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celestialsister0918 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4, "A Window Not Missed" - work rated M Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanov

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The Avengers’ “big day tomorrow” turned out to be a bust. Natasha awakened to a call from Tony at 5:32 a.m., alerting her that the strange emissions over a lakeside landfill were in fact strange emissions from a landfill— not evidence of HYDRA chemical testing as their “source” had originally led them to believe. She’d promptly rolled over and fallen back asleep.

With no new leads, the team found themselves rather useless, and each member was left to their own devices. Natasha wandered up to the common room for a late breakfast to see what was going on, and she learned Clint had checked out almost immediately. Thor and Jane were headed to the West Coast following her New York conference. Pepper was off on business travel as well, so Nat assumed the bros would keep each other occupied. Steve actually had a date that night.

“Oh?” Nat feigned as she sipped her coffee.

“Kind of. I committed to dessert only.”

“Ooooh,” teased Nat.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I met this mysterious brunette when I was out running, several days in a row. It’s funny— she seemed to know my exact workout schedule.”

“How about that!” Nat remarked. “Must be meant to be.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Any luck on your other front?” she added quietly.

Steve examined her face for a minute before comprehending. “No, no sign of him,” he answered grimly. “Sam’s still working on it.”

Natasha grasped his hand affectionately before depositing her dishes into Tony’s dishwasher rinse/load gadget. She couldn’t remember the name of that one. All the tech had names here.

She went off in search of something to get into, and her mind immediately remembered her promise to invade Bruce’s lab. She talked herself out of that one quickly. Natasha’s pride wouldn’t allow entry where she wasn’t wanted. And after Dr. Banner’s hurried exit last night, “wanted” was the last thing she felt.

She did pause for a few seconds before descending the stairs, gazing down at the open floors below. She could see all of his equipment through the glass, of course. A few minutes passed before she spotted Bruce moving around in a checkered shirt and lab coat, peering at a clipboard through rectangular lenses. Her heart skipped for a split second. Glasses took him to next-level and made her reconsider her avoidance plan. A vision flashed of her perched on the countertop, him standing between her legs, and her gently lifting those glasses away before ravaging his mouth.

Fuck, Romanoff! Have you really stooped that low? He clearly doesn’t want you like you want him.

Her feet tore away, demanding that she retain some modicum of self-respect. An annoying little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that friends could hang out in a lab too. Or go out to dinner, or watch a movie in the common room. Interacting with Bruce Banner didn’t mean she had to prostrate herself at his feet, body silently begging for his attention. But she didn’t know how to shut up that part of her that pulled like a magnet in his direction. So she kept her distance from the force-field altogether, refusing to let herself be pulled.

Natasha instead spent the next week on her computer, diving into research for possible leads on HYDRA and therefore the scepter. Even though Cap was their official line of communication to Maria (and she was sure Nick through Maria), Natasha felt the need to make herself useful. She’d always had a knack for research, for opening a rabbit hole and tunneling her way through hundreds of interconnected twists and turns, brain coming alive at each flicker of possibility. The hours passed by in the blink of an eye this way, which made her unmet physical needs somewhat bearable.

But when she would hit a dead end, eyes heavy and neck stiff from being folded in half in front of a screen, Natasha would wander again in search of something. She wasn’t used to free time, or feeling useless.

Maybe spend some time on YOU? a voice suggested.

So after over a week of a hermit life with only passing “hellos” upon coming up for air, Natasha went out. Her first stop was a series of shops in SoHo, where she was drawn in by window displays quite reminiscent of the vibe in her own apartment. Silks, satins, pearls, tailored lines, substantial fabrics. Understated colors but still eye-catching at the same time— sort of a Breakfast at Tiffany’s kind of feel. Natasha stepped closer, head tilting to the side as she pondered. Maybe it was time to reinvent again.

At her next stop she deposited her row of shopping bags along the back wall of a salon and hopped into a chair, ready to lose some length.

“Cut it for pin curls,” she instructed. “Sort of in line with the angle of the chin, sculpted around the ear.”

With her hair ready for her new old-fashioned look, Natasha gave into her final stop. It was time. The old old-fashioned method worked in a pinch out in the field, but now that she was in a real home with very real downtime, she needed to step up her efforts.

“This is our most popular model,” the young clerk told her enthusiastically, leading her to an array of choices locked in a glass case. He pointed to a specimen in the center with a very appealing size and curve.

“Does it come in any other color?” Nat asked warily.

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. This particular model only comes in green.”

It was humiliating, but effective.

Another week wore on, and even though she and Banner lived in the same building, their paths rarely crossed. When they finally did, Bruce’s eyes widened upon seeing her new look on display in the common room. Clint had returned, and they’d been catching up over a beer.

“So… we’re trying,” Clint told her with a conspiratorial wink.

“For #3? Really? Good for you.”

“I have a good feeling we were successful.”

Nat laughed with a toss of her head, and her sideways glance fell on Bruce, whose arms were full of smoothie ingredients. He froze, a bag of spinach falling from his arms.

“Uh, hey there, Nat. Clint.”

“Hi,” she replied, even that simple word sounding forced and awkward. The fact that so much time had passed since their “date” left little doubt that something had gone wrong. Despite her gifted intuition, she had no idea what.

“Hey, doc,” Clint returned, tilting his beer in Bruce’s direction. “Want to join us with your… er, celery juice?”

“Um, no… nah… I’m good. Got a lot going on today. I’ll just…” Bruce trailed off and began throwing things into Sir-Mix-a-Lot haphazardly, giving them a few whirls before throwing the results in an oversized thermos and darting to the staircase.

“What was that about?” Clint asked with a shake of his head. “That guy’s kind of touched or something, isn’t he?”

“Not touched is more like it,” Tony supplied, making his way in from the direction of the boardroom. “Meeting in twenty, guys. Cap and I crunched all that data you sent over, Nat. We think you’re onto something, and we want to check it out. It’s pretty ‘out there,’ but the group checks a lot of Hydra boxes.”

“I agree,” Nat said simply. “I think it warrants a look.”

“What did I miss?” Clint inquired, popping another top.

“I’ve been bored,” Nat answered wryly.

“Ah, so a rabbit hole then,” Clint chuckled.

“Yep.”

....

Chapter continued at link below...

#fanfiction #brutasha #brucenat #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #hulkwidow #the avengers #romance #marvel

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conferenceworldwide0426 · 11 months ago

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anjalisiotey · 1 year ago

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years ago

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Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Title: Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: Whoops on the posting schedule. Had a wedding, etc. and things just got away from me.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's cold in the warehouse, the drafty chill causing goosebumps to erupt under the leather jacket you still had on. You're seated in one of the metal chairs, eyes trained on the door. Your companion had his to the other side, watching the windows.

It had been over a day since you and Clyde had been taken outside the jazz club. In hindsight, it had been impulsive of you both to go along with the change in plan, and yet the fact that the club had blown up mere seconds after you stepped outside, had you feeling rather alright about your rashness. The two of you hadn't had a chance to recover from the blowback of the explosion, when you were being shoved and pushed at gunpoint into the back of a van, cloth covers thrown over both your heads.

They shouldn't have known that the two of you were undercover agents. But they had. You'd arrived and been led into another building and when the cloth had been torn off of your head, the face in front of you had your head reeling. It had been as though every fear you'd had about the assignment had suddenly manifested itself and you regretted having kept all of your suspicions from Clyde.

Erasmus Jansen had been an associate of your father's whom you'd met on a handful of occasions while traveling with him, at your home growing up, and then once more when your father had agreed to bring you in formally. In a split second decision, you called him Uncle Erasmus – banking on your father's relationship to him to offer you some protection, buy you some time and trust, imploring him to see the little girl who had ran into her father's office eager to show off her working Grand Adage, and not the federal agent who had been sent to stop him.

Your voice had harkened him to pause as recognition flitted into his eyes. Your eyes and the set of your mouth, so very much a reminder of your father. He'd brisked you away into another room where you had continued to bank on your father's reputation. You allowed Jansen to do most of the talking, as he revealed to you that your father had confided in him that he was working on getting agents into the higher echelons of each governmental agency. He had simply never guessed that one of those agents would be his own daughter. You thought it best not to dissuade him of that notion.

Things had progressed quickly after that as you acted almost entirely on instinct, working to ingratiate yourself to him and earn his trust. You'd shot Clyde, wordlessly imploring him to understand what you were doing and why, careful to aim for the thickest parts of the vest and avoid any critical areas.

You'd had to play along. For both of your sakes.

You still had a job to do.

All of your doubts and fears regarding this assignment were coming to life, and there were still two CIA operatives unaccounted for. Jansen had said that your father had been cultivating agents on the inside - that was confirmation enough for you that you and Clyde had been correct. There was a mole still somewhere within the Bureau. Someone who had been watching and waiting, feeding them information for years. Jansen had to know the identity of whomever it was, since he had assumed you were a mole who had never been utilized by your father. It wouldn't have been any surprise to you if your father had indeed even played into the idea that you were a plant. That you were his to command. That he owned you.

Now here you sat, waiting in the outer chamber of a warehouse in the outskirts of Philadelphia. The drive there had seemed vaguely familiar and as you'd driven past an old diner by the road, you're reminded of a trip you'd taken out here with John during your first year of training. Wind rushing around you, your hair tucked safely beneath a helmet, arms wrapped tightly around the firm torso in front of you as your fingers clung to the worn leather jacket. You'd stopped for food at that diner on the way back, after scoping out the property. It had been one of several on a list that you were working through on the weekends you both could spare. Ocean blue eyes and cherry pie. Milkshakes - chocolate for you and strawberry for him. Finding a song on the jukebox that had his shoulders moving along. Your laughter - both yours and his - lighting up that dusty old diner by the side of the road. It felt like a lifetime ago. A person ago.

The clanging of the door separating the outer chamber from the inner maze has you jolting towards it, as both you and Jansen's associate - whose name you'd come to learn was Ramos - moved forward to enter as Jansen's hand beckoned on in. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lowered lighting as you look around. They'd established a temporary base here it seemed. You can see the outline of the ladder that you'd climbed down during your first visit, nearly six years prior. It had rattled and shook, the two of you shushing one another in the following silence. What had then been an empty space was now equipped with weapons. In the center you can see a cage – metal bars separating you from two shapes within. It is all so familiar. You should've known. You should've known then. You shouldn't have written it off as too horrific to be true.

As you draw closer, one of the two shapes moves. You watch, silently accepting the chair that Jansen had drawn out for you as he seated himself in the other one. It is only by the dim lighting inside and the beginnings of moonlight peaking through the high shutters that you can make out the shape as it moves closer. White knuckles gripping tightly onto the metal bars. A scuffed pant leg just barely visible in the darkness. You look up to meet the pale, glassy eyes of Agent Dean Novak, CIA.

*------------*

Emily watches from the corner of her eye as Hotch and Hawthorne pour over the documents they'd grabbed from the storage unit. The team had relocated to the office now that McKinney was aware they were working the case.

Hawthorne had arrived pretty quickly after Hotch had stepped out of the storage unit to call him. He'd been nice and polite to all of them, remembering their names despite her having a vague recollection of you never having gotten around to actually introducing them to him that night at the bar. Though she supposed her memory of that night was far from reliable.

None of them had known that Hotch really knew this guy and now here they were, sitting across from one another at the conference table, quietly comparing notes on anything of interest. It made sense that Hotch had called him in. He'd explained to them all, prior to Hawthorne's arrival, that the two of you had been researching your father's businesses together around the time you joined the Bureau. None of them had been surprised to hear that. Hotch had decided to call in the guy who knew all of this as well as you did. They could certainly use the help. The fact that he was also the closest thing you had to an ex besides Matthew, seemed not to matter.

"He called him Aaron," JJ whispers from beside her, catching Garcia's attention as well. Before Hawthorne had arrived, Garcia had already looked up everything there was to know about the guy. Clean record, upstanding citizen, wealthy family with dubious connections, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Derek had been the one who knew the most about him, and even he knew very little. However, it didn't take a profiler to see that Hotch and Hawthorne had known each other beyond that casual hello at the bar with the rest of them. They'd shaken hands quickly when Hawthorne had arrived, all windswept hair and perfectly fitted suit, before Hotch had introduced him to the rest of the team.

Garcia had already declared him one of the most attractive human beings to ever exist within five minutes of his arrival, having blushed when he'd smiled at her in greeting, much to Morgan's annoyance. He'd shook all of their hands incredibly politely – soft, but not timid in the least. Confident in that self-assured manner where he had nothing to prove to anyone. He'd quickly rolled up his sleeves and dived in. His familiarity with your organizational system immediately paying off as he quickly reduced the number of boxes they had to sift through from the forty nine they'd carried out of the storage facility, down to merely ten. When asked how the two of you had had time to do all of this research in addition to your day jobs – him, logging over sixty hours a week at a major New York law firm, and you being in round the clock training – he'd merely shrugged. Somehow, the two of you had found the time. From that, Emily gathered that neither of you had had much of a life beyond this and each other throughout those two years.

The cavalry seated around the room, all of them searching for any way to find you. Emily knows that that hadn't been the case when she had been presumed dead. Instead, from subsequent conversations with Rossi and Morgan, she'd come to learn that her cavalry had consisted of exactly one, you. You, who had dedicated every spare moment to finding Doyle, avenging her death. Learning that hadn't exactly been a surprise. She'd known that Hotch was away and JJ reassigned. Morgan was busy running the team and Rossi was trying to keep everyone's head above water. You'd been all alone in your vengeance. It had led credence to the number of times she'd come close to dialing your number while hiding out in Paris. Out of everyone, you'd be the person to never stop.

Her eyes wander over once more to the two men seated at the adjacent table. Morgan was working through something with Garcia. Reid and JJ were still sifting through their respective boxes. Hotch and Hawthorne had split a box between them, both of them taking notes as they went through in long yellow legal pads. Both of their heads were bent in concentration, suit jackets long shed in favor of comfort. There was a half eaten sandwich in front of them both, which they'd only acquiesced to partake in under JJ's watchful eye – both abandoned once her back was turned. Hawthorne’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he flipped through a thick folder. Hotch's thumb rubbed the outer edge of his index finger. Both of their legs bounced, the only outlet for the coiled energy within, kept hardly at bay.

Not for the first time, Emily finds herself praying – to who knew what – that they'd find you. If only so that she could see your reaction to these two men co-existing here, because of you.

*------------*

You and Jansen walk back into the outer chamber, leaving Ramos to guard over Novak and Cavanaugh, relieving one of the earlier guards to go walk the perimeter.

"They're the ones you and that other agent wanted to buy. I still have contacts with the Chinese if we want to get them off of our hands this week," he tells you, coming around to sit in one of the chairs off to the side.

You know he trusts you minimally at best right now. Shooting Clyde had been a test that you'd passed, having quickly walked over to him before Ramos could, pressing down into the part of the armpit that would help mimic a lack of pulse when checked. Ramos didn't know enough to ward against that, and Jansen had been busy taking a call. You'd willed Clyde to be passed out long enough from the force of the gunshots for you to get away with the first deception.

"Why the Chinese? Our Russian contacts have always been stronger and more responsive," you counter, tracking back to everything you'd learned from your father years prior. Jansen had to feel like you had a stake in this. You allow yourself to slip back into your old fate, just this once.

"Volkov died last year. It weakened our position with them and we haven't been able to make a new contact that's trustworthy enough."

You sigh, leaning back in the and forcing an air of ease about you. Jansen had to see you assume the role your father had once held in his life. It wouldn't be easy. Only once before had he seen you actually in the business prior to Julian's death. That too, alongside your father. However, your distinct advantage here, ironically, would be your last name. Jansen might have attempted to take over from your father, but your family name still carried weight. A certain respect in these circles that was earned by virtue of swift and calculated brutality.

"Who had been feeding you the names on the inside if it wasn't me?" you ask, side stepping the land mine that was Alexander Volkov. Jansen brought him up only due to your personal relationship with Volkov. After all, your father hadn't been able to brag enough about how you'd cultivated that particular contact for him as your first real project on the job. No one had made strides with the Russians the way you had. You'd spent the first part of your winter break senior year, in the Balkans, being firsthand witness to Volkov's methods. You'd shown no fear, however, and he'd respected that, agreeing to sit down and talk. Even now, the mere thought of the burly, intimidating Russian had your insides churning. It was no wonder that Jansen wouldn't take on any successor to Volkov. Successors in that business were created only through conquest.

"He's up in the Bureau. Sits in on the project meetings," Jansen answers, taking a swig from the flask he still carried with him. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. He wasn't giving you a name exactly, but that alright. If you got enough details, you could figure it out.

"What's in it for him?"

Jansen's face takes on a sinister quality as he takes another sip from the flask, his lips curling into a menacing grin that has your skin crawling. You're not about to like whatever he tells you next.

*------------*

Erasmus Jansen was the name that Garcia had been trying to hunt down in vain since they'd learned that he'd been the one to take you and Easter. Her computer dings, once more turning up empty. With a groan, she looks back at Emily in defeat.

"I can't do this," she wails. "He's mentioned in the Atlantis files and in some older CIA files on Y/N's father, but beyond that, on his own, there's nothing. No bank account, no physical address, not even a MySpace account. The man is a ghost."

Emily nods in sympathy before turning back to Hawthorne who was poring over yet another folder of real estate investments. "You're sure you don't remember anything at all about this guy?"

Hawthorne looks up apologetically, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. Emily was pretty sure his was the face DaVinci had envisioned when he spoke of the golden ratio. "Sorry, no. Only met him while I was a kid and that too only in passing. Cap spent more time with her dad than Julian did so she knew all the players better." He sighs and comes around to where Emily and Garcia are sat, brainstorming through ways of potentially tracking you or Jansen. He leans against Garcia's table, one leg crossed over the other, arms holding up the rest of his weight against the table, and from her vantage point right in front of him, Emily can tell he's mentally combing through absolutely anything that could help. "The only thing she ever said about Jansen was that while he was great at execution, he wouldn't innovate. He'd rather have someone else in charge, which was why he stuck around her father for so long. On his own, he tends to flounder."

"We might be able to use that," Emily offers. "He'll stick to whatever is familiar and uncompromised."

Hawthorne nods, slowly agreeing with her. "Older properties that had other uses in the past. Places he feels comfortable." He's already walking back over to the files, sifting through until he finds one he's looking for. "Can you get aerial views of these?" He pushes a piece of paper with an address on it towards Garcia, who lights up at the opportunity to be able to do something she knows she can deliver on.

"Can I get an aerial shot?" Garcia scoffs as she types furiously, pounding at the keyboard with renewed fervor. "Give me a minute and I can get you a lot more than whatever Google Earth can manage."

Looking up, Emily can see a grin on Hawthorne's face as he watches Garcia continue her rant on exactly how much more she can find, how much better she is, could he please give her a real challenge next time because this ask was elementary at best.

Across the way, Hotch was talking to Rossi and Morgan about a profile they were creating for Jansen, leveraging the details of the Philadelphia bombing and what little Hawthorne had been able to add on. Emily's been surprised by how well Hotch had put himself back together after the video they'd all seen. The video that would likely haunt her for quite some time. Ever since Easter told him you were alive, the man had been single minded in finding you. While Rossi had mentioned looking into Easter's accusation – not out of any belief in it, but merely as a precautionary measure so they could be prepared – Hotch had brushed it aside, saying that would come later. Right then, he didn't want a single resource dedicated to anything besides getting you back. If she had ever doubted Hotch's dedication to you – which she never really had – the thought had no leg to stand on ever since he'd called in Hawthorne.

Hotch catches her gaze and quirks an eyebrow up in question – Do you have something? Emily shakes her head but offers him a small smile that he manages to return somehow. They were going to find you. No matter what.

*------------*

Jansen wanted to move both Novak and Cavanaugh to a secondary location. His paranoia was starting to catch up with him since no other buyers besides you and Clyde had reached out for the purchase, his calls to the Chinese going unanswered. Unbeknownst to him, you'd shut down his website prior to your meeting and he was now reaching out into the void, towards nothing.

He's been teetering a bit and you can see his natural instinct to follow your orders go up against that same paranoia that tells him to not trust you fully yet. You've tried to stall and calm him down and it has worked a bit but you're unsure how much longer you can continue to quell his instincts from working against you.

Your eyes meet Agent Novak's once again as you continue your silent attempt to communicate to him that you were safe. That you were there to help. Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot. Aaron had forced you to learn morse code early on in your time with the team. He had told you it could come in handy at the most opportune of times. You'd spent a few weekends with him and Jack, learning the alphabet. Afterwards, you'd talked him into showing you some complicated knots, which he would only let you out of once you correctly tapped out your request to be released. In hindsight, you briefly wondered if he'd liked you even back then and gotten something more out of tying you up. Something to follow up on later.

You keep repeating your light taps, hoping that Agent Novak – the former Ranger – knew as much morse code as your Eagle Scout boyfriend and his equally nerdy and endearing son.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

F. B. I.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

By now, your email would have triggered the send to Penelope. With Clyde safe, you can only hope that Garcia would, given the circumstances, think to reach out to him. Jansen ordering you to shoot him had been the confirmation you had needed, to know that Easter himself wasn't the mole. Clyde might stand a chance at finding you on his own if Jansen and his lot weren't covering their internet traffic well enough, however you had far more faith in Garcia, despite the mere breadcrumbs you'd left behind. You hadn't known enough to leave behind more. However, together, the two parties should know enough to find you – Clyde had the profile you'd built on Jansen and his operation. Given everything you'd left for Garcia, the team would have all of the access to your old research. They would be able to isolate to local properties once they found the right folders that you'd left on top, and they'd be able to find you.

Aaron would be worried sick. You're already anticipating the lecture you're about to receive when you get back home. All about being more clear about your intentions and not leaving cryptic messages behind. It wouldn't matter that you'd try and fail to explain how you couldn't afford to be more clear for fear that someone else might also catch on. It wouldn't matter what you said to defend yourself. All he would see – all he would reiterate again and again – was that you left yourself open and vulnerable. He'd scoff at you insisting that you had faith in him, in the team. He'd rage against your insistence that this was the best way. The safest way.

Despite everything, in your head you don't hear the drum of your own doubts. Only his encouragement. His voice, which drowns out all of your fears. Reassurances that, soon, this too shall pass and you'll see him once again. He'd find you, no matter how enigmatic your clues might be. He'd find you.

He'd better find you before Jansen decided to ignore you and move.

*------------*

There's a gun in your hand once more. Thrust into it at the beginnings of sound from outside. Jansen's paranoia had kicked into full gear and Ramos had been deployed to scope out the perimeter. Nothing you said placated him any longer and you were wary of pushing your luck. He takes hold of Agent Cavanaugh, entrusting Novak to you. Both of their hands are wrapped behind their back, despite which, either one stood a decent chance at overpowering you had they been in a prime state. As it stood, Jansen had been pumping them both with something that made their reflexes slower and responses sluggish.

Your heart beats rapidly within your chest as you follow Jansen, with him leading Cavanaugh at gunpoint. Your hand is wrapped around Novak's arm, fingers tapping once more at that familiar pattern, regardless of whether or not the message is getting through. It is only as you turn the corner and meet Novak's eye, that you see that the glassy veneer to his eyes has lifted. Meeting yours, he offers an imperceptible nod – a flash of understanding. You're about to switch gears and take action, when Ramos rejoins the group and offers confirmation that there was indeed some movement outside. You're outgunned once more.

*------------*

Derek leads the group through the dark, his hand at the back of a SWAT agent. Hotch had put a tactical team on deck as soon as they'd made some leeway on potential locations you and two CIA operatives could be taken. This warehouse had been one of three locations isolated by Hawthorne as nearby options where someone could reasonably be held and were around back in the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi were leading another team to an abandoned building in Virginia, while him, Reid, and Hotch had come to this other one on the outskirts of Philadelphia.

The third location had been ruled out – Garcia had determined that it had been the subject of an arson and triple homicide case from only a few weeks back. Local detectives had written it off as gang violence. None of them quite believed that given the circumstances, and so Garcia and Hawthorne were digging into it.

If anyone were to ask Derek what he thought of your ex paramour, he'd lie and say he hadn't much of an opinion. However, truth was, the guy had grown on Derek the last day or so. He'd come as soon as Hotch had called, likely having dropped whatever else he had going on. As a DA for the state of NY, Derek reckoned that hadn't been easy. He'd come quickly and while, yes, Derek was just a little annoyed at how Penelope blushed every single time the guy even looked her way, let alone called her Agent Garcia all nice and sweet, and asked her to look something up for him, Derek had to concede that he'd been helpful. He'd known exactly what to look for and all of them had been surprised by the sheer amount of research and area the two of you had covered in two years of looking into your father's businesses. Unfortunately, if Hawthorne was to be believed, the two of you had managed to only scratched the surface.

Regardless, as it stood, Derek could see how you and Hawthorne had worked, and he's a little relieved that not all of your exes were entirely trash. Even Hotch liked him. He might not have said anything, but Hotch had been a lot friendlier with the dude in only a day of working with him, than he'd been with Derek the entire first year. Prentiss had already chalked that up to you having a type – Older. Lawyer. Smart. Ambitious. You could be sure that Prentiss would give you crap for that later, though Derek had seen her eyes rake over Hawthorne about half a dozen times too.

In his ear, he can hear both Hotch and Reid taking their respective positions, with Reid just a few agents behind him. The infrared scanner had already revealed there were people inside - four men circling the perimeter with another five people closer to the center. One of those bodies was far smaller than the others, which led them to assume it was you.

*------------*

The sounds of gunfire have both Jansen and Ramos barreling quickly towards the back exit, Jansen leading and Ramos right behind you. You had no opportunity to duck away and take Agent Novak with you. You had to continue to bide your time and hope that whoever it was –the team or Clyde – would look carefully before they shot.

Down one hallway and the next. Through one door and then another. Quickly and quickly. Feet pounding against the concrete. Gun still weighing down your hand, the other still holding on to Agent Novak. Neither him nor Cavanaugh have put up much of a struggle, liking leaving it to you to take the lead. You pray that you'd about to run into a SWAT team. Once you're out in the open and you don't have Ramos right behind you. Maybe then. Then you'd have your chance.

"F.B.I. Stop where you are!"

Jansen comes to a screeching halt right in front of you, the pathway in front blocked by a tactical team. You recognized that voice. You'd recognize it anywhere.

From behind Agent Novak, you make eye contact with Derek and he wordlessly asks if you're alright. You offer him only a perfunctory acknowledgement, eyes trained quickly once more on Jansen and Ramos. Your main priority was ensuring that both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh were alright.

"Jansen, give it up. You're surrounded," Derek proclaims, gun trained at the man. From beside him, four SWAT agents and Reid emerge, all guns pointed towards the five of you in the center. Your eyes search for Aaron.

Jansen turns back towards you, his eyes wild like a caged animal. "Shoot him," he orders, his gun pressing harshly into Agent Cavanaugh's back.

You don't move. You don't say anything.

"Shoot him," he repeats himself. "Now." He shoves Cavanaugh aside, who stumbles and falls to the ground in his drugged state. Jansen's gun is now pointed past Novak and right at you. He hadn't failed to notice your hesitation to follow his orders.

Your eyes flit up to Agent Novak and then back towards Derek before landing on Jansen's crazed expression once more. You can tell then, that if you don't do as he says, he'll shoot you.

Derek and the SWAT agents will follow protocol. They won't try to take him down while he's got a gun trained on both you and Novak. No sudden movements from the group.

"Jansen. Give it up man. There's no way out for you here. Don't make things worse for yourself." Derek speaks calmly, making a show of lowering his weapon slowly. Behind you, you become aware of Ramos's presence, his gun is trained on you as well, both him and his boss watching you intensely as you continue to defy his direct order.

"I'm not going to shoot a federal agent in front of the F.B.I." you tell him, shaking your head, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the jut of Ramos's rifle at your back. His boss had given him the order. If you turn out to be not what you claim, shoot her. Shoot her and worry about the rest later.

Your hand holds the gun firmly still, the other still anchored to Agent Novak, ready to shove him to the ground in case of gunfire.

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out Reid from behind the SWAT guys, his gun trained on Jansen. You know what he's thinking. He's assessed the room the same as you. Ramos's view was slightly obstructed as he was still behind you and Novak. If it was timed right and Reid took down Jansen before Ramos had the chance to react, you had the ghost of a possibility to shove both yourself and Novak to the ground while SWAT got Ramos. It had to be Jansen first. Jansen had a clear view of you all and Ramos going down wouldn't allow you enough time. It's the only play.

You feel your body coil, ready to move, waiting for Reid's shot.

Jansen's maniacal eyes are still trained on you. You can feel the nudge of Ramos's gun to your back, imploring you to follow orders.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a beam of red light bouncing off the wall right behind Ramos's head. Assurance that they have him. They have him if you can move fast enough.

Each second that the standoff lasts seems to last a lifetime. You become highly aware – of your own heartbeat, of Agent Novak's muscles tensing under your touch, of Reid's shoulders, tensed and ready to take the shot. You're waiting. Waiting for that telltale sign as his right shoulder will flex just barely. That sign that tells you that his finger is ready to pull the trigger. That's what you're waiting for.

One second.

Jansen shifts from one foot to the other.

Two seconds.

Ramos's gun catches the zipper on the back of your jacket.

Three seconds.

Derek opens his mouth to say something again.

Four seconds.

The beam of red flits across your eyes once more.

Five seconds.

You go down.

Your ears ring from the aftermath of the loud gunshots as you lie on top of Agent Novak on the concrete flooring. In front of you, Jansen was dead, having been hit by two shots, one to the back and another to the chest, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind you, Ramos had fallen – single gunshot to the head.

You're aware just barely of Derek helping up both you and Novak, taking the gun from your hands and reengaging the safety. You feel his hands on your arms and his eyes looking you over to make sure you're alright. There's some SWAT guys and paramedics around, making sure both CIA agents are doing well. Reid is still standing where he was when he'd shot Jansen, his arms hanging by his side. You're half expecting to see a shell shocked look on his face, but when you look past Derek and meet his eye, he only smiles at you and you know he's alright.

"Hey, you sure you're okay, Princess? You gotta talk to me here," Derek implores, shaking you just slightly to draw your attention back towards him.

"Yeah," you respond shakily. "Yeah I'm – " You break off, as you look beyond his shoulder and see a far too familiar figure making its way down the ladder, a rifle slung behind its back.

The world stops.

Next thing you know, you've broken away from Derek and taken off in a run. Through the haze of people in the space, past Reid, until you collide into Aaron's chest, his arms wrapping tight around you as he manages to lift you fully off the ground, your legs wrapping around his haphazardly.

Home. You're home.

Aaron can scarcely believe he's holding you, breathing you in – you're here, in his arms. You're real.

The familiar weight of you in his arms feels like a totem, his anchor to reality. It was his reward for never quite believing anything had happened to you. His grace for holding true to his faith in you.

His hand curls behind your back and to your neck, lifting your head that's buried into his shoulder. He needs to see your face. He needs to know he isn't imagining this.

You tilt back to meet his gaze and he can see your panic and relief mixed together, the honeysuckle sweetness of your reunion coating and soothing over the acrid burnt taste left behind by your long absence and the past few days of torment and uncertainty. He can feel the tears slipping down his face as he holds you tighter, closer, your body trembling in his arms, a deep sob working its way through, streaks of tears painting lines down your cheeks.

But you're here. You're here and he has you and that's all that matters as he feels your lips against his, causing his heart to wobble, your hands in his hair and around his shoulders, the wetness of your tears mixing together, no awareness of the surrounding world or the people awaiting the two of you. Screw people. People could wait.

You're here.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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mrs-gucci · 3 years ago

Text

The Angel, Chapter One: Intel {Flip Zimmerman x biker!Reader}

Chapter One: “Intel”

series summary. The Angels are the newest biker gang in town, looking to dethrone the current high-riders, The Sharks, a notoriously violent gang. Fresh off the Klan case, Detective Flip Zimmerman and his new partner, Detective Ron Stallworth, are tasked with finding out more information about this new gang. After a passionate affair behind the bar with a mysterious woman calling herself Siren, Flip discovers that perhaps he’s a bit closer to this investigation than he originally counted on. Can he manage to use this newly-recruited ally to not only take down The Sharks before they strike again, but perhaps use it to benefit his lonesome personal life as well? Find out all this and more in “The Angel”!

chapter summary. Flip and Ron head over to Ace’s, a local bar in Colorado Springs to gather intel on The Angels, the newest biker gang in town. The young detective gets more than he bargained for when he meets and beds a mystery woman named Siren. Except ‘Siren’ ends up being the last person Flip expected to get intimate with and now, he’s entangled in this case, both professionally and personally.

table of contents. Intel (NSFW) * Saint Siren Turned Sharks Intercepted Epilogue

(a * indicates where you are in the table of contents)

author’s notes: hello, hello! saw a few bikers as I was driving on the highway, and my mind decided that I wanted to write a multi-chap fic about flip with a biker gang reader love interest. I love exploring the whole ‘flip with an independent/dom fem reader’ trope. so, here I am, designating an entire ten chapters to it.

**this multi-chap will have 5 parts total (4 ‘story’ chapters and an epilogue). due to the shorter number of chapters/parts, expect each to be longer, usually between 4-6k words.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: smut. heavy flirting. swearing. a generous amount of dirty talk. degradation. oral sex. reader smokes. use of the term ‘pig’ to describe the police.

(possible) tw’s: tobacco use (as is canon for flip’s character). public sex.

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist. I’m also willing to do a series-specific taglist if enough people are interested!)

---

“Alright, everyone. Rumor has it that there’s a new biker gang in town, called ‘The Angels’.” Chief Bridges says. “We gotta be on top of this, make sure they’re not the violent type.”

Flip rubs his chin, stroking his beard as he listens to the limited intel the department has on this new group.

“I’m putting Zimmerman and Stallworth on this one. You’re gonna hang out at some of the local watering holes, see if you can gather some more information on this new group.”

His eyebrows raise and he looks over at his partner. “C’mon Chief, don’t you think our talents could be used elsewhere? It’s just an intel mission, a beat cop could do it.”

“This is incredibly important, Zimmerman, and I only trust my top talent to do the job right.” Bridges crosses his arms, staring daggers at the dark-haired detective. “It’ll be a quick job, I’m sure. No more than a week’s time. Now, get over yourself and do the damn job.”

He huffs softly, nodding as he looks away. “Sure thing, Chief.”

“You’ll head to Ace’s tonight, since that’s where they’re said to hang the most. Meeting dismissed.”

Everyone piles out of the small conference room and back out into the bullpen. Flip lights a cigarette as he sits down at his desk and continues typing up a report from last week’s home invasion-robbery.

Ron sets the ‘Angels’ file down on his desk a few minutes later, sighing as he sits on the edge.

“What are you thinkin’ about this case, Flip?”

“I just wanna get it over with, rookie.” He leans back in his chair, shrugging and taking a drag. “I think it’s nothing to worry about, since they haven’t done anything yet, but the Chief wants us to check it out so I guess we have to.”

Ron nods.

“Well, we’ll head over to Ace’s after work. Hopefully we’ll find something and then we can get back to finding the Sharks.”

The Sharks were the biggest gang in Colorado Springs, spreading violence and dominating the northern part of town. But, all of them wore masks or helmets with masks, so no one’s been able to identify any of them.

“Mmhmm.”

Flip hums, stubbing the cigarette butt out in the mug on his desktop.

Before he knows it, the clock hand lands on 6, and everyone starts packing up. Flip gets up and puts his freshly-typed reports on the Chief’s desk before heading over to Ron’s desk.

“You ready to go, rookie?” He asks, hopping up on his partner’s desk. “I need a fuckin’ beer.”

Ron laughs, shaking his head as he stands up and both men walk back to get the mics and listening equipment together. Flip clips the lauve to his white undershirt, then re-buttons his signature buffalo plaid flannel.

They head out and hop into Flip’s pickup truck. He pulls away from the station and heads down the freeway towards Ace’s while Ron sets up all the audio equipment in the front seat.

The parking lot of Ace’s is almost full when the two detective’s pull in, and when Flip puts the truck in park, he immediately catches sight of a series of bikes parked at the front.

“They’re here.” He says in a low voice, nodding over to the bikes. “I’m gonna go check the jackets to make sure.”

Flip casually gets out from the cab and walks over. He sees one of the jackets draped over the seats with the words ‘The Angels’ and a logo on the back.

“Yup,” He says to Ron through the window of his truck. “It’s them.”

Ron’s eyes widen slightly. “Well then, get in there, partner. See what you can find.”

He chuckles, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his lighter on as he walks into the bar. His eyes scan the room, looking for biker-like characters, but his attention is quickly drawn to a certain young woman sitting at the bar.

She’s not much younger than himself, if Flip had to guess, and her subtle smile was infectious. Flip was absolutely taken with her, but he maintained his cool, approaching the bar.

“Hey, Earl.” He says, leaning against the bar. “Get me a Miller, would you?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender nods, giving Flip a handshake before heading over to the beer fridge.

You can’t help but look over at the handsome man that’s leaning against the bar. His eyes move over to you, and yours dart away quickly. He smirks, and when you look back over, he gives you a quick wink.

Your cheeks warm as you and the handsome stranger make eyes at each other. You’ve only been in town for a little while, and you’ve certainly never seen someone like him around before.

Once the bartender hands him the dark brown bottle, mister tall, dark and handsome casually makes his way over to where you’re seated. His presence is intimidating in itself, patrons suddenly hushing their voices as he stands behind you.

“Like what you see?” He asks in a low voice, smirking. You chuckle.

“Perhaps, although you don’t have much competition. The human eye is naturally drawn to the most appealing sight in the room and quite frankly, I’m so damn tired of looking at old white men. You were the reprieve.”

“Mmhmm.” Flip laughs, sitting down next to you at the bar, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth as he flicks his lighter on. “I’m impressed at your ability to spin such a convenient story for your obvious ogling.”

“Don’t act so innocent, prettyboy. Your eyes were not keeping to themselves either.”

You huff softly, taking a drink, the smoke from his latest drag clouding the space between you.

“Perhaps.” He retorts, taking a sip of his beer before looking over at you. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I bet you’d like to know.” You hum softly. “You can call me Siren.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Siren, really? What, is that a nickname or something?”

“Something, yes.”

He’s intrigued by your mysterious and closed-off presence, your casual yet extremely confident demeanor. God, how he’d love to make you crumble on his cock, scream his name and beg him for release.

The thought has him stirring in his Levi’s.

“Phillip.” He says after a beat of silence, taking a drag off his cigarette. “In case you were wondering.”

Back in the truck, Ron shakes his head. “Did you really just use your own name, Zimmerman?”

Flip realizes his slight mistake, mentally kicking himself for not having an alias name already prepared.

Your finger swirls around the rim of the whisky glass. “I wasn’t.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment. He liked this game you’re playing with him, in fact, he loves it.

Finally, a woman giving him the thrill of the chase, making him work for it.

“Are you new in town, Miss Siren? I think I would remember seeing someone like you around here before.”

You nod silently. “Got here a few weeks ago. I’ve got some business to take care of, y’know, tie up some loose ends and such. Then I’ll be out of here.”

“What’s the rush in getting out of here? You don’t like it?”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like you’re sad to hear that I’ll be leavin’ soon, prettyboy.”

He huffs softly in amusement, although his liking of your nickname for him is much greater than he anticipated or would ever admit aloud. “No, nothing like that. Just curious, is all.”

“I’m more of a city girl. All this fresh mountain air makes me sick.” You quip, smiling softly. “I like the polluted smell of New York much better.”

Flip laughs. “Oh, a city slicker. Yuck.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. He’s kinda cool.

“What, Colorado Springs isn’t enough to convert you, or at least open your mind to the idea?”

He takes one final long drag before crushing the butt out in the ashtray on the bar.

Your eyes linger on his seated figure for a moment before turning your attention back directly in front of you.

“Well, now that I’ve met some more of the locals, I’m thinkin’ about it a little more.”

“Yeah?”

His voice lowers an octave as he leans in a bit closer, one of his large calloused hands now resting on your denim-covered thigh. You shiver slightly beneath his touch, the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly-chopped lumber intoxicating as it ensnares your senses.

“I think you’d like it out here, if you gave it a shot. We’ve got a few things New York can’t offer.”

You’re biting your lip as his husky voice rasps in your ear, his close proximity thickening the tension between you. You haven’t been this rattled by a man in a long time, and damn, it feels good.

“Oh really? And what is that, besides trees and grass, hm?”

His chuckle makes you squirm in your seat.

“Men. Real men. Not the city pussies that gel their hair up all fancy and can’t get a speck of dirt on themselves without throwin’ a damn fit. I mean...”

“Big,” He leans a bit closer. “Strong,” Closer. “Men.”

His lips are practically on top of your ear now, hot breath tickling your eardrum. He smirks. “And that’s all you’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it, slick? A big strong man to take care of you, protect you...satisfy your every whim and desire.”

You can barely see straight, vision blinded by the sheer lust rolling off his tongue. He’s so damn cocky, a real alpha male type, and you were eating it up. You couldn’t wait to break him.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it, prettyboy.” You say, voice unwavering as you turn to look him directly in the eyes with a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lip. “So why don’t you go ahead and prove it, hm? I’d like to see you try.”

His jaw clenches along with his fists, body turning lurching forward slightly to the edge of the chair, now fully facing your side.

“You’re walking an awfully thin line with that trap of yours, slick. I’d watch yourself, ‘cause the folks out here won’t hesitate, like city folk do, to make an example outta brats like you.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you lean forward a bit, challenging him right back. “Lotta big talk from you this evening, prettyboy, but no action has come to match these claims. All bark, no bite, just like everyone else in this town.”

Flip is hard as a fucking rock, erection urgently pressing against the seam of his Levi’s, but he can’t even focus on that right now. You work him up like no one else ever has before, and he’s not about to let you just leave with the last word. No, he’ll have the last word tonight if it fucking kills him.

“You wanna see some fuckin’ bite, slick?” He growls, standing up and grabbing hold of your jaw, keeping a firm grip on it. “Talk to me like that again and see what happens.”

You grin deviously, wrapping your hand around his wrist, holding it as you remove your jaw from his grip.

“Heard it all before and nobody’s gotten me just yet. You’re no different, prettyboy.”

A twenty is thrown on the tabletop and then you’re leaving.

His blood is boiling, cock twitching with excitement as he lets you walk out of the bar, letting you think you can get away with this. Then, as soon as you’re outside, he strides across the room, flings the door open, and grabs your arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He walks you to the side alley and pins you to the bricks, body caging yours in. You’re breathless and defenseless against him as his wiry whiskers tickle the side of your neck. His legs spread out and his large hands grip your hips as he scoops down, grinding his arousal against your ass with one long, rough stroke.

The denim-trapped bulge presses incessantly against your backside when he stills and lights up a smoke behind you, taking a brief drag, exhaling through his nose.

“Y’know, I work hard all damn day, seven days a week, bust my fuckin’ ass to get shit done.” He stands up again, kicking your ankle so your legs spread open. You gasp softly at his brazen moves, which only fuels his arousal. “I come here to kick back a few beers and have a few cigarettes, relax, unwind…”

His hands yank your jeans down your hips suddenly, then one curls around to cup your clothed mound, lifting up against you.

“But instead of that, now, I have to bring you out here and fuck some goddamn manners into your bratty cunt before I can go back in to finish my beer.”

You can barely formulate words at the moment, his every move dripping with pure power and unwavering dominance. You’re absolutely taken by him, but that doesn’t mean you won’t fulfill your own agenda.

Let him think he’s the boss, that he’s got you wrapped around his finger. It’ll only wreck him harder in the end.

The small jingle of his belt buckle being undone brings you back to reality, as well as his fingers swiping over your clit through the material of your panties. He pulls away for a moment, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, yanking them down far enough so that he can pull his length out.

Luckily, due to his massive body size and the fact that you’re in a dark alleyway behind a dumpster, nothing is too exposed in case someone happens to come by and see the little show about to unfold.

Your panties are torn down your legs quickly and his digits swipe through your warmth. He smirks when he feels how wet you are.

“Now I can call you slick for two reasons.” He chuckles darkly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew you liked this, dirty girl. Bet you’ve been wet all night since I came into the bar.”

His fingers trace over your clit, pressure on and off with his lazy circles, and within seconds he’s got you gyrating against him. Then, suddenly, he pulls away and steps back, hand on your shoulder. He flips you around quickly so that you’re facing him, then forces you back against the wall, flicking his abandoned cigarette away onto the black pavement.

“Why’d you turn me around?” You ask nonchalantly.

He smears some of your fresh arousal onto the tip of his cock, moving it around over his girthy length while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, grabbing and pressing on your tongue.

“I decided that I wanna ruin your disobedient little mouth first. On your knees, use my boots as padding if you need.”

Your legs close and you cross them at the ankle, leaning back against the brick wall freely, arms crossed over your chest. His eyebrows raise and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“Did you not hear me or something?” Flip asks, voice low. “On your damn knees, slick, or I’ll put you there myself.”

Silence. You don’t move a muscle, watching the frustration fester. He leans in suddenly, face real close.

“I’m gonna give you one last chance to do as I say before I force you down.”

Nothing.

His hand wraps in your prettily-done hair, holding the roots just above scalp-level, yanking harshly. He steps back a bit quickly as you cry out, hand on your shoulder, pushing you down as the shock and pain weakens your knees.

Your knees rest on his work boots and his impressive arousal is lip-level, now. He loosens his grip on your hair ever so slightly, still holding you firmly as he rubs his head over your cherry red lips.

“Don’t make me take this from you too, slick.” He warns.

You offer him a cheeky, close-mouthed smile, batting your eyelashes teasingly. He snarls, pulling your hair again, and when you yelp in pain, he pushes his hips forward. His cock forces itself into your mouth and your eyes widen, choking immediately at the sudden intrusion.

Flip’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as your throat contracts around his length. He holds your head, keeping your mouth wrapped around him, and he gives you a quick look of concern, breaking character for a moment.

Once you give him a quick wink and small smile, indicating that everything’s okay, he draws back before pushing forward again. He establishes a consistent back-and-forth rhythm, grunting softly with each thrust of his hips. You’re taking him so well, better than anyone before. Your choking and gagging has essentially ceased within the first minute or so, the quickest recovery Flip has ever experienced.

Look, he knows he’s got a nice cock, there’s no denying it, especially when he’s got women chanting it in his ear on a weekly basis. It’s long and girthy with a slight upward curve that gives him the ability to hit the g-spot almost every time. Plus, he knows how to use it properly.

But, women often have trouble taking him or making him feel good with oral sex because he’s always concerned that he’s genuinely hurting them. A lot of women are also very intimidated by his size, which doesn’t help him in feeling okay about it.

You, however, didn’t say a word, give it a concerned look, or hesitate even a bit when he put you on your knees. You’re something else.

He groans, fucking your mouth even harder, hands on the sides of your head. Your eyes are watering and tears have already begun spilling down your cheeks, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. He looks so incredible like this, restrain and composure slipping as the pleasure begins to consume him.

You do your best to establish a bit of suction on his length, and when a guttural growl emerges from above you, you know you’ve done it. His hips lose their rhythm soon after, cock throbbing in your mouth, meaning he’s close.

He’s panting heavily, spine curling as he fucks your mouth harder, shuddering every once and a while from the sheer amounts of lust coursing through his veins.

Just before his release, he forces himself to pull away, a strangled groan of agony rumbling through his chest as his shaft bobs angrily at the lost orgasm.

“Christ!”

You catch your breath for a moment, but that moment is brief because within thirty seconds, he’s got his hand wrapped around your jaw.

“S-S…” He takes a second to compose himself. “Stand up, turn around, take your panties off and spread your fucking legs.”

This time, much to his surprise, you obey, getting into position with little resistance. He smirks, giving your ass a quick swat before rubbing his head through your folds.

“Mmm, shit, you got wetter just from having your face fucked?”

His chin digs into your shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in quickly with a long, low groan, then settles inside of you to allow for an adjustment period.

Your eyes go wide and you whimper, walls stretching out to accommodate the large intrusion. Soon, you move your hips a bit, looking over your shoulder.

“You can m-move.”

Flip nods, drawing back before pressing his hips forward again, sighing through his nose as he picks up a steady thrusting rhythm.

“Fuck you’ve got a good little cunt, wrapped around me so goddamn tight.” He growls in your ear, mouth lazily kissing and nipping at your neck.

The burn of being stretched out subsides soon after he begins, replaced with copious amounts of pleasure, jaw slacked as your body jolts back and forth with each powerful movement.

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut...I know you like this. I wanna hear you fucking admit it.” He breathes. “Tell me how good I’m making you--fuck--feel. Tell me how much better my cock feels fucking you than any--goddamnit--other f-fuckin’ city slicker’s cock.”

When he doesn’t get a response, his pace suddenly quickens a bit and one of his hands comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing experimentally. “Say it, slick, admit it!”

“Y-You, you feel...okay.”

You smirk, eyes squeezing shut when he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

Flip huffs. “You’re a fucking brat--god fucking damnit.”

He snarls, hand closing tighter around your neck, lips right up against your ear.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy you, slick. I’m gonna fuck your tight cunt so hard and stuff you so fucking full of my cum, make it run down your fucking thighs when you go home. You’re gonna have to walk into your fuckin’ house with my cum leaking out of you like the dirty slut you are.”

A loud whine comes from your lips, goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin at his words. You’re close already, the anticipation and sensations too much to hold off much longer.

“I know you’re lying, slick, I know you love this fucking cock, and I know you’re close. Say it, say it and I’ll make you cum so fucking hard you can’t see straight for the rest of the night.”

He growls into your ear, panting heavily.

“All you gotta do is--shit--say it and I’ll give you what you want, what we both know you want.”

Your walls clench and pulse around his shaft, preparing for your approaching orgasm. But, even though the temptation is sweet, you hold out.

“Eh, I’ve h-had better. You’re really--oh--not t-that big, prettyboy.”

“Fuck!”

His reaction is exactly what you were looking for, hips thrusting impossibly quick as his hands grab your wrists and pin your hands behind your back. Part of him liked this, being called ‘small’ and being taunted, although he’d never admit it to anyone.

“It’s your fucking loss, slick.”

“Oh, is it?” You smirk, adjusting your hips subtly until you find the right spot, crying out softly as you teeter on the edge of orgasm. “I don’t t-think so--fuck!”

“NO! Goddamnit, f-fuck...NO!” He tries to stop your climax, but it’s too late, you’re already there.

“Y-Yes, fuck...yes!”

You’re trembling as you ride out your intense high, his hips pumping you into a delicious overstimulation.

Your release gushes out around him and Flip feels his own climax rapidly approaching, hips starting to lose their rhythm.

Flip’s absolutely pissed that you made yourself cum, allowing his frustration to fuel his thrusts. His teeth sink into the muscle on the curve of your neck, drilling into you as hard as he can manage.

“Brat!”

He snarls against your skin.

“You’re a fucking d-dirty, filthy--yeah, so fuckin’ tight--naughty brat! O-Oh fuck, shit, gonna--fuck goddamnit--cum…”

“Are you gonna cum? Fill me up, prettyboy?”

You clench around him one more time, bringing him over the edge.

“Oh f-fuck, yes, gonna--unnhh!”

Being fully prepared to bury his load deep inside you, fill you up, it took him by great surprise when you suddenly pulled him out of you. His eyes fly open and a choked cry leaves his lips.

“FUCK, N-NO!”

He roars, load erupting out onto the bricks and alleyway pavement instead of inside you. His hips rut forward instinctively as he rides out his high, groaning against your skin.

You smirk, slipping out from beneath his grip, pulling your panties back up over your hips. He’s still panting and recovering from his climax, hands spread on the cool brick of the building, eyes catching sight of his seed dripping down the wall as he redresses.

Before you walk away, you run a hand through his silky black mane. You give it a gentle tug, earning a low growl from the handsome man.

“Told ya, no one’s gotten me yet and no one ever will.” You pat his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Have a good rest of your night, prettyboy.”

You’re quickly overtaken, within the first few steps of walking back towards the front entrance, by a large set of hands. Flip turns you around in his arms and crashes his lips on yours, pulling you close to him.

At first, you’re taken by surprise, but that lasts for only a few seconds before you melt into his touch, melding your lips with his. He pulls away a minute later, a big smug smirk stretched across his face.

“Good night, slick.”

He walks back towards the side door, lighting a cigarette on his way, leaving you frozen in suspension for a moment. Every inch of your skin, every fiber of your being, is buzzing. You find yourself unable to wipe the small smile off your face as you walk back towards the front of the bar.

You look through the window of the bar as you slip your leather jacket on, then your helmet before swinging your leg over your bike. The engine rumbles, ground quaking beneath it as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, wind whipping around your body as you disappear into the cool Colorado night.

Flip is drunk on you as he pays for his drinks and stubs his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray on the bar. The damn bastard’s essentially grinning and giggling with joy as he walks back out to his truck, or at least ‘grinning and giggling’ by Flip’s standards, which pretty much just means a small smile.

It’s quickly wiped from his face when he sees Ron in the passenger seat. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Ron was listening the whole time, and he can only hope that his partner took the headphones off before anything too explicit happened.

He hops up into the cab and immediately, Ron begins chuckling to himself.

“Oh, shut up.”

He says, frowning as he backs out of the parking lot.

“I hope you took the headphones off.”

“So, did you find out anything about The Angels?”

Ron asks, snickering.

“Or did you focus on learning more about the inside of her mouth?”

Flip growls under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Can it, rookie. We’ll go back tomorrow. And, for the record, I cased the joint when I walked in, and there were no bikers in sight. No one that seemed the type, y’know?”

“Well, the bikes were there. They had to be there, right?”

His jaw clenches, kicking himself for losing focus. Although, he doesn’t exactly regret anything he did with you, he just wishes he had worked the case a bit beforehand.

“They should’ve been there, but I’m telling you, there was no one.”

Ron gives him a look and Flip shakes his head.

“Look, I know what it looks like, but I’m serious. I cased the joint when I went in, and there was no one even close to the basic look of a biker gang.”

His partner sighs.

“I know, and I trust you, Zimmerman. We’ll go back tomorrow, like you said. We should go a bit earlier, maybe try and catch these bikers coming to the bar.”

“Agreed.”

Flip nods as he pulls back into the station, sighing when he puts the truck in park.

“Alright, let’s go report to the Chief.”

The Next Day

It’s another long ass day at the station, although there was a bit of excitement when the Chief went out to his squad car and found the window busted out.

Everyone chuckled to themselves as he flipped his shit, almost as if he’d temporarily forgotten that he was a police chief.

Flip and Ron went out to lunch at the local diner, discussing the ‘Angels’ case, and of course Flip’s back-alley hookup last night, much to the detective’s dismay.

He just resorted to sucking down as many cigarettes as he could while Ron fired off questions, hoping the nicotine buzz would get him through this all quicker. It didn’t.

Finally, with the Chief’s approval, Ron and Flip head out at five to Ace’s in hopes of spotting The Angels as they come to the bar.

Luckily, when they reach the bar, there are no motorcycles in sight. Flip backs the truck into a spot facing where the motorcycles were last night, putting it in park before lighting up a smoke. He and Ron pass the time with some casual chit-chat before the telltale rumble of motorcycle engines.

The first bike comes into view, the leader no doubt, and slowly rolls up to the front of the bar, foot planting on the pavement. There’s something so oddly familiar about this leader to Flip, the way they move, their demeanor in general, but he thinks little of it, determined to actually focus on the case this time.

Once the whole gang has pulled up, Flip grabs his notepad and a pencil, ready to write down the names on their jackets while Ron pulls out his camera. The bikers' engines all shut off almost simultaneously, pavement settling back into the dirt as they all dismount their bikes.

Flip looks at all the names on their jackets, each beginning with ‘Saint’, writing all five of them down before pausing when he reaches the leader’s jacket. It read ‘Saint Siren’, glitter-infused stitching catching in the evening sunset.

No, it can’t be.

Saint Siren reaches up to pull their helmet off, and when they do, Flip is stunned into utter and total silence. It’s you...you’re Saint Siren.

You're the leader of ‘The Angels’.

Ron’s snapping a bunch of pictures as the rest of the gang takes their helmets off, revealing the women beneath each. Both detectives were surprised to see that ‘The Angels’ were all women, considering the general ‘man-ness’ of biker gangs.

Your hair flutters in the gentle breeze as you hang your helmet on the handlebar of your bike, reaching into your jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter, hand shielding the flame from the gentle breeze.

“Zimmerman?”

Flip faintly hears his partner say, but he doesn’t process it, too focused on the reality hitting.

“Zimmerman!” Ron says, shaking his partner’s arm.

“What’s the matter with you?”

His eyes dart over to Ron, a serious expression etched on his face.

“That’s her. That’s the girl from last night.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ sure!” He snarls. “I only spent all night with her. I’m not that shallow, rookie.”

Ron stifles a laugh. “Uh huh. Well, now we understand why no one could ever figure out who this gang was. No one would ever suspect women to be bikers, much less in a biker gang.”

Your jacket is taken off and draped neatly over the seat of your bike, and Flip quickly tosses his notebook on the dash, clipping the lauve to his undershirt with a sense of urgency. His face is steadily turning redder the more he thinks about it, and Ron can almost see the smoke coming from his ears. He’d be whistling like a damn tea kettle if that were true.

“What are you gonna do when you get in there? Remember what the Chief wants, intel only.”

Flip huffs, buttoning his flannel back up before flicking on the microphone set on the front seat, tapping the top of the machine. “I know how to do my damn job, I know what Chief said. Just be sure to listen and write the important stuff down.”

He hops down, the heels of his work boots reverberating off the pavement as he walks, more like storms, into the bar.

Earl, the bartender, greets him, but he’s already closing in on you. He doesn’t even hesitate, just walking right up to the table you’re sitting at and putting his hand on the top.

“Can I speak with you a minute?” He says in the calmest voice he can muster at this point, staring daggers at you, teeth gritted. “Please?”

All the girls look up at him, then back over at you, awaiting your answer. You stub out the cigarette between your lips before gesturing for Gladys to scoot out of the booth. She does, and you slide out, standing in front of the familiar man.

“Lead the way, Flip.”

He spins around on his heel, then stops, stomach dropping. How do you know that name?

You giggle to yourself as you walk by and out to the alley. He’s hot on your tail, slamming the door shut behind him, bounding down the stairs.

“I figured it out pretty quickly.” You say, twirling your hair as you lean back against the wall, arms crossed in front of you. “After I saw the mic clipped to your undershirt last night. Looked through the yellow pages this morning and found the contact information for one Detective Phillip Zimmerman of the Colorado Springs Police Department. There’s only one other man by the name of Phillip living in this town, and he’s the guy down at the gas station.”

“Could’ve been a fake name.”

Your lips curl up into a smirk. “Yeah, coulda been a fake name, I guess. But I saw the way you reacted when you said it, looked like you wanted to kick yourself in the nutsack. The mic on your shirt tied it all together, and then when I did some surveillance on the station, I saw you.”

Flip isn’t sure if he’s more nervous or impressed by your ability to observe and fact-find.

“I’m not the only one that hid my true identity last night, Saint Siren. Nor are you the only one that did surveillance today.” He growls, standing in front of you. “You’re one of the ‘Angels’, the leader, in fact.”

Your face is unchanging, still wearing a neutral expression, before a small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Congratulations, Detective. I’m a little surprised you didn’t put two-and-two together last night when you read the name on my jacket.”

His eyes widen, which makes you laugh. Had your name really been on the jacket that he’d seen, and he just missed it?

“Saw you not so discreetly snooping around the bikes before you came in last night. You ought to check your surroundings a little more thoroughly before ‘casually’ sauntering by the bikes and leaning over to read the jackets...someone might see you.”

You laugh quietly, shoving your hands into your jean pockets.

He’s pissed, you can tell, but there’s also a sense of respect buried deep within his gaze, and perhaps there’s even a bit of desire mixed in, too.

“I...you’re…”

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head, and the rage suddenly melts away. He could use this to his advantage.

“Join me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Think about it, it’s beneficial for both of us. You want to knock the Sharks on their asses and kick ‘em outta town, and I want to stop them from taking over the whole town. We both get what we want.”

You just burst out into laughter. “You’re a funny guy, Detective, thinking I’d ever even consider becoming an informant. Ha! Sure, I hate the Sharks and I wanna kick ‘em out, but I don’t need the pig’s help for that.”

His jaw clenches.

“You’re trying to turn her now, Zimmerman? What the hell are you thinking? INTEL, Zimmerman, we’re here for ANGELS INTEL, not the Sharks.”

He shakes off his partner’s words, staring deep into your eyes.

“You know this is a good idea, I know you do, slick. All we need are some names. It’ll be quick work, and in return, we’ll help you get rid of them and stay off your ass after they’re gone, as long as you don’t start or engage in any violent altercations.”

“Man, you gotta stop. You can’t make promises like that without the Chief’s approval. C’mon, Zimmerman, get outta there!”

“I’m not falling for that bullshit, and I’m not becoming a pig, even if it’s only for a few weeks.” You say, pushing off the wall and standing up straight. “G’night, Detective.”

Flip quickly grabs you before you can even take a step back towards the door, holding your arms as he steps up behind you.

“I never say things I don’t mean, and I never make promises I can’t keep, slick.”

He grabs one of his business cards out from his wallet, teasingly sliding it in your back pocket, giving your ass a quick squeeze. “In case you change your mind.”

Your skin has erupted in goosebumps as you walk back into the bar, overly conscious of the business card tucked into your back pocket, gently poking your bottom with each stride.

As you sit with your crew, drinking and chatting the night away, you can’t stop thinking about this proposal.

The thought of being an informant scares you. The thought of turning on the Sharks scares you.

What scares you the most, though?

You’re ready to get to work.

#adam driver #adam driver smut #adam driver character #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader smut #tw: tobacco #tw: tobacco use #tw public sex #adcu #adcu writer #mrs-gucci #mrs-gucci requests #mrs-gucci writes flip zimmerman #adcu community #adcu fanfic

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deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth · 4 years ago

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I’m Gonna Crawl

Chapter One July 20 1973 - Boston, MA

“Cali, where have you been?” My boss, Jonathon – clearly irritated by my lack of responsibility and ability to answer his non-stop phone calls since last Tuesday – harped into the telephone. I had been on a bedridden binge since my last fight with my long-time boyfriend, Daniel.

“Been under the weather.” I groaned into the receiver.

“I’ve been calling for a week. It’s Monday. You were supposed to be at the new client meeting on Friday. You know I don’t tolerate no-shows. I don’t care how good you are at your job.”

“Are you firing me Jonathan?” My tone unmoved. At this point I honestly didn’t care about the job. I had worked hard for years to get to the position I’m in but my situational depression had made me completely uninterested in the job I had loved and cared so much for. All the love and passion I had for anything and anyone had completely diminished the moment I stepped into Daniel’s dank office.

Jonathan sighed loudly. “No, Cali. I’m not firing you. But you need to show up to work. We have new clients waiting for your go ahead. If you can’t make it, I’m sure Stu can fill in for you.” He was baiting me. Stu was an idiot and he knew it and knew that I knew it.

“When’s the next meeting?” I took the bait, unwillingly.

“Tomorrow morning. Some big-time band wants their concert filmed.” He paused and sucked in a large breath. “These are important clients. Willing to pay big and we need the business so please, please, please don’t fuck this up, kid.”

I rolled my eyes at the assumption that I would fuck it up. “Have I ever fucked anything up since I’ve worked for you?”

“Not yet, but I can see you snowballing down a big hill… What’s going o-”

“Nothing personal here, Jon, but I really don’t want to talk about it. Let’s keep things professional.” I cut him off. I liked Jonathan; he was a good boss but he always tried to pry. I didn’t like people who pried.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?” He dropped it. “Nine-thirty A.M.” He emphasized.

“Yes, sir.” I breathed then placed the phone back on the receiver.

I laid my head on my pillow, sinking further into the comforts of the fluffy mattress. Not even thirty seconds after I hung up with Jon the phone rang again. I sat up and wretched the phone from its cradle. “I said I would be there Jon!” I murmured impatiently into the phone.

“Cali…” His voice was raw and rough. “Why have you been ignoring my calls?”

I clenched my jaw and took a deep breath through my nose, exhaling loudly through my mouth. “Daniel.” I murmured with quiet irritation. “I’ve been busy.” I lied.

“Busy with what?” His tone was sharp and accusatory. “Where have you been? With Jon? Is he the guy you’ve been fucking around with?”

“Excuse me?” The audacity. “You have no right to accuse me of anything.”

“No right?” He yelled. “I have every right. You belong to me. You don’t have the right-”

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure that you’re the one fucking around with random skanks you meet at that dingy bar you call a business.” I retorted.

He was quiet. For a minute he didn’t say anything. He knew I was right. I had a million reasons not to be with this man but for the life of me I wasn’t strong enough to let him go. “I’m coming over.” He stated.

I looked over at the clock, it read 7:45 p.m. “No. I have to be at work early in the morning and I’m really not in the mood to continue this right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone before he could protest.

I dropped heavily back onto the pillow with a sigh. When I closed my eyes, I could see last Monday night. I had gotten off work and decided I would surprise him at the bar he managed. We had both been so busy with work we had only seen each other for a few hours in the evening four times in the past two weeks. He was cold and sometimes demeaning but he loved me, cared for me. This was no Romeo and Juliet. We were both damaged goods, maybe that’s why I loved him too.

Monday evening, I had rushed home, donned Daniels favorite little black dress and drove to the bar, The Tam. When I arrived, I walked in confident, greeted the bartender, Tim, grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort and headed to the manager’s office, ignoring the odd look Tim had on his face. When I opened the door the liquor bottle slipped from my hand and shattered around my feet. Behind the desk was Karen, another bartender I had only met a couple of times, sitting on Daniels lap, skirt hiked up around her waist, Daniel’s jeans at his ankles.

“Jesus.” I muttered.

Karen looked at me like she was a deer caught in the headlights and under her I could see the smug tone underneath Daniel’s faux apologetic gaze.

As hard as I tried to fight them, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I refused to let him see them. I turned on my heels and left the bar in silence. I held myself together as I drove back to my apartment. When I finally made it, I closed the door, locked it, and leaned my body weight against it. With my fists in balls, I slid down the door and finally let go. The tears welled and rained down my cheeks. I sat there on the floor, unable to move, unable to see what I needed to forget. An hour later I heard the clumsy footsteps approaching my door.

My breath hitched, I started taking quiet and shallow breaths. I flinched when his fist hit the door. “Cal!” He groaned through the wood.

I stayed silent. I didn’t dare speak knowing full well my voice would betray me. I sat at the door for another thirty minutes listening to him begging and pleading then banging and cursing. When he had finally left, I poured myself a drink. And that was the beginning of everything.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I let out a deep breath and shook the memory from my head. I had no more tears left. I had been crying for over a week and was tired of it.

“Shower.” I exhaled. I definitely needed one. I didn’t have enough strength or energy to stand so I started the shower, removed my clothes then sat down in the tub and let the water rain over me. After I had cleaned myself thoroughly, I got out and stared at myself in the mirror. I was thin before but now I could see I was getting even more thin. Food had not been on my mind lately and when it was it was quickly dismissed by the memory in my head and put on hold until I could regain my appetite. My cheeks were hollow and the bags under my eyes made me look washed out. I was beginning to look like my mother. Unhappy, unhealthy and colorless.

I knew that if I decided to stay up, I would only do no good to myself so I slid into a pair of panties, an old t-shirt and climbed into bed.

The morning was hard. I dragged myself out of bed and did my best to look presentable for the meeting with the new client’s. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep forever but I knew that if I didn’t show up Stu would steal the client from me and I would probably slip further into myself creating a hole of despair.

Before I left the house I self-medicated. Jonathan would not approve, he detested marijuana but I didn’t care. It was something I had been doing more of over the past week, some may think a little too much. But again, I didn’t care.

I made it to work with only minutes to spare. I lit a cigarette and ran through the lobby not bothering to greet the lady behind the front desk who’s name always seemed to escape me. I made it to the conference room just as Jonathan was greeting the clients.

There were four men standing in the room. A large brick wall of a man shaking Jon’s hand looked up at me through the glass door and nodded toward me. Jon turned around with a look of relief.

I entered the room and put my cigarette out in an ashtray.

“You’re late.” Jon mumbled at me.

“Thanks, Jon. I can read a clock.” I retorted quietly; my sarcasm heavy.

“Can you?” He murmured barely audibly. He looked at the men and gestured to me,

“This is Cali, she will be taking care of scheduling, equipment, set up and photography on tour with you.”

“Pleased to meet you.” I nodded. And with that Jon left the room to me.

The big man extended his hand to me. “Peter Grant. Manager of the band.” He smiled, taking my hand and shaking it. “This is Robert, Jonesy, and John.” He pointed to each member of the band.

“Very nice to meet you.” I smiled back.

Robert, a bouncing blonde skipped over to me and took my hand in his, kissing the back of it. His smile was sweet and comforting. Before he let go of my hand, he sniffed around it, his smile grew wider. He raised an eyebrow “By the smell of it, you’ll be quite fun to have around.” He winked. “I was afraid we’d end up with a stingy old man with no sense of adventure.”

“I am very sorry,” I blushed, embarrassed. “Had a rough night.” More like a rough week. “I usually don’t smoke right before a meeting with clients.”

“Who’s smoking what?” John the mustached man bounded over, excitement in his eyes.

“Calm down Bonzo.” Jonesy put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“So, we would love to get down to the nitty-gritty and tell you what it is we are looking for from you but we apologetically are one man short. He too had a rough night.” Robert gave a look as though he was a child about to be scolded. “Fortunately, we can tell you what we…” He gestures to himself and the other two band members. “… want. Unfortunately, we cannot speak for Jimmy. I would try but he would no doubt complain.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “So, should we meet at another time?”

“Well,” Peter rubbed his chin in thought. “We have a show tonight at the Boston Garden. Then we set out for Providence. The boys have the 22nd off then we head over to Baltimore for the 23rd and Pittsburgh on the 24th.”

“Then two glorious days off!” Robert chimed.

“We’ll be in New York on the 27th for three shows at Madison Square Garden and that’s where you will come in handy.” Peter finished.

“So, we will be filming the three shows there?” I made the conclusion. “Why start filming at the end of your tour?”

Robert sat in a chair at the round table and put his feet up, crossing his ankles. “Ask Jimmy.” He murmured bitterly.

I got the feeling Jimmy was the one who called the shots. I was starting to have a bad feeling about him already.

“What Jimmy wants; Jimmy gets.” Peter confirmed.

Yep. I thought to myself. This is going to be a long three days. “So, I’ll be meeting you in New York on the 27th?” I assumed.

Peter and the boys looked at each other. Peter chuckled and shook his head. “No, lovey, you’ll be joining us today.”

“Oh.” I pursed my lips. “So, we will be filming more than just the three shows in NY?” I was slightly taken aback.

“No.” Peter smirked amused. “Jimmy,” He sighed heavily. “Would like you and your team to get a feel of the band and what they’re about before we start filming. He likes to be very…” He chose his words carefully. “thorough.”

“Fair enough.” I agreed. “I get the feeling I should be meeting with Jimmy to fully understand his vision.”

“Yes, he definitely wants to meet with the head of filming. Said he has lots to discuss.” Peter smiled warmly.

“Shall I set up a meeting for just him and I to go over everything?” I wondered.

Jonesy scoffed loudly. “Trust me, darling. You don’t want to be alone with good Ol’ Pagey.”

“Don’t scare her off Jonesy!” Peter scolded

Robert turned in his chair to look at Peter. “You know full well how he is.” He looked at me then back at Peter. “Especially around someone of her caliber.”

He gave Robert a look of warning. “He’ll be on his best behavior.” Peter assured me. “I’ll make sure of it.” His tone was menacing. Peter was definitely not someone you wanted to fuck with.

#I'm Gonna Crawl #Jimmy Page #Jimmy Page Fanfiction #Led Zeppelin Fanfiction #Robert Plant #John Paul Jones #John Bonham #Jimmy Page fan fic #how-many-more-times-blog

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hobeymakar · 4 years ago

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Unapologetically | C. Makar Part 5

Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Chapter word count: 4,076 words

A/N: I know it’s been a bit since I last posted, but I made up for it with a long chapter. Next chapter will officially be the start of the playoffs and it will be very much worth the wait. As always, please like and reblog if you enjoy. Any and all feedback is always greatly appreciated

Shoutouts: @pizzasloot @grenawitka @hockey-and-wine as usual for being amazing and always cheering me on in the gc!

Warnings: swearing

Taty wakes up the next day and sees that Cale isn’t beside her. She checks the time and sees that it’s 11:40am, meaning he’s at practice. She goes to the bathroom to start her morning routine. She then goes to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. She sees a note on the island table.

“Babe, I left for practice. I should be home around 2,” read the note.

She makes herself some coffee and another reboltido. She cleans up the kitchen and then heads to the bathroom to shower. She showers and changes into a New York Mets shirt and joggers. She also brushes her hair and leaves it out. She goes to the living room and starts planning out what she’s gonna talk about for her next podcast episode, which she’ll be recording later on that night. Before she knows it, Cale comes home with his gear bag in tow. He goes straight to the balcony to air out his gear before making his way over to Taty.

“Hey baby, how was practice?” she asks, kissing him.

“Hard and really long,” he replies, causing her to snort.

“That’s what she said,” she giggles, causing him to roll his eyes.

“You’re such a child,” he chuckles, heading to the kitchen.

“Don’t forget I’m older than you, bud!” she retorts.

“By two years only!” he bites back, grabbing a Gatorade bottle from the fridge.

“Anyway, did you have lunch?” she asks him.

“Yeah, I ate at the rink,” he informs her.

“Good. I’m gonna record the podcast. Is it okay if I record out here?” she asks.

“Of course. I’ll just be in the room. Might even take a nap,” he replies.

“Alright, I should be done after an hour,” she informs him.

“Take all the time you need, babe,” he assures her.

He heads off to the room and she sets up her laptop and her mic on the kitchen island. She starts recording and her focus for the episode is previewing the playoff matchups in the Western Conference, since the episode prior focused on the Eastern Conference. She breaks down every matchup talking about each team’s depth at forward, defense, and goaltender.

“The next matchup I’m gonna break down is the Colorado Avalanche versus the Winnipeg Jets. I personally think Colorado easily wins this series and this has nothing to do with my bias. Colorado is just the better team overall. In offense, Colorado has the slight edge, although Winnipeg has some great scorers like Scheifele, Laine, Connor, Ehlers, and Wheeler. In defense, Colorado has the edge and it’s not even close. Colorado has one of the best defensive corps in the league, with Makar, Girard, Graves, Johnson, and Cole. In goal, however, Winnipeg has the edge and it’s not even close. Hellebuyck will be a top 3 Vezina finalist again this season, after winning it last season. However, if Hellebuyck gets hurt, then the edge goes to Colorado.”

She does the rest of the Western Conference matchups in the 1st round, while also talking about key injury news in the league. After almost an hour, she finishes recording. She removes her setup and goes back into the room, to see Cale scrolling through his phone while laying in bed.

“I just finished recording. I’ll probably edit it later tonight to post it tomorrow,” she informs him.

“Speaking of tonight, do you mind if I take you out on a date?” he asks, sitting up.

“Of course not, where do you have in mind?” she asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he smiles, causing her to whine.

“Just a little hint please!” she cries out.

“You’re gonna love it and have fun. I promise,” he assures her.

“What time are we going? I need to get ready,” she explains.

“I was thinking 6, but we can go whatever time you want. The place we’re going to is open pretty late,” he informs her.

“Alright. I’m gonna start getting ready,” she informs him.

She grabs her flat iron and her make up bag and takes them to the bathroom. She turns on the flat iron and re-touches her hair while she listens to music on her phone. After her hair is re-touched, she starts working on her makeup. She puts on minimal makeup, since she’s not a big make-up person. She then goes to the room and sees Cale is dressed in a super casual outfit.

“Should I dress comfortably then?” she asks.

“Yes, dress comfortably because we’re gonna be doing something a little athletic,” he informs her.

“Are we going roller skating?” she asks, knowing how she can’t skate to save her life..

“I’m not telling you,” he smirks.

“You’re the worst!” she whines.

“You’re gonna love it, trust me,” he assures her.

“I do trust you. I just don’t like the fact that I don’t know where you’re taking me,” she informs him.

“I know, which is why I’m not telling you. It makes it more fun,” he smiles.

She sticks her tongue out at him in response.

“Go change, babe,” he replies, ignoring how she stuck her tongue out at him.

She changes into her Nolan Arenado Colorado Rockies shirt, black leather jacket, jeans and ankle boots.

“You look great,” he smiles, kissing her forehead.

“Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself,” she teases, grabbing her small purse.

They walk out to the kitchen and he grabs his keys from the counter. They leave the apartment and make their way to the parking garage. They walk over to the car and Taty connects her phone to the car, as always. She puts her music on and they head out of the parking garage and onto the streets of Denver. After a couple minutes they head onto the highway, going south and away from the city.

“How long is the drive gonna be?” she asks him.

“Like 25 minutes. The place we’re going to is right by our practice facility,” he informs her.

“Well I’ll go to your next practice so I can see it,” she informs him.

“Maybe I can take you out on the ice for a skating lesson,” he teases, knowing how you can’t skate.

“Honestly, please do. Teach me how to skate because I can’t do it to save my life,” she sighs, thinking about how many times she ends up falling while trying to skate.

After 25 minutes, they arrive at their destination, which is TopGolf.

“Babe, you remembered!” she smiles, kissing his cheek.

She had told him before they even started dating that she always wanted to go to TopGolf since they don’t have any locations near her yet. She’s shocked he even remembered that.

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he replies, kissing her forehead.

He parks into an empty parking spot and they both get out of the car. They walk into the building and get their temperatures checked right away. They’re cleared to stay and go up to the front desk. Cale rents out a bay for the both of them. They’re escorted to their bay and given their equipment.

“You wanna go first?” he asks.

She goes to the tee with her club and puts a ball on the tee. She goes into her stance and lines her club up with the ball.

“You want me to help you with your swing?” he asks.

“Are you trying to say my stance is bad?” she scoffs, shooting him a glare.

“No babe!” he immediately responds, backtracking.

“That’s what I thought,” she adds, watching how he stays silent.

She lines her club up with the ball again before taking a big swing. She watches as the ball goes super far.

“Great swing babe! It went 295ft,” he informs her, as she makes her way to sit down.

“Let’s make it a competition to see who can hit it the farthest. Winner gets to control the music in the car and gets to pick the movie we watch tonight,” she suggests.

“Deal,” he nods.

He gets up and goes to the tee with his club and puts a ball on the tee. He goes into his stance and lines the club up with the ball.

“Babe, you want me to help you with your swing?” she asks teasingly, making fun of what he said earlier.

“Fuck off,” he groans, shaking his head.

She just laughs in response as he takes his swing, hitting the ball.

“Fuck, you threw me off! That was a terrible swing,” he groans, walking away from the tee.

“It wasn’t terrible, babe! It went 242ft,” she assures him.

“That’s fucking terrible, babe,” he replies, shaking his head in disappointment.

The two go back and forth and after an hour, Taty is crowned the winner.

“In your face, eat shit!” she yells in his ear.

“How are you so competitive?” he asks in disbelief.

“I grew up with 3 sisters. I’ll always be competitive,” she informs him.

The food that they ordered arrives and they eat it, while discussing Cale’s day off tomorrow before Game 1 on Wednesday. They finish eating and return everything back to the front desk, before leaving. They go back to the car and Taty connects her phone to the car.

“I had a great time by the way. Hopefully with practice, I’ll be able to go to a real golf course and dominate someday,” she replies.

“I can totally help with that,” he replies, backing out of the parking spot.

“If my dad heard me talking about going to a golf course, he would be so disappointed,” she giggles.

“Why?” he asks, driving out of the parking lot.

“He hates golf, like absolutely hates it. He thinks it’s the most boring thing ever and doesn’t even think it should be called a sport,” she explains.

“He just needs to try it once and then maybe he might change his mind,” he suggests.

Taty starts singing along to the music playing through the speakers, while Cale gets back on the highway to head back to the city.

“Babe, I found this restaurant that I think you’ll really enjoy. It’s a bit of a drive since it’s pretty north of the city, but I want to take you there anyway tomorrow night. Do you want me to take you there tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Of course! I expect you to take me out all day tomorrow,” she informs him.

“Oh I will. I haven’t taken you really anywhere around the city and I already know the places you’d enjoy,” he assures her.

“10/10 would boyfriend again,” she smiles, lacing her fingers with his over the center console.

After half an hour, they arrive at the apartment complex and park in the garage. They make their way up the elevator and to the apartment. They make their way inside the apartment Taty goes to the room to pick out her pajamas. She grabs her pajamas and heads to the bathroom. She washes her face, ties up her hair, brushes her teeth, and changes into her pajamas. She leaves the bathroom and goes to the room where she sees Cale already laying in bed, under the covers. She follows suit and joins him under the covers. She grabs the remote and cuddles into his side, as she chooses a movie for them to watch. She settles on Miracle and he chuckles.

“Miracle really?” he asks, shaking his head.

“This is my favorite movie of all time. I can literally quote this movie and besides, I got to pick the movie tonight, so deal with it,” she replies, bumping his shoulder.

“I’m only messing with you babe! I like this movie, I just didn’t think you would pick it. I thought you would pick something different,” he replies.

“Tonight I’m in the mood for this movie, so we’re watching it,” she explains, a finality in her voice.

“Aye aye, captain,” he teases.

She squeezes his nipple, causing him to yelp.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?!?” he yells in pain, rubbing his nipple to help relieve the pain.

“For being a smartass,” she smirks, pressing play on the movie.

They watch the movie together and Taty really does quote like the majority of the movie, which generates laughter out of Cale. Before they know it, the movie is over and Taty is taking it off from Disney+.

“You weren’t lying when you said you could quote most of the movie,” he says.

“I used to watch this movie like multiple times a week. Of course I could quote the movie,” she replies incredulously.

“It’s like every day you do something that amazes me,” he responds truthfully.

“I am pretty amazing,” she smiles.

“Alright, that’s enough ego for you,” he teases.

“Oh look who’s talking about ego, Mr. I’m the Avs’ best d-man,” she teases, shooting him a look.

“Alright, you got a point there,” he replies, not even bothering to argue that.

“I always got points, babe,” she adds, yawning.

“Alright, I think that’s a sign we should call it a night. We got a long day tomorrow,” he informs her.

“You’re gonna show me around the city, right?” she asks, turning over to her side.

“Yes, babe,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her as the big spoon.

“Goodnight,” she yawns, her eyes closing.

“Goodnight princess,” he smiles, kissing her hair.

The next morning, Taty wakes up and sees the bed is empty beside her. She gets up and heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She then goes to the kitchen and finds Cale in the kitchen, making them breakfast once again.

“Good morning, babe. Do you ever sleep?” she asks, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

“Good morning princess. I do sleep. Remember, I always take naps during the day,” he replies, turning around to kiss her.

“Yeah I know, I’m just messing with you,” she replies, hip checking him lightly.

She gets mugs out for the coffee and plates out for the food. After a minute, he’s done making breakfast and puts the food on their plates. They sit down on the island to eat it.

“So what places are you taking me today?” she asks.

“Bold of you to assume I would give you that information,” he smirks, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why are you like this? Can’t you just tell me anything?” she whines.

“Nope, you better get used to this, because I won’t be telling you places that I’ll be taking you out to,” he replies, taking a bite out of his food.

“You’re lucky you’re hot dude,” she replies, taking a bite out of her food.

His cheeks turn even more rosy with the compliment and she holds back a giggle. They finish eating their breakfast and she cleans up the kitchen, while Cale takes a shower and gets dressed. She then follows suit and takes a shower before re-straightening her hair. She then does her makeup before changing into jeans, a black pull-over sweater, and black suede ankle boots. She grabs her small purse and goes out to the living room, where she sees Cale dressed casually, scrolling on his phone.

“You’re ready to go?” he asks her, pocketing his phone.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she replies, walking towards the door.

He grabs his keys from the counter and they leave the apartment. They make their way down to the garage and head over to his car. They get into the car and she connects her phone to the car right away. They drive off towards their first destination of the day. After 15 minutes, they arrive at their first destination, which is the Downtown Aquarium. They get into the parking lot and he finds an empty spot to park in.

“Aww babe, you really do remember everything I tell you,” she smiles, kissing him.

“So take that as your only hint then. I’m gonna be taking you to places that have to do with things you’ve told me about before,” he informs her.

“Wow so helpful,” she teases.

“Well sucks because it’s all you’re gonna get,” he teases back, shutting off the car.

They get out of the car and make their way inside the aquarium, hand-in-hand. They get screened and allowed to go in and they go up to the front desk. They buy their tickets and go inside the aquarium. They go through each exhibit and Taty loves petting the stingrays and dolphins. She’s in awe by all the different species of fish, sharks, and other sea creatures. After almost two hours, they finish going through the entire aquarium. They leave the aquarium and head towards their next destination. They arrive at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception and park in the parking lot. They walk out of the car and walk towards the steps of the Basilica.

“I know you mentioned how much you loved visiting the Basilica in Montreal and how beautiful it was, so I figured you’d want to see the Basilica here. It’s really beautiful,” he informs her.

“A man who understands my love for the beauty of Roman Catholic churches!” she sighs dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.

“I told you I pay attention to everything you tell me,” he replies, taking her hand in his.

They finally make it up the steps and go inside the Basilica to tour it. Taty takes a million pictures and videos to send to her family, since they share her same love for Roman Catholic architecture. After 20 minutes, they finish the tour and head down the steps.

“We’re gonna walk to our next stop,” he informs her.

They walk a few blocks to the Colorado State Capitol and take pictures, enjoying the view of the mountains from the rotunda. They head walk down towards the Colorado Veterans Monument located in the park in front of the Capitol building. They walk the few blocks back to the car and get inside.

“Babe, are we gonna have lunch soon?” she asks, looking at the time.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go to a nice little spot around here that I think you’ll really enjoy,” he informs her.

They drive back towards downtown and head over to a spot called Brooklyn’s Finest Pizza.

“Babe, I hope you know that I’m gonna be critical of this place. I’m originally from New York so I’m gonna be critical if it doesn’t taste like authentic Brooklyn-style pizza,” she informs him.

“I expect nothing less,” he replies, as they get out of the car.

They walk towards the pizzeria and go inside, excited to see that it isn’t packed. They order their pizza and sit down at a table to wait for their pizza to come out.

“Do you come here often?” she asks him.

“Not really. I usually would just come here on off days, but not every off day. Can’t really eat too much of this stuff during the season,” he informs her.

“All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t kill you guys to not be so strict with your diet plans once in a while,” she replies, sending her family all the videos and pictures she’s taken so far.

Their food comes out and they pick it up before heading back to the table. They dig in right away and Cale waits for her reaction.

“It’s really good for not being in New York. These people know what they’re doing. I’m impressed,” she smiles, enjoying the Brooklyn-style pizza.

They eat while talking about what the following day entails, since it’s Game 1 of the 1st round of the playoffs. After a while, they finish eating and clean up. They leave the pizzeria and head back to the car.

“We’re gonna go to one more spot before heading back home and then going somewhere you’re gonna really like for dinner,” he informs her.

“Now you got me excited,” she replies, looking forward to dinner.

They make their way towards the next destination, which is City Park.

“This is the biggest park in the city. It’s kind of like our own version of Central Park but way smaller,” he informs her.

They drive inside the park and make their way towards the Zoo. They park in the parking lot and make their way to the Zoo entrance. They buy tickets and make their way inside the Zoo. They go through each exhibit and Taty enjoys seeing the aquatic animals the most, like the penguins. After almost two hours, they finish going through the Zoo. They then walk back to their car and drive through the rest of the park, enjoying the view of it. They then drive back to the apartment to relax before leaving for dinner.

They arrive at the apartment and Cale goes straight to the room to nap. Taty goes to the living room and decides to get some work done, while he takes his nap. After an hour, Cale wakes up from his nap.

“Ready to go?” he asks her, coming out of the room.

“Yeah just give me a minute to put my stuff away,” she informs him, turning off her laptop.

She puts her stuff away and grabs her small purse. He grabs his keys from the counter and they make their way out of the apartment. They make their way to the car and drive off towards the restaurant.

“Just so you know, this is gonna be a pretty long drive,” he informs her.

“How long?” she asks.

“An hour,” he informs her.

“How far out is this place?” she asks.

“Over 50 miles from here, but it’ll be worth it. I promise,” he assures her, as they make their way towards the highway.

They listen to music the entire ride, as Taty takes in the view of the mountains, the further they get away from the city. After what feels like forever, but really it was only an hour, they arrive at their destination.

“Babe, why are we at a mall?” she asks, getting out of the car.

“Because the restaurant is located inside the mall,” he informs her.

They make their way inside the mall and walk over towards the restaurant entitled MY Tastee’s Cajun & Dominican Food.

“I can’t believe you brought me to a Domincian restaurant!” she smiles, not believing how thoughtful he is.

“I figured you probably miss the food right now,” he replies, as they walk inside the restaurant.

They get seated and Taty immediately opens the menu, getting excited to see what native food they have on the menu.

“Babe, they have everything here! Sancocho, Mangu con los tres golpes, Mofongo, Bistec Dominicano!” she gushes, not believing that he actually found a Dominican restaurant for her.

“Your challenge is to find me the healthiest Dominican food on the menu for me,” he smiles.

“Well everything on here is not part of your diet plan but I guess I can try my best,” she winces, knowing how unhealthy Domincan food can be.

“I’m joking. It doesn’t have to be healthy,” he assures her.

The waiter comes and they order drinks before Taty orders Sancocho (dominican soup) for Cale, since it’s like the healthiest Domincan item on the menu. She then orders rice, beans, bistec, and tostones for herself.

“I still can’t believe you found this place! They’re even playing Dominican music in here!” she gushes, taking notice of the merengue song playing in the background.

“It wasn’t easy, trust me,” he replies.

They make small talk, with Taty explaining dominican food to him. After a short while, their food arrives and they dig in right away.

“Wow this soup is really good. What type of potatoes are these?” he asks.

“Those aren’t potatoes babe. They’re roots or as we call them biberes. It’s yucca, yautia, and batata,” she informs him.

“Oh well, they’re really good,” he smiles.

She loves how flavorful her bistec is and the tostones are so crisp.

“Wow, this is good authentic Dominican food. I’m impressed,” she smiles, the food making her think of home.

“I told you it would be worth it,” he smiles.

They finish eating and pay before leaving. They head back to the car to make the trip back to the car. It’s on the ride back that she starts thinking about how she’s falling in love with Cale and it finally hits her that this is what being in love feels like and she never wants it to end.

#cale makar #colorado avalanche #hockey #nhl writing #nhl fanfiction #cale makar fanfic #hockey fanfiction #nhl #nhl players #nhl imagines #cale makar imagine

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silent123456 · 1 year ago

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Silent Conference System in New York

Silent conferences System in New York are becoming increasingly popular in New York City. In fact, a number of organisations are now offering silent conference services in the city. These organisations can provide the headphones, equipment, and staff needed to run a successful silent conference.

#silent conference in New York #silent conference system in New York #silent conference equipment in New York

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writer-rochelle · 5 years ago

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Statesman:Ablaze Ch.1: Rules

(a/n: i’m not sure what happened to my original post, so here it is again. i’m having to use my phone’s hotspot and it’s not the most reliable thing so i apologize for all the mixups) ft ocs by: @sunshinepascal @harrytags @pomelloe-me & myself

“Huh, what’d you say?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word I just said, Pomegranate?” Alicia King said, sighing. Stakeouts were the worst, and usually being paired up with her good friend Pom Graham, they could be a lot of fun. But it seemed that the young southern woman’s mind wasn’t in the mint green bug they had been in for the past 5 hours.

“I said I haven’t heard you talk about Whiskey lately...everything okay with y’all?” Alicia asked her friend. Pom had until very recently jabbered on and on about the older Agent Whiskey taking her under his wing. It wasn’t often that the veteran agents took much interest in the new recruits, but Pom was a family friend and as he affectionately called her, “his little pomegranate”.

“No, the stupid cunt has been too fuckin’ busy doing shit in New York to reply to my messages,” Pom said, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t want to admit the sense of abandonment she was starting to feel. She was 24 years old, for fuck's sake, not 4. She was usually one to share anything that was bothering her, and she knew Alicia would understand, but this was something that she wanted to keep reserved. Maybe she was just overthinking.

“Absinthe! Come in Agent Absinthe!”

Alicia reached up and lightly placed a finger on the left leg of her green aviators. Instantly she could see into the Statesman meeting room. A quick glance showed that Champagne was seated at the head of the table, and from where she (or rather her hologram) sat she could tell she was at the opposite end. Next to him was Agent Cognac and across from her was Agent Whiskey’s hologram. It still never ceased to amaze her how incredibly talented Ginger Ale was. Every weapon, every piece of equipment, hell even every fiber of clothing the agents were given all had Ginger's magic touch.

“Is Agent Rum still there with you?” Champagne asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth square in the front pocket of his jacket, before placing them back onto his face. He gestured towards Ginger, who walked forward from where she had been standing off to the side with her clipboard. As soon as the other Agent was present they could continue their debrief.

“The old man is asking for you” Alicia laughed, nudging Pom who had once again turned her attention to the view out her window. Pom rolled her eyes, pushing her tortoise framed glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

“You rang?” she said, making her voice deep and gravelly like Lurch, the Franken-butler from the Addams Family. The girls erupted into a fit of giggles, as Champagne shook his head in disappointment.

“She gets that tomfoolery from watching you!” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Agent Whiskey’s hologram, the man in question shrugging with a smirk on his face. Champagne turned his attention back to the girls.

“ When y’all are finished, I’d like to carry on with this debrief .” Alicia silently shook with the aftermath of the giggle fit she and Pom had pitched themselves into, but quickly grew serious. If Agent Whiskey was on the call it had to be of grave importance.

“Well I’ve got some good news, and some bad news,” Champagne said, regarding the two holograms at the end of the table. Agent Cognac shifted in her seat next to her boss and grandfather, she was familiar with the temperament of her two friends and braced herself for the fit they were about to throw.

“Well, the good news is we found out where those rascals are keeping the Senator's daughter hostage. The bad news is that it's not in that warehouse y’all have been staking out all evenin’.” He pulled a fat cigar out of his jacket pocket, passing it under his nose, sucking the smell of it into his nostrils.

“What the fuck, Champ?!!! You could have told us sooner!!” Pom shouted, she was seething. The color of her face turned red from anger. Not only had she already missed the weekly update of the Mandalorian on Disney+, but she had been stuck in a cramped car with a mix of Alicia’s perfume, her own deodorant, and the leftover stench of the KFC they had eaten. She was on the verge of a headache, and more importantly on the verge of beating the old man with her bat.

“I told you she was gonna be pissed.” Whiskey muttered. Champ glared at his hologram before continuing his spiel.

“As I was sayin’, Tequila was wrong; it turns out she's being held in the basement of her own house. Ginger Ale, if you’ll please?” Champ said, watching as the resident tech wiz pulled up security footage on a screen on the wall of the conference room. The Agents watched as Molly Dubois was dragged out of her house and shoved into an unmarked car, only to be returned hours later (still bound with her head in a sack) back to the mansion.

“As it turns out, with the elections coming up soon, the Senator is looking to boost his image with the voters to ensure he’s re-elected. We were able to intercept some phone calls, I’ll be sending you all the audio recordings to listen to on your own time.” Ginger said, tapping around on her clipboard. Alicia looked over at Pom, the two agents seemingly on the same brain wave. They both knew that Senator Xavier Dubois was a ruthless, greasy, piece of crap. He would do anything to keep the state of Kentucky under his control.

“What do you need us to do, Champ?” Alicia said, revving her green bug to life and buckling her seat belt. No need for discretion when it wasn’t the right location. “Pom, I know your ass is not wearing a seatbelt, bitch,” Alicia said quietly, stepping on the brake, cackling when Pom lurched forward in her seat colliding with the dashboard.

“AAARGH! Fuck you!! You didn’t have to fucking brake check me!” Pom yelled, hitting Alicia’s arm before buckling her seatbelt and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright kids, that’s enough! Y’all should know better than to be acting a fool and havin' an attitude during debriefs and y’all are just goofing off, actin’ like y’all ain’t got no good sense.” Champagne said harshly, watching as their holograms faded out. “Whiskey, I want you flying out to HQ asap!”

“Sure thing boss, I’m on my way.” Whiskey said, winking at Agent Cognac before his hologram also faded out.

Other agents sitting at the table began to remove their glasses, mirroring the actions of Whiskey, their respective holograms also disappearing. Champ and Agent Cognac were the only ones remaining in the room. Ginger, having slipped out quietly to return to her lab. Cognac turned, realizing her grandpa was staring at her closely. She blushed as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her jacket.

“What?” She said, sheepishly pouring herself a glass of water. Champagne glared knowingly at her, putting an end to any other words about to come out of her cherry-red lips. After the tragic death of her parents (both statesman alum), he made it a point to take her in and continue to raise her as his own. He'd be damned if he let his granddaughter fall off onto the wrong side of the law.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sight yet!” The elder agent said with great discipline, shaking his finger at her like she was five again. He rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Why are you doing this to me, Carey? You know the rules! No-“

“No fraternizing with fellow Agents! I know, Grandpa,” she said, moving to stand next to him. She felt guilty; Champ had put his neck out for her countless times, hell, he was the sole reason she was still alive. The same people who had killed her parents were set out to kill her too. If he hadn't stepped in when he had….the thought of it made her shudder.

“First of all, don’t interrupt your old man, Carey Ann. Secondly, if you know you shouldn’t, why do it?! Whiskey is a highly skilled agent; but when he’s off the clock? Jack Daniels is not the kind of man I’d want dating my granddaughter.” Champagne said. Carey sighed, knowing that he was only looking out for her. But if he knew the true extent of the relationship she had with Whiskey, he would grow even more furious.

“It’s nothing, I promise! I just assist him with things around the New York offices from time to time...” She said innocently, turning to grab her jacket and head for the door.

“Well those ‘things’,” Champagne made air quotes around the words ‘things’, following the young woman with his cold gaze, “Those things better not be in his pants, missy! I’ll tan both of your hides; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re 30 years old, damn it!” His words falling on deaf ears, his granddaughter having already disappeared out the door. He sighed in defeat. Wrangling these kids was starting to get harder and harder.

“Lord help me.”

a/n: i’m real upset, i have no clue what happened to the original post. I apologize for the mess. Thanks for reading <3 roach

Statesman: Ablaze is a multi-part fic that is a collaboration between myself and the ladies tagged. After throwing our ideas around late one night, this baby was born. We are very excited to share this with y’all, and hope you like reading it as much as @pomelloe-me and I do writing it.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x oc #agent tequila x reader #agent tequila x oc #agent whiskey fic #oc fic #jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman golden circle #Statesman:Ablaze #statesman

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wiener-soldiers · 4 years ago

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operation omega - mission brief (i)

summary: years after the avengers dismantle HYDRA, the group remerges more dangerous than ever. their modus operandi? infiltrating foreign governments, stealing and reproducing their weapons, and selling them to terrorist groups. when the us government approaches the avengers for help on a secret operation with a secret asset, they are reluctant to agree. it isn’t until their quinjet almost gets shot down in the middle of nowhere when the understand that omega means business.

pairing: bucky barnes x SEAL!reader

words: 2.8k

warnings: swearing (if that’s even a warning), mentions of violence/terrorist organizations

a/n: i binged tom clancy’s jack ryan and thought of this so

taglist: add yourself here!

OPERATION OMEGA MASTERLIST

“Tony, what did I say about calling unnecessary meetings?”

Resident genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist rolled his eyes as the Steve who is just barging into the conference room, Bucky following closely behind. Seated in the all-glass conference room are the rest of the Avengers all in different stages of boredom with Tony standing at the head of the table, arms crossed across his pressed dress shirt.

Still sweaty from his run with Steve, Bucky lets out a heavy breath. The pair of super soldiers decided to go for an early morning run out of Midtown towards Central Park, but their run was cut short with an urgent message from Tony:

Tony Stark: Code Red. Conference room. ASAP.

After reading those five words, the two sprinted back to the compound, adrenaline high as the cool, seven AM New York air nips at their face. Adrenaline pumped through their system, thinking of every possible bad thing that could’ve happened—another Ultron, a bomb threat, a robbery, a kidnapping—but upon their arrival, all they saw were their teammates in pajamas or workout gear gathered around the conference room table, sipping their coffees and watching Tony Stark pace relentlessly.

“Not unnecessary. And not a meeting,” he retorts.

“Then what the hell is going on Tony? We all agreed the Code Reds are serious,” Steve bites back, irritated by his attitude so early in the morning. Steve bites the inside of his cheek as a sign of slight regret for yelling at his teammate unnecessarily hoping that Bucky doesn’t notice, but he does.

Tony rolls his eyes once again before pulling out his cellphone—one of the fancy prototypes Stark is working on with a transparent screen and that’s compatible with the building’s hologram projection systems. With a flick of his finger, the glass walls all around them are filled with mission briefs, reports, and photos and videos of military-styled soldiers dressed in all black gear and the signature red octopus on their arm shooting at innocent people and blowing up villages.

The later immediately catches everyone’s attention.

“What the hell is this…” Natasha whispers, looking around the room with furrowed eyes.

“This is a mission briefing,” Tony says, almost too quietly. Bucky notices how his cocky façade immediately falls as soon as the rest of the team notices how serious the situation is becoming.

Bucky can feel his heart beat faster and his hands become sweatier. Out of instinct, the gears in his metal arms begin to whir and recalibrate, a sign that Bucky is ready to fight. Instead, he says, “HYDRA is back.”

Steve’s and Tony’s eyes dart towards him. Bucky was never one to be vocal during mission briefings. It was a habit from his army days: listen in silence, only ask questions for clarification, and execute without making any assumptions. Bucky was even surprised by his own voice, but his subconscious knew that the re-emergence of HYDRA was bad.

“We defeated HYDRA,” Sam spoke up, not taking his eyes off a particular video of HYDRA soldiers taking innocent villagers captive, “And don’t you dare give me that bullshit about cutting of its head and two more taking its place. There’s no way they could recover from what we through at them.”

“Sam’s right, Tony. And this isn’t HYDRA’s MO,” Steve adds on. “This is…different.”

“Evolved…” Bucky mumbles. He hears Steve sigh beside him.

“Barnes is right,” Tony says, calling the attention of everyone in the room. “HYDRA is evolved. Their new MO: infiltrating government agencies, stealing their nuclear weapons designs, manufacturing it themselves, then selling it to corrupt governments, militias, and terrorist groups.”

“So, they want to create chaos. Again,” Wanda states in slight horror. Bucky shifts his gaze to look at her and sees the fear inside her eyes. He’s also sure that the same fear is probably in his as well. Bucky and Wanda became unlikely friends after his joining of the Avengers. Both scarred with very public failures involving the killing of innocent people as well as their past history with HYDRA, they found a quiet solace with each other.

Wanda gives him a look, one that tells him that she’s reading his mind; it was their own silent way of communicating. Bucky simply thought, we’re going to beat them. We’re not gonna let them hurt us. We’re stronger than that. Bucky studied Wanda’s face—the creases in her forehead softened as she felt comforted by his thought, but Bucky could tell that Wanda didn’t fully believe him yet.

“How do you know all this Tony?” Steve sighs, running a hand across his face in frustration.

“Got a message from our good old friend Secretary Ross,” Tony stated with a slight grimace.

The room shifted uncomfortably while Bucky heard Steve let out a, “Jesus, Tony.”

“I thought we were done with Sokovia. We’re out,” Bruce mumbled.

“I’m with Banner on this one. After what happened with Zemo, I say we presented a pretty good fucking argument as to why we need to be independent,” Clint sighed.

“Technically, we aren’t working for Ross. He actually came to ask us for help…covertly.”

A beat.

Natasha set her coffee mug down with a thud. “Well don’t be a dick, tell us what the hell you’re talking about.”

---

Y/N’s alarm goes off at 5:00 AM.

After fifteen minutes of stretching, she’s in an all-black running ensemble and she’s out the door of her room by 5:15 AM.

By 5:25 AM, she’s made her way through the dark halls of the compound, her black running shoes making little sound on the concrete floors. She’s finishing up a single banana, a glass of pre-workout, and a handful of granola.

By 5:30 AM, she’s out the large, steel compound door and running through the trail in the woods.

The cold air and the damp forest ground doesn’t bother her as much it used to. When she started this tradition of 5:30 AM runs, she usually needed to listen to music or a podcast to distract her from the less than ideal weather. But now, she finds the sound of her breath, her heartbeat, the sound of this wind against the trees, and the sound of her shoes hitting the forest floor similar to meditation. By 6:00 AM, she’s reached the stream. When the compound was first being built, the Commander Clark insisted the best gym and training equipment inside. But Captain Y/N Y/L/N and the rest of the crew insisted outdoor training area as well. It was comforting for all the ex-military to have some alone time outside.

The compromise they came up with was building an expansive, underground bunker in the middle of nowhere, using nature as a form of natural defence.

The bunker was built in the side of a mountain, surrounded by trees, trees, and even more trees. Slightly downhill form the bunker was a small clearing, large enough to land helicopters and vertical-takeoff jets, but not big enough to look suspicious. Even then, the cover of large trees and the mountains in the tiny valley made the landing area impossible to find, unless you were really looking.

Uphill from the bunker was where the lake was. Y/N finds it funny that the rest of her team calls it a lake; it’s really a large pond that collects water runoff from the waterfall further up the mountain. The pond, however, does create a well-sized stream from the water runoff the weaves its way down the mountain.

Her running trail ends at a waterfall. Covered by the foliage, the beams of sunlight hit part of the decently sized rock formation where the tiny waterfall from the stream launches from.

Y/N lets out a single breath before she begins to scale the rock formations. She’s done it a thousand times; without really paying attention to what she’s doing, her hands automatically jam themselves in the correct crevices and her feat avoid all the slippery ledges from the water as she free-solos the wall.

When she reaches the top, she sits on her usual ledge and lets her feet dangle over the side of the wall. From the top of the formation, all she can really see are leaves and the stream falling off the edge of the formation, but if she positions herself just right, she can see past the tree line and down the mountain below.

At 6:08 AM, she feels her phone buzz. She pulls the device out from her sweater pocket and reads a message from her Lieutenant:

Lieu. Jackson Daniels: Clark is on secured line 1 for you

Y/N furrows her eyes and glances at the time. It’s 6:09 AM now, she normally doesn’t get mission briefs until seven in the morning. She quickly types back:

Capt. Y/N Y/L/N: did he way what he wanted?

Lieu. Jackson Daniels: No. Said it was an order from DC

Y/N sighed and rubbed her face. She wasn’t at all surprised; it’s been months since Omega has been deployed. The last time, it was a reconnaissance mission for the Germans on behalf of the World Security Council. At the time, no one really questioned why the world’s most elite and secretive military team was being sent on a simple reconnaissance mission, but she had a feeling it would come back to bite her in the ass. She picks up a jagged rock from beside her and adds another tally to the hundreds of other tallies on the rock beside her thigh, one to mark every time she completed this run. She sent a quick message back to her Lieutenant:

Capt. Y/N Y/L/N: omw. be back in 15

Lieu. Jackson Daniels: I’ll meet u in the command room

At 6:11 AM, Y/N quickly scales down the rock formation and sprints her way back to the compound. The run back is mostly downhill, so she gets there by 6:26 AM.

At 6:30 AM, with a water bottle clutched in one hand and another wiping the sweat off her forehead, Captain Y/N Y/L/N walking into the command room.

This early in the morning, not many people are in the room. Out of the six members on her team, only one of them—Lieutenant Jackson Daniels…yes, like the whiskey—is in there. Much similar to her, Jack is in all-black workout attire, but instead of in a gym, he’s doing push-ups on the floor beside her command station.

“After living here for five years Jack, I’d think you’d know where the gym was,” she mumbles, walking around his figure on the floor and taking a seat in front of her command station. She always felt quite cool sitting up here. With monitors to her left and right and a screen tabletop, the elevated seat overlooks the five other control stations below her. She presses her hand on the tabletop, and the biometric scan unlocks the entire system, lighting up the room.

“You know I’d be there if it didn’t take you so long to get here,” Jack says as he pushes himself off the floor. He reaches over to take a swig of Y/N’s water but she slaps his arm away. He snorts before walking out of the room, presumably to find water of his own.

The icon on the corner of Y/N’s tabletop indicates a pending call on the secured line, so she taps on it, broadcasting the face of her commander on the wall across from her. The collage of other surveillance videos and maps disappears and is replaced with a ginormous live video feed of Commander Clark’s face.

“This is Omega. Captain Y/L/N speaking, sir,” she says, straightening her back in her chair. She hopes the redness in her face has gone down from her run.

“At ease, Y/N,” Commander Dickson Clark says, and Y/N lets her shoulders fall slightly and gives a nod to the commander in charge of connecting her team to the international allies that know of the existence of the secretive and illusive Omega Team. “What took you so long?” he adds on, amusement laced in his words, “I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour.”

She offers him a smirk, “As much as I enjoy sprinting through the forest to be at your beck and call, our mission briefs are usually at oh-seven hundred hours, sir.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Clark says, amusement fading from his voice. “I sent you a briefing packet, I’d appreciate if you took a look at it now and we’ll discuss logistics.”

Y/N nods, opening the file Commander Clark sent to her. Every screen in the room then rearranges to a collage of files, maps, photos, and videos. The largest one is beside Clark’s face on the big screen; drone footage of soldiers in all-black gear loading crates of equipment from an American military base to a jet with a distinctive symbol on it.

“HYDRA,” Y/N whispers, her eyes widening in shock as she scrolls through dozens of photos and videos. “Sir, if I’m not mistaken, the Avengers dismantled HYDRA. They need to be stupid to be stealing from foreign governments to rebuild themselves. Why put an even larger target on their back?”

“Remember the intel mission you went on a couple months back? The BND confirmed it yesterday evening; HYDRA is infiltrating allied governments, stealing nuclear weapons and weapons plans, manufacturing it themselves, and selling it to the allies’ biggest threat,” Clark explained.

“Fucking hell, Clark. What do you want us to do?” Y/N mumbled. Her eyes were glued to a particular video of a little girl being ripped away from her family in a small village by HYDRA soldiers.

“Take down HYDRA.”

Y/N’s mouth drops, “Sir?!”

“We have intel about where HYDRA is manufacturing their weapons. The brief goes more in depth, but your mission is to use the weapons factory as a lead, find intel about who the head of HYDRA is and information of the moles in allied governments, and then the World Security Council will take it from there,” Clark stated. Y/N’s brain is going a hundred miles a minute, but she manages to fabricate another question.

“What’s the World Security Council gonna do with the intel on the moles?”

Clark sighed, “That one’s a little above my paygrade.”

Y/N purses her lips and looks around at the photos and videos around from her. Omega was used to covertly taking out terrorist leaders, gathering intel from the most hostile places in the world, and rescuing hostages from near impossible situations, yet no one knew about the existence of this team aside from the international leaders of the allied forces who used Omega as an asset. Omega bore no flag, rather it was the collective weapon of the allied countries. And most importantly, Omega worked best out of the limelight.

Y/N knew that a high-level mission like this would expose her and her team.

“With all due respect, sir, this mission is a little above our paygrade. Actually, it’s way above our paygrade. We know nothing about HYDRA and we have no experience with them. This is an extremely high-level mission and even the slightest screw up puts me and my team in the spotlight. Sir, I think the last thing the World Security Council needs is for Omega, a secretive, international military group that operates in places they do not have jurisdiction in from orders of the allies, to be known by the public,” Y/N rants. She runs a hand across her face and looks to Clark with eyes of worry.

Clark sighs before leaning a little closer, “Look, I don’t like this anymore than you do. But I’m not going to lie to you, we need this done secretly. Foreign military forces can’t do anything because it’s almost guaranteed that it’s going to get out somehow. And besides, we don’t know who’s a mole and who’s not. As soon as this information gets in the wrong hands, every single mole scatters and we’re back to square one.”

“Okay, so you’re using us to be secretive and not attract any attention to the moles inside governments. Fine, I get it. But we’re going to be ridiculously outmatched. You want the six of us to take down an entire terrorist organization with assets inside foreign governments, access to nuclear weapons, and enhanced individuals?” Y/N nearly shouts in exasperation.

She doesn’t hear Jack walk back into the command room, a glass of water in hand. “What the hell…” she hears him mumble beside her.

“It’s a suicide mission, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting my team go in this alone,” Y/N says firmly, jaw clenched at Clark’s face in front of her.

Clark furrows his eyebrows in response, “I never said you were doing this alone.”

Jack, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room and more focused on the intel around him, says, “This is some Avengers-level shit, Y/N…”

At Jack’s words, a small smirk makes its way to his face. Y/N raises an eyebrow at him in confusion before the connection formulates in her mind. Her jaw unhinges and drops as she widens her eyes at Commander Clark.

“Holy fucking shit.”

TWO: AV-616

#operation omega #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #wiener soldiers

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

Text

To Keep You Safe

Title: Changes are takin’ the pace I’m goin’ through

Chapter: 1/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (to come later)

Notes: This establishing chapter is short, but the following chapters are up already! Just search To Keep You Safe under my tags!

Also on Ao3 here :)

~~~

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Stark is unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?” My hand quickly scribbled down the message onto a bright yellow sticky note. “I’ll get this to him right away, thank you for calling.”

Life as the assistant to Tony Stark sounded glamorous and exciting, but to live it was quite the contrary. While the public imagined me hanging out with Earth’s Mightiest at the Avengers Compound, swapping stories with Black Widow and working out with Captain America, my days were normally spent holed up in my office with a phone constantly blaring in my ear. Mr. Stark was a genius, and he was like most famous geniuses in that he had his quirks and eccentricities. He could come up with amazingly brilliant plans to save the world or create AI programs that were more realistic than actual people, but he also tended to overlook the finer, more mundane details of life. What importance was scheduling appointments and ordering food for the inhabitants of the Compound when the world was under siege?

That was where I came in. With Pepper taking on Stark Industries as CEO, I took over Stark himself. My small office on the first floor of the Avenger Compound was ground zero for the intricate details of his life. I had spent so much time and effort upon first moving in to decorate it with small touches of personality to feel like I truly belonged: a picture of my family on the sleek modern desk, my sticky note collection neatly tucked away in the top drawer of said desk, even a smattering of succulents and indoor plants around the room to tackle the oppressive modernity. But these touches were eventually lost beneath years of assorted paperwork, receipts, press releases, used sticky notes, and even pieces of old technology that were set down and never picked up again. So dedicated to my hectic job and overworked boss, I had a small murphy bed tucked away in a closet in the corner. When pulled down, spare outfits for any occasion hung from the top of the closet. All pants of some sort, as a skirt didn’t suit the frantic pace required to keep up with the frenetic Tony Stark. There wasn’t time to worry about flashing anyone when you were chasing after Iron Man. Heels would have also hindered my job performance, so those were nowhere to be found in the office or my tiny one-bedroom apartment in upstate New York.

Working for the world-famous Iron Man meant long, unknown hours that could change at the drop of the hat. Many would crumble under the pressure of such an intense man and odd schedule, but I preferred it. Staying busy kept me focused, and a focused mind was a quiet mind.

That day was like any other day working for Stark Industries. I came in early, grabbed some fruit for breakfast from the fridge in the first-floor break room, and set to work answering emails and fielding calls that Mr. Stark was too busy to handle personally. Several times a day I would make the trek to his most-used lab on the third floor with a stack of papers and sticky notes, ready to brief him on anything he needed to sign off on or be made aware of. After snacking on a light snack of a granola bar that F.R.I.D.A.Y. reminded me to grab, as even I would sometimes find myself in a state of concentration that I forgot on self-care, I began the trek up the stairs to give him his daily messages.

My black ankle boots echoed pleasantly on the stairwell as I passed the second floor with ease. Half of the floor served as the living quarters for any current Avengers residing in the Compound, while the other half housed a large gymnasium and training area to keep Earth’s Mightiest in fighting shape. As far as I knew, Steve, Thor, Loki, Vision, Wanda, Sam, and Natasha were all living here for the foreseeable future. However, currently Wanda and Vision were off-base, meeting with Princess Shuri in Wakanda to see if they could remove the Mind Stone from him without killing him. Bucky was also in Wakanda, working on setting himself back to rights after everything he had gone through. Clint was off-base spending time with his family, and Bruce preferred the peace of his own apartment to the sometimes rambunctious living situation with so many outgoing Avengers.

The third floor contained several labs, conference rooms, and storage facilities. These areas were frequented mostly by Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and myself as I worked with Mr. Stark throughout the day.

Finally reaching his most commonly used lab, I shifted the hefty stack of papers in my arms, wishing that the soft silk of my simple black blouse had more gripping power to it. Pushing the door open, my hazel eyes gave a cursory glance around the room to look for Mr. Stark. Finding the very cluttered and disorganized room empty, I groaned softly and stepped carefully inside. I paid little mind to the many projects in various states of completion around the space. With a mind as brilliant as his, and with as many responsibilities as he had, it wasn’t unheard of for him to juggle many tasks and assignments as needed. So, the glowing green box perched on the edge of one of his many workbenches and tables littering the large room also escaped my notice; it was just another forgotten gadget. I easily maneuvered my way through the crowded space to reach the workbench housing his latest project, knowing that his keen eye would more easily spot the bright yellow sticky note if I left it on something he had been working on more recently.

Upon placing the sticky note on top of his latest helmet prototype for his suit, with a mental note that I should have F.R.I.D.A.Y. alert him to its presence just to be sure, I pulled out my phone to make sure nothing else needed to be added to it before I left. My email was constantly full of new messages, and texts came in nonstop that Mr. Stark supposedly needed to see right away. ‘Ms. Jennifer Thompson, Please pass this along to Mr. Stark immediately blah blah blah.’ I decided what was truly important or not, and his trust in me to do so was something I took great pride in.

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Stark had decided to move the testing of a new force field surrounding the Compound, based on Wakandan technology, to that afternoon instead of the following day. In his sudden change of pace, he neglected to let me know so I could alert the rest of the team. After so many life-threatening happenings with missiles and explosions, it never hurt to give the heroes a warning ahead of time. Right as I settled my black denim-clad hips against the workbench to scroll through my phone, a missile slammed into the invisible barrier surrounding the Compound with a loud explosion, sending a scattering of blue lightning bolts across the dome. The shield appeared effective, as the weapon did not damage the building itself. However, the grounds surrounding the blast shook dramatically in the resulting shockwave. Everyone inside the building was jostled around, although the more enhanced occupants were quicker to their feet and action than an average person. Like me.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself among various trinkets, tools, and pieces of equipment on the floor of the lab, including the glowing emerald box now by my feet. It just added to the new mess of items covering the floor that I needed to pick up and put back into place before I could return to my office to do the same for my own belongings. It wouldn’t do to leave only some of his belongings picked up, and not all. In for a penny, in for a pound.

With a groan, I righted myself and pushed my long, dark brown hair out of my face to better survey the damage. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken, although that was difficult to determine with so many half-finished and mismatched gadgets and gizmos dotting his workspace.

“Might as well start here,” I grumbled, bending down and placing the helmet back onto the desk. I thought nothing of the alien box, assuming it was just another piece of junk that he was toying with. Anything truly dangerous he either kept in his more secure underground labs or at least pointed out to me so I could give it a wide berth.

My fingers gripped the glowing artifact tightly. The green light of the box traveled into my palm, leaving the box a dark empty shell as its light spread through my body. White-hot electricity followed in its wake, scorching through my veins like Hellfire itself. I was unable to let go of the box, try as I might, as every muscle locked from a mixture of shock and excruciating pain. Electricity shot out of every pore on my body. My mouth wrenched open to let out a scream of mind-numbing pain that ripped at my throat. My mind was so overwhelmed from the debilitating sensations that I didn’t even realize it was my own voice echoing throughout the room and into the hallways through the open door. Nor did I realize that my face was quickly moving to meet the hard tile floors. The only relief from the broken box’s fiery electric onslaught came after my forehead collided with the hard edge of his metal desk, forcing me into dark and silent oblivion.

#to keep you safe #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel

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tardistimes · 4 years ago

Text

Change: Chapter 3

Summary: In the aftermath of X-Men: First Class, Moira MacTaggert struggles to regain her memories but perhaps with the help of Nick Fury she may come closer to discovering the truth.

Fandoms: X-Men (Prequels), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel (Comics), Agent Carter

Word Count: 2,200

Mr Stark (Howard, as he kept insisting), Dr Wilkes, and Dr Samberly had taken more scans than Moira could count, more blood than she would have thought possible to live without, and asked more questions than she could recollect. When they were done, she was shepherded into one of the standard bunks for on-site personnel members, after being told it was too late – or more accurately too early – to travel home. It was also wise not to drive back to the city given the last test had involved Samberly shining lights into her eyes for several minutes. Bright spots still flashed behind her eyelids when she blinked.

Thankful to have a room to herself, Moira dropped onto the bottom bunk and leaned her head back against the smooth stone wall. There was a short thrill when the situation stirred a feeling of familiarity but it quickly disappeared, offering no flashes of forgotten memories.

Moira took a deep breath as she contemplated the day ahead. She was going to be an agent again. Going through another induction and more training. Hopefully, unlike last time, the new S.H.I.E.L.D recruits wouldn’t spend the whole course at the academy tormenting her for having her reproductive organs on the inside. In response to their jibes that the closest she would ever get to agent status was to sleep with one of them, she went and got one of the highest scores on record. Much to her team’s displeasure.

She stood up to take off her suit before settling under the covers. Dr Wilkes had offered to find her some clothes for tomorrow but, in case he forgot, it wouldn’t do for it to get wrinkled. As her mother always said, first impressions are the most lasting. Agent Carter had told her on the journey down to the labs that if she was willing she would need to go through an induction tomorrow, originally scheduled for some entry-level scientists, which she would need to complete before she could be assigned to a superior officer.

“It’s nothing too complicated.” Carter had explained. “Just some routine history on the organisation, an explanation of the various divisions and what to expect during your training.”

“How long will my training last?”

“Given your experience with the CIA there should be some areas you are already adept at – but you should be prepared for it to last a while. We’ll make sure it’s worked around whatever the doctors come up with. I’m sure if we gave them their way you’d be down there all the time. They do love their tests.” She sighed, well familiar with their antics. “I’ve worked with Howard since the war and when he’s confronted by something of a conundrum he really does devote himself to it. He’ll have you in the lab fairly regularly until he’s found a solution.”

Lucky me, Moira had thought idly. She’d had her fair run of physical examinations, both at the academy and during her time as an agent; despite the regularity, she had never grown to like them.

“What does S.H.I.E.L.D training entail?” Moira asked as they turned into a maintenance stairwell and proceeded downstairs.

“For a field agent you’ll receive relative strength training, language tuition – although Fury informed me you already speak proficient Russian, so that may not be necessary – then there’s instruction in weapons handling, martial arts or boxing are also common options. Although that really all depends on your superior officer and what they advise. Your test scores from the CIA prove you’re already efficiently trained in the basics so, personally, I’d move you straight into more specialised fighting styles.”

“Being a field agent involves a lot of action then?” She inferred.

Carter stopped at the entrance to the laboratories. “If that’s something you’re opposed to, we could move you into reconnaissance or into a team, something less physically demanding?”

“No, no I’m not opposed to that. And I’m glad of the opportunity to learn more, I just...” Moira breathed, “I’m just wondering how peaceful an organisation you are if your standard training programme involves martial arts or boxing?”

“The CIA offers boxing electives.” Carter defended.

“Yes, but they are elective.” And something she wasn’t given access to as a female agent.

“S.H.I.E.L.D will never force you to do something you don’t want to. But we do want to ensure that you are prepared and capable of keeping yourself, and those around you, safe.”

Carter held the door open for her and ushered her into a lab that must have spanned half the length of the first floor.

“I suppose boxing could be interesting,” Moira admitted.

Tossing onto her side, Moira took a deep breath before flipping the light switch by her head off. It didn’t make much of a difference to the brightness of the room; the yellow streetlights outside the barracks streamed through the uncovered window. She turned over to face the wall. Her eyes were closed for half a minute before they opened again.

As ridiculous as it sounded, she felt like it was the first day before school. Except, instead of school, she had signed up to work for yet another intelligence agency. An agency where she would be working on more cases like the Hellfire Club. Encountering, what? More mutants, more people with powers – natural or manmade?

She was effectively forced out of the Mutants Division. For what, her humanity? At least S.H.I.E.L.D was run by and populated by her own species who didn’t expect her to have powers and fight psychopaths determined to start a new world order by killing all humans. Well, she might still be expected to fight psychopaths.

Carter made it sound like she would have the opportunity to learn some incredible things. Moira had always been jealous at the academy by the men who went into the boxing club. Her superiors had argued she couldn’t partake as there were no other women for her to fight, and it would be unfair to pit her against a man. Now she could learn it. Maybe another language too, something she had long wanted to do.

Yet there was still something that didn’t sit right with her. A feeling that worried away at her, twisting in her gut. A feeling, much like she had experienced when she’d entered the bunks and had experienced a moment of familiarity with the situation. Was it possible a ghost of memory was enough to make her feel this way? That, despite missing the memory, something about her time in the Mutants Division was enough to leave her apprehensive about joining S.H.I.E.L.D?

Another question she would have to leave unanswered until – if – she got her memories back.

She tried to think rationally. What was it about S.H.I.E.L.D that worried her? There was the fact that she still didn’t really understand much about the organisation or what her part in it would be. Was it also possible that even without her memories she still felt a loyalty to Xavier and the other mutants? And was that loyalty even her own or something that had been implanted in there when he’d rooted through her mind? To stop her from doing what she potentially would. To inform an intelligence agency about the mutants. To give away their secrets.

Shuffling until she was on her back, Moira’s eyes clenched shut as the yellow light crossed her face again.

She could still walk away.

“Moira?”

Eyes snapping open, the yellow light had been replaced by soft sunlight, slightly shadowed by Agent Carter who was hovering next to her bed.

“I did try to wake you by knocking. You’re due in the conference hall in half an hour.” She apologised.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep.” Moira murmured, sitting up.

“I guess we should put alarm clocks in here. I’ll just leave you to get dressed. There are some toiletries in the drawers if you need it. Meet me in the hall when you’re ready.” Carter said before taking her leave.

Wilkes hadn’t lived up to his promise to get her some fresh clothes. Evidently, Carter was right. Give scientists a puzzle to crack and everything else falls by the wayside. Thankfully after brushing her hair through and putting her suit back on she still looked presentable, if a little ruffled.

Carter passed her a bagel when she opened the door. “Howard had them flown in from New York.”

“Thank you,” Moira said. Agent Carter didn’t seem to find that strange, so such luxury must be fairly commonplace which she found quite amusing.

“Are you giving the induction?” She asked. Moira found it rather strange that the co-founder of the entire organisation was not only escorting her to a routine induction for new recruits but was also waking her up and giving her breakfast.

“No, someone else will.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure I can find the room if you have something else to...” she trailed off under Carter’s scrutinising gaze. “Is something the matter?”

“Once the session is over Howard wants you in the lab again. Apparently, he had some equipment brought in from Stark Industries to run more tests with.” She replied, looking forward again.

“All right,” Moira said unsurely, making quick work of her bagel to fill the rest of their silent walk. Despite her offer, she doubted she could get to the conference room alone after the number of corridors they turned down to get to there. Without Carter, Moira was positive she would have lost her way. The S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters were impressively large. It really was incredible their organisation managed to remain secret.

“Pay close attention,” Carter said as means of goodbye, leaving her at the door. “I’ll be testing you later.”

Eventually, eleven other recruits joined her. As promised they were all scientists but the induction was generalised and covered the scope of the organisation. Specialists – which, after hearing the outline of training Carter had provided, appeared to be Moira’s career trajectory – were entry-level three. According to this structure, there were six levels in total, although, given the command structure Moira had seen so far, she was positive there had to be higher clearance levels. Evidently so high no one could know that they existed.

The lecture involved a loose history about the S.S.R, Super Soldier’s Initiative and Hydra before progressing onto the establishment of S.H.I.E.L.D and the roles played by Stark, Carter and Phillips in its foundation and current operations. The director of S.H.I.E.L.D, Rick Stoner, was touched on but there was no mention of Agent Fury. If he were a simple liaison as claimed, it would make sense no references were made to him, but Moira felt that his responsibilities in the organisation were more complicated than that, given his role among the other powerful players during her interview yesterday.

Carter’s role in the establishment of S.H.I.E.L.D surprised her immensely as the speaker went into depth about her role with the S.S.R, Howling Commandos and working alongside Captain America – who was real, with a picture to prove it – to defeat Hydra. By all accounts, she was a highly skilled field operative who did the majority of the groundwork in building the organisation after Stark and Phillips came up with the novel concept. The three of them quickly promoted S.H.I.E.L.D from a U.S. to an international agency, coming under the authority of the United Nations, giving it near global authority. Frankly, it was a complete wonder how she, an ex-CIA agent, had never heard of it. To function on that scale, the operation must be enormous.

By the time the lecturer had finished, Moira was feeling that her reaction when entering the meeting yesterday was decidedly inadequate.

Letting the scientists, who were already discussing their upcoming work, pass before her she found herself sharing half smiles with the other female recruits who walked past her. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D was the place for her after all.

Agent Carter was sitting primly in one of the armchairs outside in the waiting area. Moira almost felt star-struck and, judging by the double-takes from the other recruits, she wasn’t the only one.

“Now then,” Carter began, a wry grin crossing her face, “what does S.H.I.E.L.D stand for?”

“Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division.” Moira replied slowly, doubting her answer the entire time she gave it. It really was a ridiculously long name.

“Who created the Super-Soldier Serum?”

“Dr Erskine.”

“Who was the first person to take the serum?”

“Johann Schmidt… also known as Red Skull.” She added, trying to score extra points.

Carter pursed her lips, satisfied with Moira’s answers. “Be warned, I’ll keep testing you.” She said, rising from her seat.

“Are you here to take me to the lab?”

“No, I will let you find your own way today. I dare say you need to get familiar with this building, you’ll be spending a lot of time here. What I am here to tell you is that I expect you to meet me at the training facilities, that’s just beside the eastern gate, at 0800 hours tomorrow. I would make it earlier but you need time to commute from home. Just be sure to set an alarm, I won’t tolerate tardiness.”

Moira frowned and hastened to follow her as she started marching ahead. “I don’t understand. You’re training me?”

“Yes. As of right now, I’m your superior officer. Do not let me down.” She said, her warm tone undermining the strictness of her words. “I don’t undertake personal training of new recruits often so I expect the best you can give me, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Not ma’am. Agent.” Carter corrected.

“Of course, Agent Carter.” Moira said, her lips twitching into a slight smile before she hastily corrected it.

#moira mactaggert #moira mactaggert x charles xavier #moira x charles #x-men first class #marvel cinematic universe #agent carter #peggy carter #nick fury #s.h.i.e.l.d #formerly abandoned fic #editing old chapters

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