#she grew to recognize that change is inevitable and that is Why she left before more COULD change | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sarafeyjp · 19 days ago

Text

Doflamingo's Forgotten Daughter

Summary :On a frozen island in the North Blue, Vesper has spent years waiting for the father who never came. When Doflamingo finally appears, he doesn’t recognize her—his memories of her and her mother erased. All he sees is a girl with a power he wants.

Taken into his crew, Vesper seethes with hatred, believing he abandoned them. But as she navigates the brutal world of pirates and secrets unravel, one question lingers—if Doflamingo ever remembers the truth, will it change anything?

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

Chapter 1: Frozen Echoes

"You were not born to be forgotten, my little storm. The world will try to bury you beneath ice and silence, but you must never let it. Remember this: the cold can freeze flesh, but it cannot touch the fire in your blood."

— The Lost Letters of Lylithia

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

The vision took her without warning, reality bleeding away like watercolors in the rain. One moment, Vesper was curled on her thin cot in the cave's damp darkness, and the next—cold crept through the palace's opulent halls like death's own breath, wrapping around her in tendrils of frost. Polished marble walls stretched skyward, their gilded columns and ornate tapestries a mockery of warmth as shadows danced across them with each flash of lightning. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, their frozen prisms casting fractured light across the scattered figures below.

Doflamingo's laughter rolled through the corridors like distant thunder, a sound that should have terrified her but instead left her hollow. Fear wasn't what gnawed at her anymore; that emotion had frozen solid long ago, replaced by something colder, sharper. The question that had carved itself into her heart: Why hadn't he come for them?

Before her stood Violet, caught mid-scream, her terror preserved in crystalline perfection. Ice crawled up her arms like living frost, each crack and spread bringing a sound like breaking glass. Vesper wanted to reach out, to stop the inevitable, but her body remained still, forced to watch as history repeated itself.

"Fufufu... Everything is under control," Doflamingo's voice sliced through the stillness. His crimson glasses caught the lightning's glare, masking eyes that had once sailed past their island without a second glance. The same man who had left them��her and her mother—to weather their own storms.

The ice around Violet began to splinter, hairline fractures spreading like a web across her frozen form. The sound of cracking grew louder, drowning out even Doflamingo's laughter, until finally—

She shattered.

Ice shards scattered across the polished marble floor, each blood-stained piece catching the light like spilled rubies against the darkness. Doflamingo's laughter swelled, filling every corner of the palace, but Vesper didn't flinch. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle, but she forced herself to stand tall. The flame of anger in her chest burned hotter than any ice, fed by years of abandonment and unanswered questions.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the lavish surroundings with brutal clarity. Her mother's voice whispered through her memories, steady and sure: "He will come for us, my love. He always finds what belongs to him." The words twisted like knives now, bitter reminders of childhood faith misplaced. He was supposed to be their sun, their protector, their salvation. But the sun had never come, and the shadows had only grown longer with each passing year.

The vision began to fade, reality seeping back in at the edges, but the hollow ache in her chest remained constant—a wound that had scarred over but never truly healed. Standing in this frozen nightmare, Vesper felt the last remnants of her childhood faith crack and fall away, leaving behind something harder, colder—a determination forged in ice and tempered by betrayal.

She saw him clearly now: not the savior from her mother's stories, but a man who had forgotten them so completely that even now, with her standing before him, he didn't recognize what he had lost. Each time these visions came, the same question burned: Why hadn't he come for them? But perhaps the real question, the one that truly haunted her, was simpler and far more painful: Had he ever cared at all?

Vesper jolted awake, her small frame shaking as the vision released its hold. The opulent palace halls faded, replaced by the stark reality of the frozen forest. But the man's image lingered - tall and commanding, his pink feathered coat a stark contrast to the marble pillars that had surrounded him. His laugh still echoed in her mind, sharp and dangerous, yet somehow familiar.

She pressed her hands against her temples, trying to hold onto the details before they slipped away. The vision had shown her more than just a man in a palace - it had shown her someone important. Someone her mother used to whisper about in the dark. The vision felt immediate, present, yet there was something off about it - like looking at a reflection in troubled water. She couldn't tell if she was seeing something happening now, or something yet to come. The uncertainty made her head spin, adding to the gnawing ache in her empty stomach.

The frozen forest around her offered no comfort, its unnatural silence pressing in like a physical weight. Her rags did little against the biting cold that had claimed Spring Haven, turning what was once a peaceful island into an endless winter. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the warmth she'd glimpsed in that vision.

"Why did I see him?" she whispered, her voice rough from disuse. The sound seemed to disappear into the frost-laden air, swallowed by the emptiness around her. She'd never had a vision like this before - so vivid, so real. The man's presence had filled every corner of that marble hall, his power tangible even in her dreams.

Her stomach cramped sharply, pulling her from her thoughts. Days had passed since she'd last eaten - the strange, bitter roots from the shipwreck her only sustenance. Their taste still lingered on her tongue, along with a dull ache that seemed to spread through her whole body.

Forcing herself to stand on trembling legs, Vesper made her way to the cliff's edge. It was her sanctuary, the one place where the jagged rocks remained mysteriously warm beneath her bare feet, defying the ice that had consumed everything else on the island. The sea, however, stretched endlessly before her, dark and shifting, untouched by the frost that gripped the land.

A small body of water lay nearby, its surface reflecting her disheveled face. The ice covering it was slowly melting, cracks forming as droplets trickled into the pool below. She was just shy of eight years old but appeared even younger—dirty, frail, and unkempt. Her most striking feature was her emerald-green eyes, identical to her mother’s.

Her mother had once told her they were special. A key to something important. But what that meant had always eluded her.

She turned her gaze back to the sea. Its endless, restless expanse usually calmed her frayed nerves.

Then she saw it.

A ship.

Her breath caught in her throat as her wide eyes focused on the vibrant vessel cutting through the water. Its hull was painted a vivid pink from bow to stern, a flamboyant display that stood out against the dark sea. Black sails billowed in the wind, and a figurehead shaped like a flamingo jutted forward, wings spread wide.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as her gaze locked onto the name emblazoned across the largest sail: DONQUIXOTE.

Then, her eyes found him.

A figure stood at the railing, tall and unmissable. Wild blond hair caught the sunlight, unruly and untamed. His pink feathered coat flared dramatically in the breeze, the unmistakable symbol of a man who thrived on command. But it was his crimson-tinted glasses that sent a shiver through her. They reflected the light like fire, concealing his eyes but not his power.

It was him.

“Daddy?” The word slipped from her lips, so soft she barely heard it herself. It carried an ache she didn’t understand, a yearning that twisted uncomfortably in her chest.

The man’s body stiffened. Even from this distance, she saw it—the subtle shift in his posture as his head turned slightly in her direction. For one brief, breathless moment, their eyes met. Or at least, it felt that way.

But then, just as quickly, he turned away.

Her heart plummeted. He said something to a crewmate beside him, his attention already elsewhere. Without a second glance, he leaned back against the railing, exuding a casual, unbothered confidence.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t call out to her.

The ship continued its steady journey across the waves, its garish pink sails shrinking against the horizon.

Vesper stood frozen, confusion and anger tangling together in her chest. He had seen her. She knew he had. His body language had betrayed it, if only for a second. But he’d chosen to ignore her, to keep moving as if she were nothing more than another piece of ice on this cursed island.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable cutting like a blade: “He’ll come for us one day, my love. He always finds what belongs to him.”

But that wasn’t true.

She sank to her knees, the warm rocks beneath her doing nothing to ease the bitter chill spreading through her bones. He had seen her, and he had left her here to die.

Not a savior. Not a father. Just another figure in the endless winter.

The silence of Spider Miles consumed the room, thick and oppressive, pressing against the walls like a living thing. It coiled in the corners, folding into the shadows that stretched long and deep. Doflamingo lounged in an armchair that seemed more throne than furniture, the pink feathers of his coat rustling softly with his every movement. His fingers, long and deliberate, tapped against the carved wood of the armrest—a rhythmic beat that spoke of restless thoughts churning beneath his sharp grin.

The frozen island lingered in his mind like a specter. He had altered his route to see it, unable to ignore the rumors of a place trapped in ice despite the summer’s sun. The moment his ship neared its jagged cliffs, he’d felt it—the unnatural chill in the air, the eerie stillness that hung over the land like a curse. And then there was the child.

She had stood on the cliff’s edge, small and fragile, her wild green eyes meeting his across the impossible distance. Even now, he could see her clearly—her hair whipping in the wind, her frame dwarfed by the frozen expanse surrounding her. She wasn’t just a child. No, there had been something in her gaze, something fierce and untamed. Something familiar yet unknown.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp buzz of the Den Den Mushi. He reached for the receiver with a languid motion, his grin sharpening as he answered.

“Speak,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of command.

“Doffy,” Vergo’s voice crackled through, steady and professional. “I looked into the frozen island you mentioned. It’s called Frozen Hell now, but it was once known as Spring Haven.”

Doflamingo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp grin never faltering. “Go on.”

“There’s no official word on what caused the island to freeze,” Vergo continued. “But the Marines suspect the Hie Hie no Mi. Aokiji’s disappearance left a void they’ve been desperate to fill.”

Doflamingo’s laugh was low, a sound more akin to the growl of a predator than amusement. “Always chasing what they can’t control,” he murmured, his tone laced with disdain. But his thoughts didn’t linger on the fruit. Instead, his mind returned to her.

The girl.

Small, unyielding, standing against the ice as if it had been made for her. Their eyes had locked for only a moment, but in that fleeting second, he had felt something stir—a pull he hadn’t experienced in years. Untamed power. Not a child. Never just a child. A possibility. A weapon waiting to be forged.

“The girl,” he said, his voice soft but edged with steel. “What do you know about her?”

“Nothing yet,” Vergo replied immediately. “No records. No trace. It’s as if she doesn’t exist. Whoever she is, someone went to great lengths to hide her. Even the Marines have no leads.”

A slow smile curled across Doflamingo’s lips, predatory and deliberate. “Hidden things,” he said softly, “are meant to be found. Especially when they don’t want to be.”

The shadows in the room seemed to shift as he leaned back, drumming his fingers against the receiver in a calculated rhythm. Power, he knew, wasn’t just about control. It was about seeing the raw, unshaped potential in someone—or something—and knowing exactly how to mold it.

Her potential was wild and volatile, like a flame waiting for the right touch to become a blaze. He could still see the defiance burning in her green eyes, a fire that dared the world to extinguish it. But in the right hands, even fire could be directed.

His hands.

“Keep digging,” he commanded, his voice low but unyielding. Then, without waiting for a response, he slammed the receiver back into place.

The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of Spider Miles beyond the walls. Rising from his seat with a deliberate motion, Doflamingo swept his feathered coat over his shoulders. The garish plumage stood out against the dim light like blood against snow, a vivid declaration of his unapologetic presence.

He stood there for a moment, staring into the middle distance, the grin on his face sharp enough to cut. His thoughts drifted back to the girl on the cliff, to the raw, unshaped power that had stood before him.

“She’ll be mine,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise.

Some weapons, he mused, chose their wielder long before they were ever held. And this girl—this ghost with emerald eyes—would become his most exquisite creation yet.

The feathers of his coat rustled softly as he turned, the shadows shifting around him like an extension of his will. Outside, the port town’s restless energy buzzed on, but within these walls, Doflamingo’s ambition loomed larger than life.

The girl would be found. And when she was, there would be no question of her place.

She belonged to him.

She just didn’t know it yet.

The strings extended from Doflamingo's fingers like gossamer threads of fate, anchoring him to the clouds as he descended into the bitter sky. Below him, Frozen Hell sprawled like a broken mirror, its ice-glazed terrain reflecting the harsh sunlight in fragments of crystalline despair. His coat billowed in the biting wind, pink feathers stark against the endless white, but the cold barely registered against his skin. If anything, the chill only sharpened his focus, his crimson-tinted glasses scanning the frozen wasteland with predatory intensity.

The village revealed itself gradually—a masterpiece of frozen horror that drew his lips into a razor-sharp grin. People stood like macabre sculptures, their bodies encased in thick layers of ice, faces contorted in expressions of pure terror. Not the work of nature, he knew. This level of instantaneous freezing spoke of power—raw, uncontrolled, and deliciously rare.

His feet touched the frost-covered ground with deliberate grace, each step a silent declaration of authority. The crunch of ice beneath his shoes carried through the dead air as he approached the village's center, where an iron cage stood mounted on a crude platform. Unlike its surroundings, the cage remained unfrozen, its door hanging ajar with an almost mocking emptiness, squeaking faintly as the bitter wind pushed it back and forth.

"Fuffuffu..." The sound curled through the frigid air like smoke as he studied the empty cage. Curious, he thought.

His sharp gaze caught on a frozen figure nearby—a man locked mid-stride, his hand still gripping what appeared to be a rope. But the material's distinctive dark sheen betrayed its true nature. Doflamingo's smirk tightened as he recognized the distinct gleam of Kairoseki.

"Sea-Prism Stone," he murmured, voice dropping to a dangerous pitch. "Now that's interesting." His fingers twitched, sending invisible strings slicing through the air. The frozen figures shattered instantly, fragments of ice scattering across the ground like broken dreams. "Very interesting indeed."

The presence of Kairoseki in such a remote village raised questions that made his blood sing with anticipation. Such a heavily controlled substance didn't find its way to backwater islands by chance. Someone had been pulling strings in his territory—strings that weren't his own.

A sudden gasp shattered the deathly silence.

Doflamingo's head turned with serpentine grace, his grin widening as he caught a flash of movement at the village's edge. A small figure darting into the frozen forest, their footsteps desperate and uneven on the slick ice.

"Now, now," he purred, his voice carrying an edge of dark amusement. "Running only makes this more entertaining."

He moved unhurriedly, each step measured and precise. The ice-laden branches above him trembled, disturbed by the invisible network of strings he wove through the air. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath as he pursued his prey, the only sounds the faint scrape of bare feet on ice and his quiet laughter.

The girl was quick, he’d give her that. But in this frozen wasteland, every scuff of her bare feet against the ice left a mark—a faint skid, a fleeting trace. The ice itself betrayed her, cracking faintly under her weight and echoing her every move. Her path wound through the trees like a wounded animal’s, desperate but ultimately futile.

"Little Bird," he called, his voice dripping with mock tenderness, though the predatory edge beneath it remained sharp. "Did you think you could fly away?"

The scrape of her hurried footsteps faltered for just a moment—a hesitation that made his smirk sharpen. Fear was such a reliable tool, especially in one so young. He could practically taste her terror on the sharp, icy wind.

This hunt was already over, though his prey didn’t know it yet. His strings had been spreading since he first touched down, creating an invisible web that grew with every step she took. Soon, she would run right into his trap, and then...

"Fuffuffu..." His laughter echoed through the frozen trees, a sound that promised both salvation and damnation. "Let's see what kind of treasure you really are."

The hunt continued through the silent forest, predator and prey locked in a dance where every step had been choreographed long before the music began. After all, Doflamingo mused, the best games were the ones where he’d already won before they started.

The forest loomed like a twisted cathedral, its ice-laden branches reaching toward the colorless sky like gnarled fingers. Every tree seemed to lean inward, their frozen limbs creaking and groaning under the weight of endless ice. The dense maze of slick bark and jutting branches made each step treacherous, but Vesper pushed forward, her breath coming in desperate bursts that crystallized in the frigid air.

He wasn’t supposed to come back.

The thought pounded in her head with each frantic heartbeat. No one ever came back to Spring Haven—not after what had happened. The isolation had been her shield, her certainty. Until now.

The frozen ground bit into her bare feet as she stumbled through the undergrowth, but she barely felt it. Fear had a way of numbing everything else. Her foot caught on something—or nothing at all—and she pitched forward, catching herself just before her face hit the ice. She twisted around, looking for what had tripped her, but saw only smooth, unbroken ground. Must not have been paying attention, she thought, her heart hammering as she scrambled back to her feet. Her mind raced with questions she couldn’t answer: Why now? What changed? What does he want?

When she finally broke through to the familiar clearing—her makeshift home—she allowed herself only seconds to grab what mattered most. The books and letters lay where she’d left them on the old tree stump, their weathered edges a testament to how many times she’d flipped through their pages. She clutched them to her chest like armor, the paper crinkling against her racing heart as she darted toward the cave.

The sanctuary hadn’t been discovered by accident. Her mother had carved it into the rocky hillside long ago, wielding magic Vesper still couldn’t comprehend. She remembered her mother’s soft voice, words spoken as though they were a sacred truth: "Only me and your father can find this sanctuary. If it ever gets too tough, just come here when you want to be alone."

Those words had always been a lifeline, a promise that this place would be hers and hers alone. No one else could reach it, no one else could touch it. Or so she had believed.

But now, Doflamingo was here. The man her mother had whispered about in both awe and fear, the one from her visions. Her father. His presence shattered every ounce of security the sanctuary once held. If only he and her mother could find this place, then what did that mean? Had he always known where she was? Had he been waiting all this time?

She ducked inside, pressing her back against the cold stone walls, her breath hitching in sharp bursts. The books trembled in her hands as panic clawed at her chest. The sound of his footsteps crunching through the ice grew closer, each step measured and unhurried. He knew he had her cornered. There was no need to rush.

When he reached the clearing, his movements were almost casual. He surveyed the space with the air of someone admiring a painting, his head tilted slightly as though appreciating the desolation. Then, with deliberate grace, he settled onto the remains of a fallen tree near the cave’s entrance.

For a moment, disappointment flickered across his sharp features, so fleeting it was almost imperceptible. He had hoped she would bolt straight into the carefully crafted web he’d woven through the forest—strings spread like an intricate trap just waiting to ensnare her. But instead, she had gone to ground here, in this hollowed-out cave, denying him the satisfaction of watching his prey fall into his snare.

Still, a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. It didn’t matter. In the end, she was his, no matter how the game had played out. His fingers twitched, and the intricate threads he had woven vanished without a trace, dissolving as though they had never existed.His shadow stretched across the ground like a dark promise, reaching toward her hiding place. The way he sat—legs crossed, shoulders relaxed—spoke of absolute confidence. This wasn’t a hunt anymore. It was a game, and he was savoring every moment.

"Fuffuffu..." His laugh curled through the frigid air like poison. "You’re not very good at hiding, are you?"

Vesper pressed herself further into the corner, her fingers digging into the worn covers of her books. How? How did he know exactly where she was?

"I can see you," Doflamingo said softly, his voice carrying an edge that made her blood run cold. "Every breath, every heartbeat—you might as well be standing in front of me."

Her stomach twisted as the truth sank in. There had never been any chance of escape. From the moment he’d appeared in the village, it was clear he had been toying with her, moving with a confidence that suggested he had planned every step of this encounter. She didn’t understand how, but it felt like he had been waiting for her to make exactly this move.

The worst part? Some small, traitorous part of her wondered if being found was better than being forgotten. After all, no one else had ever come back for her. Not even her mother.

And now, standing in the icy clearing with a casual smirk curling his lips, her father—the man who had haunted her visions and her mother’s whispers—had finally come for her.Vesper emerged from the cave’s shadows with careful, measured steps, her small frame trembling—not entirely from the cold. The books and letters clutched against her chest felt like a shield—fragile and ultimately useless, but all she had to protect herself from the towering figure waiting outside. The frozen air bit at her exposed skin, but she barely noticed it over the thundering of her own heart.

He was waiting for her.

Doflamingo sat on the fallen tree near the cave’s entrance, his figure commanding even in stillness. The garish coat draped over his shoulders like a mocking banner, and his crimson-tinted glasses reflected faint glints of light, concealing his eyes but not the sharp intensity behind them. His very presence seemed to consume the clearing, an oppressive force that bent the world around him, as though the air itself had shifted to accommodate his will.

“I wasn’t hiding,” she said, her voice thin but carrying a thread of defiance that startled even her. Her fingers clutched the books and letters tighter, as though they might shield her. “I just… wanted to see the man who’s been in my dreams.”

For a brief moment, surprise flickered across his face, though it vanished quickly beneath his sharp grin. Tilting his head slightly, he studied her with a dark amusement. Rising from the fallen tree with deliberate ease, his pink coat shifted like living fire, a sharp contrast to the icy void around them. Towering over her now, he made the clearing feel impossibly small, the air heavy with his presence.

Taking a slow, deliberate step forward, his movements exuded control, each step measured and purposeful, making her acutely aware of the size and power difference between them.

“Fuffuffu… smart girl,” he said, the sound curling through the frigid air like smoke. His gaze swept over her critically, lingering on her tattered clothes, hollow cheeks, and too-thin arms clutching the books like they could save her from him. There was no pity in his expression, only a spark of curiosity and something darker. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but there was a tension in them—a readiness, coiled and waiting.

“Tell me, little bird,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery, “what’s your name?”

She hesitated, the tremor in her legs spreading to her hands. The nausea that had plagued her earlier surged, twisting her insides into knots, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. She wouldn’t kneel. Not to him.

“One would think,” she said, her voice tight and uneven, “that it’s polite to give your name first before asking for someone else’s.”

She didn’t know why her words came out sharp, like a blade she didn’t know how to wield. Was it the loneliness? The villagers’ hatred, shaping her as much as the cold had? Or something worse—this aching, traitorous part of her that wanted to collapse into him. To feel the warmth of someone who wasn’t a cruel word or a judging stare.

The father she had waited for, even though he was too late.

Her knuckles whitened around the books, trembling with the effort to stay upright.

Doflamingo chuckled, low and rich, the sound curling through the clearing like smoke. 'Fuffuffu... even half-starved and freezing, you’ve got spirit.'" His grin curved like the blade of a scythe, cruel and cutting, as though her recognition was the punchline to a private joke. “Very well. My name is Doflamingo.”

The name hit her like a physical blow.

She froze, her breath catching as years of whispered stories and desperate prayers crashed over her at once. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, warm and full of longing: He’ll come for us one day. Your father will find us.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She had wanted him to say his name—to prove this was all a dream, that he wasn’t actually here. That she was still alone on the island, and he had sailed past like the time before.

“No...” The word slipped out, fragile and disbelieving. “It can’t—”

“Doflamingo,” he repeated, slower this time, savoring every syllable. His grin sharpened as though her recognition amused him. “You’ve heard of me, haven’t you, little bird?”

Her chest tightened, and the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The truth clawed at her chest, suffocating and heavy. The years of isolation had hollowed her out, leaving only questions and faint hopes that someone would find her. But now, standing before him, all that emptiness seemed to press down at once—an avalanche of too many lonely nights and unanswered prayers. Her legs wavered, the dizziness surging until it overwhelmed her.

“No...” The whisper came again, weaker now.

Her vision blurred, and the clearing distorted as nausea surged through her, as she staggered back, reaching for the cave wall for balance. The familiar stone—warm, unmarred by frost thanks to her mother’s magic—was her last anchor. But it wasn’t enough. Her strength gave out, and the books slipped from her trembling fingers, landing with a soft thud on the frost-covered ground.

Her legs buckled, the world tilting dangerously as unconsciousness claimed her. The sting of ice biting into her scraped palms was distant, drowned beneath the crushing weight of his name. It loomed over her, suffocating, as if the frozen air itself had conspired to force her to the ground.

Doflamingo’s steps were deliberate, each carving through the frost like a predator closing in on its prey. He loomed over her fallen form, his grin fixed and unyielding.

“Fuffuffu...” His laughter curled through the frozen air like a whip. “Looks like the little bird wasn’t ready to leave the nest after all.”

He crouched beside her, his coat flaring out as he studied her unconscious form. Sweat clung to her pale skin despite the bitter cold. Something about her tugged at a long-buried memory—a haunting familiarity he couldn’t quite pin down. It hovered just out of reach, teasing him with the promise of recognition.

“Well then,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of dark amusement. “Let’s see if you’re worth the wait… or if you’ll break like the rest.Either way, you’ll serve your purpose.”

Doflamingo crouched beside the unconscious girl, his sharp eyes dissecting every detail of her face. Up close, the contradiction of her existence became even more intriguing—a child who had endured the frozen wasteland and survived, yet lay here so small, so seemingly fragile. His gloved fingers brushed a strand of matted golden hair from her face, the motion deliberate and possessive. Her skin burned warm beneath his touch, stark against the bitter cold. Faint sweat glistened on her forehead, a testament to her body’s fight to endure where most would have failed hours ago.

His gaze shifted to the cave behind her. At first glance, it seemed unremarkable—just another hollow in the ice-scarred terrain—but the markings carved into its entrance caught his attention. Jagged lines and spirals etched into the stone pulsed faintly, an unnatural glow barely visible in the dim light. Something about them stirred a flicker of recognition in his mind, an itch he couldn’t scratch. The memory slipped away before he could catch it, leaving behind only an irritating void.

Stepping into the cave’s cramped interior, he took in the signs of desperate survival—a makeshift cot in the corner, its frayed blanket tucked with a precision that reeked of a child’s attempt at control in a chaotic world. Beside it, a rickety table stood uneven on frozen ground, its surface littered with fragments of a life she had clung to. Letters, bundled neatly with a faded ribbon, rested at its center, their edges softened by time but carefully preserved.

Doflamingo’s long fingers closed around the bundle, the delicate crackle of aged paper breaking the silence. A date scrawled on one of the envelopes caught his attention—three years prior. His grin sharpened, cruel understanding blooming behind his crimson-tinted glasses. Someone had left this girl here long before the ice had claimed the island. Abandoned her. Believed her unworthy of saving.

How wrong they’d been.

As he shifted the letters, one slipped free, drifting to the damp ground. The faded ink drew his attention, and he crouched to retrieve it, unfolding the page with an almost mocking curiosity.

"I’m sorry I had to leave and may never return. But you... you are stronger than I am. I will come back for you when it’s safe."

“Fuffuffu…” His laugh curled through the frigid air like smoke. “Empty promises from the weak. Typical.” His thumb brushed the edge of the letter before he folded it back into place and slid it into the bundle. The casual gesture crumpled it slightly, a quiet show of disdain—a reminder that even these precious fragments of her past now belonged to him.

He turned back to the girl. Her body was motionless, but her face told a different story. Even unconscious, there was a stubborn set to her jaw, a tension in her small frame. It spoke of someone who had learned to fight even in sleep. Fascinating.

The books she had clutched so tightly lay near the cave’s entrance, their damp pages curling slightly but otherwise intact. Even in collapse, she had protected them. That desperate grip, the need to hold onto these pieces of her past—it only made her more intriguing.

Doflamingo rose smoothly, his coat flaring out like wings. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You’ll make for an interesting puzzle, little bird.”

He leaned down, his hands moving with a predator’s care as he lifted her into his arms. She was almost weightless—like a sparrow with broken wings, too fragile to take flight. His coat settled over her limp form, a deliberate gesture, a silent claim.

As he stepped from the cave, pale sunlight broke through the thinning clouds above, casting a faint glow across the ice. He had to move quickly. His strings shot upward, pulling them into the air as the frozen wasteland shrank below—a monument to power untamed, now his.

On the horizon, a Marine warship cut through the icy waters, its pristine white sails stark against the desolation. Doflamingo’s smirk sharpened, though his crimson glasses concealed the faint annoyance flickering behind them. Of course they’d come sniffing—a frozen island and whispers of the Hie Hie no Mi were bait they couldn’t resist. But the island’s secrets—and this peculiar girl—were already his.

The girl stirred faintly, her head lolling against his chest, but she didn’t wake. His strings pulled taut, lifting them into the air. The land below shrank as they ascended into the thinning clouds, the cold wind tugging at his coat. Let the Marines search the ruins. Let them chase the ghosts he left behind. They would find nothing but ice and echoes.

There was something about her, a faint familiarity he couldn’t quite pin down. It wasn’t just her golden hair tangled against his chest or the stubborn tension in her small frame. It was her power—wild and unshaped—that whispered of something… important. Something his strings could twist into perfection.

The Marine warship vanished into the thinning clouds as Doflamingo ascended, his laughter curling like smoke through the frozen air.

“Let them sift through ruins,” he murmured, his crimson glasses catching the pale sunlight as his gaze dropped to the girl in his arms. A cruel smile tugged at his lips. “By the time they realize what they’ve lost, she’ll already be mine.”

The wind howled as he disappeared into the clouds, leaving nothing but silence below.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60522799/chapters/154510915

#doflamingo #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece au #fanfiction #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #trafalgar law #original character #beta needed #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 link #fic writing

5 notes · View notes

kittflame · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 2:

As regretfully as it could be said, life went on. Sleep did not come easily, but the routine of daily life did. Training resumed, and his clan was none the wiser about the conflict. He preferred it that way. Secrecy being something valuable to him. Only Frost stuck by his side longer. She was quick to offer her time or assistance to her grandmaster. The sudden change did not go unnoticed by Kuai Liang.

The younger cryomancer had not said a word to give him any reason to suspect her. He was certain she was in the dark about the situation with Hanzo, but she was clever. Any time he had not shared things with her in private, she seemingly had the ability to sense his unease. It was rare for Frost to ever voice her concern. To his credit, he often got the hint quickly. It was for the better that she did not need to call him on his "stupidity." He could see that she was working herself up to ask about what he was so clearly avoiding. Denial had crept its way into Kuai Liang’s head too strongly. It was hard to lie to himself any further, the more her concern visibly worsened.

Not facing his feelings only allowed him to deny the inevitable. He struggled even to admit it to himself. There was a scheduled meeting with their fellow Earthrealm Defenders in a matter of days. Kuai Liang knew he would have to face Hanzo soon enough. The same unease rose like bile in his throat at the reminder. Guilt grew in his mind alongside the sickness. At some point within the years, the way they viewed each other changed. Any attempt to ignore the way he became flustered was moot. The two warriors hung around long after events ended just for the company of one another. Any other soul went unnoticed.

Frost had seen his form tense and turned to check in with him. Before she could get a word out, she was interrupted by loud footsteps rushing their way. The Grandmaster made his way over, his body being pushed into action. Familiar yellow wardrobe met his eyes, but he did not recognize the warrior. A panicked face stared up at him, and he knew good news would not follow.

—

Kuai Liang felt his stomach drop as he reached the medical bay of the Shirai Ryu grounds. Seeing the colour drained from Hanzo’s face was beyond startling. He steeled his resolve as one of the medics urged him inside. He was warned that Grandmaster Hasashi was not pleased to be forced to rest. The matter had been fought weakly. Peace only came as they resorted to indulging the man’s feverish requests.

The Lin Kuei sat by his side, fighting the nausea that began to eat away at him. He did not know what had caused the other man’s injuries beyond being surprised by an onslaught of enemies. Hanzo had gotten lucky and was able to teleport himself out before risking severe blood loss. It was the first time Hanzo had suffered such great afflictions since they became friends. It was not unknown that the ex-spectre was careless about his life, but he did not seek out death. His time under Quan Chi’s control and sitting in his rage made him default to reckless violence. Kuai Liang had only wished that their argument had not driven him to act rashly. He couldn’t understand what had upset the other so much beyond foolish behaviour. His last words left him confused. The cryomancer couldn’t help but dwell on it further as he sat by Hanzo’s bedside.

The pyromancer had given him ample opportunities to back out of their agreement to work together. Sub-Zero had insisted. Completing missions together strengthened their alliance and their bond. He couldn’t fathom why he wanted to risk losing all those months. Much to his disdain, he’d only realized the others had caught on after a particularly embarrassing joke from Johnny Cage. The cryomancer had not reacted well but had been grateful for Hanzo’s absence in the moment. His defensiveness had worked against him, and the teasing only stopped when the other Grandmaster was present.

It was an unfamiliar concept to him that there was outside interest in his relationships. It gave him a sick reminder of the old Lin Kuei’s ideals on relationships. He had no interest in continuing his bloodline, even as his age began to weigh on him. There was no time to fuss over such things. Frost had proven to be difficult enough. Beyond children, he had no time to build any sort of romantic connection. Johnny implying that Hanzo was just that was not an idea he’d considered before. They were allies, even friends. With the lingering guilt of his late family, the topic was even less realistic. It was simply out of the question. Regardless, Kuai Liang would not share the demeaning and outdated messages he’d been taught. He’d come to terms with the fact that many old teachings would die with him.

Hanzo had begun to stir in the medical cot. Kuai Liang straightened his posture as the other man opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. It was clear how disoriented the man was. Surprise crossed his face as his gaze fell on the Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster. He seemingly had trouble deciding if he was real or a trick of the mind.

“Kuai Liang?” Hanzo asked, his voice hoarse. There was hesitance in his tone, testing what he saw.

The man in question nodded and smiled in return. The smile did not reach his eyes, only remaining neutral. It went without acknowledgement, which he was grateful for.

“I was called in for help. You are a difficult patient to manage, from what I was told.”

Hasashi grumbled and wiped a hand over his face, not entertaining the attempted humour. Regaining some handle on reality, he sat up. He made a noise in annoyance as Kuai Liang held him in place, stopping the movement.

“Stay. It will only pull on your stitches and bruised ribs.” The cryomancer inched his seat closer.

He sighed and readjusted himself where he lay. It was rare that Hanzo was ever forced to rest, which led him to grow antsy quickly.

The two sat in uncomfortable silence; neither knew what to say. Where others would apologize, they held their tongues. Silence was better than meaningless words.

Hasashi cleared his throat to speak, gaining his friend’s attention quickly. “Why did you come?”

Kuai Liang frowned at the obvious question he was asked. “I was called. I would always come to your aid.”

“Forgive me; given our last conversation, I did not think you would honour that.” Hands clenched in his lap. Knuckles paled and regained colour as he tested what little strength he had left.

A response did not come easily. Kuai Liang couldn’t be offended, but he was hurt by the admission. While he had his own doubts and had not given much in the way of reassurance, it did not make the point true.

“Would you prefer it if I left?” He asked honestly, losing a bit of his pride in the process.

“No.” Hanzo replied quickly. He did not need time to think and was seemingly dissatisfied with the idea that he might have needed a moment. A surprising display from the man.

Kuai Liang only nodded at him in acknowledgement. Uncertainty ate away at him as he left things unsaid.

“It was unpleasant not having you by my side.”

“Is that why you decided to tempt fate?” He was dissatisfied with how casually Hanzo changed the topic. Annoyance was clear in his voice.

Hanzo opened his mouth to defend himself, but was cut off by the cryomancer.

“Was it your goal to be beaten half to death?” He questioned the man harshly.

Hasashi tensed as the argument began. Such a stark difference from their abandoned small talk. “It was not-”

Attempts to defuse the situation went ignored as Kuai Liang interrupted once more. “Then what was your plan?” Anger grew the more he spoke. He’d been left in his own thoughts for too long to find a reason not to let it out.

“How many times have you cheated death? How many more times will you be saved? Have you ever thought the next time might be your last?” Kuai Liang stood, glaring at Hanzo. He’d not seen such wrath from the other man since he’d threatened his life all those years ago. The only threat he’d imagined to Hanzo’s life was himself. An idea that had been abandoned long ago as forgiveness and acceptance over his brother’s death came. He would not stand around as another person he cared for died. No amount of petty anger would change that. He could not fathom losing Hanzo in such a way. His heart ached at the idea.

The silence had fallen once more, and it gave Kuai Liang an opportunity to breathe. He was not known for letting his temper drive him so fiercely. His attention was pulled back to Hanzo as a pained groan could be heard at his side.

Concern filled the man instantly as Hasashi stood from the medical cot. He rushed to scold him for putting strain on his wounds. A firm hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks.

“Need I prove to you that I am not dead? I apologize for the doubt I had, but I am not a child.” Hanzo huffed.

“I do not think you are a child, but you are a reckless old man.” Tension eased from him as the other spoke.

“I’m not the only one, at least.” The pyromancer joked, despite the dry tone.

Kuai Liang looked at him, shocked, slowly processing the banter. Hasashi let out a short, painful laugh as he watched. He stepped back to sit back down, his hand slipping away from the other’s chest as well. The cryomancer followed, instinctually chasing the heat as it faded. He’d always thought it was Hanzo following him, and while he did, Kuai Liang never let him get far either.

As he sat, he stared at the other’s hands. He craved the feeling once more. His admission of that fact left his head feeling light. He’d grown so used to the sickness he often felt that his body braced for it. None ever came. Uncomfortably shifting in his seat caught Hanzo’s attention. He followed the man’s gaze to his hands. Hesitantly, he reached out and held Kaui Liang’s hand with one of his own.

The cryomancer felt his heart rate pick up and his face flush lightly. He squeezed the hand in his hand gently. Hanzo smiled at him reassuringly, a content sigh falling past his lips.

“Do not die on me.” Kuai Liang looked up from where they had joined hands. It was an unreasonable request given their lives, but he held out hope.

Reaching out, Hanzo placed a kiss on the other man’s forehead. He lingered there for a moment, waiting for an objection. “I will not, as long as you are by my side.”

Bittersweet History

Bittersweet History (3562 words) by KittFlame Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hanzo Hasashi | Scorpion/Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero, Hanzo Hasashi | Scorpion & Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero, Frost & Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero Characters: Hanzo Hasashi | Scorpion, Kuai Liang | Sub-Zero, Frost (Mortal Kombat) Additional Tags: Denial of Feelings, fear of rejection, Hopeful Ending, Miscommunication, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Near Death Experiences Series: Part 3 of SubScorp Summary: With a long history of violence behind him, Kuai Liang believed romance had no place in his life. Being raised in a clan of assassins and away from a nurturing home did nothing to help. His attempts to steer clear from it fail as Hanzo continued to worm his way into his life. The surge of emotions caused Kuai Liang to pull away, straining their friendship. Only when Hanzo's life is in danger does Kuai Liang realize the mistake he made.

Chapter 1:

In the time that the Lin Kuei and Shirai Ryu had become allied, their respective Grandmasters had to learn how to coexist at times. They had been working together for a year, and their clans’ alliance had been in effect for longer. Kuai Liang, having been the one to call for the alliance, had been a fool and asked for more. He respected Hanzo’s work ethic and itched for the chance to fight alongside the warrior. Upon acceptance, the two were inseparable when it counted.

Any meeting they had, Hanzo settled into. He was no longer wary of being on Lin Kuei grounds. The pyromancer was a perfect guest, despite some of the other clans’ remaining hesitance about his presence. While Kuai Liang handled the unease of his clan, his friend kept his head held high. He did not bat an eye at the skepticism thrown his way.

In their meetings with their fellow Earthrealm Defenders, the cryomancer always felt warmth by his side in the form of the yellow calf warrior. His initial confused glances about the matter went unnoticed.

To Kuai Liang, his efforts had paid off greatly. It was no surprise to him that the ex-spectre was a powerful and deathly loyal ally. The only shock had been that he’d not refused to join forces after Frost’s attack. Even more so when he discovered Kuai Liang had not thrown her out of the Lin Kuei. The matter had caused a rift between them. It was something that was quickly forgotten, with Hanzo realizing it was hardly his place to judge. Since that day, the two had drifted closer over time.

Sub-Zero had not known what it was like to fight so closely with another. Compatibility in Kombat was trained in him from a young age. The only difference was that there was nothing forcing the connection. It was a breath of fresh air. The only other time he’d felt it was with a long-lost fellow assassin. He enjoyed the chance to improve his skills.

With change came unfamiliarity. It tested Kuai Liang at times, but he had not backed out, although it had crossed his mind. It became a persistent thought the more they were in one another’s company. Hanzo began inviting him on missions and personal clan endeavors. The cryomancer was quick to understand that the tasks were well below their combined skill level. No comments were ever made; he simply assumed his friend had succumbed to boredom. Neither had any interest in waiting months for an appropriate job to present itself.

“They are dealing with the black dragon?” Kuai Liang asked in an attempt to understand their latest errand.

Hanzo only nodded, concentrating on their location and finding a vantage point. He was not talkative in his work, though his focus did not suffer from the few remarks.

Holding in a sigh, Sub-Zero continued to speak. “That is all it takes to catch your attention, Grandmaster Hasashi?”

The other man turned, an eyebrow raised in question. He’d not known if it was teasing or a childish complaint that he’d heard. He opened his mouth to ask, but movement caught his attention in his peripheral vision. His mouth snapped shut, the action hidden behind his mask.

One man was patrolling the grounds nearby. The sight of the armed man made the two warriors pause. He was a few feet in front of them, ignoring the height they had on him. There was no indication he’d heard them at all. Sub-Zero moved forward mindlessly, slipping onto the ground without a sound, and took out the man just as stealthily. His body was laid on the ground. The assassin looked on, paying no attention to the sensation of blood drying on his hands. Hanzo joined him and pulled him along to the entrance, nodding his thanks.

—

Things went on without issue, which was not a surprising fact for either man. They received more information about the Black Dragon during their time at the rundown building. While they had cleared out the base, they needed to contact the SF. Kuai Liang had offered what information he could and promised the rest in writing. It was something that would take priority another day. With their distance from any available transportation, the former spectre teleported them to the Lin Kuei Temple.

Upon their arrival, Hanzo had begun to shed as many blood-stained garments as was reasonable. There was no thought needed behind the action. He’d grown accustomed to unwinding in each other’s presence before returning to the Fire Gardens. Kuai Liang only watched, his own armour staying in place. Hasashi was used to Kuai Liang’s need for silence. Neither man was very talkative, regardless. He paid little mind to it, despite the uncharacteristic stillness.

The cryomancer found it hard to get out of his own head. Something deep in his mind unnerved him while he sat. His expression was blank as he stared at his friend, only his eyes following the movement. Brown eyes met his gaze, and Hanzo leaned in to wipe his red-stained face. Kuai Liang froze at the gesture. His friend was visibly comfortable with the touch, but it only worsened the dread he felt. Kuai Liang let him finish, hiding a grimace. He turned his eyes to the remaining blood splatter on the other’s armour as he moved away.

Hanzo caught on to the strange behaviour, as it had been long enough for neither to have spoken a word yet. “Kuai Liang?” He asked, worry evident in his voice.

The act only pushed the other man further into his spiral. His mind demanded an out. “I think it’s best you left.” He blurted it out as he moved to sit at his desk, needing the distance.

A frown crossed Hasashi’s features as he hovered over where Kuai Liang sat. “Surely you do not take me for a fool? What is the issue?”

The cryomancer’s agitation grew. He knew his silence had become petty, yet he could not force himself to speak. The longer Hanzo spoke and stood in his presence, the more sick he felt. The sweetness of his actions bittered in his mind in an instant. He remained stone-faced, acting as if he could not hear the other’s pleas. It crushed his heart to do so. The large wooden desk separating them was no longer enough. The pyromancer’s looming presence was only amplified by the furniture.

Hanzo scoffed in disbelief and withdrew from the desk. “Perhaps I misread our relationship. I’ll take my leave.” He had no energy to argue and was willing to accept the blame without a second thought. Back turned to the other, flames engulfed his form as he left.

Kuai Liang’s shoulders dropped, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. His behaviour was childish and pathetic for a man of his skill and importance. Poor emotional regulation was no excuse. He'd been raised better. Though he held some doubt about that fact given his childhood, or lack thereof. Despite the decades of freedom, the damage from the Lin Kuei had held on strong. That fact had become terribly uncomfortable to face with Frost entering his life. He’d never questioned it previously. Something had been dug up deep within his memories. Some faint image of Bi-Han as a young boy, begging him to stop fighting, haunted him. Why Frost’s fearful eyes had brought up such disturbed feelings was not immediately apparent to him.

He had a roof over his head and food in his stomach. He didn’t think he needed any more than that at the time. Frost had grown up with far less. She deserved more, and he intended to give her better than he’d gotten, even without much thought. Many days she’d lash out at him, expecting his generosity would end as it always had with others. Those moments had pulled sickening relatability out of the older cryomancer.

Sub-Zero had defended the Lin Kuei endlessly, even after he’d hunted all those who remained but himself. He preached that the Cyber Initiative was a fluke of the Lin Kuei’s principles. Sektor conspiring with Quan Chi over the Shirai Ryu’s extinction furthered that opinion. He fought hard for his clan's innocence despite it all, but Frost’s betrayal had been sobering. His explanation to Hanzo on the matter had not been well received initially.

The Shirai Ryu’s Grandmaster had taken the act as disrespect towards his lost family and clan. He was indifferent to the fact that an attempt was made on his life. Even more concerned that the Lin Kuei would continue to be dishonourable even when the man had little else to lose. Kuai Liang had argued still. There was nothing to gain from being deceitful. He knew for himself what it was like to be young and have your only home threatened. To live in a world where there was only praise as a response to violence. He’d seen himself in Frost and would not let her go disparaged. Years of building her trust were not to be cast aside so easily.

Plenty of nights were spent worrying she’d run off over disagreements, and many more were scared she’d left for good. Kuai Liang had given her more patience than he had, but he persisted nonetheless. He’d lost those who’d done the same for him, and Frost had already lost more than enough.

Despite all of Hasashi’s hotheadedness, he still apologized. It had taken some harsh words that Kaui Liang was not terribly proud of, but it had gotten through to the other man. Beyond what could be considered selfishness, he was kind-hearted. The rare displays of that fact hung in the cryomancer’s head. Not always for the better. Dread pooling into his stomach grew worse each time. Yet a sick sense of yearning was felt. He was still not clear from it, even with Hanzo being gone from his space.

Needing to clear his head, he wrote his findings for General Blade. Drowning himself in his work being his best chance at easing the pent-up stress. He’d let the report linger on his desk to not be questioned for the prompt work. A distraction was all he needed.

#mortal kombat #kuai liang #hanzo hasashi #subscorp #hanzo hasashi scorpion #kuai liang subzero #hanzo hasashi x kuai liang #mk11 #mkx #mk frost #my writing

9 notes · View notes

kirascottage · 4 years ago

Note

hey! could you write a fluff fic of lip gallagher x reader? maybe something where he’s protective? love your writing! - nina <3

always choosing you

lip gallagher x f. reader

summary: lip saves you while at a party.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: soft and protective lip all in one, swearing, alcohol, mentions of trauma, non-consensual touching (just the waist), mentions of violence, kissing, mentions of sex (1x)

join my taglist here !

“Babe, this tastes disgusting.” You scowled while referring to the red solo cup in your hand. At your distasteful words, Lip’s head had whipped over to your twisted face, studying your wry grimace then looking at the poorly made drink most likely whipped up by a Sophomore that had no idea how to mix alcohol.

“Here, take mine.” Without a second thought, he quickly swapped the drink in your hand with his own, Vodka Cranberry. The drink he voluntarily handed you was a translucent shade of dull red and it fizzed at the top. Taking a sip, your brow arched in a consensus of the pleasant-tasting beverage.

To a family like the Gallagher’s, it was portrayed as a psychedelic for Lip Gallagher to be seen as a caring individual rather than a belligerent boy without any anger control. (especially to someone like Fiona) His emotional trauma merely enabling him to hide his concealed emotions from others, but like any other person, it took tremendous work that you were willing to put in.

“Hey, you wanna go soon?” His eyes naturally drifted around the party as he questioned you with a gentle hand sitting comfortably at your waist, his thumb moving slowly over the material of your shirt. “Sure, lower-class man parties are always a bummer.” You mutually agreed, glimpsing as to how his eyes travel across the room to a familiar redhead.

“I’m gonna go tell Ian, you good here?” His thumb pointed in a backwards direction as he walked the same way, you nodded in approval before he was off with his shoes tapping in sync to the music as he proceeded to the Kitchen while you stood in the living room against a wall.

It wasn’t usual for Lip to willingly leave you alone, especially in social situations like this one with intoxicated teenagers at your every corner. He once claimed a wannabe Tristan Dugray from Gilmore Girls would sweep you off your feet and carry you off to the sunset but you declared that would be spurious.

You picked at your nails for the first few minutes, growing bored as you waited, your fingers following the curvature of the cup along with the slight indentations and lines as your patience grew thin. Most likely Ian was stuck in a conversation with long-haired Milkovich, and he wouldn’t wanna leave just yet, his usual stall techniques including whining to his eldest brother.

Your evident impatience had swallowed you whole, eventually abandoning the remains of the drink at a battered table so your arms could cross in front of your chest and your foot tapped insanely quick against the floor. Now that tapping would've bothered anyone as the music vibrated through the drywall and the neighbours were nearing annoyance with the deliberation of filing a noise complaint.

As you were just about to set off to the kitchen, slender fingers gripped at your belt loops hauling you closer to the point your rear had struck the male stranger's chest.

“Hey! What the fu—“

“What’re you doing here all alone?” You attempted to harshly to move away at the poor tone of male seduction but the firm grip on your denim loops was restricting you from such.

“You see, I'm not alone so if you’d—“ You gestured impatiently to his hand with a curt glint in your tone whilst looking back at him; but, he cut you off with a brisk ‘S’alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.’ And no intention of letting you go.

You huffed with a squirm as his disengaged hand grasped at your waist where the emptiness of Lip’s hand had formerly been. “I have a fucking boyfriend—“ You inevitably began to yell over the music at the boy you could recognize as Clint Eastwood from your English class with a drunken smirk plastered onto his features.

This time it wasn’t his slurred voice cutting you off once again, it was a familiar rage-ridden Gallagher. “Get your hands off my fucking girlfriend.” Lip’s baritone became hoarser by the word as his hands hastily gripped at the boy's collared shirt whilst you stumbled by Ian who had briskly caught your arm hoisting you upright.

“Sorry! Dude, I didn’t know she—“

“Really? I clearly fucking heard her say she had a boyfriend,” His scowling brows drew together tightly and his lips pursed at the boy's face trembling in justified fear; as the scene grew larger with frequent yells occurring from Lip, most attendees of the party queued in on the scene.

“I guess idiots like you don’t know how to take a fucking hint.” Lip would’ve severely beaten his face in till Clint was due a trip to the ER but your magnifying grip at the back of his torso was enough to subdue his nerves and release the male off to the side and make his way to the car while gripping your hand the silent way there as the music grew fainter.

The car ride was silent, Lip’s hands gripped the wheel hard enough for distinctive marks to melt into the leather of the disk-shaped circle. He was well indeed sober, the only drink he had consumed was the one he had given to you and mostly full when it came into your possession.

When the car paused in the Gallagher driveway, wordlessly, Ian had left the car to give the both of you a moment, cautiously entering the chaotic household where most of his siblings had been asleep; Fiona being the only one awake where she had been watching a movie with V as Debbie laid on her lap. Yet, Lip hadn’t even moved his hands from the ignition; he had barely even blinked or twitched.

“Lip,” Your voice whispered, filling in the empty void of the vehicle. He silently looked over with his head slumped against the head seat, “What’s wrong?” Another whisper, your fingers rested comfortably on his knee.

“I just—“ He sighed, “—I don’t like the way he was touching you. Nobody should touch you like that.” He paused thoughtfully amid his heated sentence, clearly hesitant. Though, you remained silent as you were taciturnly aware that he was nowhere near finished.

“What if he wasn’t a creep and it was some guy that could offer you so much better than I could. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I also don’t want to hurt you.” His cerulean optics drifted over to his knee where you had been drawing circles over the denim, his anxious eyes remaining focused before you spoke up and his attention had diverted back to you.

“So don’t.” You offered a faint smile, “You’re not your parents, Lip. Take it one day at a time, if you don’t want to hurt me then you’re not going to.” You shook your head as you spoke.

“You could’ve knocked that guy into oblivion but you didn’t, and I know why you didn’t. I’m not gonna push you; Just take it day by day with me, okay?” He lethargically nodded in response, drinking in your words slowly as they enveloped his brain in a tight squeeze. Your monologue clinging to his mind as he would require those words later on.

Silently, you drifted your eyes back to the house, your eyes retaining on the Gallagher residence as he spoke. “Stay the night?”

You returned your head back to him and grinned in response, pecking his lips a few times before hopping out of the car as he followed. Trudging towards the wrought gate as he gripped at your hand, gently leading you through his house but pausing once to wave at Fiona which she reciprocated with a gleeful nod and a wave.

You had thought you entered his shared room rather quietly, changing into a shrunken pair of basketball shorts and a navy blue sweater both of which had belonged to your boyfriend. As you climbed the bunk, an adolescent boy had begun speaking with sleep lacing his words, “You better not be having sex, I'm trying to sleep.” Carl finished with a snore as he shuffled.

You both hastily muffled your laughs whilst cautiously climbing into the top bunk where his sheets laid messily due to him not making his bed the morning prior. You took very little time situating yourselves, the tip of your chin laying on his shoulder, and you were laid on your stomach. Meanwhile, his arm curled around your back and his stomach had faced the texturized ceiling.

You both laid there silently for a few minutes, maybe even a half-hour. Most likely Ian had passed out on the couch, and Carl’s snores had filled the room so it was a guarantee that it was safe to speak without any eavesdropping.

“I’ll always choose you.”

For a moment you thought he was asleep as well by how still he remained, till his face had carefully turned millimeters from yours. “I don’t care if it’s an Italian mafia man or some belligerent idiot from English class. I’ll always choose you, Philip Gallagher.” You muttered into his shoulder, a tinge of minor embarrassment creeping stealthily up your neck at the sappy confession.

“I’ll always choose you, too.” He whispered back, he wasn’t much for words but he could always muster up a considerable fraction of what you meant to him. Kissing the tip of your nose, he whispered again whilst placing his chin on your forehead. “Now go to sleep, or you’ll be bitchy in the morning.”

taglist: @miiamour @bugswrld @zzzfour @black-rose-29 @sprucewoodlover @bloodyrockwork @myalupinblack

#lip gallagher fic #lip gallagher fanfiction #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #shameless fandom #shameless x reader #shameless headcanons #shameless fluff #shameless fic #shameless smut #shameless fanfiction #shameless #lip gallagher fluff

2K notes · View notes

mona-not-lisa · 3 years ago

Text

Imogen had seen love a thousand different ways between thousands of different people. With thoughts bombarding her all the time, it was hard not to notice those sorts of things. It was the “I hope she comes by tonight” in the mind of a young halfling buy flowers at the market. And the “No mushrooms tonight, Marilyn hates those” reminder as an older half orc browsed the produce stalls.

Some moments were more intense. The pleading “pleases” in Orym’s head as he rushed to Dorian in battle. Or the “thank the gods” in FCG’s after Ashton returned from some of their more risky dalliances. Imogen’s abilities accessed more thought than emotion. But still, after all this time, she considered herself somewhat of an expert on recognizing love. How odd it had taken her so long to recognize it in herself.

Perhaps it was because what Laudna made her feel was so different, even from the beginning. Since the moment Laudna had been close enough for her mind to recognize, her thoughts brought with it a musicality that drowned out all the noise. The other voices receded to a soft hum, almost imperceptible beneath the chorus of Laudna’s musings. Laudna presence never failed to provide her mind with some relief. Was it so surprising then, when that music began to leave her skin buzzing? Or that the quiet moments she shared with Laudna began to loosen the tightness that’d taken up residence in her chest years earlier?

It seemed only natural, the way Laudna’s antics left Imogen laughing and buoyed with fondness. Teasing Dorian, prodding FCG, bantering with Chetney, Laudna brought a joviality to it all. Why should she be surprised then, when her jokes and compliments left Imogen with a beaming smile and the sensation that she was shining from the inside out.

It wasn’t her, it was Laudna. Laudna, who had taken a lonely, awful situation and found joy within it. Laudna, who took broken, rundown, and abandoned old things and made them pretty and useful again. Laudna, who lived so vibrantly you’d forget she’d died. Laudna, who had a sort of magic that had been saving Imogen from the beginning.

For so long, she’d thought that’s what it was. Laudna was special and magical and just simply lovely. It was her identity at the core, it had nothing to do with Imogen. Imogen was just grateful for their friendship to beginning with.

It had taken her much too long, especially as a self-proclaimed expert on diagnosing love, before things clicked into place. How many times had she shared a laugh with Laudna? Locked eyes with her from across the table in shared appreciation for their new life together? Felt her heart stutter, her cheeks flush, her skin prickle from the sheer thrill of their moments together. Time after time, month after month, year after year, that’s what it was. An appreciation for their friendship, their life, their progress, that seemed too strong to put into words.

Until one day, it was more than that. Instead, as she belly-laughed at Laudna’s antics, felt the weight of the world expelled with her breath, as their eyes connected in shared amusement, Imogen felt her awareness shift. Her heart still fluttered, cheeks still flushed, skin still prickled. But this time, those things seemed to settle in her with a weight she recognized, with a love.

When she’d reflect on it, Imogen would struggle to pinpoint when exactly things had changed, when friendship and fondness grew to love. But it was an impossible task, like pinpointing the beginning of a sunrise. It had simply happen, constant and inevitable as it brought new warmth and light into her world.

#laudna x imogen #imogen x laudna #imodna #cr3 #critical role #headcanon ramblings

166 notes · View notes

howdoyousleep3 · 3 years ago

Note

where’s that hc about bucky learning to touch 🤲

I was hoping someone would notice that tag and hit me up. Thank you, sweet pea. This one is special to me, one of many. ❤

Bucky doesn’t say much about what happened to him after the fall and before Steve was miraculously given a second chance at a life with him. Steve is thankful for that. The details he does know come from Bucky’s therapist and from files that have been scrounged up over time, ones Steve can’t stomach through, ones he hands to Natasha and asks only for the information she finds pertinent.

Steve is sure he’d die of a goddamn broken heart if he knew every detail of Bucky’s 70+ years of brainwashed torture.

What he needs to know about Bucky is constant and will never change: this is James Barnes, the one in the same Steve spent his entire life falling in love with, Steve loves him now more than ever, and he is going to live every day he’s gifted with in this life for Bucky.

There are things Steve expects after Bucky joins him and the others back at the Tower, things Bruce has helped him comprehend in such a volatile predicament.

“It could take months, years even, for him to come back to you in full. And honestly, Steve...I would be ready for the possibility of him not returning to you in full. This may not end up being the Bucky you knew and grew up with. He needs therapy, needs patience, needs reminders of his life before, of who he was and is. This won’t be easy, Steve.”

Anything for Bucky.

There are things Bucky took to right away and other things that took much longer for him to enjoy or remember. Steve is with him every step of the way.

Sleep was one thing that Steve thought would be a struggle. After only one month of sleeping on the floor in the corner of his bedroom, Steve able to hear him tossing and turning and breathing heavily through his own bedroom wall, it took one afternoon nap on the couch to make him want to move to his new bed. While nightmares continued, Bucky slept albeit in small increments and sometimes through the day, but he slept.

Steve thought that would take years.

Crowds were another story. Crowds came with trust and Bucky rightfully didn’t trust others easily. He barely trusted Steve at first. It took time to get him out of the apartment, baby steps, one step forward and two steps back. They started with walks at dawn, fewer people, gave a shot at stopping for coffee on the way home a few times.

“It’s a Venti here, Buck,” Steve had tried to explain and Bucky huffed. “Why are things so goddamn complicated now? Just want a coffee, a—”

“I know— a black coffee with too much sugar. I got it.”

They’re working on interactions with others and the anxiety that comes with crowds. That one will take time.

What hadn’t taken time, and what startled everyone in the tower beyond belief, was Bucky and affection.

Steve may not know much of what Bucky has spent most of his life enduring but he at least had the assumption that what Bucky went through shouldn’t make him want any kind of touch from another person. Steve wrongfully assumed that any sort of gentle or soft touch wasn't something Bucky would like.

Bucky had spent the past 70+ years walking this earth as a killer, a robot, a machine, an assassin. He surely spent decades thinking he wasn’t worthy of anything, let alone love. He had been touch-starved, void of the tenderness and closeness Steve knows Bucky deserved and craved underneath the brainwashed parts of him.

It took time for Bucky to remember who Steve was to him. While he had recognized him immediately, remembering him but not how, it took months for Bucky to remembered the capacity in which he did so.

And Steve waited.

And waited.

Steve was gifted with small moments along the way, on this journey of Bucky remembering both himself and who Steve was to him:

“You...you were real small once,” Bucky said, factual with no trace of a question, hands in soapy water as he handed Steve a plate to dry. Steve had merely hummed. “Yeah, was...was maybe half the size I am now. Real small.”

“Could fit both’a my hands right around your middle…”

It had been a long while since Steve blushed like that.

Bucky standing over Steve’s sleeping form, heaving chest visible by only the filtered moonlight, Steve mumbling out a, “Buck, wha—?” before Bucky whispered, “You...you’ve been inside of me.” Steve sat up.

“I have,” Steve breathed, on cautious ground, shakier when Bucky then whispered, “But you like it better when I’m inside’a you.”

When Steve had swallowed audibly, nodded his head wordlessly, Bucky had turned and left the room.

It took months of moments like those to compile together, to form the picture of what Steve once was, what he yearned to continue to be, to Bucky. All of these moments, these memories, came to a head so unpredictably during yet another movie night. Knees knocking, fingers brushing, small touches that Steve absolutely soaked in, had gotten used to, had relearned.

When a glance towards Bucky had the wind knocking its way out of Steve’s chest, the familiarity of that look a bone-deep ache—

Bucky was going to kiss him.

A look full of determination and want, lips parted, eyes a bit glassy. Steve didn't dare move, had let Bucky come to him for fear of scaring him away. The moment their lips touched was the moment Bucky started crying. It had only been a short brush of their lips but Steve barely breathed, barely moved. Bucky had pulled back with wide, wet eyes, shaky breaths. “Buck, it’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s alright, sweetheart,” are the words that easily slipped from his mouth, unable to stop them in a moment of progress that satiated his entire being.

That was the moment that changed everything. It was a startle to everyone involved. Steve had been ready to wait years, this entire life, for the moment he could touch Bucky again, could show him that physicality he knew his Buck craved. After that night on the couch it was as if the floodgates had opened—

Bucky remembered and wanted.

Regardless of where they were or what was happening, he wanted to be touching Steve: soft kisses on the cheek and lips, laying his head in Steve’s lap as he read, lacing his fingers between Steve’s during meetings, an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist between bouts of sparring. He’d trace patterns onto Steve’s thigh as he watched Steve draw, press against the line of his back while he cooked dinner.

Steve was floating on a cloud, was in heaven, never happier. It was perfection.

But what Bucky wanted, Steve couldn’t provide, couldn’t meet. Steve was only one man, couldn’t provide Bucky, whom touch had been stolen away from for decades, with everything he wanted. And that was okay, something Steve accepted, because there were other people Bucky could turn to that Steve trusted.

“I’m sure you all know why I asked you to meet with me,” Steve started, choosing a time Bucky was napping to meet with the rest of the group that either lived in or frequented the Tower. “Bucky has shown us a new side of him, has made some progress I think it’s worth discussing with everyone, since we’re all...we’ve all been affected...”

“Uhh, yeah— your Barnes-y boy has been all over me lately. I’m almost offended that everyone else is here to talk to Cap though. Thought he was just comin' onto me.”

“I have to tell you, I didn’t...I know we talked, Steve. But I’m honestly shocked at Bucky’s progress. It’s baffling.”

“I haven’t minded it. He lets me braid his hair.”

“Wait— y’all are getting touches?”

It was a group effort, supporting Bucky in this way. It was an adjustment, Bucky never prompting and questioning before touching or requesting touches— he just went for it. He was quiet still, not shy, merely observant. And just like he nudged at and leaned against Steve until his hands were on him, he did the same to others.

“I just ask that you show Bucky grace during this time. It’s a delicate situation. I need to know if you don’t want his touch or don’t wish to give him any kind of touch. I think it would be best if it came from me instead of from you in the moment.”

Natasha was who Bucky went to for scratches. Steve thinks it’s the nails. Steve also thinks Nat is Bucky’s favorite to go to for touches, even over him, but Bucky refuses to admit it.

When Bucky wants mindless touches, when he wants tickles and scratches, he goes to her. She naturally took to Bucky’s need for touches, the first occurrence one that came without hesitation. She’ll braid his hair, let him turn his head right where he wants her head scratches, naturally reaches for his back or shoulders to run her nails across when he saddles in close to her.

Thor is one of Bucky’s favorites too. Steve isn’t sure if it’s because of his strength or because of his warm and accepting demeanor but Bucky gravitates towards Thor often, mainly for neck and shoulder rubs. One, “James, my friend. You musn’t be afraid of asking for touch with me. I will always be willing to assist,” and that was all Bucky needed to feel comfortable walking over to Thor and nudging at his hands.

He puts his head on Bruce’s shoulder as soon as he can, likes sparring and playing hide and seek with Clint, enjoys putting his feet in Sam’s lap. Tony took some warming up to, but even then Bucky spent many hours in Tony’s lab, Tony guiding his hands, showing him what to do and how to work different machines, the two of them tinkering on his own arm.

Bucky kinda turns into the Tower kitty cat, wandering around quietly, napping in the sun, snacking, demanding affection from anyone he crosses paths with and trusts.

Everyone had their form of touch they shared with Bucky and Bucky absolutely blossomed under this form of support. Steve is forever grateful to be surrounded by a group of understanding individuals.

And every night when he lifts the comforter and feels the solid line of Bucky’s warm form against his side, the arm that now easily and inevitably slips around his waist, the familiar lips that always press against his temple, shoulder, and cheek, Steve is reminded this day was for Bucky and that the one they’ll wake up to will also be for him.

"I love you, Buck."

"Mhmm love you too, pal."

Steve doesn't even mind that Bucky spends his nights snoring in the crook of his neck, hot breath wafting over Steve's skin, hands grabby even as he dreams—

This is heaven.

#askK #fluffy lub #recovering bucky #found family #avengers 2012 #this is one of a million i have of these #i rarely share like...canon-ish thoughts because i assume people are going to tear them to pieces lol #but i've been sitting on this one for a while #my tense might be way outta wack here lol my bad #tower of god

289 notes · View notes

kittymsmithwritesstuff · 4 years ago

Text

The Legends React To: Being Handed a Baby

This involves some Pathfinder Book Lore, but its pretty minor.

Bloodhound: Was handed a baby by an overexcited fan at an event. The baby cried at their mask but started to calm down when they began speaking softly; Bloodhound figured it was because the baby recognized their voice from HoloTV. They’re secretly fond of babies and little children, so they might take a little longer to give the child back to its parent than expected, and they might have spent the rest of the event musing, a little sadly, whether or not they and Boone would have ended up with a child.

Gibraltar: Dude loves kids, though he prefers it when they can start running and playing versus when they’re tiny and breakable. Still, babies are cute, and every time he gets handed one at an event, whether it be family or Apex related, he’s ready to be the cool uncle.

Lifeline: Some Apex Exec wanted a picture of the great Lifeline holding his baby for internet points and so just sort of shoved it in her arms. She doesn’t really know what to do with babies. In theory she knows how to keep one alive, but in practice she’s not really run into many in warzones so she just kind of holds it by the torso before eventually moving it to her hip and asking how it’s day has been. Strangely, babies adore her.

Pathfinder: Immediately tries to ask the baby about its hobbies before it starts bawling because it’s being held by some weird metal hands with rubber finger pads and it feels weird. He might love the miniature friends, but they do not love him.

Wraith: She gets roped in to helping Wattson babysit for some Apex Games higher-up and was handed the baby-baby immediately upon arriving so Wattson could chase after the toddler. In short, she finds babies fascinating, with their weird little fingers and huge eyes. She likes talking to them and seeing their reactions, and wonders frequently if she might have had a kid or something before. She acts uninterested because she finds it a little embarrassing to actually like babies, but she never has objected to helping Wattson babysit.

Bangalore: She might have been the baby of her family, but the Williamses is a huge clan and she had tons of little cousins forced into her arms over the years, to the point she still isn’t even surprised if one is handed off to her, and hasn’t questioned it the few times it has happened at events. Like Gibraltar, she prefers it when the kids are old enough to cause a little trouble. Her favorite game to play with babies is peekaboo and she finds the faces they make when she blows a raspberry at them hilarious. She will take these facts to her grave.

Caustic: He holds enough sympathy to find somebody else more capable to hold it, or a decently supportive armchair to leave it in, maybe tape something shiny to the forehead to make sure no one sits on it. But this would only be applicable if anyone actually handed him a baby.

Mirage: Kids! Kids are cool, was a camp counselor that one summer. It was to pick up chicks (and maybe that one guy was kind of cute but he was still questioning that one) but kids were also super fun. Babies? Babies were confusing, babies cry. He’s the baby brother, but unlike Bangalore he didn’t have a bunch of little cousins, he just had himself, so tiny wiggly humans kind of leave him at a loss. He desperately wants a couple of his own one day, though, so he’s taking the numerous occasions fans hand him babies (and try to get him to sign them(he does not)) as a learning opportunity. Many funny faces are made. Many tiny humans have cried. His faces have gotten better since Wraith started bringing him along on her babysitting…missions? Assignments? Either way, there’s a lot less crying babies at events now.

Octane: He actually knows how to hold one because of those health classes in school that his dad and Lifeline forced him to actually go to. If someone just hands him a baby for whatever reason, he’s actually pretty chill about it and definitely doesn’t miss out on the selfie opportunity. It isn’t advisable to leave him alone, though, cause the baby’s first word is liable to be a curse word, and probably in Spanish.

Wattson: She’s always happy to see a new little face! But only one or two at a time. Beyond that babies can get overwhelming, especially if they start crying. It actually isn’t that uncommon for Wattson to just be handed a baby since she grew up with a lot of the executives and staff around the Games and, particularly after her Papa passed, took to babysitting a lot of their kids to avoid being alone. She’s thought a lot of having her own little family, like her and her Papa, except it would be nice to have someone to raise a baby with.

Crypto: Mystik did adopt him and his sister, but that didn’t mean they were exempt from helping in the orphanage. Dude knows how to change, feed, soothe, entertain, and understand babies better than a lot of parents. He doesn’t get handed babies anymore because he keeps his hands firmly in his pockets or otherwise occupied, but on the rare occasions he visits home, he inevitably has an infant cooing in his lap. He’s often thought that the first thing he wants to do whenever he can finally go back to a normal life is find someone, settle down, and adopt a couple kids.

Revenant: Ever wondered what it would sound like if a baby was slam dunked through a basketball hoop? You’ll find out if you give him a baby.

Loba: Imagine the face a cat makes after licking a lemon, and that’s about Loba’s reaction to being handed an infant. She has no idea how to hold one or what to do with it, and she’s not particularly motivated to learn. She doesn’t hate them or anything, she’ll smile and wave at them in the grocery store and is about as happy as anybody else is when you get a random baby to smile at you, but there’s too many potential tragedies associated with the things for her taste. Also, the poop.

Rampart: Will flat out ask someone why the hell they just handed her a baby. Basically a more responsible Octane, except the kid is gonna come back cussing in Hindi. Babysat for money until she was 13 and figured out giant guns were a lot more lucrative and involved a lot less spit-up.

Horizon: She’s always overjoyed! She adores babies, and babies adore her. She is the only Legend to have asked someone if she could hold their baby. She has also been known to wander off with stranger’s children because she just gets so distracted interacting with them at both scientific and Apex oriented events, but it only caused a little scene once and after that it became, “where’s your kid?” “Horizon’s got ‘em” “Oh cool.” It helps to fill the Newton shaped void in her heart a little better than the vacuum.

Fuse: Got handed a kid a couple times on Salvo, being the cool uncle to Maggie’s nieces and nephews. Though he’s the ideal uncle for 8-12 year olds, he’s cool with babies, makes funny faces, pretends to hold a long-winded conversation for the baby’s amusement and his. Maggie always made fun of him for it in a friendly way, it’s one of the things he misses. Nobody’s handed him a baby since he left Salvo though. He’s kinda disappointed sometimes.

Valkyrie: Doesn’t really “do” babies; it’s something her and Loba agree on, though Valkyrie looks less like she licked a lemon and more like a pianist who’s been handed a cello and told to play Fur Elise; she just flat out doesn’t know what to do with them and does not care. Her mom tried to get her to babysit growing up, but she always had the tendency to vanish when the idea of responsibility reared its ugly head. If handed a baby, she will hand it to the next nearest Legend and immediately vacate the premises.

172 notes · View notes

turntechgoddesshead · 4 years ago

Text

Promise

Hey guys! Remember me? I was the rando that said i was gonna write Sally Face fanfic, wrote one headcanons post and yeeted off the internet for a couple days. Well, i’m back and I did indeed write a thing. This is the beginning of a series, if ya’ll like it that is. I don’t know if this will end up as Larry x Reader or Sal x Reader but hell, i guess we’ll see. Anyways, here ya go!

Also feel free to hit me up for Headcanons, they’re fun warm ups.

Words: 1624

TW: Mention of animal death, Parents leaving, and Juvy.

Y/n Is a girl and uses she/her pronouns, has freckles and glasses. Sorry haha, i have a hard time not writing in those features bc this did indeed start off as a shameless self insert. Y/N also has two dads bc happy pride month.

~~~~~~

A tiny cry echoed through the hallways of the labor ward, as a new life had blossomed just merely a few moments ago. Her fathers welcomed her into their lives with open arms and tears shedding from their eyes, as they drank in ever tiny inch of her brand-new body. She was absolutely perfect to them, and everything that they had worked so hard for. Her tiny hand gripped tightly onto the finger of the man who held her, her small green eyes cried tears of confusion as the second man beside her smiled and placed a gentle hand onto the top of her tiny head of H/C hair.

“She’s so beautiful,” The first man spoke to the other, failing to contain his tears. The nurses watched in silent anticipation as the two finally introduced themselves to the newest member of their family. The woman who sat in the bed, smiled happily watching the two interact with the baby which she had carried inside her for nine months. She was finally meeting the family she forever deserved to be apart of, and the family which she had so graciously chosen to give her baby up to. After passing the baby girl off to the nurses, the two men embraced the woman into a teary hug, thanking her for all of her kindness.

“Thank you so much, for our little Y/N Moore.”

Days turned into weeks, which casually turned into months, leading to the sudden and unexpected change that occurs within the years of growing up. Five years into her young life, little Y/N and her fathers moved into their own little slice of heaven, room 402 of the Addison apartments in Nockfell. They happily lived along with the other residents, making friends with the Johnson family which resided in the basement below. Larry Johnson was the only child of his parents, Lisa and Jim, who was just excited to have another child his age in the complex. The two children eventually became inseparable, always in one room or the other inevitably getting into whatever trouble children at the age of five or six get into. Y/N eventually grew into a worrisome little girl, always anxious over whether or not the duo would get away with their latest antics while Larry easily concocted them in that little brain of his. Three years Into the Moore’s and Johnsons friendship Young Y/N and Larry played outside excitedly with a handful of firecrackers which Mrs. Lisa had brought home. Y/N expressed to the young boy how anxious she was about playing with something which her fathers would inevitably be angry about, but eventually calmed down and began to play after her best friend convinced her it would be alright.

“Larry, be sure to aim it away from the building!” She told him in between her high-pitched giggles. Snow outside fell from the sky and landed delicately into her hair, just to melt moments after.

“I don’t think you can aim them He-" Before the boy could finish his sentence, the firecracker went off, flying towards the building and into an open window, before exploding into a flurry of pops and whistles. The sudden silence after the firecracker ceased lasted for only a moment as a sudden screech emitted from Mrs. Gibson, the old woman who resided within the apartment. All color drained from the freckled face of the little girl as she gazed up at the window in horror, listening to the screams of terror and anger that omitted from just a few floors above her.

“L-Larry,” Larry had cut Y/N off before she could even form words. He gripped her wrist tightly, pulling her out of the sight of the window. Hurriedly he tugged her along to the side of the building so neither of them could be seen, glancing around the corner once for caution, before turning his attention to his friend. Y/N’s face had grown ghost-like as fat tears began to form in her eyes and roll down the center of her cheek.

“Larry, did we hurt her?” She cried, putting her face into her hands. Her sobs turned into hiccups as she constantly attempted to wipe the water off her face. The pressure of her best friends hands gripping tightly onto her shoulders, suddenly pulled her out of her panicked state. She looked up at Larry who seemed as cool as possible, his eyes were sharp as he looked down at her with determination.

“No Y/N, we didn’t,” He told her, nodding his head, “You were up in the treehouse by yourself, I asked you to play, and you were angry at me remember?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as she realized the weight of the situation, “No, Larry, I can’t leave you by yourself!”

Larry shook his head.

“Go sit in the treehouse, and count to a thousand. Once you do, climb down, and go straight home. When your dad asks you what you did, you say you played in the treehouse by yourself,” He ordered her, as though he hadn’t been coming up with this plan on the spot.

“It’s not going to work!” Y/N continued to sob.

“Yes, it is! Tell them you were mad because I nocked your glasses off with a snowball! But you didn’t play with me today, promise me you’ll do what I say!” Larry shook her shoulders slightly in desperation, before the girl eventually nodded to him.

“Good,” Larry sighed, releasing the grip he had on her shoulders. He watched as his best friend turned on her heal and began to run towards the tree house.

Y/N didn’t hear from Larry for two weeks after that. Her parents kept her at arm’s reach for what felt like an eternity, as she constantly wondered what her friend was up to. Every day she would ask permission to make her way down to the basement to see her friend, and every day she was denied. Weeks turned into months, as her parents protective grip seemed to loosen ever so slightly, reluctantly allowing her to wander the complex on her own after a plethora of begging on the young girls part. She sauntered through the hallway, her eyes glued to the stained hardwood floor as she walked mindlessly, wondering about her friend who she knew was just five floors below. It wasn’t until the little girl had bumped mindlessly into another person that she was snatched from her anxiety inducing thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She spoke meekly, fixing the round glasses that sat delicately on her nose. Upon looking up, Y/N immediately recognized the woman with long brunette hair and much more empty than usual eyes.

“Mrs. Lisa!” Y/N replied, her emotions suddenly too much for her small body to handle, “Is Larry here?”

Lisa looked down at little Y/N almost painfully, her eyes bore dark circles under them, and she held the mop in her hand tightly, “Larry is down in the basement right now Y/N,” She replied calmly.

Sheepishly, Y/N let out a small, “Oh,” and stared down at her feet as she rocked back and forth anxiously.

Lisa smiled just a little bit at the little girl and pulled a small card out of the back of her pocket, “Tell you what though, why don’t you just go visit him now?”

Excitedly, Y/N snatched the card from Lisa’s hand and hugged her with all her strength, excited at the opportunity to see her best friend once again, “Thank you Mrs. Lisa! You’re the best!”

In a hurry she quickly ran towards the elevator and stuck the keycard in, which allowed her access to the basement. It took her only a moment to get to the apartment that was underground, but when she did, she eagerly ran to the door. Not even bothering to nock, the little girl opened the door and ran straight for the room where she knew Larry was. She opened the door to his room, noticing him laying on his bed with his hands behind his head and bulky headphones covering his ears as his foot tapped ever so lightly.

“Larry!” She cried excitedly, jumping on top of the poor unexpecting boy, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Larry scrambled to take his headphones off and toss his Walkman to the side, “Y/N?! Where have you been?”

“Where have you been?!” She replied to his question, crushing him in the largest hug all while attempting to hold back her cries.

Larry grew silent, looking down at his hands before looking at Y/N in embarrassment, “The firecracker killed Mrs. Gibsons pet rabbit.”

Y/N let out a gasp and covered her mouth.

“And they sent me to Juvie for a couple weeks.”

“No!” Y/N cried, grabbing his hand in instinct.

“Y/N I-“ Larry paused, looking at her before sighing, “I think it drove my dad away.”

Y/N cocked her head in confusion and tightened the grip on Larry’s hand, “What do you mean?”

“My dad left a couple days after they sent me away,” He confessed, his face burning red in shame. He looked away from his friend and steadied his breathing, as though trying to contain his own emotions, “I thought I drove you away too.”

Y/N’s heart jumped to her throat as she defensively rose to her feet, “Larry, you couldn’t ever drive me away! Daddy and Papa have been acting so weird and protective, and now I guess I know why… but it wasn’t my choice I promise.”

Tears fell down her face, but she quickly wiped them from her face and continued to talk, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, but from now on, we do everything together!”

Larry smiled at her, pulling her into a hug.

“You promise?”

“Pinky.”

#sally face fanfic #sally face #sally fisher x reader #sal fisher x reader #larry johnson x reader #larry johnson #Sally Fisher #Sal Fisher #ashley campbell

89 notes · View notes

andrea-lyn · 4 years ago

Text

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there!

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend.

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way

Sundering by romancandles

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies ([email protected])

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

(TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends.

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

#recs #fic recs #recs project #star trek recs #inception recs #the raven cycle recs #the old guard recs #roswell new mexico recs

55 notes · View notes

moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

Text

Silver Linings: Part 1

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: Excuse any of my terrible math skills and if this seems rushed. This is the best I could come up with lol, I hope you all like it though!

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Slight Fighting, Descriptions of Drug Use, Drinking, Familial Drama, Fluff, Mentions of Adoption, etc.

Word Count: 3,972

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Adopted Daughter!Reader + Michael Gray x Alfie’s Adopted Daughter!Reader

Summary: After growing tired of hiding, Y/N decides to venture out from the back of her fathers shop, not knowing she’d quite literally fall for one of her father’s enemies who happened to be lurking around the corner. But with tensions growing between the two families, one decision could change the course of their lives as they know it, for better and for worse.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | *Part 4* | Part 5

“Alright Y/N, now when you aim you gotta line yer eyes up with the sight. Take a deep breath, and on that exhale of yours yer gonna pull that little trigger right there.” Alfie said, the teenage girl only coming up to around his chest, her hands shaking slightly as she aimed the small hand gun for one of the flour sacks in the back of the shop. With a small exhale she fired, the bullet whirling through the air and into the target she’d helped draw on it the day before.

“See that’s not so hard innit?” He asked, smiling at the new light in his life.

Y/N heard her father calling for her upstairs, bringing her out of her daydreams from years ago. That was during the first week she’d lived with him after he adopted her from the nearby orphanage. She had no adoptive mother, and no other friends except their dog Cyril, seeing as she had to be practically hidden away on a daily basis. The only time she really went out was to work in her fathers shop, where she’d do her best to avoid being spotted by her fathers business partners-some of which who had strained relationships with him and his men.

Shaking the memory from her brain, she hesitantly walked up the stairs, the creaking of the wood announcing her arrival.

“There you are love. Listen...I’m having Mr. Shelby come by soon so you’ll have to work in the back alright? I know you’ll get me for it later but I’ll make up for it mmkay?” He said, looking his now 21 year old daughter in the eyes. People often found him intimidating, but over the years she grew used to him, knowing deep down he was a sweet person. With every interaction she observed, she could see the pain in his eyes over not being able to really introduce her, knowing it would put her at risk. But deep down there was a mutual understanding between them that it was going to be inevitable that someone would find out, but neither of them thought it would be so soon.

With a sigh, she reluctantly walked towards the back where the other “bakers” worked the ovens and inspected shipments. While she organized bricks of cocaine for shipment, she felt her stomach drop as she realized she’d left her gloves in the front of the shop. She often hated the texture of the bricks as she packed them away, the fabric gloves being her only solace when she was given the task.

Swallowing hard, she nervously crept around the corner, eyeing Thomas Shelby and some of the other blinders in her fathers office as she continued, not noticing the man she collided with as she stumbled back slightly.

“Oi! I’m so sorry sir...wasn’t even fuckin’ looking.” She said, brushing a stray hair from her face and tightening her apron around her waist.

“No problem love, you alright?” He asked, looking concerned as he adjusted his well tailored suit.

“Y-yeah. Just looking for my gloves. I have to go.” She said, knowing she wasn’t supposed to be out for long while the blinders were there, yet trying to not look the dashing man in the eyes.

As she walked away, his eyes followed her to her station where she usually rolled dough and decorated pastries, grabbing her gloves which were tinted white from the previous cocaine shipment she handled earlier in the morning.

“Hey...miss? Before you go...what’s your name?” He asked, a crooked smile spreading across his features as she neared him.

“Uhm...it’s Y/N. What’s yours? You don’t look like you’re from ‘round here.” She said.

“I’m Michael, Michael Gray. I’m with the blinders.” He said.

“Oh....um, well I have to get going. It was nice meeting you...Michael.” She said, awkwardly putting on the gloves as he recognized the powder falling off them.

“What do you around here anyway? I know that’s not flour on those gloves.” He said with a smirk. She swallowed hard before answering, her eyes flicking to the window of her fathers office.

“Um...I bake, and...I organize things. Listen...I really do have to go. I’ll see you ‘round sometime, yeah?” She asked. He followed her gaze to the window, noticing the nervous look on her face.

“Alright. See you around, Y/N.” He said with a wink, walking back to his lookout spot in the corner.

She smirked slightly as she passed him, reluctantly heading straight to the back, the other workers paying her no mind as she resumed packing the bricks.

As she worked, she could hear shouts coming from her fathers office, her stomach tightening in knots at the tension she could see forming in the room. Thomas and him standing close to each other, most likely mumbling threats under their breaths. A few moments later, she saw the men exit the tattered room, putting their razored caps on and storming out the door. Michael ultimately leaving with them, but catching her staring as he looked back towards the room she was in. She smiled lightly as he smirked, shutting the door behind him.

She shook her head as she turned back, getting the rest of her packing done while shaking away the thought of someone like him ever taking an interest. She knew her father dealt in dangerous business, so she wasn’t afraid of the blinders and her father doing business necessarily, but she couldn’t deny that them feuding terrified her, knowing even one slip-up could put her or her father at risk. Blowing their years-long cover.

As she was lost in thought, Alfie walked down after they left, smiling as he grabbed a bottle of rum from one of the crates and locking it back.

“You don’t have to organize all those love. How about we go call it a day aye? I know you’re probably wanting summing’ because your old man made ya work back ‘ere all day.” He said. His words annoying to her ears as of late as she grew bored of her life at the shop and at home. One question forever buzzing in the back of her mind as she continued her monotonous tasks.

“I was wondering something....” She said, taking her gloves off and turning towards him.

“Yeah? Wondering about work or what? I’m all ears now you know.” He said, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Her stomach tightened again as she looked her loving, yet over-protective father in the eyes.

“I was uh...wondering how you would feel if I moved out?” She asked, the thought barely working its way through her anxious mind before spewing out of her mouth.

“What?” He asked, his eyes squinting as he cocked his head to the side.

“I-I just think since I’m an adult now, I’d like to have a place of my own. That way I won’t come between ya and the business as much. I’m tired of hiding, dad.” She said, throwing the gloves on the table as she sat next to him.

“What devils gotten into your bones? Have you been sniffing the snow or drinking me rum?” He asked.

“No dad....I just...I just want to be more independent that’s all.” She said.

“I’ll tell ya what...if you pack the snow for the next month I’ll up your pay so you can get you a place. I’ll chip in some too but getting it on your own will be good for ya. I taught you to shoot but I didn’t teach ya about life aye?” He said.

“No not really. But spare me the lectures. Let’s get home. I’m starving.” She said.

“Alright. Let’s get on with it then.” He said, walking with his cane as they made their way to the car.

As the next few weeks passed, she found herself going into work with a smile. Knowing she’d get to work towards her own place, and for the chance to see the dapper blinder who’d been making regular appearances lately, and to her surprise, for more than business reasons.

He’d been sent by Thomas to crunch numbers and talk bets with Alfie, knowing that he was sent to handle more of the legitimate business than the illegal stuff.

But if Y/N learned anything throughout her years, it was knowing when to make herself known.

She waited until Alfie closed his office door, watching Michael walk down the creaky steps as she did a small whistle.

He turned around and grinned, walking towards her, as was becoming their habit recently.

“Y/N, didn’t think you were here, love. Must’ve been in the back again aye?” He asked, quietly. She nodded and led him to one of the women’s lavatories.

“W-why are we in here? I haven’t even taken you on a date.” He asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Shh. There’s no other place right now for us to go. I haven’t told him.” She said.

“Told who?” He asked.

“My-my father. Alfie.” She said, nervously biting her lip as she removed her hand from his. Crossing her arms over her chest.

“Wait...your father is Alfie fucking Solomons?” He asked, his face hardening at the fact. His usual happy demeanor fading.

“Well, adoptive father. He uh adopted me when I was 16 from an orphanage ’round here. He wanted to protect me...from uh...people like you. I guess he’s had some bad history with the blinders and other groups so I’ve been most my life, just working here to pass the time.” She said.

“People like me? What...are you afraid of me?” He asked.

“What? No! I’ve been around dangerous men all my life. I’m just saying that your blinder cousins may not take a liking to me and neither will my father to you. I just have a bad feeling about it.” She said.

“So...what are we to do? Fucking talk in the bathroom every week or what?” He asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“We’ll do what I do best. We’ll have to hide.” She said. He looked at her with a confused expression as he put his hand on her hips.

“I get off at 4pm and my father won’t be home until late at night. I usually go straight home, but meet me at the warehouse later around 7pm, yeah?” She asked, seeing him smirk.

“Michael I’m deadly serious. If Thomas or my father finds out we’re as good as dead.” She said.

“Fine...I’ll meet you, but I want you to bring some of the snow. Can you sneak it out?” He asked.

“Yeah. Alright, now go, the workers are coming down the hall.” She said, hearing the plethora of Alfie’s men stomping down the dark hall, making it easier for Michael to slip out un-noticed.

“See you then, Y/N.” He said, pecking her cheek before he left.

She rubbed the spot, her cheeks flushing at the brief contact.

“Y/N?” Alfie’s voice rang from the hall, making her heart race as she thought of all the reasons he could be asking for her, internally praying that it wasn’t because he caught Michael leaving.

“Yeah dad?” She asked, quickly stepping out of the restroom.

“Thought ya ran off love. I was just gonna remind ya I’m working late again.” He said.

“Alright, how many nights are you working late?” She asked.

“Well, probably every day for this month. Thomas and the rest of his blinders are damn near making me lose me mind.” He said.

“Oh...ok. Well I’ll keep an eye on Cyril then. Is it ok if I go out to the shops later? Been wanting to stock up for the new place, for whenever I get it.” She said.

“I mean I’m not going to be there so I can’t stop ya can’t I? You can but remember your gun and that knife. You remember how to use it aye?” He asked.

“Yes dad, I can’t really forget stabbing a man for you, nor can I forget putting a bullet through his head.” She said, shivering slightly at the memory of when things got tense at the shop with a disgruntled employee. Alfie had beaten the man unconscious and dragged the man to the back, telling her that it would be good practice. And it was, but after it was done, she vowed to herself that she’d never use such weapons unless she had to.

“Right, well I have to go deal with some business. I’ll let you off at 4 like usual alright?” He asked.

“Okay, thanks dad. I’ll see you...I guess tomorrow depending on how late you get in.” She said giving him a hug before walking back to her station.

The last few hours dragged on as she reminisced over the past couple of weeks. Her heart skipped a beat thinking about how they’d secretly talk and make out behind the shop where her dad couldn’t see, and how on days like today she had to drag him into the restroom as her heart beat out of her chest at the rebelliousness of it all. It was nothing compared to what she planned to get away with tonight, and for hopefully weeks to come, but it was a small step towards her independence, even if they had to hide their relationship from the world.

As the clock struck 4 she headed towards the back of the building, snagging a bottle of rum from an opened crate and replacing it with one that had just came off the line for the night. Shoving the bottle in her purse as she grabbed a rather small brick of cocaine, it being one of the various runts in the pile they’d received that day.

With quick steps, she went out the door and down to the car that was waiting for her. The purse growing slightly heavy as she continued on. Her father didn’t want her walking home alone of course, and so he arranged for one of his men to routinely take her home, ultimately becoming a blessing and a curse for her independence she was so desperately trying to achieve.

“Hello Tim, I have an odd request today.” She said, counting the huge wad of cash in her purse she’d managed to save up well before asking about apartments

“What’s that Ms.Solomons?” He asked, hid old face wrinkling with a smile.

“Can we stop by the housing department? I’ve had my eye on an apartment for a few weeks. Don’t worry though, I’ve already gotten my fathers approval.” She said, pulling off her biggest lie yet.

“Alright, after that do you wish to go home? He asked.

“Yes please.” She said, watching as the streets zipped by.

Once at the housing department, she told the landlord where she’d like to stay and she followed her to the requested location. Her eyes lit up as she saw the rather grand place. It was just close enough that her father needn’t worry too much while also being just enough of a distance away from the shops she loved going to. It was a rather safe area given the town and her fathers plethora of men protecting her, but she enjoyed the new sense of independence as she gave the woman a cash deposit, along with enough for the years rent.

The woman’s eyes lit up as she saw the amount of cash, Y/N rather un-phased given her fathers business.

“Are you sure Ms.? This is so much in advance.” She said.

“Yes. When shall I move in?” She asked. Checking her watch and seeing it was just after 5pm.

“Oh I’d say ‘round any time next week. Here’s your key, just drop by before you begin moving in.” She said with a smile as she got in her car and left.

“Alright Tim, I’m ready to go home.” She said, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I’m impressed. You got this place yourself? Alfie must be proud.” He said.

“Mhmm.” Y/N said, nervously fidgeting with her hands as she remembered the lie. He’d have her neck if he knew she’d already bought the place earlier than he would’ve liked. But what could it hurt?

The minutes passed rather quickly as she was dropped off at her house, walking inside to see Cyril’s tail wagging as she came through the front door. The house was dimly lit and quiet, just as she’d left it that morning. She played with him and made sure his water bowl was filled, seeing as the maid would help feed him later, but she still loved helping wherever she could.

“Ms. Y/N, I have your dress ready. I’ll feed the dog later and make sure the house is kept before leaving. I hope you enjoy your date.” The older woman said, a genuine smile on her face.

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me these last few weeks. Here.” She said, giving her a few slips of cash from her purse.

“Just as a thank you. I’ll be moving in next week to my apartment. Dad doesn’t know though so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.” She said.

The maids eyes widened at the cash in her hand, agreeing with a small smile and a quick nod before returning to her duties. As much as she loved this house, she wanted to do things on her own terms. She wanted to meet people on her own terms, and finally not hide herself. To make more friends than just the maid. To start actually living.

With an excited smile she ran up the stairs, putting the casual dress on and doing her makeup, deciding to leave her hair as-is, then anxiously making her way outside. The purses weight tugging at her shoulder as she walked down the quiet streets, her gun in her purse and her small knife in hand.

Once she neared the warehouse, she sat around the back, taking a swig of the rum before Michael got there to calm her nerves.

She watched the sun set over Camden Town, the birds songs ending as the insects buzzed about, the air turning a bit colder as she looked at her watch. It was just after 7pm, her heart sinking in her chest as she thought he’d stood her up. But after a few moments, she heard footsteps, making her panic slightly not knowing who was behind them. She carefully drew her gun, aiming at the man as he walked closer, his hands soon up in surrender.

“Y/N? It’s me. Michael.” He said, a smirk on his face, lowering his hands.

“I figured you were ‘round back, didn’t think you’d try to shoot me though.” He said.

“Sorry. You never know out here.” She said, putting her gun away and retrieving the cocaine and rum.

“You carried all that here? I’m impressed.” He said, inspecting the cocaine as she opened the bottle, taking another swig from it. She cringed internally as the liquid burned her throat. She’d only drank a few times, not to any huge extent, but now that she was older and more capable, she figured she at least could drink how she pleased.

“How’d you score this rum?” He asked, taking a swig from the bottle as well.

“I stole it from my dads stash in the back. And that coke is one of the runts of the batch, it was too small to pack in the big crates. Figured I’d bring the whole thing since you seemed to know about it a couple weeks ago.” She said, smirking at the memory of their first awkward meeting.

“Have you tried it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall of the warehouse.

“No.” She said turning away from his gaze as she nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s easy. Watch.” He said, unwrapping it and shaving off a sliver of the white substance with her knife. He sat it on top of the brick and made sure it was all crushed, forming it in a straight line.

He handed her the brick carefully as she held it up towards his face, him inhaling the powder through his nose in one fell swoop.

“You want me to shove that shit up my nose? Are you mad?” She asked, giggling as she took another swig from the rum.

“Yeah. Can’t hide from everything love.” He said, his words hitting home probably more than he realized.

“Alright, if I die, my fathers gonna have your head on a spike.” She said.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He said, preparing a smaller amount of the drug and holding it up to where she could inhale it through her nose. Her nostril burned as she did so, the foreign particles lacing their way through her system.

She laughed and shook her head, wiping her nose of any excess powder as she looked up at Michael who was chuckling slightly.

“That was so odd. I’m not doing that again. Not right now anyway.” She said, handing him the bottle of rum as she curled up next to him. It had only been about a month since they’d met, but even then, their interactions became more frequent.

Over the next few weeks, it was as if they’d known each other for years the way they got on. His aunt Polly eventually seeing a spark in his eye that wasn’t there before, and the same went for Alfie.

“You’ve met someone. I can tell.” Polly said one night, catching him coming in drunk on more than one occasion.

“Yeah I did. Tommy can’t do anything about it. It’s not his concern so don’t go telling him.” He said as he stumbled into the house.

As Michael grappled with the weight of seeing an adversaries daughter, Y/N had gradually moved things into her apartment with the help of her driver, all under her fathers nose. But she knew that once her room was more vacant, he’d catch on. Knowing if the blinders didn’t anger him enough, her leaving suddenly surely would.

One night after a drunken date with her mystery boyfriend, Alfie confronted her. Holding the small brick they’d chipped away at over the previous weeks.

“Oi! You wanna explain this? No daughter of mine is going to be sneaking drugs in me house. Do you really think I’m dumb? Cuz I guarantee you I’m not. This can’t happen. Not under my roof.” He said, lighting his cigar.

“Well if you didn’t want to pack it anyway I thought I might as well put it to good use. But uh, I’ll be sneaking it under me own roof from now on. I’ve bought a place if you couldn’t already tell from barging in my room to find that.” She said, folding her arms like she often did when she was frustrated.

Alfie stepped closer to her, his eyes not leaving hers as she barely flinched.

“I’ll find out who you’re doing all this for. Once I do, you’ll wish ya never stole a thing.” He said, walking towards his chair he usually sat on in their grand living room.

Y/N shook her head and chuckled to herself, stomping off towards her room. Her mind raced as she thought about what to do, grabbing what was left of her clothes and hurling them into her suitcases, deciding to leave the house for good in the morning.

Alfie sighed and sat back in his chair as he heard Y/N rummaging around upstairs. The sweet girl he helped raise all of a sudden wanting to leave the nest.

It seemed like everything was fine in their lives until the peaky fucking blinders waltzed into his shop. Not caring who they destroyed as long as they got their money, their rum, or their drugs.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #michael gray x female!reader #michael gray x reader #michael gray x y/n #michael gray #katiesfics #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x adopted daughter!reader

150 notes · View notes

duskypinkbow · 4 years ago

Text

All Love II Jeff Wittek

word count: 3k-ish (she a big baaaby)

summary: I got inspired by All Love by Fletcher... so I guess that explains it?...

note: English isn't my first language.. so plss excuse my mistakes ✨

tw: mention of drugs, drinking (tell me if there are more?)

Jeff’s and your story goes way back. Him being a friend of one of your older cousins, made his face a familiar one in your neighborhood. Although you didn’t see him very often nor interacted with him in any way, you knew who he was. You remembered his face, recognized his eyes and always reminded yourself of his beautiful smile. He was the barber boy from the shop across the street. The handsome guy from around the corner, involved in far too many erroneous decisions. You saw him cutting peoples hair, always admiring his work ethic at such a young age. You heard your cousin dropping his name in stories he told you and your siblings about stuff they did together, for which they did or did not get caught for. Jeff Wittek wasn’t a stranger to you, but you wouldn’t consider him a friend either.

That changed when you reconnected with him a few years later. Both of you chasing your dreams in Miami Beach, not knowing from each other's presence in the city of the sun. The two of you bumped into each other at a party, hosted by one of Jeff’s closest friends, who coincidentally also was an acquaintance of one of your friends. As you spotted him in the crowd of people, smoking a cigarette you assured yourself that he couldn’t recall who you were. For one thing because he was fairly intoxicated and for another thing because you didn’t even know if he knew your name in the first place. You being the little cousin of one of his friends from back home. Why would he even remember your face?

Even though you were sure that he wouldn’t recognize you, you tried your best to avoid an encounter with him. Whenever he looked in your direction, you quickly turned away. When he somehow came closer to where you were, you searched for an excuse to disappear. You didn’t even know why you were so afraid and nervous to stand in front of him, but you continued your hiding nonetheless.

After a very successful night of preventing to meet him, and after you saw him leave the party, you decided it was time to celebrate your performance with a drink. You went to the nearest bar and tried to order yourself a cocktail when a tall man decided to fill the empty space next to you. „Heeeyy“ he introduced himself while he semi-leaned towards your small frame, his hands placed on the counter. „Hi“ you responded shortly, smiling with closed lips as you noticed it was him who was standing right next to you.

Although your eyes deliberately went in the opposite direction than he was standing, he reclined back and squinted his eyes before he asked you „do I know you?“. You quickly shook your head and nervously tapped on the counter in front of you. „I don’t think so…“ you answered, still not returning his gaze. His eyes scanned your figure up and down before he pointed at you and rephrased his statement „I do know you!“ now sure about his cognizance. „I think you are mistaking me…“ you uttered tremulously, your hands fidgeting with your own fingers. Your level of uncomfortableness increasing by the minute, as his inebriated breath created a veil around your face. „I do…“ he objected trying very hard to recollect his memory.

„Shiiiit..“ he spit out when he finally realized, elongating on the vocal „you’re from back home right?“ he spluttered before he put one of his hands on your shoulder to use you as a strut, demising the possibility of him falling down. You let out a little gasp as your gaze went to his hand. Looking at his long fingers nestling your naked shoulder. „You are from Staten Island! Aren’t ya’?“ he questioned you, exaggerating on his accent, his hand back on the counter and a big smile decorating his face, now very sure about his recognition. You breathed out at the sudden loss of physical contact. „Holy shit you really grew up, didn’t ya’?“ he mentioned while he scanned your whole body again. „Fuck, does Leo know that you run around looking like that?“ his words spoken while he pointed his finger at your outfit, a cigarette placed between his digits.

Still intimidated by the tall brunette standing next to you, you cleared your throat, gathered all your strength and spoke up „…that's not of his concern“. You breathed out, looking for the bartender, pleased and proud of your confident demeanor. Although you didn’t look at him, you noticed how his smile got even bigger, showing his perfect teeth as he finished the last pull of his smoke. „Well, certainly not anymore huh?“ he admitted right before he called the bartender, apparently another friend of his, to order drinks for the two of you.

During the rest of the night he didn’t left your side for one second. He told you about his friends, explained what he was doing if he wasn’t attending parties and gave you an extensive heads-up about places you shouldn’t go to. You friendly declined his offer of him walking you home but surrendered as he insisted on doing it anyways. Since your friend, which promised you to go home together, left the party with a random dude, it was safer for you to be accompanied by Jeff then going home all by yourself. „I hope to see you around y/n..“ he confessed when he was about to leave your apartment building. You took a last look into his eyes, nodded and let him vanish in the darkness of the night.

Although you tried your best not to spend much time with Jeff, you couldn’t avoid the fact that the two of you grew inevitably closer. Part of the reason being that two of your friends started dating, which particularly forced you to spend more time together. And the other one being that both of you shared the same hometown, which made you just relate to one another on a level no-one could really understand. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy Jeff’s company, but you wouldn’t admit to it either. Neither to your friends and certainly not to Jeff himself.

In virtue of your and his friends group colliding you found yourself run in the wrong circle of people. The ones your family and especially your cousin Leo always warned you about. But Jeff, keeping his promise to Leo, watched out for you and tried his best to keep you out of the affairs. He always told you not to try the drugs some of your friends were doing, although it were his friends that brought them to the table. He revealed horror stories of downfalls some of his friends had, while you saw the same things happening to your acquaintance. He tried his best to keep you on the right path. And his effort finally made you realize, that Miami isn’t the right place for you.

One night when all of your and his friends were partying in a penthouse, he begged you not to drink too much. Even though you were extremely annoyed by all the restrictions he already made for you, you obeyed him, not wanting that night to end in an argument. So instead of getting drunk, to keep up with intoxicated people, you just drank until you felt a little tipsy. You thought he just wanted to keep his promise to Leo. That he didn’t want you to do something stupid that you would regret someday. But in reality he just wanted you to be at least semi-sober for the very first kiss he was about to give you that very night.

He walked you home, a habit the two of you adapted during the last few weeks of being friends. He gave you his jacket, embracing you in warmth filled with a mixture of the smell of cigarettes but most importantly his incomparable sent. He tried to take smaller steps for you, since your small body couldn’t keep up with his pace. And that in spite of getting more and more nervous with every street the two of you passed. He felt his heart beat faster with every step he took. His fingers getting shaky as he brought you closer to your place.

When you finally stood in front of your entrance, searching for your keys, he took them out of his pocket. „Looking for those doll?“ he asked, swallowing away all the insecurities he had before and making a small step in your direction. You nodded lightly at the sight of your keys, a strand of hair falling down in front of your face. Jeff stepped forward and put the keys in the looker, your back now pressed against the entrance of your apartment.

You looked up into his darkened brown eyes, your lips parted as you breathed out slowly, feeling his somewhat alcoholized breath against your skin. „Fuck…“ he said with his raspy voice, making you smell the drink he has drunk that evening. You swallow your uncertainty, your head fell back on the door just by the thought of tasting the liquor his lips enjoyed just hours ago. He breathed out, his gaze still focused on you „I promised Leo to protect you…“ he started slowly. „Keeping an eye on you…“ he continued while putting the fallen down strand of hair back behind your ear. „Making sure you don’t get in trouble…“ getting more and more quiet and closer to your face with every word he spoke. „But fuck y/n…“ his arms now resting on each side of your head, as if there is a protective shield around your body that doesn’t allow him to touch you. His lips not even an inch away from yours now „I can’t resist you anymore…“ he whispered almost inaudibly before he broke the guarding shield by pressing his lips on yours. You tasted the smoke on his tongue, the booze on his lips and the lust in his quiet moans. He pressed you against your door, your hands tangled up in his hair while he lifted you up, pulled you closer by your waist and opened the door for you to finally get in.

The two of you thought it was the first and last time that this had happened. But after just that one breathtaking night you shared, tangled up in your sheets, both of you carved for more. Therefore, drunk hookups turned into casually sleeping with each other. Eventually even when sober. You tried to keep it a secret, but the looks you gave each other and the ‘coincidently going home at the same time’ - every time - made your friends catch on rather fast. There was no denying that you had a thing for each other. But it was never anything too serious. Both of you just living in the moment. No rush and no need to put labels on a thing that could change any second. It was a fast life you had on the east coast. And it changed way faster than each one of you could have imagined.

After all you had to end your little ongoing amorous adventure for the simple reason that life had other plans for you. An opportunity to fulfill your career dreams coaxed you to move away. So that’s what you did. Leaving the barber boy alone in the city of the sun. And since you’ve been gone, shit quickly went down for him. Though you kept in touch with each other and though you told him ‚not to fuck up‘ , he changed when you left. So it wasn’t even a surprise when your cousin called you to tell you, that Jeff had to go to jail.

A few years later you sat in one of your favorite bars, enjoying the night with some of your closest friends. Pleased with where you were in live and what you have achieved in those past few years. You worked your butt off just to celebrate your promotion for a highly regarded position. A thousand cups of coffee, endless sleepless nights and sacrificed relationships finally paid off, just so you can finally celebrate your accomplishment. Yet your mood to party shifted when you saw a familiar face entering the crowded room. Happiness overcame you for a second, while you looked into those known and unmatchable deep brown eyes. How long has it been? You questioned yourself. Wanting nothing more than to catch up with the handsome man who you haven’t seen in ages.

But your mood quickly changed after you saw him holding hands with another girl, walking right behind him. It took a while for him to notice your presence in-between those random faces, but after your eyes met he didn’t hesitate to make his way up to you. And before your brain could deal with the situation and even before your feelings could cope with the shock, he was already standing in front of you. „Y/n!“ he said in excitement, giving you a one-armed hug. Yet that’s enough for you to take in his acquainted scent. Even though there is no more indication for the smell of cigarettes, it brought back so many old memories.

You tried to say something, but there was an ache in your throat that prevented you from making a sound. „She is an old friend of mine…“ he explained and avoided the possibility of an awkward moment of silence as well as introducing you to the girl which was standing right by his side. You waved at her, smiling politely after she introduced herself to you „How have you been?“ he asked you curiously with a big smile on his face, eyes lighten up when he put one of his arms around his company. You hesitated for a second, eyes pierced at his hand curving around the waist of the woman in his hold. Trying to manage the situation before you finally began to talk „I’m…“ you start, returning his gaze before recollecting yourself once again and starting anew, „I’m doing fine…“ you lied, a convincing smile conjured up on your face to conceal the sadness which was building up inside of you. „We should-“ he started, right before someone of his friends screamed his name. He apologized genuinely for the sudden interruption. However, he promised to catch up with you through the course of the night, before he left you and you friends alone.

„Who was that?“ a friend of yours asked you abuzz in excitement. „An old friend…“ you answered with a crack in your voice. Purposely repeating his words as your gaze followed his figure. You felt your throat closing with every step he took bringing distance between your bodies. You bit your inner lip, your eyes close to tears. But instead of drowning in melancholy you remembered the reason for your celebration. So you tried to stop the waiter just to ask her „Can we get another round of shots please?“

With every shot you took, you tried to forget about the looks he used to give you, when your eyes met his. Tried to forget about those late night walks on the beach, admiring the stars and talking about anything and everything. To forget how loved he made you feel when you shared a bed with him and spend days not leaving it. With every shot you just wanted to numb your heart the same way that the burning liquor was actually just numbing your brain.

It wasn’t a secret that you thought about him from time to time. His name popped in your head whenever you talked to your cousin, which wasn’t as often as it used to be, yet you asked yourself what Jeff has been up to, when Leo didn’t mention him. Because he was indeed your favorite memory of your days in Miami. Still wondering if your name ever crosses his mind. If he remembers the moments the two of you shared with each other. If those were happy reminiscences, or if you were not more than just a short fling for him.

As the night went on you tried not to be too obvious about your looks towards his new group of friends. However you were too nosey about where he was or what he was doing. That’s when you saw his face buried in the nape of her neck. He gave her little kisses on her throat until he made his way up to her lips. His eyes small, dimples deep and just full of happiness. The smile which was plastered on his face, one you knew just too well. Yet it wasn’t determined for you anymore. It felt like a thousand knives were stabbed in your body all at once. Like your lungs cut off all your air, stopping you from breathing, making you suffocate from the pain. You smiled approvingly at her after she glanced at you. Her eyes full of happiness, while yours almost begun to fill with tears.

Before things could get worse your body robotically squeezed itself through the masses of people until you made your way outside, trying to gasp for some air. Whilst you took a deep breath you felt your body calming down again.

You gave your thoughts the chance to understand and tried to comprehend the situation as you went to a nearby parking lot. Although you know you shouldn’t do it, your mind made you question yourself. What does she got that you don’t have? Comparing your noticeable similarities and your striking differences. Your eyes almost the same color. Is it because she is taller than you? Your hair about the same length. Or because she has a cuter nose then yours? After a few more terrible comparisons you realized that it doesn’t lead to anything. Besides everything that made him fall for her, she also had the courage to fall for the man you’ve always admired.

Your gaze went up to the sky, trying to see at least some starts in between the dirty nightlights. A few tears fell down your cheek as you thought about your days in Miami. But instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you tried to be happy for your friend. That, regardless how many wrong decisions he made, it ended more then well for him.

Right before you came clean with that and made your way back to the bar to continue the celebration, a familiar voice stopped you.

"y/n?"

#jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek x you #jeff wittek #my post

151 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

Note

Could you do something where Jiang Yanli kills Jin Guangshan? Reason why and when are up to you.

“It’s just in case,” Jiang Cheng said.

“A-Cheng…” Jiang Yanli said, smiling helplessly. Her little brother was all grown up now and pretending like it was his duty to be protective of her, rather than the other way around. “A-Cheng, it’s really not necessary. I’m going to my own engagement dinner – I don’t think anyone’s going to cause trouble.”

“It’s just in case.”

“A-Cheng, you do know that once I get married, I’m going to live there, right?” she said, laughing a little helplessly. “I’ll be in Koi Tower all the time. I can’t take Zidian away from you forever.”

“It’s fine after you get married,” Jiang Cheng said. “Jin Zixuan is a peacock, but he loves you; he’ll be by your side as often as he can manage it. But an engagement party like this – it’s so unorthodox to have something like this anyway, I don’t know what LanlingJin is thinking – he’ll be occupied getting congratulations on his side, you on yours, and then you retreat to separate bedrooms. If someone wanted to cause trouble in your marriage, that would be a good night for it. So just take it.”

“I don’t even know how to use Zidian properly!” she protested. “Not the way you do! I always…”

She waved her hands.

“Massively over do it?” Jiang Cheng said dryly.

Jiang Yanli grinned bashfully. “Yes.”

Zidian was a delicate spiritual weapon – in her brother’s hands, it was like watching artistry, the crackle of lightning and the shifts between ring and whip and back, never stronger than he meant it to be, able to draw beautiful patterns in the air that left after-images on the eye.

In Jiang Yanli’s hands…

She’d only ever managed to figure out how to activate Zidian’s self-defense mechanism, an extremely powerful lightning zap designed to send anything it touched into the next room and usually the next life.

“I’d still rather you had it for this party,” he said firmly. “Please, indulge me.”

Jiang Yanli stood on her tip-toes and pulled her little brother down by the collar to press a kiss to his forehead. “Always, A-Cheng.”

No one notices an extra ring on her finger that evening – if anything, she’s under-dressed compared to most of the ladies in Lanling, who cover themselves in gold and jewels; they flock around her and drink just as many toasts as the men do, albeit in their own fashion, and the rest of the evening is spent in gossip. Jiang Yanli wasn’t sure how much she liked any of this, but she supposed the engagement party wasn’t really for her – it was for Madame Jin, presiding over the events and puffed up with pride for having made the engagement work out just the way she and Madame Yu had planned it all those years ago.

If it had been for Jiang Yanli, her brothers would have been invited. Both of them.

Still, as the guest of honor, she’s obligated to stay very late, until the party could realistically be considered over and everyone lingering could pretend that they’d meant to do that anyway. Jiang Yanli pointedly yawned a few times before making her excuses – she didn’t need to fake it all that much, actually, given how much wine she’d drunk, even if she had only taken a single sip for every toast.

Of course, no one grew up with Wei Wuxian as a brother without developing some serious alcohol tolerance, so she’s not as affected as she made herself out to be.

Still, she thinks a little later that night, remarkably clear-headed, being drunk would probably be…helpful.

Jiang Yanli took a moment to survey the scene one more time, made a few small arrangements, nodded to herself, and started screaming Madame Jin’s name.

She’d been given a room in the main family hallway, as befitting her soon-to-be-daughter-in-law status, and Madame Jin had (somewhat reluctantly) bid the rest of her guests farewell shortly after Jiang Yanli left, so it didn’t take long before the woman ran into her room, followed very shortly by Jin Zixuan – they must have been talking in Madame Jin’s rooms.

Jiang Yanli flung herself at her future husband – well, she hoped he was still her future husband – and clutched at him, giving him a meaningful look as she did, hoping he understood. “There’s a man in my room!”

Jin Zixuan’s arms around her were a comfort, and his eyes were narrow as he looked around to see the scene she’d prepared: a man with a sheet over his face, lying against a wall where he’d evidently been thrown.

“Zixuan, you comfort Yanli,” Madame Jin instructed, then turned to the servants. “I want this locked down immediately. No one but you is to know what happened – if anyone asks, the story is that she saw a rat and overreacted after having drunk too much; we’ll figure out the rest later. If the real story gets out, it may affect Yanli’s reputation – and I’ll know it was one of you.”

The servants, pale-faced, rushed out.

“What happened?” Jin Zixuan asked her, and she really appreciated that he didn’t follow his mother’s instructions to comfort her as if she were a child.

She wiped the rather legitimate tears away from her eyes. “I came inside and began to change for bed,” she said. “My maid had just finished putting my hair down when she suddenly said we needed more incense and left –”

“Bought out, most likely,” Madame Jin said, looking grim. It had been a maid she’d appointed herself.

“And the someone came up behind me and put his hands on me,” Jiang Yanli continued. “I pulled away, so he only got my shoulders, but he tried to throw me onto the bed. I couldn’t see who it was, only a blur in the dark; I grabbed a sheet and threw it at his face –”

That was the only part of this story that was a lie. The sheet had been a later addition – and she’d seen exactly who it was.

“How’d he end up across the room?” Jin Zixuan asked, glancing over. His tone wasn’t accusing, at least – more puzzled. It was understandable: Jiang Yanli’s cultivation had never been anything very spectacular.

“He tried to grab me again and Zidian’s self-defense mechanism activated,” she said. “My brother gave her to me so I’d have something of my mother’s to wear at the engagement party…you know we don’t have much of her that’s left.”

Madame Jin’s face softened at the mention of her childhood friend.

“I’m glad he did,” Jin Zixuan said, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I didn’t even know Zidian had a self-defense mechanism.”

“It’s for people like me who can’t use it properly,” Jiang Yanli explained, leaning her head against him. She was a little confused – they were taking all the actions and precautions she’d hoped they would, keeping the story quiet and listening to her, but…why weren’t they looking at the body?

“I’m glad,” Jin Zixuan said again, and now that her head was against his chest, she could feel that he was shaking. “Mother…what are we going to do?”

“Zidian’s effects are similar to a lightning strike,” Madame Jin said. “Especially the – it was the zap, Yanli?”

Of course Madame Jin would know – Madame Yu had probably told her all about it. Jiang Yanli nodded.

“With the make-up to conceal the impact on the veins, the cause of death could just as easily have been a heart attack,” Madame Jin continued. “We can spin that. Maybe we say he came in here by accident, and in the confusion of realizing he was in the wrong room, had the attack…?”

They’d recognized him, Jiang Yanli realized. From the first moment they’d come in, sheet or no sheet – no. It was better to say that while they hadn’t expected this would happen, it also hadn’t surprised them very much.

Jin Guangshan had truly been a vile human being, if his wife and son didn’t mourn his passing even for a moment.

Jiang Yanli let the stress slip off her shoulders. “That would raise questions,” she said, composed again. “And I won’t be able to marry A-Xuan if people think I killed his father. How about a slightly different spin: the room was dark when I came in, my maid left, and I got up to look around and began screaming when I found the body. It would be obvious what he’d been trying to do, but if he died before I even arrived…”

“No, that’s better,” Jin Zixuan said. “It won’t – no one will be surprised at something like that, from him. I’m sorry. But you screamed very convincingly.”

She smiled at him. “I’m not very good at screaming.”

“If I hadn’t been in a war camp with you, I would’ve believed you?” he offered with a shaky smile.

“I never expected you to,” she said and kissed his cheek. “It was for the benefit of the audience.”

“The sheet was a good touch,” Madame Jin said, and she sounded approving. “The servants wouldn’t have recognized him – some of them will think it was a stranger, inevitably, and that will create additional confusion when the stories leak out…yes, I think a sudden heart attack while waiting is the best approach. We will need to take action, A-Xuan – reach out to everyone we can trust at once.”

“Is there anything I should do?” Jiang Yanli wanted to know.

“No, you’re not a member of the family yet,” Jin Zixuan said. “Your first instinct was right: you need to be the distressed young mistress.”

“Shocked and a little naïve about what he could possibly have been doing there would be best,” Madame Jin agreed. “‘Surely he just wanted to give me another toast’ – that sort of thing. Can you do that?”

“I can try. Most of the women here don’t know me very well, so it should work.”

Jin Zixuan ended up taking her down the hallway to the only other family housed there, knocking at the door. Jin Guangyao had a smile on his face when he answered – but then, he was always smiling.

The smile didn’t alter as Jin Zixuan explained the situation in short terms.

“I would be happy to help,” Jin Guangyao said. “Don’t worry. Miss Jiang is perfectly safe with me.”

#mdzs #jiang yanli #jiang cheng #jin zixuan #madame jin #jin guangyao #my fic #guess it's just a jiang yanli day #Anonymous

677 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Three

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 3 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

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

Warnings in this chapter: sexual harassment (slight); talk of sexism/misogyny/canon violence; mentions of drug use; mentions of depression

Word Count: 8,900+

The Compound, 2023, 3:16pm

It probably would have been better to grieve as a group, to help each other in understanding what just happened, to lean on each other. But the second you saw Clint fall to his knees without Natasha beside him, soul stone in hand and face miserable, like he saw a wandering ghost in need of help, you started to walk backwards off the platform.

You stumbled and teetered before finding balance against the railing. No one seemed to notice you, all wrapped in their own suffocating grief, and you abandoned the group to run across the grounds of the compound. It wasn’t until you ended up by the lake that you realized you were crying, tears flowing but face tough and angry, chest heaving as you came to a stop. You just stared at the ground, shaking hands still gloved and teammates still back at the compound and - oh, god Clint, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Chest still tight and finding it harder to breathe, you shut your eyes and leaned against the nearest tree. Several minutes flew by, the only sounds that of your suit’s fabric stretching and retracting as your breathing grew slower. And the grief that enveloped you almost instantly turned into fury, and it hurt, it hurt, but you were just so damn angry that you found yourself wishing it was you. Natasha didn’t deserve this, and neither you, but you would give anything to just believe for a second that this couldn’t be real.

But you all knew the risks. This was inevitable. And you were so angry.

Voices startled you from your thoughts and you watched your teammates pace toward the dock, ideas bouncing from one head to another as they strategized ways to reverse this. But Clint quickly shut them up, telling them that no matter what they did, a sacrifice was a sacrifice and that was the end of it.

“It was supposed to be me.”

And finally someone said it, because it should have been anyone but Natasha, and that thought caused bile to burn your throat and why in the world could you not control your breathing?

You ran from your spot, legs carrying you to the gardens and burning as you increased speed. You collapsed near the lake, shredding your suit until you were left in the comfortable t-shirt and leggings underneath, sounds of the garden ringing in your ears.

The time of day could be told by the purple and orange streaks painting the sky, evening dew on the plants near your feet and the sound of a cricket’s chirp cutting through the silence. You counted the hours this way, focusing on the colors and sounds of the outside world that for some reason, didn’t feel like your own anymore. Guilt latched onto your core as you found yourself falling into the therapeutic senses of it all, eyes closing and a silent plea of ‘I’m so sorry, Nat’ escaping your lips. The tears you had shed hours ago were now dry, creating a minor strain of your skin, noticeable as you moved your face.

Legs dangling from the dock and eyes simply watching the sky change shades, you barely heard the soft footsteps behind you. And you smiled, surprised that it took your teammates this long to recognize your absence.

Thor grumbled below his breath as he sat beside you, his feet barely touching the water. You swung your legs together, impossibly empty yet consumed minds working behind such sad eyes.

“You want to jump in and freeze? It’s autumn, it’s cold, we’ll probably die from hypothermia.”

Your body lunged forward lightly as a tiny laugh left your throat, a small smile twitching on the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Thor grinned at your equally dark response, reaching over and gripping your hand in his. He rubbed small circles into your knuckles and resumed watching the clouds shift.

You looked down at your conjoined hands, wondering why he came after you in the first place. Still, you squeezed his hand back and relaxed in the feeling.

“Doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

Thor turned his head, “She traded her soul for trillions of others who had no choice.”

You mumbled, “Still isn’t fair.”

Thor scooted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, grinning when you accepted the invitation to lean into him.

“None of this fair. We have one more fight, Y/N.”

You sighed, ready to complain and run back to the compound to lay under a mountain of blankets, wallowing in self-pity and increasing depression.

“Look at me,” Thor instructed, gently pulling away from you. “I know what you’re feeling. I too want to sleep and never wake up.”

Your face dropped, sympathy flooding your eyes. You raised a hand to lay your palm on his cheek, wiping away the stray tear he had let slip. “You don’t have to be so strong.”

Thor leaned into the feeling of your warm hand and he gave you a sad smirk. “I know. But it’s all we know how to be.”

Thor could sense your depleting energy, and as much as he wanted to carry you to your bed and wrap a blanket around you, cup of tea ready and some comedy movie on repeat, he had to persuade you. There was one more fight that needed to be fought.

“Breathe, and think of the first thing that brings you comfort. Lean into that, let it give you strength, and use it.”

You turned to him, prepared to protest, but Thor simply gripped your face in his hands, allowing you to do the same. He rested his forehead against yours. “Think and use it.”

You nodded, still apprehensive to the idea, but you shut your eyes and thought. New and old friends. It could have been anything - Natasha’s final and unknown farewell, Wanda’s loud laugh as she fought Sam (who was on Steve’s shoulders and her on Bucky’s) and tried pushing him into the water, or even Tony’s face as he realized he forgot to put the lid over the blender before turning it on - anything, but you held onto the first flash of joy your mind recalled.

The sudden image of Steve’s face frightened you. Not because Steve himself was scary, but because the more you thought of him, the more prepared you were for the final battle. You had something to fight for. Someone. You simply saw Steve - Steve who tucked his knees up to his chest when he sketched the trees outside his bedroom window - and how he would put his pencil down and march toward you because ‘don’t you ever knock?’, and push you out of his room as you laughed and apologized at the same time.

“Use it,” Thor repeated. You opened your eyes.

So you wiped your tears and changed back into your suit, hair now held in a ponytail and new gun on your hip. Your breath hitched as Bruce lifted the gauntlet to put it on, his eyes swimming with fear but also determination, and you found yourself glancing at Steve. He felt eyes on him, and he found yours, and something alerted you of the shift. Perhaps this was his last straw, it was yours too, but this was different. You wanted to go back to Thor and ask him to help you find that memory again, ‘tell me to imagine Steve again, Steve with his soft face and gentle hands, Steve who doesn’t look like he’s just seen a ghost!’. A perfect stranger, and before you could ponder such a drastic change, Bruce began screaming in agony. You stood behind Tony, allowing Bruce’s screams to fuel your energy, because you had one more fight.

Just one more.

A Forest in Iowa, 2025, 6:47am

You awoke with a strangled groan, a crick in the neck that needed to be remedied by a quick snap to the opposite side and a very numb ass. You dreaded having to remove your arms from the warmth the blanket provided, but the quicker you turned the car on you could relax. You leaned over and did so, the tingles along your lower back and bottom begging you to get out of the car. Steve was startled awake from the sudden rumble of the engine, alert within seconds and examining his surroundings.

You practically crawled out the car and stretched every muscle, even muscles you didn’t know could become inflamed, and started walking around the campsite while rubbing your palms on your sore ass. Steve joined you outside after a few minutes, laughing at the random stretches you were performing.

“Laugh all you want, Rogers but if I don’t get this knot out my ass then any danger we encounter you’re taking out alone.”

“Do you need help?”

You snapped your body back up, an involuntary loud cackle rising from your throat. “That would be a treat.”

Steve rolled his eyes and began stretching himself, arms bent and raised behind his head as he tugged on his elbows. “I just meant in general. Not specifically your ass.”

You giggled at his innocence, walking back to the car and grabbing the blanket you had regretfully crawled from. You wrapped it around your shoulders and made your way back to Steve, extending your right leg out and dipping your upper body down to continue the stretch. You heard the sudden ‘pop!’ of your hip, surprising both you and Steve. You screamed in slight but joyful surprise, pulling yourself back up to look at Steve. He just stared back, amazement and a little concern in his face. He scrunched his nose and smiled wide.

“That hurt?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and extended your left leg now, bending down and stretching the same way. Again, ‘pop!’

And Steve had to walk away in complete astonishment, hands covering his ears and a comical expression on his face, because it just sounded so weird.

You stopped at the first secluded diner you stumbled upon, barely open for the morning and understaffed. There was a lonely waitress behind the counter folding napkins and cleaning the leftover coffee grounds someone forgot to clean before her. She looked about thirty, slightly dark circles under her eyes, but presented a cheerful smile as you and Steve walked through the door. If she was surprised with two Avengers walking into her place of work, she did an excellent job at hiding it.

“What can I get you two?”

You took a seat on the light blue swivel chair at the counter and flashed the waitress a kind smile as you spoke. Her name tag read ‘Martha’. “Coffee and tea to start with, please.”

She clicked the coffee maker on and went to retrieve a kettle from the back, leaving you and Steve alone.

“You hungry?” you asked.

Steve plopped down in the chair beside you, already grabbing the two sugar packets he would put into his tea. “Starved.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were the one who refused the last granola bar.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“Aw, you starved yourself for me?”

Steve huffed in annoyance, playing with his sugar packets and head hung low to avoid recognition from incoming customers. You stared at him longer than usual, studying the way his jaw ticked every so often and how he would sniff at nothing only to pass the time and countless thoughts. You reached over and grabbed a handful of sugar packets, piling them in between you and the super soldier, and began constructing the base of a tower. It seemed to snap Steve out of whatever thought he had, and he quickly became interested. He helped steady the base, careful fingers adding to the height. You two worked in silent cooperation, little giggles filling the empty and quiet diner.

Martha returned with two mugs and went to grab both the freshly made coffee and tea. She watched as you and Steve constructed your sugar packet tower, a smirk on her face as she poured your drinks. “Anything to eat?”

And it was one of the best meals you had. The sheer amount of grease on those sausages and hash browns warmed your once empty stomach and meshed with the coffee in the most delightful way. You almost wanted to ask for seconds, those scrambled eggs not nearly enough, but the longer you stalled the longer the ride on the freeway was going to be.

You paid and left a generous tip, finishing the remaining amount of coffee in your mug. Steve had gone to the restroom, your sugar packet tower still standing tall and proud. It didn’t seem like Martha was going to knock it down any time soon. The bell over the front door dinged with a new arrival, the cold air from outside making you clutch your hot mug tighter.

You glanced over your shoulder out of instinct. The man looked to be in his mid-forties, a trucker no doubt, and had only the slightest hint of an unwashed smell. He took a place at the counter a few seats away from you, throwing his hat down and begging Martha to bring him a coffee of his own. You took a sip from your mug.

“Woah, you’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”

Busted.

“Nope.”

The man scooted a few seats closer, eyes now wide awake. He pointed at you in an almost accusatory manner, but voice still cheery. “No, seriously - I’ve seen your face in the news and everything!”

You set your coffee down and saw the look of pity Martha was throwing you from across the counter. “You want a picture or something?”

The man laughed now, a nasty smirk on his face. “Or something would be nice.”

Your face scrunched and your shoulders immediately tensed. “You better not be implying-?”

“Woah, hey, no harm here! I just mean, you’re here alone and I’m here alone…”

You looked away from him, taking a big swig from your mug. The burn down your throat was somewhat therapeutic. “I’ll do the picture or else I start screaming.”

“I’d love to hear that.”

Steve rounded the corner when he heard a full-on conversation he was sure just started during his absence. He almost cursed himself for leaving you alone during such an important mission, even if it was to urinate. He could have had you standing outside the men’s restroom just to feel more secure of your well-being. Still, he remained behind the wall and listened to the conversation. If Steve was to interrupt before you could get your own kicks in, then he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

‘I had him on the ropes!’

‘Excuse me for assisting a teammate!’

‘Get bent!’

Yeah, Steve would let you kick this person’s ass and brag about it instead of yapping at him.

You groaned, hoping the loud sound would make the man retreat back to his breakfast. “Bet you would.”

But it seemed to encourage him more, and he stepped closer to lean on the counter and bump your shoulder with his. You kept your eyes trained on your abandoned coffee.

“C’mon, I’m just a lonely trucker trying to make ends meet. I think I deserve some kind of reward.”

You put on your best fake smile, tilting your head towards him. You flashed your teeth, a great distraction for him as you reached into your pocket for your throwing knife. “That picture offer seems to be wearing very, very thin, dude.”

He placed his dirty hand on your shoulder, squeezing as he spoke in a low whisper. “Guess that’s for the best.”

His hand was immediately twisted from your shoulder, the sound of his instant wail frightening poor Martha. You knew what had happened, and as chill as ever, you swiveled the chair around casually.

The man groaned in discomfort, “Woah, hey! - oh my god.”

Steve’s single hand was crushing his, digits begging for mercy as each second Steve squeezed even harder. He could feel the man’s knuckles start to crack painfully. “Yeah, ‘oh my god’. Touch her again and I’ll total your truck.”

The man shook his head violently, “We were just talking!”

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, elbows resting on the counter behind you.

“C’mon Cap, you gotta believe me!” The man tried to sprinkle some humor on the situation, which only caused Steve to shove him into a booth, hand still gripping his.

Steve towered over him now as the man had no choice but to fall back into the booth. “That’s just it - I don’t.”

The man looked from Steve’s face, to yours, to his own purpling and bruising hand. “What are you two doing out in the middle of nowhere anyway? Danger nearby?”

You stood from your seat and stood beside Steve, arms crossed and a smirk on your face. “Look, bud - tell anyone you saw us and you’ll regret it.”

And like the idiot he was, even with Steve’s hand cramping down on him, he still countered. “Are you threatening me?”

Steve couldn’t believe this guy. Of course, he could squeeze harder and just yank this guy’s fingers clean off, but he wasn’t that evil. The guy was just a creep and a pervert, which in Steve’s moral compass, called for a few cuts and scrapes and not a permanent disability.

“Yup, and I tend to have some creative ways of framing people.”

“C’mon, I know you can hit harder than that!”

Steve threw a few more punches at the cushion Bucky was holding up, boxing gloves nearly sliding from his fists because of their large size.

“One more, there we go!”

Bucky lowered the cushion as Steve threw his last punch, racing toward the bench to fetch Steve’s inhaler and hand it to the younger boy.

“I could have gone longer.”

Bucky smiled at his best friend, “I’m sure you could have but you were about to pop a lung and I love you too much to see you go out that way, pal.”

Steve took a drag of his inhaler at the same time he tried to wrap his arm around Bucky’s neck. But the older boy was quicker and lunged out of the way, taking a celebratory light jog around the ring for such minimal effort on his part. Steve just glared at him, a small smirk forming as Bucky started chanting.

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, defenders of America, the world, we avenge the fallen!”

Steve let Bucky exaggerate, inhaler finally working enough for him to take a big swig of water. “You really think we’ll save the world?”

Bucky held his chest and laughed loudly, “America isn’t going to war anytime soon, pal. Let’s focus on rescuing dames from bullies and perverts first!”

“Captain, you gonna let her-?”

You snapped your fingers in his face to get his wandering eyes back on you, “I’m speaking to you.”

Steve couldn’t hide his grin, a slight blush growing on his cheeks due to your authoritative tone. He had heard you speak this way countless times, roughing up some guy on the opposite side whenever they proved difficult. Although you weren’t currently throwing punches, Steve was proud nonetheless.

You continued, “Tell anyone and I’ll tell the cops you tried selling us drugs.”

The man’s eyes widened comically, “What? I don’t even have-”

You reached into your back pocket and revealed a tiny baggy half-full of white powder. Martha’s tiny giggle reminded the man that he had an audience, a possible witness, but her overall lack of involvement was enough to know he was alone in this. “Come again? You were saying something?”

The man gritted his yellowing teeth, “No fucking way.”

You jiggled the baggy closer to his face, watching in amusement as he whipped his head to the side as if it was poison. “Way. I’ll stash it in your beloved truck where only the dogs can smell it.”

Steve, hands still gripping the man out of instinct, was completely shocked. He watched the baggy in the most peculiar way - analyzing its size, crumpled appearance, even the way the tiny specks of white dust latched onto the moisture inside, resembling salt or sugar. Obviously he knew what product you handled, but he had never seen it up close and personal unless he was in the evidence locker room. Maybe ‘shock’ wasn’t used with negative connotation, because Steve wanted to both laugh at your threat and snatch the baggy from you to ensure no other soul saw you handling it.

The man looked from both you and Steve, determined expression falling as he ran out of viable options. He sighed in defeat, “Okay.”

You snatched the baggy away from his face and pocketed it. You smiled at him with such brightness, as if you hadn’t just threatened to ruin his life. “Cool, nice meeting you!”

Steve let him go and walked back to his original seat to pick up his coat. He ignored the annoying babbling from across the diner, choosing to grab your belongings too and smiling at Martha as he took his leave. You rushed after him, turning back to wave at Martha.

“Best coffee ever, Martha!”

You settled into the car and continued your drive fairly easily, a comfortable silence between you two. Steve didn’t know if it was the jitters from the coffee - not like he was really affected by caffeine anyway - or the effects from the uncomfortable situation he should have pulled you from sooner, because next thing he knew his voice was an octave higher and cracking. “So, you just had that shit in your back pocket this whole time?”

You choked on your laugh and covered your mouth, looking up from your phone and at him. You shared the same playful look in your eyes.

You shrugged, “You never know when you might need it.”

Steve shook his head but kept the same tiny grin, “Do you…?”

The playfulness somewhat subsided, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The seatbelt was digging into your right breast and side of your neck. Steve waited for your response, the question an entirely personal one. He was about to retract it, apologize and focus on the freeway for the remainder of your trip, but you cleared your throat.

“Once. But I was young, curious, and it burned like hell so I didn’t do it again.”

You were fourteen, still unsure of yourself and the world around you, clinging onto the inner child your environment was beginning to kill. You remember running through the mansion, the ranches, random hotels and random weddings - a dozen other children and teenagers running alongside you, each avoiding interaction with those their guardians had told them to avoid. And you remembered the day you wanted to enter your bedroom to retrieve your little iPod shuffle, the door resisting as you pushed. Your strength ultimately won, revealing a bedroom floor full of all types of guns, grenades, and automatic rifles. You didn’t scare easily, you never had, but that angered and annoyed you greatly. That was your room, your own sacred space to avoid confrontation, and it had been tainted. You had stepped over the guns carefully and reached your bedside table. Attaching your headphones to the device and clicking shuffle, you had almost missed the packages of drugs laying on your white bedsheet. Where you slept.

More out of anger than curiosity, you had carefully poked a hole in one of those taped packages and rubbed it over your teeth and gums like you saw some of your father’s men do. The sensation was weird, more numb than anything, and although you wanted it to taste like the flour you used for baking, it didn’t. So you picked a small portion under your pinky nail and sniffed. It burned, similar to when you burped and the carbonation came back up through your nose, and you wanted to scream. An instant headache, an unknown high, and a very angry Seda appeared around the same moment.

“Why do you carry it now?” Steve asked.

You snapped yourself out of the flashback, “My father knows we’re traveling by car. We’ll be arriving in the next day or so. He could call at any time and tell me he needs someone taken out in whatever state we’re currently passing through.”

Steve hummed, face showing discomfort. “Taken out? Do you often plant drugs on innocent people?”

You huffed, “Hardly innocent. Just drug dealers or other smugglers that got on his bad side.”

You played with the button to roll down the window, watching the moisture from water droplets begin to dry and leave their smudge. You continued, “Quick drop into a glove compartment or someone’s pocket while they’re distracted usually does the trick.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed, “Guess I can understand that.”

You left the window slightly open, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. The smell of rain was prominent. “I do my research before, you know. I don’t just frame random people.”

Your soft voice suddenly hurt Steve, almost like you were accusing him of thinking of you as evil. Whether you discussed your undercover work with him or not, he would never assume you escaped morals. You were an Avenger after all, and even though no one knew, Tony used to have a huge part in the decision-making process with Fury. And if Tony had seen something in you, then he trusted him. “I know.”

“Thank you, by the way. I may not look it, but he did scare me for a sec.”

Steve sighed, “We’re partners, Y/N. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes at his sincerity, smiling toward him but avoiding his gaze. “Still… thanks.”

“No problem. Your playlist this time?”

You passed the next several hours listening to mostly instrumental music, the foggy and dense atmosphere of each state you drove through providing the same calm feeling. It was winter after all, and although California didn’t have quite as much snow as the midwest, it certainly had rain. The drive consisted of small talk about your surroundings, about your friends, about the most random things you could fill into a twelve hour time stamp. You played with the seat warmers, laughing when Steve jumped a foot in the air when his got a little too hot for his liking. And his cursing. When you first met Steve, he didn’t curse all that much unless it was in the middle of a fight or when he was truly angry. But now, especially after these last couple of years, his vocabulary expanded to new inappropriate lengths. You didn’t mind, no, it made the conversations all that more interesting.

So when Steve grumbled under his breath as he spilled crumbs from his granola bar onto the passenger seat (you had volunteered driving the sixth hour in), and mumbled “jesus fucking christ”, you gave him such a bright smile with equally bright eyes that had Steve scrunching his eyebrows together and he leaned away from you, a blush crawling up his neck.

‘What?’

‘You took the lord’s name in vain.’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘Over a granola bar.’

‘... I see your point.’

You stopped about an hour away from the hotel, legs cramping and backs strained but overall happy that no one else on the journey recognized you two. There had been that kid who paused in the aisle of a small gas station, wide eyes staring up at both you and Steve as you reached for a bag of chips. Steve had crouched down to his height, chatting for a few seconds before giving him a small fist bump. You smiled at the kid, bringing your finger up to your mouth to mime a tiny ‘shh’, and followed Steve out the store after paying.

You spent the next few minutes stretching, the sudden pops of your hips causing Steve to create as much of a fuss he had done before.

‘Is that normal?’

‘It’s a ball and socket joint, they crack.’

‘So violently?’

‘It actually feels awesome.’

The California air was musty this season, humid and wet. The smell of various weeds and tree bark overpowered anything else, and although there was moisture in the air, the coldness dried your eyes. You found yourself blinking multiple times to accumulate some tears, and you reached into your backpack to reapply some lip gloss. You donned a simple, forest green tracksuit with a knitted sweater over it all, layers and layers to combat the cold breeze. Steve wore a similar knitted sweater, but he seemed less fazed by the cold than you were.

“So, how much do you trust this person?”

You snapped your head up from your lazy resting and asked Steve to repeat his question. Once heard, you shrugged and answered. “About ninety-five percent.”

Steve chuckled and wrapped his arms over his chest, “Will it ever be a hundred? C’mon.”

You grinned back and took a deep breath, chilly air slightly burning your sinuses. “They took a bullet for me once. And they didn’t have to.”

You were meeting your main contact of the mission. Maribel, a childhood friend, a friend who ultimately took a bullet for you to keep your undercover identity a secret. You could have been compromised, forced to stand trial in front of your father and his men, but she took the fall. After going off the grid and living in Madripoor for about six years, she had contacted you after the snap. Her relief, and her eagerness for revenge, all were to your benefit. So you fed her any information you could, both vowing to fuck with your father in any means. And since you were the only person on the inside with ties to the Avengers, having Maribel be an insider with no ties ultimately helped prepare your case. Two sides, two people with shared experiences, all truth. And you were going to do everything in your power to clear her name and get her a good deal.

“So, why isn’t it a hundred?”

“I haven’t trusted anyone a full one-hundred percent since SHIELD was compromised.”

Steve’s voice dropped a little, but you could still make out his teasing tone. “Do you trust me?”

“It wavers.”

“Wait-”

You interrupted and pointed toward the trail hidden by the trees, “There she is.”

Maribel had changed immensely since you last saw her. Her natural ginger hair was now dyed a dark brown, her freckles seeming to have multiplied and draped themselves from her cheeks and down her neck, over her shoulders, etc. She wore all black, leather jacket and leather boots, loose strands of hair blocking the view of shoulder buttons and shoulder pockets. She looked younger, more refreshed in her natural glow, healthy even. You found yourself breathing a sigh of relief, chest tightening with genuine love as she flashed you a wide smile. You gave her a tight hug, patting her back and welcoming her back to the states. She smelled of the bushes she had to track through to get here.

She released you from her tight grip and looked over at Steve, giving him an almost teasing look. “Heard you were invited. Nice to meet you Captain.”

Steve shook her hand, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

She chuckled and winked at him, “Y/N inform you about me? How do I sound? Look?”

Steve seemed to be affected the same way you had, an involuntarily reddening of his cheeks giving him away. “Like a possible ally.”

Maribel scoffed playfully, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Status?” you asked.

Maribel handed you the file she carried, “Hotel is secure. Neighboring cities have no alerts about your arrival or of the upcoming celebration. Everything’s pretty quiet.”

You smirked, looking over to Steve in recognition of what that meant. “Of course it is. He wouldn’t dare kill any U.S citizens on American soil.”

“Heard he got sloppy,” Maribel sang, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Let’s hope it’s to our benefit. You meet up with the agent in charge I told you about?”

Maribel nodded, “Torres is set up a few miles from the venue. He’s been running surveillance for about three days already.”

“If you can’t get into contact with me, Torres is your second. Got it? He reports back to Sam.”

Maribel agreed, “Got it. So, what’s the plan for the rest of the week?”

“Steve and I will draft a report tomorrow morning and send you the encrypted file.”

“Can’t wait. It’s nice to see you again, Y/N,” she smiled, bringing you back into a tight hug. Steve simply stood to the side, listening around for any disturbances.

“Likewise,” you spoke, sad to watch her walk away and back toward the hidden path. Her feet crunched on some fallen leaves purposefully. You suddenly remembered the bit of information that could be useful if Maribel were to encounter an old foe.

You called out to her, “Oh, and if anybody asks - Steve is my boyfriend and you’ve known about it for three years now!”

Steve hid his face behind his hand, looking down to his feet to avoid Maribel’s teasing and humorous expression. “Lucky you!”

The hotel was nicer than you expected, the pictures on google doing little to showcase just how grand it really was. With some of your savings and a little money under the table from Fury, you were able to book a single bedroom with two beds for five nights. Obviously, the wedding night wasn’t counted as the two of you were going to have to haul ass immediately, but five nights in this grand arena seemed vacation enough.

From the outside, it seemed like any chain hotel, but the inside provided a more Gothic feel. It compared to a Vegas type, but also your typical breakfast inn. It was an odd combination, but you figured they had that liberty since it was a really quiet part of the city and didn’t see many regular customers.

You lugged your suitcases through the elevator doors and pressed the button for the seventh floor, looking around for the security cameras in the corner. You spotted the red light blinking and immediately smiled and waved.

“Steve, say hi to Bucky.”

Steve looked at the camera and raised an eyebrow, giving a small wave. “You know regular security can see us, too?”

“Can’t hear us, though. Neither can Bucky.”

“So, if I were to call him a thousand bad words right now, he wouldn’t know?”

You squinted at Steve as the elevator dinged, “He can still read our lips.”

“That adds to the fun!”

The room was big enough to set up an extra pull-out table and computer in the corner, the only separate part being the bathroom to the side of the entrance door. The beds were both queen sized, multiple throw pillows scattered on top and two bedside tables in the middle.

You rushed inside and threw your suitcase carelessly at the foot of the bed closest to the door, and ran to leap in the air and land face first on the cushy mattress. “Heaven!”

Steve picked up your suitcase and set it against the wall, “Glad to see you’re already making yourself at home.”

You rolled over and pressed some pillows to your chest, “You ever plopped yourself down onto a hotel bed? Do it!”

Steve tilted his head slightly, reluctant to the idea. “What if I break it?”

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave in. “Promise you won’t laugh if I break it?”

“Do you know me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and braced himself against the wall, pushing himself off and leaping into the air only lightly, crashing onto the bed the same way you did. The bed creaked and made a horrible sound. But it held, the wood proving stronger than you thought.

“Okay, I see the pleasure in that,” Steve laughed, face still smushed inside the mountain of pillows. You lay in your own beds for about an hour, naps wholeheartedly enforced.

A quick knock on your hotel door snapped you from your short slumber. You rolled over with a groan, looking over your shoulder at a still snoring Steve. His age was catching up to him alright, because he totally should have woken up from that. You opened the door and greeted Torres, allowing him to step inside. He lugged in a hotel cart with a heavy drape over it, careful in not hitting the doorway.

“Agent Y/L/N, it’s so great to see you again!”

Now Steve was awake.

“You too! I thought our last rendezvous was cut too short,” you teased, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him puppy-dog eyes. Torres blushed under your gaze but shook his head at your flirting.

“Well, here we go again! Got everything you need right here.”

He revealed the desktop computer and multiple other monitors, radios, a printer, and earpieces.

“Looks like Christmas morning,” you joked, helping Torres set up.

“Sorry for waking you, Captain. Sam said I had to deliver all this before nighttime.”

Steve waved his apology off, “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anything.”

You went over the itinerary for the rest of the week and once Torres announced his leave, you handed him the extra key card you had asked for.

“If you need anything, or we don’t radio in at the times we set up, you use it. Okay?”

Torres gave you a sincere smile, tucking the key card into his coat pocket. “You can count on me.”

Once Torres left the room, Steve spoke. “Watch him barge in when one of us is showering.”

“Let’s hope we don’t scar the poor kid.”

It took about two hours to set up all the tech and connect it all back to the compound. You video chatted with Bucky and Scott and discussed the itinerary tomorrow. You double-checked mic connections, triple-checked police reports filed within the last few hours, and reviewed spy cam footage Torres had taken of the ranch. It was basically homework.

“We have to set up our backstories, our so-called relationship, you have to know everything.”

Steve hummed, tapping his pen on the table. “Where do we start?”

“They might ask why you help me in the first place.”

“Fuck America, that’s why.”

You stuttered, voice timid and eyebrows high. “O-oh?”

Steve laughed at your reaction. He leaned in with confidence, “I mean, your father grew up close to a similar time I did. He’s old fashioned, no?”

“Kind of. He’s old so he hates the new clothing styles, women’s rights, the works,” you shrugged.

“Wow, he sounds worse the more you speak about him.” You rolled your eyes at Steve and his sarcastic tone. “So I can say America just changed way too much since I came out of the ice.”

You nodded and rapidly wrote the basics of the backstory into your notepad. “Okay. But I hope you know you’re gonna have to play into that conservative part, especially with him and Seda.”

“What do you mean?”

You smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow, “You gotta be drowning in toxic masculinity.”

“Fuck, really?”

You almost wanted to lean over and slap his shoulder. It was then that you realized how disconnected Steve really was to this whole situation, never once meeting your father or his minions. He didn’t know the shit that went down when he was in hiding, only the basics, and scaring him now didn’t seem like a great idea.

“Really. You’re playing the role of my boyfriend in a male-dominated drug war. They think you’re in charge, which is technically correct to assume. Your rank is higher, your status is higher, so your personality needs to match that or else you won’t gain their trust.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, “I don’t know the first thing about disrespecting women.”

You snorted, “I’m gonna be honest and say that was the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Stop it.”

You spoke with your hands, fingers dancing as a way to sprinkle some sensitivity on the issue. “Order me around. Tell me when it’s time to leave, be possessive if anyone wants to get my attention, interrupt me.”

“Y/N, I don’t think I can do that.”

“You technically already do it.”

Steve blinked, “Excuse me?”

You lowered your voice to explain, “You’re my Captain. You give me orders on the field. You shut me up when I’m too loud or turning something serious into a joke.”

He shifted again, “But I don’t do it to dominate you.”

“I know you don’t. Trust me.”

“So, I gotta become an asshole?”

You nodded, “Yes. But you need to know your limits.” You handed Steve multiple files for him to examine.

“Ramirez is one of the rare ones that loves his family, especially his wife and daughters. You can’t be an ass in front of him.”

Steve grinned as he read, surprised with the restraint Ramirez and his men were able to achieve. “Guess that’s a little relief for me.”

“And White is too much into his own product all day to give a shit.”

Steve paused before he spoke, licking his lips in hesitation. “What happens if your father goes overboard?”

“Shit,” you mumbled, tumbling into the compound and practically crawling to the first floor. You didn’t know who was home or who was visiting. Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Sam were on the run for more than a year now - Scott and Clint were on house arrest (which you were also, technically) - so you truly did not know if your cries for help would be heard. You had practically begged to accompany Wanda or be with Bucky back in Wakanda, but because of your undercover status (and the fact that your father still did not know you aided Captain America in hiding an assumed fugitive), you weren’t allowed to leave the compound without permission. The memory of the separation was almost as painful as the gunshot wound in your abdomen.

You clutched the side of your stomach and crawled through the doors.

“Arrrgh - is someone home?”

And with a stroke of luck, Rhodey rounded the corner just in time to hear your plea.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, dashing across the room to help you sit up. “What happened?”

“They were getting too suspicious,” you said, wincing when Rhodey pressed a nearby blanket on your wound. “I couldn’t give them Steve’s location.”

“Are you talking about your father and his partner?”

You nodded quickly, helping Rhodey apply pressure.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, alert the medics. First floor,” Rhodey stammered, the sight of your blood making him a little queasy in the morning.

“I’m gonna kill him if he got one of my kidneys - I was saving that, you know?”

Rhodey involuntarily laughed, quickly covering his mouth. You brushed it off and let him know that if you were still able to joke, he was able to laugh.

“Take your mind off the pain, what happened?”

You sighed, shutting your eyes in distress. “You know that the main players in this game are me and Steve. My father decided that it was time to meet the star-spangled man, time to meet who is distributing his product behind the back of the U.S government.”

Rhodey rotated the blanket to dab with a clean side. You continued speaking.

“I told him Steve wasn’t active at the moment - not a lie, by the way. But the more I told him that I had no way of being in touch with the dude, the angrier he got. Seda fired a warning shot into my gut, I guess.”

“Shit… I can’t authorize any more solo trips without back-up, Y/N. This has gone too far,” Rhodey sighed, adrenaline lowering once he saw a few medics burst through the door.

Hours seemed to pass before you awoke. The doctors found no serious damage, your stitches were already healing with the help of Tony’s new tech, and you were up and walking within hours. A slight pinch in your gut bothered you, but other than that you pulled yourself out of bed to go search for Rhodey. You heard voices talking over one another, all angry and authoritative. You tip-toed into the room just in time to see Rhodey end a call and turn back to the group of people he was talking to in person. Your breath hitched when you saw him, face still rugged and more tired than you remembered, but still gorgeous.

“Steve?” you quietly muttered, all eyes darting toward you. “Wanda?”

You tried to run over to them but were caught limping. Still, Wanda rushed over and enveloped you in a tight hug, noticing the way you twisted your hip outward to avoid full contact.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Rhodey said as he came over to hold you steady.

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, his hand now resting on your blushing cheek. You studied his blue eyes carefully, scared that this reunion was going to last for only a few more seconds, his warm hand making your stomach knot. He had a full beard now, hair longer than you remember, and he filled in his suit more. You were so unbelievably happy to see him after everything that went down.

You patted his chest with a soft chuckle, “Finally ripped that star off, huh?”

Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but you could see a glint of tenderness.

He placed his hand over yours, “Who’s ass do I have to kick?”

You waved your hand in the air. “Family drama.”

Rhodey didn’t let that explanation fly, though. He informed the rest of the team of what happened to you, Steve’s anger building.

But you quickly silenced them, “I’m alright. I’ll deal with it later. What threat do we currently face?”

After their brief update, you were ready to go back to bed.

“So, you’re telling me that we gotta fight this big purple dude because he wants Vision’s stone? Sure, why not?”

“I really hope he doesn’t go overboard.”

Steve repeated the question, however. “What do we do?”

You sighed, picking at the potato chips to your side. “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, or I am, we’ll just squeeze each other’s hands.”

“Like a safe word?”

Your smile grew slowly as you registered his innocent words. “Yes, Steve, like a safe word.”

You popped a chip into your mouth and leaned back into your chair, “Wow, you’re on a roll with that adorableness.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stole a chip from your bag, “Shut up.”

You pointed at him and smiled wider, “See? Toxic bitch.”

It took a moment for Steve to register his previous words, “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.”

You dusted off your fingers and handed him even more files, “Alright, so we know that to make it in this drug game, you gotta have connections everywhere.”

“Understandable. What are we looking for tomorrow?”

“Drug lords love to conduct business in the middle of huge events. Big distractions mean more leeway.”

“But tomorrow?”

“We’re going to cut them off. Swipe their ID’s.”

You elaborated, “To survive in this business, you have to have ID’s to get anywhere and everywhere. We’re looking for fake press ID’s, fake police ID’s, even fucking farming and landowning ID’s or… licenses, really. Those two give us the proof of ownership for certain lands.”

“Just swipe them?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“My father keeps them all in a little safe inside the wall. It’s located in the study. Just his and Seda’s.”

“And they won’t notice they’re missing?”

“Word is that they’re not planning a move until the day of the wedding. Meaning, they’ll be cut off when they open that safe. We have to keep the product from moving or else our agents won’t find the tangible evidence when we give them the green light.”

Steve wrote in his notepad. “So, we’ll focus on the hacking-?”

“During the rehearsal dinner.”

“Gotcha.”

You grabbed the bag of chips and ate a few, the silence still comfortable. You spoke, stealing Steve's attention from the files. “This is gonna work, Steve.”

Steve thinly smiled and reached over to steal the bag from your hands. “As long as we don’t get caught.”

The steam from the bathroom practically whipped Steve across the face, the smell of lotions and perfume overpowering the natural odor of the hotel air conditioner. He groaned as he searched his suitcase for his pajamas.

“You couldn’t have left me some hot water?”

You scoffed, towel rinsing your wet hair. “It’s a hotel charging two hundred a night. If you don’t have hot water, then we’ll go down there and ‘Karen’ it up.”

“Funny,” Steve mumbled, pushing past you and locking the bathroom door. You stood, arms slightly raised in confusion, expression mimicking those in comedy shows. If there was any hidden camera, your eyes scanned for it.

“Uh, what’d I do?” you mumbled to no one in particular. But you brushed off Steve’s sudden change in attitude and sat for the next thirty minutes hand drying your hair in sections and watching television. You were invested in an episode of Kitchen Nightmares that you barely heard your phone ding. You unlocked your phone, laughing under your breath at the group chat messages.

Bucky: Kill him yet?

Peter: bet she will by wednesday.

Wanda: Ridiculous, all of you

Y/N: Twenty bucks says he kills me.

Bucky: hey are you even allowed to bet on this?

Wanda: Seems fair since you’re so sure she’ll crack

Peter: She’s more sneaky

Y/N: He mad right now

Bucky: He’s always grumpy before his bedtime

Y/N: dude it’s eight

Peter: lmfao

The same fog of heat exited the bathroom as Steve opened the door and you murmured a quick ‘I told you so’ for him to hear. He ignored you, rubbing his eyes as he plugged his phone to his charger and crawled under his blankets. He sat up, though and reached over to grab his sketchbook, knees coming up to substitute as a flat surface. You snuggled into your blankets after turning the television volume lower and placing the remote closer to Steve’s bedside table. You brought the blanket up to your chin and hummed peacefully.

The sounds of Steve’s pencil prompted you to open one eye. His tongue was between his incisors and his eyes were squinted slightly, hair only a little wet from his shower and the tip of his nose pink.

“Drawing always seems to ease your mind, huh?”

Steve didn’t look up from his drawing, “It’s relaxing. I have control over it, so…”

You thought his explanation was weird, but you understood what he meant. “I wish I could draw. It seems fun.”

Steve paused his movements and glanced over at you, “Do you want to learn?”

You stretched your legs and moaned loudly, “What? You want to teach me how to draw an eye tonight? I’m warning you.”

Steve shook his head, “Right, I don’t think I have that much patience.”

You snorted, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly as you searched for a more comfortable spot. “Mm, maybe some other time?”

“I know you sing, though.”

You flopped back over to face Steve, elbow now propped up to hold your weight. “How in the world do you know that?”

“You sing sometimes, in your room. It was quiet, but you would sing along to some song on your earphones.”

You scrunched your nose and chuckled, “And you were just outside listening?”

Steve paused his movements again, “What? It was pretty.”

You sank back down into your pillows and drew the blankets higher. “I feel like you saw me naked.”

Steve scoffed, “Totally not the same thing.”

You teased Steve further, “I’m exposed.”

A throw pillow hit your side out of nowhere. “Stop it, I was being serious!”

You grabbed the pillow and threw it back at him, “I haven’t sang in a long time. I hum mostly.”

Steve caught the pillow, and resumed his sketching. “Well, you should definitely sing more.”

“Thank you, my number one fan. I’ll take that into consideration.” You sighed and closed your eyes again.

“Why did you stop?”

You winced but quickly covered it by taking in a deep breath, eyes still closed.

“You’re still fuming about it. You’re still fuming about your image being ruined. Good ol’ Captain America as a secret, undercover drug dealer!”

Steve finally showed proof of cracking, hands gripping his hair harshly. “Y/N, I said don’t start! I’m finished!”

But you persisted, now screaming and countless, frustrated tears tainting your red cheeks. “You can’t fucking stand me because I tarnished that fucking star on your chest! I made you look bad to a bunch of fucking criminals!”

“Guess I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”

Steve didn’t want to ignore that, he wanted to dig deeper, but even with much persistence pinching the tip of his tongue, he remained silent and accepted your answer. He glanced your way a few times throughout the next couple minutes, finding your chest fall into a steady rhythm as you drifted off. He turned a page in his sketchbook, quickly brushing the surface clean of any dust before starting the outline of your sleeping form.

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

90 notes · View notes