down the dock, making a rhythmic sound as he went forward. He didn’t hate being on the sea, he just hated this particular port. The seagulls seamed to have a fiesta every time he was close by. He hated it how he learned to play tag with dropping crap, and the fish slaps from fishermen passing by. He considered the stench of mixed seafood and sweat just a bonus of the hell he is in. The harbor had been alive for more than a decade, and it wasn’t even close to ‘well kept’.

“Captain Levi” he whipped his head to the direction of the call to become face to face with one of his first mates, Petra. “We have finished packing, the ship is ready depart any moment” she reported.

“Not bad” he replied “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can make it back to London” He slapped his cap over his head, and made his way back to the S.S. Wings of Freedom.

The assignment had been fairly simple, ship the trade from the Philippines back to the British land. They would be carrying back a large sum of spices, fruits and other goods from the asian country as per Erwin’s orders. He just hated how small the port was, comparing to where the S.S. WOF would dock back in Britain. His subordinated knew that the Captain hated a filthy space, Eren, one of the younger lads, would volunteer to start cleaning and gathering everyone else as soon as word got to them that the Captain would be back in a few days.

He closed the door of the bridge and was greeted by his Co-captain, Mike Zacharias. The man had been sleeping with his feet on the deck much to his dismay. He shoved his legs away and wiped away any remaining dirt with his handkerchief before sitting down on his own seat. Heaven knows he didn’t do well with the tall blonde, it was Erwin’s decision to put them together for the mission. Something to do with the distance they have to cover, and better instincts. Mike’s sense of smell was beyond formidable, and he wasn’t sure what they would need it for, but Erwin insisted they would.

“Morning short grump” Mike stirred and sat upright finally awake while Levi only gave him a scowl at the nickname.

“Its already four in the afternoon” he ‘tsked’

“Ahh, all cargo ready to go and sail?” Mike

“Petra said so. Just waiting for the damn anchor to be lifted then I could get out of this shitty port” he complained.

“Nothing like the smell of seagull crap” the man joked while he just groaned, earning a small laugh from his current partner.

“Captain! we are good to go!” Eld alerted from the deck.

He put the key for the ship in its rightful place while Mike worked with the buttons. He had pulled down the lever to start the propeller and finally, hoisted the steam so it could raise power to undock, and give the signal that the ship was about to go. Mike had rung the bell while he carefully steered away into the deep ocean. It was going to take a week or two to travel by sea, excluding weather circumstances and water conditions. He braced himself for the long ass travel by actually picking up new novels before he left London. He had already finished more than a half on the way to the Philippines, and he wasn’t sure if his tea supply would also last for the travel.

He groaned slumping further down his chair with his sudden realization. He could’ve gotten some ginger tea down the market of their previous location even if it was bloody hell and unhygienic path. It could’ve at least got him through the agony of sailing across borders with a man he didn’t like much.

“You can take a rest first” Mike spoke. “I slept through the whole job while you commanded in loading the cargo. Get some rest” he offered.

“Make sure you won’t get this boat sunken down after hitting an ice berg” he warned.

“Yeah, I’ll wake you up once we reach the icy borders of Beijing” the man laughed.

“Levi!” he was awaken by the loud booming voice of his co-captain. He sat down properly with a groan before facing the man who woke him up with a scowl.

He was sure he wasn’t even able to sleep a good two hours judging from how dark the sky got. It would be five- thirty to six in the evening now, the sky looking dead and starless. He wished he could’ve gotten more sleep, yet he didn’t. He rarely got any sleep anyway, even at home. His bed could not comfort him, yet oddly, the sound of the soft waves crashing the boat, and the steady rocking of the sea made him comfortable, even in a chair. This was one of the reasons he became a captain, the solitude of the sea was something he always wanted.

“Levi it stinks” the man complained yet kept his eyes down the wheel.

“Have we reached Beijing this early?”

“Not yet, but he are near, I couldn’t let go of the wheel as per your order awhile ago not to sink this ship-” he explained. “-But it really stinks”

“Maybe you accidentally crapped you pants”

“This isn’t the time for shit jokes Levi! I’m serious” Mike shot back, eyebrows furrowing even more.

This was one more thing he didn’t like about Mike. The man didn’t get his sense of humor.

“Where does your k9 senses point to then?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Mixed with the scent of watermelon”

He grabbed a lamp closest to him and lit the flame.

“Just make sure the boat doesn’t hit shit” he hissed before leaving the bridge.

He passed by the kitchen where he heard laughter. Everyone must’ve gathered in there like they always did. He peeked in to find his first mates and a few of Mike’s all gathered together and eating the rations they have prepared before leaving the mother land. Seeming so absorbed in their conversations about their own lives, he slowly closed the door without them even noticing.

It was starting to feel cold as he went further down the ship. The cargo laid at the bottom, where the cold water would already be touching the exterior. It was the most convenient place for storage. The right temperature, and the biggest space. It was also the darkest spot of the boat, devoid of any light except when a lamp is lit. They would not risk burning the load nor the boat itself so they never left any sort of flame in the area.

His boots made a rhythmic sound against the metal as he went down. His sense of smell might not be as strong as Mike’s, but his hearing was quick. It wouldn’t even take any supersonic hearing to know that something indeed moved. It was shuffling, and then the sound of something mushing, probably pounding food or chewing.

He tried his best to be quiet, tiptoeing through the dark and lowering his fire so he wouldn’t startle whatever was moving down the load. He passed walls of crates and some sacks before lowering down further and peaking. A piece of black cloth moved with the shadows, hair coming out of all directions peaking from above. He wasn’t quite sure if what he was seeing was human. It groaned while slathering watermelon juice all over the metal floor, head bobbing up and down while eating and leaking more juice.

He braced himself, bringing his pocket knife out and leaving the lamp on top of a crate. He counted up to ten while thinking of a plan. As if the thing sensed his presence, it stopped moving momentarily. He gripped his weapon tighter down his hand and prepared to burst down some light before attacking.

On the count of three, he turned the lamp bright and lunged at the hairy shadow. Instead of stabbing raw flesh, he stabbed a whole water melon, the shadow quick to move beside him. It cloaked its face further before drawing a similar looking knife to his but looked slathered with watermelon juice. He sure did not want to get stabbed by a dirty knife. He whipped backwards just as the shadow was about to slash him down. He tumbled backwards and adjusted his grip before lunging at the shadow, successfully making whatever it was, drop its weapon. He held its wrists right away and pinned tried to pin it down only to knock a few crates over making it regain stature and run for the knife. He already beat it down once, and he could do it again.

He prepared himself for the attacker’s next moves, yet it just tried to run, a stupid move in his opinion. It would not have anywhere to run to in the dark cargo, except to hide in the shadows and wait for the right moment to his demise. Muttering curse words, he followed it right away. He took notice of the way it limped instead of running, it must’ve been injured when the crates fell. Wasting no time at all, he ran to it.

“Captain!” Just as Petra opened the door, the cloaked being swung forward, successfully wounding his left cheek. He hissed at the sudden pang of pain yet took the opportunity to twist its wrist that was right in front of him. He dropped its weapon back to the floor and slumped it down the floor.

Eld and Gin quickly came to his aid and held his opponent. He stood up and caught his breath, wiping away some blood that trickled down his face with his hand. The creature groaned, being faced into the light by Oluo who shoved a light in their direction. It lowered down its head, bringing the cloak further down to cover its face, yet Levi had enough of its shenanigans and removed the tattered cloth quite forcefully.

“I guess I’m caught” she spoke with a small laugh. Eld and Gin slowly but hesitantly loosen their grip only to earn a death glare from Levi.

“Oi! what is a stow away doing in here?” Oluo asked with an edge, trying to copy Levi like he always did. He shoved the light further into her face making her wince in the sudden brightness.

“Oluo!” Petra scolded, hitting the man on his nape.

“It was your jobs to make sure we only had fucking cargo in the ship” he growled at the two bickering duo. They only lowered their heads down in apology and stepped back. He directed his gaze back at the stow away who only looked at him with a stupid grin. “Shitty glasses” he scowled at her.

“Nice to see you too Captain Clean Freak”

“If you remembered, the 34th expedition which was reported to be run over by the Titan Pirates of Spain, I was actually a part of it and they most likely declared me dead like the others-” she explained before taking another bite of bread, crumbs spilling all over the table and some on the floor much to Levi’s dismay. “-But I actually made it out alive by swimming to the shores of Càdiz. And since then, I have been living by hoping from one ship to another in secret” she followed up eating the last bits of bread.

“You never got caught?” Lynne, one of Mike’s first mates asked.

“Never” she replied. “I used my knowledge and skills, but I didn’t expect to be found by someone I’ve trained with before” she directed her gaze with Levi.

“So you two really knew each other before?” This time, it was Gergel who asked while passing her a glass of water.

“yes” she nodded. “I joined the Navy training two years back before her did. We had a year of training together before I was finally sent to missions barely seeing him, then I was lost on my third one”

“But that does not explain how you boarded my ship in fucking Asia” Levi said as he stood in the corner with his arms crossed.

“I didn’t know it was your ship to be honest. The last time I’ve heard of you, you were just one of Erwin’s first mates, sailing with the Survey Corps battle ship and not some cargo boat”

“Then why were you in Asia? Did you decide to take a side trip and shit in the Philippines because your ass couldn’t hold it any longer?”

“We both know Erwin’s ass is bigger than his budget, count on him to do business like that” she laughed. “You never changed Levi”

“But Miss Hanji, why did you not go home right away when London is just one ride away from Càdiz?” Petra asked.

“Oi!” Levi hissed seeing that she suddenly perked up. She had a habit of never shutting up once you become interested of her whereabouts. There was surely no escape from her thoughts once you get caught up.

“Are you really that interested?” She smiled at the woman in front of her while propping her elbows down the table. Levi attempted to leave and turn his heels but she grabbed him right away. “You’re not leaving Levi” she gave him the stare. He sighed and sat down on one of the chairs, there was no escape.

“In the end, I was able to find three new species of Finches aside from those in Charles Darwin’s list, a new type of pitcher plans, was able to learn Spanish, Chinese and Russian, and had detailed notes about my travels. I can’t wait to get back home in England” she finished, yet everyone else seemed to be dozing off aside from Levi. “Did I say something wrong?” She furrowed her eyebrows looking at every single on of the people in the room who were snoozing.

“Your crazy brain rambled them to death again four eyes” he sipped his cup of tea that he had brewed a few moments ago while she spoke.

“So how were you while I was gone for about five years?” she asked him.

“fine for someone who has his ass burning, sitting down for days driving a ship” he earned a laugh from her.

“I never expected you to become a captain of an errand ship. I thought you’d be sailing the seas on expeditions together with Erwin, fighting for the British army on times of crisis. I see Mike had followed the same path as you too” she seemed lost in her thoughts.

“He isn’t an errand ship like I am. Erwin just insisted he comes with me for this trip” he explained

“I see” he noticed her wince as she tried to shift from foot to foot.

“Sorry about your shitty leg” He stood up, bringing down an emergency kit from one of the drawers of the kitchen.

“I can do it, we trained for first aid for ourselves anyway” she tried reaching out for the box, but Levi held it back.

“I’d rather take car of you” he knelt down in front of her and tended to her foot.

Comfortable silence had enveloped the two of them. Everything seemed quiet, except for the small snores the people around them had made. He focused on wrapping her injured foot while he looked at him, memorizing his every feature as if she had forgotten him after a long time.

“Let me take care of you too then” She placed a hand over his once he tucked the bandage snug. She brought out iodine and cotton from the box and lifted his face. He winced at the sudden contact but soon after grew accustomed to the pain. He had looked into her eyes, her eyes that seemed so warm and more like home. “Sorry” she muttered. “For everything” she finished cleaning his wound and secured a sterilized cloth over the scar.

“Welcome back” he replied before standing up and heading for the door. He stood still for a moment, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. After a long time, he now felt secure and safe.

“So you’ve found her?” Mike greeted him as soon as he reached the bridge. The sun starting to peak out of the bright blue ocean. “This is why you refused Erwin’s offer to make you a General isn’t it?” the man removed his gaze momentarily from the horizon and faced him. “You could have been one of the Commander’s Generals but instead, you passed the opportunity to me. Its to find her isn’t it?”

Flashbacks of the small unit that arrived on shore replayed back in his mind. From a whole galleon, the last fleet reduced into a small wooden boat. His eyes searched desperately for the eyes he loved the most though never admitted. He searched in the small crowd of twelve that all looked devastated, yet he never found her.

He searched for the most familiar face in the small boat, a boy she called Moblit, her assistant. “What Happened? Where is she?” he gripped the boy’s frail shoulders despite him being taller and asked, desperately hoping there would be a second batch of boats that had her with them, that she was alive.

“Sir Levi” the boy cried. He dropped his gripped and knelt on the sand, shoulders slumped and tears welling up his eyes.

“You knew that if you became a General, you’d be occupied commanding a fleet, going through war and gala’s instead of searching the whole world where she is. If you were a Captain, you’d go to different places for trades. You hoped she was still alive and just somewhere out there didn’t you?” Mike asked again.

“I just believed I’d make a decision I won’t regret” he replied, taking the wheel into his hands, more gentle than he normally would. He knew his strength could have been used in war far greater, yet was is a peaceful world if his heart would be in chaos?

AO3 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

#Levihan #LevixHanji #Levi #Ackerman #Hanji #Zoe #Fanfiction #prompt #Captain Levi #Stow Away #watermelon #eye water #REQUEST

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