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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

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heiress - 2

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part two of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

previous chapter

His memories had always been foggy. Even after slipping from HYDRA’s control, his memories were still foggy. He could remember almost everything through a sepia-like filter yet his memory as even more distorted the moment he looked at her. He had this gut wrenching feeling he had known her yet his foggy red tinted memories gave him no answer as to who this woman was and whenever he tried digging deeper into his subconscious. he would just get tired. Almost as if his own mind did not allow him to know her but he knew he must’ve seen her face or her figure somewhere and if he hadn’t then he must’ve known her in another life because whenever he looked at her, he felt comfortable. It was an odd sensation to explain, a deja-vu like feeling, a feeling which made him want to run up to her and held her into his arms but she was a stranger. Everything was strange here even Wanda who despite him having shared a few words with, looked so distant.

- When did Wanda have time to have two ten year olds? - Sam threw himself to one of the beds in the room the two of them had been assigned to. Sharon had gotten a different room yet Sam and Bucky were bunking together like 13 year old campers. - Also can she resuscitate people now? I mean, he’s an android but nevertheless. Oh my god, how did an android and a human had kids?

- Do you trust them? Sharon isn’t too convinced.

- Well, Wanda fought by our side so did Vision and Fury and Hill are with them. Unless they all turned evil, I think we can somewhat trust them.

- I don’t know, Sam. I ... I don’t trust the girl.

- They’re almost all girls, cyborg brain. Be specific. Did specificity did not exist in the 40s?

- The one who dropped her gun first.

- Maybe, she’s Pierce’s kid or so says Sharon. Maybe you used to babysit her.

- No, I ...

- Sergeant Barnes ... - Monica knocked on the door before allowing herself into the bedroom. - There were some letters in the file written by you. We believe it is not our right to intrude onto your privacy so we wanted to give them to you.

- God, every time I discover something about you, it makes you sound even older than you are. - Sam leaned against the bed frame as Bucky warringly took the letters from the Monica who left the room once her job was done.

The paper had grown old with time, yellowing around the borders of the Red Room envelopes they used to give the girls who behaved well enough so they could send their parents some news. He remembered stealing a few to try and write any memories which came through so he wouldn’t forget them when the officers erased him. Somehow they always found the letters yet there it was in his hands, a big stack of letters which seemingly hadn’t been destroyed. It was his handwriting that much he knew, however he did not know who Daisy was, he did not know who had the name to which the letters were addressed to.

- Who did you write letters to? Steve?

- Daisy. - he didn’t mean to reply but those words just seemed to flow naturally from him and he was entranced by the name in his handwriting alone.

The snow felt step onto the ground, it was cold, cold enough everyone was wearing jackets inside despite the heater being on and he seemed to have been transported back into his memories. Everyone was cold and covered but not her and no matter how hard he tried to make up her face, it was fogged up in his memory but he could see her, he could see her in her strap black ballet top and worn out pink ballerina shoes which she had particularly asked Madam B not to be replaced. He could see her, but he couldn’t make her out, he didn’t know who she was.

- Daisy, you’re going to get sick. - Bucky could hear himself speak but he wasn’t speaking, he wasn’t there, he was just reliving a memory.

- Don’t call me Daisy. I hate it when you call me Daisy.

- Hey, cyborg brain? Are you ok? - Sam’s voice was echoey until he touched his shoulder and then he was harshly brought back to reality. - Don’t bug out on me, I don’t know how to reset you.

- Yeah, just thinking.

The night was long, too long and he spent every minute of it reading every single letter he had written this woman until they were all spread out across the floor of the room; but we loved with a love that was more than love me and my Daisy, I’m sorry Daisy, I miss you Daisy. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. He had read that name more than a hundred times and he still couldn’t remember who she was yet he knew he loved her or that he had loved her. The more he tried to remember it, the more his head hurt, the more the blurry memories turned red. He didn’t known who this woman who had meant so much to him was. He shoved those letters under the bed and left the room while Sam was sleeping. He need to clear his head, clearly this woman hadn’t meant that much to him if he couldn’t remember her, but he knew it was a lie. He knew she mattered.

The sounds of his shoes against the floor made him forget about her, her the ghost of a woman he loved. He continued to walk, watching the walls surrounding him until a glass wall broke the continuous light blue of the walls. He peeked through it and there it was, the woman he felt he knew in a black suit on pointe. He was hypnotised by the constant plié to on pointe as if it was nothing. Bucky went around, opening the door to watch her more closely.

- How do you do it? - he asked, taking her by surprise. Turning around, she had fear in her eyes as she took a step back, something Bucky was used to. It no longer hurt as it used to. - The feet thing. I ... my sister used to watch ballet and they always did that.

- Oh, uhm ... it’s all about supporting your body weight onto your toes and wearing the right pair of shoes.

- I’m Bucky, by the way ... Uhm, thank you for not killing us.

- I’m Y/N. - she extended her hand to shake his. - Is the room alright? Do you need anything?

- Do you know who Daisy is? Sharon said your father is Pierce so I thou ...

- I don’t. - she interrupted him. - I don’t really know a lot about my father’s private life. I’m sorry.

- You’re too early for ... - Yelena entered the room in tactical gear, stopping once she saw someone other than Y/N. Her eyes searched for Y/N’s who were begging for help. - Fight training. Closed off fight training.

- Right, I ... I was just looking for the kitchen. - he said but was still gazing her eyes

- I’ll take you. - the blonde Russian gave him a tight smile, pointing towards the door and exiting with him.

The air that seemed to have been previously held on her chest came out almost in a wave and she felt herself slide against the mirrored wall until she was sat on the floor, head looking at the tall ceiling as if she were in catatonic state, and maybe she was, she didn’t know. How could she know if whenever he spoke to her all she could hear was that piano, that damned low piano and the mirage of him, the mirage of the life she wanted with him in Westview. She looked at her shoes, worn out, the pink satin which one was shiny new had black worn out spots over where there used to be an embroidered daisy. She was glad it was gone, she was glad it wouldn’t return. Nevertheless, she could still feel her ... Agatha, poking at whatever protected her mind. She could almost hear her calling out to her with promises of all she wanted. They had always gone after her ... the weak link, the one whose will was easy to break. It was no mistake the red room had given her the nickname Daisy out of all flowers they could’ve picked. She was easily broken, manipulated to be a strong fighter but easily broken by those who knew. She wondered if the Red Room was still out looking for her, looking for Yelena ... she wondered what control they still held over her, what control her father had over her. Both knew she was alive, both had tortured her with tapes of ... him. They knew she was alive, it was only a cat and mouse game until they took her away. Their experiment. Their unsuccessful successful experiment.

- God, he’s awfully chattier than I remember. - Yelena walked into the room, eyes lowering to where she was. - Who told you to take a break? Get up and fight me.

- He knows.

- Chill, Y/N. He didn’t even know what a waffle maker was until now. He’s not gonna break through whatever you made Wanda do to him which, by the way, I’m against. - the blonde sat next to her. - You let Monica hand him the letters, of course he’s gonna wonder who Daisy is. Terrible name.

- I’m sorry, Yelena, not everyone had the pleasure of having the code name Hyacinth. - Y/N teased.

- It was a great code name. The best code name.

- No, it wasn’t.

- Want the morning off? I could spar with Monica or Alexei. - Yelena gave her a kind look and an offer she couldn’t refuse. Last thing she wanted to do was to spar with anyone in her mindset. Yelena understood it, her too having dealt with her own trauma inflicted by the Red Room. In times like these, both girls had learned to leave each other alone to cope with whatever demons they had.

Y/N dragged her knees up to her chest like a kid, hair falling in front of her eyes as she fished for the dog tags under her shirt. She ripped them from her neck, letting the old metal tags slide through her fingers. She clenched the memorabilia of past emotions against her chest.

- Yelena said you were gloom. - Wanda walked into the room still in her pyjamas. - Besides your shield is down and your thoughts are loud. You ought to learn to control it someday.

- Well, you seem to love getting in people’s minds.

- Not yours. Whenever I get the particular pleasure of doing it ... - she sat next to her, still in her dressing gown. - You’re either feeling guilty or in such pain. I think it’s time you speak about it.

- She’s still in my mind ... Agatha. She lingers.

- What does she know? She couldn’t even give you an actually accurate mirage of Bucky. Two arms? Please.

- She’s gonna be after us non-stop, Wanda. She will pair forces with Ross to get what she wants and then all of this will be as worthless as it was. With Zemo if she needs too ...

- She can’t get to you, okay? - Wanda gave her a kind smile, the type of smile she gave the twins whenever one of them was sad but this time it didn’t help. She could hear her voice calling out for her, she could see the purple tint in her nightmares and while Monica and Wanda had learned to deal with it, mostly ignoring it, she could fell the witch’s influence in her stronger than ever.

She remained laid against the wall of the training room even after Wanda was gone. She looked at the ceiling, fingers toying around with the humidity in the air making it fall onto the ground like rain. Fitting, she thought. Yet again, whatever she could do always seemed to mirror whatever she thought or felt like. It was past midday when she made her way from the gym to her bedroom to get dressed. She knew better than to leave the hex unaccompanied but what surrounded it was wilderness and she always felt at peace in wilderness, the soft sounds of birds chirping and the water falls always made her forget the screams from the red room, the purple aura from Agatha ... it just didn’t make her forget Bucky. She had always wanted to see him again, to apologise ... to ... she didn’t know what to do, she just knew she got tongue tied whenever she saw him, the guilt eating her alive.

- Well, hello dear. - Y/N turned around, eyes shining white behind her iris as Agatha stood there in her purple peplum dress. - There’s no need for a fight, dear. I just want to talk.

- Well, I don’t ... - she took a fighting stance but the woman merely shrugged.

- I just came to give you a shoulder to cry. Word on the street is that your Bucky is around. Isn’t that wonderful, dear?

- Based on your illusion of him, I’d think you wouldn’t even recognise him.

- You know, you’ll always be my favourite out of the three girls. You and I are very similar, my dear. Besides, I can help you, I know how your powers work and it’s not for cheap tricks. I can help you with him, I know what it is like to have someone take the person who you love the most be taken for you but I can help you, dear. You and me, we can get what we want, what it’s rightfully yours.

- He’s not mine. - she meant her words to come strong, swiftly like the thunderstorm winds yet they faltered, as if they were only now registering in her mind.

- You know, dearest ... the good thing about the soul stone is that it made you who you are. The bad thing is, you’re not gonna be able to control what it gave you if your soul is in disarray. The more your mind battles, the more your ability will take hold of you.

- What do you mean?

- Why do you think Wanda got more powerful when things were falling apart in Westview?

- Y/N! - Monica’s voice made Agatha disappear in a cloud of purple mist. Y/N turned her head to the side to see Monica make her way through the trees, decked out in her fighting outfit. - What are you doing here? You missed the early morning brief and you’re in ... whatever you’re wearing.

- I just needed some time off. - she smiled. - Why are you in battle gear?

- Darcy’s sure one of the books must be in the Red Room ... the one where you were trained. - Monica sighed, less than happy to have to bring Y/N back to that place but if there was someone who could navigate it, it was her. - Yelena was not trained by ... him, so she does not know. Y/N, I don’t think ... I think you and him should talk.

- There’s nothing to talk about. - she forced a smile, following Monica back into the hex. - We are different people, besides ... I don’t think he would forgive me at all.

- Can you at least tell me what happened? What happened with him, what happened in Westview? Wanda says you’re in pain and I don’t want you to be in pain. You helped me when I was in pain, I wanna help you too. We’ve known each other for what? Five years discounting the Thanos thing? Six?

- I will talk about it someday. Just not today.

- Are you in the headspace to go with us? We can always try and see what Sergeant Barnes remembers if you’re not up to it.

- I am a professional agent. - she smiled. - I’m always prepared.

The sooner we get this book situation sorted, the sooner she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. At least that’s what she thought and as such she had no problem returning to the place which she had escaped from years and years ago. Nevertheless, she was first and foremost an agent, someone who fought for others and for once she had to do just that. Be professional.

She got dressed in her traditional black tactic gear and jacket before heading down to the room where they kept most of their ammunition. It had been Jimmy’s idea to arm everyone involved in a mission just in case despite Y/N, Wanda and Monica being capable to hold their own without it. Even so, having a knife or a gun on them had made wonders before. Normally the people they go against aren’t exactly fair and she had learned that the hard way. As she opened the door to the ammunition room, she came face to face with him lacing up his boots. It was the most common action yet it felt so foreign to see him do it, to see him be in control of lacing up his own shoe laces. Part of her was happy for him, happy he was happy, happy he was his own person but the other part of her screamed for her to let it go of her insecurities, he was not the same man she had known and she was definitely not the same woman. She was guilty for more than half his pain and that, that remained the same.

Y/N ignored him, sliding past him to grab her own utility belt which was really nothing special except for the fact she had gotten everyone important in her life to carve their initials in them. Her point was if she was dying on the field, she had least had something which reminded her of the love which regardless of every bad thing she had done, still remained. She wrapped her belt around her waist and thigh, yet nevertheless it was still too loose. Damned belt.

- You’re putting it wrong. - Buck mumbled.

- Pardon?

- The belt. - he got up and walked up to her. - The second strap ... it’s too low on your thigh, should be higher.

- Oh ... - she moved her gaze away from him.

- Here. May I? - he asked her, hoping to meet her gaze but she merely nodded still looking the other way. Bucky unclasped the strap from her thigh, bringing it up further up, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of her trousers. She slowly moved her gaze to look at him and he fixed her belt before he moved up, eyes staring into hers. They seemed to look at each other for a lifetime, before he cleared his throat. - It should be better now.

- Uhm ... thank you, Sergeant Barnes.

- Cyborg brain, how long does it take to lace up some boots? - Sam’s voice reverberated through the room making the two take each a step back going back to the distance between them.

- I have to go. - Y/N grabbed her jacket, exiting the room as fast as she could.

The plane ride was equally unbearable with her sat in front of him, catching his eyes every once in a while. God, she used to love his eyes. She still remembered being tangled in grey worn out sheets, laying across his chest just looking at him, looking at those eyes which always looked the same even when he forgot her. Those blue eyes, they were always the same despite the two of them being different people from who they were in the Red Room. Speaking of the devil, it no longer looked like one. It was falling down, the once crown jewel of HYDRA had worn out with time. The red walls were fading to brown, the spotless rooms were now filled with dust and ghosts of memories. It was gone, so how come it still haunted her?

- Wanda and Sharon will take east, me and Sam west, Alexei and Yelena south and Y/N you can take north with Sergeant Barnes. - Monica suggested. Y/N shot her a way too familiar look, almost as if she were about to argue with her yet she understood the basis of her decision. After all, not everyone had ... a something controlling power.

She took charge into the very familiar north wing of the building. They kept most off the girls who were yet to pass to the red room there and it had been her home for years. Bucky however, was remembering things which he couldn’t fully understand. He knew this place yet he didn’t remember walking these halls, he remembered the pain. He could still feel the pain, the much too familiar pain of having all he knew be gone.

- You’ll take the right and I the left? Sergeant Barnes? - she put her hand on his hand, almost magically taking him away from ghosts of his pain. - Do you want to stop?

- Yeah, I’ll take the left. - he rebuffed her, turning left.

The room seemed to take him in, memories of his own strained voice as he yelled out for some mercy returned to his consciousness, memories of things he had said, things he hadn’t said. He swiftly turned around, turning his gun to the door before turning back again to see a woman standing in front of him.

- Woah lower the gun down, dear. - she had an eerily smile on her lips. Buck took a step back slowly but she moved her hand, a purple glow followed by the sound of the door closing. - I’m only here to help.

- Y/N ... - he tapped his intercom but no sound came from it.

- Yes, that’s exactly who we are talking about. You see I know who Daisy is, she knows who Daisy is. - she took a file from under her shirt. - Everyone knows who Daisy is but you. Now, I think it’s really unfair you don’t know so I decided to even out the game.

She threw the file onto the ground before disappearing. God, at least back in the 40s people only removed their faces. Bucky looked around, wearingly of his surroundings much more than he was before. This room. was playing with his mind yet the file laying on the ground proved the woman wasn’t a mere mirage of his mind. He kneeled down too grab the file, opening it to reveal a passport photo of Y/N accompanied by an information sheet. He read through the first lines quickly until one particular fact stopped him. Known aliases: Daisy.

taglist: @lookiamtrying

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 4 years ago

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College AU Week 1 Day 3 - Evgeni Kolpakov

A/N: I have never written for Evgeni but I kind of love the way this turned out. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. This is day three of the January AU Writing challenge/300 follower celebration!

* I posted a video I listened to while writing this if you wanted to listen while you read. It helped inspire me.

Pairing: Evgeni Kolpakov X G.N Reader (please let me know if I missed any pronouns)

Warning: I don’t think anything, it’s pretty romantic/fluffy.

My Masterlist

My computer crashed, and you're the student worker at the IT center.

Most people would be happy to have a night off from work. Ordinary people who don't go to school all day, spending their evenings at the IT center troubleshooting with students who've procrastinated their assignments. Shouting at you because their computer has decided to crash or their internet in their dorm has failed. Honestly, any person who works in customer service would be happy with a night off and away, but not you. Not since he first called.

You sigh, thinking of the way his voice makes you hum in the squeaky rolling chair you find yourself perched on nightly. The Russian accent thick and shooting straight through your core as he talks to you about everything and nothing, making your heart beat faster. Evgeni, the enigma from your work who never failed to call you every evening for the past month; you'd never seen him, nothing more than a voice on the phone. His words honey to your ears as he makes you laugh. You want to know him. You have to know him.

"Hey! Are you okay there? You seemed really out of it," your friend Charlotte looks concerned until you smile and embrace her outside the club.

"Oh, I'm okay just thinking about someone," you pull back, and she grins.

"Oh, is this about the mysterious caller that has your brain in a tizzy? Are you missing him already?" she teases, and you nod. The smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume waft onto the darkened street outside the piano bar. The ivories' tickling makes you think of Evgeni and how some nights he would play his piano over the phone. He was a very talented player, and you dreamed of hearing him play in person. The way his hands would move across the keys as he would coax the sweet music from them.

Charlotte taps you on the shoulder and points to the bar, "I'm sure he can survive without you for one evening."

"He wasn't able to call tonight; he had a prior engagement."

"He plays the piano, right?"

"Yes." You see the wheels turning in her head as she points towards the bar, "No, he didn't mention that he was playing anywhere tonight, just that he had something and wouldn't be able to call." You open the door and step inside, her following close behind. The bar is lit up on one wall with a single spotlight on the small stage. A black baby grand piano sits atop it, and the sounds of the keys sing to your heart.

You walk over to the bartender, order a gin and tonic and take a seat at a two-seater towards the middle of the club. Taking a moment to soak in the music before you observe the player. He's handsome in a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; the chords in his arms shine under the light. He's got on a black fedora, but you can see the hint of a buzz cut underneath. His face with a light speckling of stubble just beginning to form—smoke curling from the ashtray perched on the top and a half-drunken glass of red wine.

As the piece comes to a close, you feel yourself in a slow trance. The world around you slowing down as the music fades, and he does a small bow of his head as the crowd erupts into applause. You sit there frozen as he reaches for the cigarette, pulling drag and holding it between his fingers. Almost as if he can feel the magnetic pull, he looks up into your eyes, and you drown in the deep brown of his own. Lips parting on a small gasp when his gaze sears into your soul and ignites the fire in your blood.

He leans towards the microphone, "Thank you, everyone, for this next piece…" but you stop listening as your heart stops. You would know that voice anywhere. It's the voice you'd heard every single day for the last month, the one who colors your dreams. The voice you dream of as you touch yourself at night, wishing it was really him whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

***********

One Month Ago

The phone rings more than you would believe for an evening IT department, and you pick up on the second ring already opening the form to fill out for the request. "Thank you for calling the NYU IT department helpline; this is Y/N; how can I help you?"

"Yes, hello, my computer keeps crashing when I try to submit an assignment," a man with a deep Russian accent coos in your ear.

"Okay, and have you tried turning it on and off again?" He sighs and agrees, going through all the usual motions of a phone call this late.

"Well, it would seem to be an issue with the server, I will put in a work order request for the IT department heads to take a look, and they will get back to you within 24-48 hours."

He let out a groan, "But I need to submit the assignment tonight. Listen, I am not some privileged child who waited until the last minute to submit the assignment. I take night classes for business and work all day as a security guard. I really need to get this turned in on time. Please, there must be something you can do." Something about the tone in his voice gives you pause.

"Maybe…" you try to think, "maybe I can send your professor a formal message from the IT department and submit your assignment for you. Can you email it to me?"

He agrees, and he scrambles for a pencil, writing down your email and quickly sending it off. His name pops up a few minutes later, Evgeni Kolpakov. "Evgeni? Where are you from?"

You can hear the amusement in his tone when he says, "Vermont."

You let out a chuckle, "Vermont really?"

"A refugee camp in Vermont," oh shit, you try to apologize, but he lets out a laugh, "It's okay. Vermont is full of surprises, you know."

"Oh really now," you finish composing the email and attach his essay before sending it, "done, it's sent." He lets out a relieved breath.

"Thank you so much," he chuckles, "what do I owe you for the trouble?"

"Tell me more about Vermont," you smile and lean back as he fills you with stories of his childhood. You spend two hours on the phone, and when you look at the clock and gasp, he quickly apologizes.

"I'm sorry about taking so much of your time...but I'm not sorry for talking to you," you can hear him put something down in the background, and you sigh.

"I'm not either," you whisper, "this has been one of the best nights I've ever had at this job."

He chuckles, "You mean the universities IT department is not a bustling hub of excitement during the evening?"

You laugh, "No...would you," you know you shouldn't ask, but you can't help yourself, "would you call again if you had any other problems?" I work ten to four in the morning this week."

"I promise," his voice gets more profound as you hold your breath, "I will call back tomorrow with another problem if only to talk to you again."

You tremble at his tone and hang up with a longing, "I'll be waiting."

***********

Present Day

"Evgeni," you whisper under your breath, but it's almost like he can hear as his head snaps up and looks at you again. His hands are poised above the keys, and he smiles.

"This is for you," he whispers and makes love to you through the music. A personal symphony just for you as his fingers caress the keys like the ways of a lover.

You listen, transfixed eyes never leaving him, your drink, Charlotte, and the world around you fading into nothing until it's just you and him alone. The music swarms around you, and you feel yourself rising slowly towards him as the song ends and the cheers of the crowd flow. But you don't care as he stands and holds out a hand for you to take, leading you outside and into the fresh air. The chill December evening shocks you back into reality.

The feeling of his jacket, he grabbed draped over your shoulder as he rests his forehead against your own, and you feel the rough exterior against your back. "It's you," he whispers, and you feel his moist breath upon your lips.

"It's you," you reply before closing the distance between you and sealing your lips together in a kiss that is soft and gentle. He groans, placing his hands on your cheeks and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You feel alive and consumed by him as he takes control and melds you to him, caressing you like his fingers caressed the keys on the baby grand.

When he pulls away, you both smile, "I've been waiting for you," he whispers against your lips.

"Oh Evgeni, I've been waiting for you too." The long days of waiting for the phone to ring are long gone as your fantasies and realities bleed together to make one complete vision. Love.

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @chicken-ona-stick @phoenixhalliwell @letoartreiides

Tagging some extra people who may be interested (I hope that’s okay, let me know if not): @writefightandflightclub @tinygaydemonbby @itspdameronthings @damerondjarin @wasicskosgirl

I listened to this while writing if you wanna listen while reading:

youtube

#evgeni kolpakov #evgeni kolpakov x reader #January Writing Challenge #W.E AU #W.E #Oscar Isaac #300 follower celebration #Autumn Writes

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omg-imagine · 5 years ago

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⊱ Amor Vincit Omnia ⊰

Summary: It’s been five years since you last saw John Wick, a man you have loved and lost. One night, he shows up at your doorstep after being labeled excommunicado, and asks for your help. You knew the risks of getting involved but sometimes history can’t be easily forgotten.

Pairing: John Wick x Reader (f)

Words: 6k

Warnings: angst, alcohol, language, violence, slight NSFW, death

A/N: This is the longest one-shot I’ve ever written but I couldn’t help myself. I started this on a whim a few weeks ago, and I’m excited to finally share it with you all! Also, this is my first time writing for John Wick so please be gentle lol.

This is set during Parabellum but the timeline is a bit screwy here. Let’s just say, John couldn’t leave for Casablanca until the following morning and that’s why he goes to you. I hope you enjoy!

John Wick: excommunicado in effect 6:00 pm EST.

You stared at the message displayed on your phone in disbelief. “What the hell did you get yourself into, John?”

Turning off the screen, you stashed your cell back into your pocket. The rain outside grew heavier with each passing second, and you knew somewhere out there, John was running for his life.

Had it been for someone else, you would have easily taken up the $14 million open contract. Despite recent years, you were known to be as cunning and ruthless as the Baba Yaga himself.

Well, of course you were. John Wick was your mentor when the Russians forced you into this line of work. You used to be attached to the hip until you were able to carry out assignments by yourself.

However, during the time you had spent with John, you developed feelings for him but never said a word. For the longest time, you kept it a secret, and it was a secret you were willing to take to the grave.

But when John revealed that he wanted to get out, it gave you hope.

Could you and John have a future without any more bloodshed? Is it possible for two merciless assassins to have a normal life?

People like you didn’t deserve a happy ending, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined what it would be like to have one.

But then he brought up Helen, and your world immediately came crashing down. John did whatever it took to have that normal life you’ve imagined— you’ve yearned— but shared it with Helen instead of you.

The day he completed his impossible task was the last time you saw each other. Sure, you’ve received his occasional letters and had even gotten his wedding invitation, but you decided not to give him the time of day.

The pain of heartbreak was unimaginable, almost unbearable. So, you coped the best way you could with work. If you weren’t fulfilling a contract, you were at home drinking as much booze as you can before passing out.

It was in no way how a person should live, but who was there to tell you no?

The sound of thunder brought you back to reality. You didn’t want to admit it, but even after all those years, you still loved John.

For what he’s been through, he deserved that happy ending you had always wanted to have.

You just wished that you were a part of it, too.

-x-

A half an hour later, a sudden pounding on your door interrupted your evening of self-pity. Ignoring it at first, you heard a familiar voice calling out your name. You were not expecting anyone, and no one else knew about this house.

Well, no one except for…

You approached the front door as the knocking became incessant. Behind the frosted glass, you could see the tall man’s figure standing outside.

Bending down, you reached for the .9mm hidden underneath a console in case of emergencies. Once you unlocked its safety, you then took a deep breath in and out before reaching for the doorknob.

The front door swung open, and immediately you held your handgun up. As John stepped out of the shadows, his face was illuminated by the porch lights.

You realized that this was the first time you’ve seen each other in over five years. You instantly knew why John chose to come to you despite being labeled excommunicado.

“You shouldn’t be here, John,” you warned as you aimed your gun directly at his head. One wrong move and you would kill him.

But could you?

“I—I need,” John couldn’t finish his sentence as a surge of pain overwhelmed him. “Damn it, I need your help.”

You noticed that he was bleeding profusely from his side, and he was barely able to keep himself up on his feet.

“Please…”

Your heart was torn. On one half, the cruel assassin in you wanted to end John’s life. You weren’t indebted to him, and he had caused you the greatest pain you could ever imagine.

If you killed John, you would be regarded as a legend for taking down the Boogeyman with one clean shot in the head. They would respect you, fear you just like they did for him.

This could be your revenge.

But the other half was the part who loved, the one who barely got to see the surface because you’ve spent most of your life keeping it down.

This part of your conscience reminded you of the love you had for John, even after he left for a chance at happiness.

It’s not his fault he fell for Helen and married her. You were too much of a coward to show how you truly felt. You lost your opportunity, and you’ve blamed yourself ever since.

You weighed your options. You knew what helping John would cost, and he knew what could happen to you if he overstays his welcome.

But you understood the severity of his situation at the moment, and it was your love for John slowly creeping itself back up again that caused you to sympathize with him.

You couldn’t let him die.

With a heavy sigh, you lowered your weapon and stepped out into the rain to help him inside. John has one arm slung behind your shoulders as you tried to balance him without aggravating his wound.

After setting him on the couch, you then told him to take off his shirt while you retrieved your first aid kit from the bathroom.

Returning to John who groaned in agony, you handed him an unopened bottle of Jack Daniel’s and quickly went to work.

The cut was deep but treatable. You twisted the cap of the hydrogen peroxide off and then looked up at John.

“This is going to sting,” you warned, and he gave you a short huff.

“I’ve gone through worse,” he replied, taking a swig of the whiskey into his mouth.

“We both have,” you agreed, not noticing how John kept his eyes on you until he spoke again.

“Helen died,” John said, and you paused.

He gestured for you to resume, and you continued. You cleaned up the cut and began preparing him for stitches. “I didn’t— John, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. He recounted to you what has happened over the last several weeks, seemingly as a way to distract him from the sensation of you piercing a needle through his skin.

You listened to the pain he failed to mask in his voice. John’s happy ending was cut short, and the past he left behind came back to haunt him. You felt sorry for him, unsure of what to say.

But you knew he wasn’t asking for your pity. He was here because after Helen, you were the only one he had left to trust.

After stitching John’s wound closed and bandaging him up, you checked the time and saw that it was well-past six. You dropped the roll of gauze in your hand and took a step back.

The hunt had officially begun, and every assassin in the city was on the move.

Slowly, John stood up from the couch and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You’ll be okay. No one followed me here, and I’m still sure no one knows about this place,” John assured as his touch brought you a little bit of comfort. You smiled sadly at him and handed him painkillers. “Hey, thank you.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” you responded with downcast eyes. “That’s what we used to do, right? Patch each other up after a job?”

“Just like old times,” John added almost nostalgically as you blinked the tears you didn’t know you had. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you swiftly denied. “It’s nothing. But what about you? What’s your plan?”

John only sighed. “Morocco. I’m going to find the Elder who can get me out of this mess. There’s a boat leaving at six in the morning, and I wanted to ask…”

“For a car?” You finished his sentence, and he nodded. “I’ll drive you. Until then, get some rest.”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “They might not know about me coming to you or this place, but I’m not waiting here until they find out.”

You watched as he staggered a couple of steps away, his fingers buttoning his shirt back on before reaching for his tie and blazer lying on the back of the couch.

He was in no condition to venture out while it’s storming outside, and he’s only one hit away from getting incapacitated. John needed to rest, even just for a few short hours.

As far as anyone else knew, this house didn’t exist. You had purchased this quaint little home of yours under an alias and kept it off the radar. It was well-secluded and far away from nosy neighbors and major roads. No one other than yourself and John has ever stepped foot inside.

“Listen to me,” you pleaded with him. “You came here for my help. So, let me do just that.”

You reached a hand up to rest on the side of his face. The scruff of his beard tickled the bare skin of your palm.

For the first time in five years, you were staring deep into his brown eyes. You saw the grief, the sadness, and the anger in them. You saw the man hurting from what was one tragedy after another.

Helen, Daisy, Marcus, his car, his house, his status, his freedom.

He’s lost everything and everyone.

Well, not everyone. John thought he had lost you the second he turned away, but despite your hatred for him leaving, you could never leave his side.

“Till the end, Jardani,” you spoke softly, using his birth name, which he hasn’t heard for the longest time. “I promised that I’d fight alongside you, and I’m not about to break that tonight.”

John silently leaned into your touch as you held him close, his left hand coming up to lay on top of your right.

Guilt began to set in when your eyes caught the glint of the silver wedding band on his finger, reminding you that he was a grieving widower.

You lowered the hand that was touching him and stepped back.

“You could have left, you know,” John added. “Do what I did. Settle down, live in the suburbs, enjoy the peace.”

You chuckled mirthlessly. “I would have, but after the great John Wick retired, there was no way in hell they were going to let me go, too.”

“You could have tried.”

Sighing, you then gave him a shrug. “Yeah, I could have. But at that point, I chose familiarity over a normal, picturesque life.”

“What about now? Would you change it?”

“I don’t think so,” you spoke honestly. “Violence has always been my normal. It’s all I’ve ever known. You can’t run away from this life.”

John looked at you with a sad gaze in his eyes. “Do you resent me for leaving?”

His voice cut like a knife, and you were afraid to glance up from the hardwood floors. The question came unexpectedly, and you were unsure of how to respond.

You felt him tilt your head up with his gentle hands, and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“It’s complicated.”

“Enlighten me,” he replied. “I’ve heard you got tougher, angrier. You kill as if you were deceived and betrayed.”

You had no way out of this. You could lie, but he would instantly know even before you can finish your sentence. You could push him away and lock yourself in your room until morning, but you wanted to come clean.

How he would react, you couldn’t tell, and that’s what you’re scared of even if there was no point in being afraid now.

It was your chance to get some type of closure from John because after tomorrow, who knew whether or not you’d see each other again.

“Do you still love your wife?” You asked, taking John by surprise.

He studied you for a good moment or two, unable to read the expression you tried to hide. “Yes.”

“Then, you don’t need to know,” you said as you took another step back, creating more distance between you two. “You’re welcome to sleep in the guest bedroom. The bathroom has fresh towels in there already, and you can toss your clothes in the dryer if you want. We’ll leave at five. Goodnight.”

You didn’t wait to hear from him. You hurriedly went to your bedroom and shut the door closed behind you.

-x-

You tossed and turned in bed, hoping for sleep which never seemed to come easily at nights. Nightmares often plagued you, and you were afraid that if you did fall asleep now, you would see the frightening image of John dead.

It worried you that the most dangerous people in the world were all out to get him. He was fortunate that he had found shelter for the night, but at the cost of you getting involved.

A flash of lightning illuminated your dark and dismal room, followed by the roar of thunder. Sitting up in bed, you decided to head to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water. Perhaps that would calm you down as the storm raged outside.

Padding softly to the cabinets, you grabbed a cup, and just when you were about to pour cold water from the dispenser, you turned around and reached for the bottle of bourbon on the counter.

The liquor burned as it went down your throat, but three glasses later, you still felt nothing.

Deciding against a fourth glass, you then noticed the light seeping from underneath the door to the guest bedroom. You weren’t surprised that John was still awake. If you were in his situation, you would be too weary to rest, knowing that at any time, someone could kill you.

Walking back to your bedroom, you paused just before passing John’s room. As you internally debated on checking up on him, you heard him call out for you from inside.

Without a second thought, you pushed the door open, revealing John who sat on the edge of the bed, clad only in his boxer shorts and a clean white tee he must have found in the closet that was luckily his size.

In his hands was a leather-bound book, only familiar to you and John.

“Can’t believe you still have this,” John stated as he flipped through the pages of the old book, which remained in a remarkable condition.

“Well, it’s the book we used when you taught me how to bind. I guess I kept it for sentimental reasons, like most things in this house,” you answered as you stepped further into the room.

John glanced at you and smiled.

“I miss seeing that,” you pointed out. “Your smile. It’s a rare thing to see coming from you.”

“You should have seen me at my wedding then,” he recalled fondly, though it unknowingly caused your heart to feel heavy.

You stayed quiet for a minute, and you were just about to go when John’s hand circled your wrist and pulled you to sit beside him. He rested his palm on your bare knee, and you saw that he had removed his ring for the evening.

“I’m sorry for not writing back. I had a lot of things going on at the time if you could imagine.”

“Like what?”

You placed a hand on top of John’s and squeezed. His eyes, though the length of hair slightly shielded them, bore into yours, softly pleading for you to let down your walls just like he did with you.

“John, I—” you tried, but the words wouldn’t come out.

It was the alcohol, you reasoned. You blamed the bourbon for clouding your judgment and allowing you to lose your self-control.

Because one second, you and John held each other’s gaze. Then the next, you turned your body slightly towards him and placed both of your hands on the sides of his face. His focus shifted down to your lips and then back up to your eyes.

You realized that you were wrong, and you were very much sober for this.

John didn’t move, nor did he speak. So, you took it as a sign to go ahead. The moment your lips connected, it was as if you’d forgotten the heartache from throughout the years.

The kiss turned heavier, more frantic, and neither one of you dared to stop. Your fingers gripped John’s hair, pulling him closer.

This— being with John— made you feel alive again.

John broke the kiss when your hand traveled south to the waistband of his boxers. “We can’t do this.”

But his face said otherwise. You’ve known him for years, and you could tell the want in his eyes. John needed this just as much as you did. You both burned with deep desire, desperate to experience pleasure rather than pain.

“Please,” you muttered through his skin, your lips trailing up and down his neck. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

John didn’t say a word. He let your hands explore every inch of his skin as he kissed you fervently. A whine escaped your throat, and you managed to straddle his lap before grasping the edge of his shirt and removing it from his body.

His chest was littered with scars, both old and new. Without warning, John flipped you over and laid you on your back, pushing up the thin material of your top until it was gone, leaving you completely bare to him.

Fingers dipped inside your shorts, teasing you agonizingly as your body squirmed underneath him. It had been too long since another man has ever touched you, and John’s gentle caresses lit your skin up like fire.

You gasped for air when John softly bit the insides of your thighs. Your fingers tugged at his long hair, directing his head to where you needed it the most.

After pushing you over the edge with his hands and his tongue, not once but twice, John was ready to take you. You leaned up and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips as he inches closer to your core. You felt his hardness press up against you, and you looked up to his eyes once again.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?”

He was a man of very few words. Conveying his answer with a single nod, you understood that he craved to feel something good, too. John then rested his forehead against yours, pushing himself into you slowly with such ease.

John was the perfect lover, and you committed to memory everything about the moment— the way he tasted, how he felt inside of you, and the beauty that was simply him. His body was much in tune with yours as he helped you reach your peak.

But when it was all over, you immediately felt the guilt from earlier. Despite the blissful look on yours and John’s faces, you wondered if you had done the right thing. You thought you had taken advantage of a grieving man.

“You’re overthinking,” John said out loud when he finally caught his breath.

You sighed deeply, watching him as he stared up at the ceiling. “This was a mistake.”

John then turned on his side, facing you. Reaching up, you brushed a few strands of his hair away from his eyes before placing your hand on his chest. He grasped it into his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing each knuckle with care. “Why would you say that?”

“I was selfish,” you admitted. “I slept with you not only because I wanted to feel something, but also because I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He raised his brow in confusion as you continued. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, so I have to get this off my chest now.”

“What is it?”

“I loved you, John. God, I still do. It hurt me so much that you were in love with someone, but it wasn’t right for me to stand in between you and your happiness.”

John opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him.

“I was angry at you. I wanted to hate you, and I thought I did. The truth is, I was angry at myself. I didn’t say anything to you for years, so how should you have known? And now that you’re back here with me...” you trailed off.

You shed a tear, but John wiped it away using the edge of his thumb. He’s seen you vulnerable before, but never like this. “(Y/N)...”

“I’m not expecting you to feel the same way. You loved Helen and got out of the life for her. You lived the dream, even if it wasn’t forever. I just regret missing my chance to tell you all those years ago.”

John’s arms wrapped around you, and he pulled you flushed against his body. He laid a kiss on your forehead as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“I did love you,” he admitted, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But with what we do, love would have been too dangerous. People could have used it against us, and I wanted to keep you safe. We would have been each other’s weakness.”

“You don’t have to lie, John,” you scoffed, pushing yourself away from his embrace. “Just tell me that you saw a future with Helen and not with me.”

Before you could get out of bed, John held you in place by holding you back by your wrist. “Is that what you want me to say?”

You bit your lip, refusing to see his face. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he uttered as he coaxed you back into bed. “Because that’s not true.”

“Then why? You loved me, but you didn’t do anything about it.”

John sat up and kissed your shoulder blade which calmed you down. “Neither did you.”

You sighed in defeat, absorbing everything that has been said.

“Our lives made it difficult for us to be together. It just wasn’t the right time for us.”

You slowly moved your head slightly to the left, and you were met with his unwavering eyes. “When would the right time be?”

John released a sigh. “I don’t know.”

As your mind tried to wrap around his explanation, you laid back down on the mattress with John returning to your side. He held you in arms as you listened to the steady beating of his heart.

“I don’t regret what we have done,” he remarked. “I wanted this just as much as you did, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered as your eyes grew heavy.

John could sense your exhaustion. “I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

You trusted him, and eventually, you drifted off to sleep. Later on, you dreamed of John saying goodbye. You didn’t know why or for how long, and you didn’t want to let go.

But something in your heart told you that everything would be fine, and when he did leave, you strangely felt at peace.

Perhaps this was the closure you needed.

You didn’t know what to make of your dream, and you were afraid of what it could mean. You didn’t want to lose John again, but sooner or later, it would happen.

But for tonight, you were his, and that was enough.

-x-

When you and John woke up entangled in bed the following morning, neither of you said a word. Instead, both of your lips found each other yet again. Somehow, this kiss felt different than the ones you shared last night. It was still as passionate as before, but it seemed to have a different meaning behind it.

Why does it feel like a goodbye?

You pulled away before things could go any further. You didn’t want John to miss his boat, and the two of you needed to get ready for what might happen today.

After one last kiss, you got out of bed and picked up your discarded sleepwear from the cold ground. Meanwhile, John reached over the nightstand and grabbed his ring.

You watched as he held it in his palm for a second before closing his fist around it. John glanced up at you and gave you a forlorn look. You then flashed him a sad smile before retreating to your room to shower.

When you returned to the living room, John was already dressed in his dark suit. Sauntering over to him, you then handed him a revolver to use as protection for wherever he was heading.

“This belonged to you,” you had said. “I’m also giving you guns from my stash that you can take.”

“Thanks.”

His hand came up to accept the revolver, and suddenly, your heart clenched. John’s wedding ring was back on his finger where it belonged.

The ride to the port took almost 45 minutes. At nearly every light, John took note of the cars in front and behind you. So far, nothing stood out, and the coast was clear. You continued to drive just a little bit above the speed limit as you too surveyed your surroundings.

“Turn down here,” you followed John’s direction, and from a distance, you could see the water. “Park by that building, and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

And that would be it. John would be gone, and you would return to your sense of normality. The road taking you behind the harbor soon ended, and you found yourself putting the car on park before shutting off the engine.

He only had fifteen minutes until he needed to get on, and for some reason, you were grateful that he hasn’t gotten out of the vehicle yet.

“I could go with you,” you suggested as your eyes scanned his features. “I could help.”

“You need to run,” John countered, much to your disappointment. “I am grateful for your help, but the High Table will make an example out of you if they find out what you did.”

“I told you, I’m as good as dead already,” you brushed his warning off.

You knew damn well what the consequences were. There was no way you were safe staying in New York or any other place for that matter. You would have to live on with a constant target on your back, and that was one thing you didn’t want.

“I’d rather die beside you than alone. Please, John. Let me help.”

The silence after was deafening until the sound of gunfire erupted, and the glass windows of your car shattered.

An ambush.

John quickly reached over to the back seat and opened the gun case, pulling out the assault rifle you had packed for him. Meanwhile, you got your gun locked and loaded, glancing up at John and waiting for his cue.

“On three,” John spoke, and after three, you two pushed the car doors open and headed towards a large shipping container for cover.

You couldn’t see the assailants, but bullets hailed as you made your way over to safety. Something grazed the side of your arm, but John just pushed you along until you were able to shield yourselves.

“I’m good,” you assured John as he tried to count how many men were trailing behind. You saw the expression on his face, and it wasn’t good. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

“You could say that,” he answered, his mind trying to devise a plan. John only had ten minutes left until the ship leaves, with or without him.

“John,” you whispered his name with so much love and tenderness, it worried him. “It’s over.”

“No, not for us,” John trembled.

“Not for us,” you repeated his words before correcting them. “Not for you.”

John was confused by your statement. “What do you mean?”

You smiled sadly. You love John too much, and you were willing to do anything for him.

Even if it meant losing your life.

“You and I both know how much I hate this life. How much I hate the monster they made me turn out to be. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running away because I helped you escape. I’ll buy you time while you get on that ship.”

“(Y/N), I’m not letting you do this,” his hand came to grasp you by your wrist, hoping that you would rethink this deadly idea of yours. “It won’t end well.”

“When does it ever?” You retorted as another bullet flew past. “Death is inevitable. You and I both know that. I want to die knowing that I protected you. Even after everything, you’re still the most important person to me.”

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “We can figure a way to get out of this alive.”

“There’s not much time,” you told him. “You have to live on. Live on for Helen, your love.”

You didn’t want to waste another second, and as John seemed to accept your fateful decision, you had run behind another shipping container, all the while shooting at least four men dead.

The distraction worked, and it gave John the chance to climb up a nearby ladder and escape.

At least six others were waiting for you to make a move. As you reload your weapon, you heard a heavy set of footsteps making its way around the container. You pulled out your knife from your boot, but before you could attack, a shot was fired.

The man sneaking up on you from behind was instantly killed, his body dropping onto the ground with a thud. You then looked up from where the bullet came from and saw John covering you from above.

“Get up here, (Y/N),” he shouted as he fired at another person. “I’m not leaving you behind. Not again.”

John did the best he could, killing those who he had a clear shot of while you sprinted towards another ladder.

As you climbed up, you were hit from behind, but the bulletproof vest you had underneath your clothes saved you. It hurt like hell, and you held onto the ladder with a tight grip before John appeared to pull you the rest of the way up.

Staying low, you and John swiftly navigated through the port and found the boat set to leave for Morocco in less than a minute.

“Jardani,” a man with a thick accented greeted as you approached the ramp leading to the ship’s entrance. “I didn’t know you would bring company.”

“She’s coming with me,” John informed him as you waited for the shooters to show up.

The man shook his head and chuckled lowly. “No can do, Mr. Wick. The Director has arranged a safe passage to Casablanca for you only. Either you board alone, or I go. If you decide to shoot me, let’s just say there will be consequences when you arrive in Morocco.”

The captain eyed you sternly before returning to the vessel. The ship’s blow horn sounded, yet John’s footing remained still.

You turned to him, hearing shouting and running nearby. “They’re coming, John. I can hold them up for a bit, but you have to go. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” he said, and you noticed him clutching tightly onto your hand. “I can’t lose you, too.”

You shut your eyes for a moment and leaned up to him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. John tilted his head down and kissed the top of your head, breathing in your scent for what could be the last time.

“I love you, John. Everything’s going to be okay.”

And with that, you darted down the wooden docks and ran into the hitmen. From the corner of your eye, you saw the ship beginning to move forward, and you breathed out a sigh in relief.

“I knew you would help him out. You two were oddly close,” One of them sneered, pointing a gun at you. You recognized him— he was a regular at the Continental. “I’ll make you an offer. Didn’t you hear the bounty was increased? $15 million! I’ll split the money if you help me.”

You pulled your gun out and aimed it at his head. You weren’t intimidated by the other armed assassins around you, ready to kill.

“So, tell me, sweetheart. Where is John Wick headed to?”

“He’ll be back,” you replied with a smirk. “And Baba Yaga will come after you when he does.”

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t give him up that easily,” the hitman snickered, wholly unimpressed by your answer. “It’s unfortunate that John won’t be around to see this.”

The trigger was pulled, and the gun fired. The bullet pierced your body, and for a split second, you felt a searing pain in your abdomen. You fell to the ground in an instant, surrounded by a pool of your blood as the world became darker and colder.

Your eyes eventually fluttered shut, and the last thing you thought of was John.

In an instant, the warm memories flooded you. All the pain disappeared and was replaced with something much more beautiful.

You didn’t get a happy ending, but you found the next closest thing there is.

Peace.

-x-

A single gunshot echoed from the harbor, and John knew very well what it meant. Defeatedly, he slid down to the floor, his back resting against the wall of the ship as the New York skyline slowly grew farther and farther away.

He knew how much you would risk to help him from the moment he knocked on your door. Regretfully, John shouldn’t have dragged you into this. You didn’t deserve to die.

Not for him.

You paid the ultimate price because you loved him, even after all those years. You had thought you hated him for abandoning you, for not reciprocating the feelings you had for him, and for living the life you wanted to share with him.

But despite the hatred you wanted to have towards him, you continued to love John.

And you couldn’t bear to see him die.

John held the revolver you had given him before you left that morning. It was a colt python, and he recognized it as the very same one he gifted to you on the first birthday you spent with him.

I guess I kept it for sentimental reasons, like most things in this house...

You had only fired the gun once, and it was during a situation where it saved his life. He could never forget the moment he realized that he could depend on you with his life, which was a rarity in this world.

There was something etched onto the grip that caught his attention. He recognized the Latin inscription as one of your favorite sayings.

Amor Vincit Omnia

“Love conquers all,” John translated, and it was true.

You believed in it, so it had to be true.

His mind then drifted off to the previous night. You were right— you two were hurt and craved to feel anything other than pain.

And it was only after did he realized the suffering you had gone through. The light in your eyes had sizzled out, and you had become the shell of the person he once knew. You had spent all these years hoping that somehow he would love you back.

And he did. He meant what he said that night.

John loved you. You were the only part of his past that he couldn’t let go. But he also loved Helen.

He wished circumstances were different, but they just couldn’t be.

Because if there’s one thing John believed in, it would be that people can’t change the past.

No matter how hard anyone tried.

The least John could do now was to make sure that your death was not in vain. You told him to keep fighting to live on the memory of his love, and he made a vow to honor your final request.

He would live on for Helen.

But most importantly, for you.

#john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick x you #john wick oneshot #john wick #reader insert #my fics

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honestlyfrance · 5 years ago

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The Missing Letters Between Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and Detective Samuel Wilson

square filled: Detectives AU

warning: innuendo; swearing; the usual gay debunking from historians (subtle); murder cases; car accident

summary:

In the late ending 19th century, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes resigned from his duties as a military officer to follow Detective Samuel Wilson to the ends of the world, even going as far as accompanying the strange and wistful man in his cases. The letters collected by many biographers and museums are only the few correspondents between the two rumored lovers, running between the scrutinized years of 1889 towards the start of 1900, the timeline: The Sergeant running away from a German Spy group after the Detective uncovered a massive Russian Spy Ring decades earlier, calling fair game. Historians still can’t tell the full story that changed Europe, and neither do the letters.

a/n: I have obviously given up on writing, resorting to edits, but I still don’t know if this counts as an edit or a fic lmao anyway they both fit the requirements. Join me in the frustration of this AU and tell me what you think! Brackets mean commentary! Careful - this is pretty long!

@sambuckyevents

[ The few letters curated are in code. Historians speculate it’s to hide the two men’s letters, making it difficult for anyone to read them, but what raises questions were the simple code used in each one: Caesar Cipher, a cipher where each letter of the alphabet is substituted for a letter three positions further. Historians then speculate why had the two men used such a simple and easy code to cipher their letters, and to this day, they cannot offer a concrete answer. The only letter that differed in code was from James Barnes, wherein you have to use a special kind of glasses that merges the two different inks used, red and blue, to form a coherent word. The glasses used to read this letter was owned by Samuel Wilson, but his biographers still speculate on the other colors the glasses are capable to read. ]

17, 8196

[ date still being speculated ]

Dearest,

The only thing keeping me together was you: me wanting you so badly. I couldn’t wait to sleep in our bed, hearing you snore so softly, or watch you pace in the room, a pencil in your mouth, your murmuring dulling me to sleep. I will be awake so

Beloved, Barns

[ Pages missing ] [ Believed to be unfinished on purpose, but is merely speculation ]

[ To hide coherency between their letters, Samuel Wilson initiated using different papers, ashing pages, and using different inks. In his other letters, Samuel Wilson used several penmanship that barely look the same from the others; this is obvious in his letters to Sarah Wilson, his sister, and James Rhodes, his close friend. James Barnes, however, only wrote in the same handwriting, but he was ambidextrous, and his right and left handwriting were strikingly different, to which he used to his advantage. ]

[ The next letter is said to be Barnes’s last letter sent to Wilson before he finally settled down in his hometown. There were no records that show that Barnes really did settle down somewhere in Brooklyn, or in New York, for that matter, but what is sure is that he had met up with his sister, Rebecca Barnes, in Brooklyn during this time. The rumored letter written by Wilson to which Barnes is replying to was burnt along with the other donations to the Smithsonian Museum in the car accident of Wilson’s last descendants - luckily, no one got hurt.

This letter of Barnes’s was one of the few that were descriptive enough to set the scene, as seen with the reminiscing of the London Streets of where Barnes and Wilson lived in. Another detail in this letter was the infamous Scarlett Body Case, the gruesome murder of Elizabeth Scarlett, an African-American opera singer, to which Wilson was assigned to. The only ever existing information about this case is in Federal Custody among the F.B.I. who work hard on closing the case the famous detective failed to solve. The Scarlett Body Case is the last case Wilson was known to have before he disappeared. ]

Brooklyn, Dec 16, 1900

To Sam Wilson, down in Washington, D.C.

I have received your last letter with a warm heart, and all I could think about was how tragic your past years must've been. I wish I could've been right by your side, cheering you on as you trek every path that led you somewhere or to a dead end. Just as I read your hefty letter, I could feel myself submerge into the scene. I could feel the London streets and smell the thick air of smoke, feel the chilling winds of November frost as well as your lips tasting of nicotine. I breathe in the pages and could smell the strong scent of your cologne and faint blood. Have you been writing after every lead or case? I love that about you, but that doesn't mean you have to keep that awful habit. Please, at least wash your hands.

I see that you need some help on the Scarlett Body Case, yet, again, that road is past me. I don't feel the adrenaline of solving murders, jewelry thieving, or sudden disappearances, and I'm so sorry I can't give you what you want. As I sit here in my drawing room, a thought dwells upon the air, thick with dread: "Is this the only thing Sam wants from me?" and I always think, maybe it's right. Was that not the reason we left Versailles? Because we couldn't handle the loss? We've been battered and bruised, Sam, and I don't think I could take that grief to my deathbed anymore.

Time isn't kind for us, nor will it ever allow us to breathe freely. This haunts me to no end; I thought I could avoid it until your letter came to me. All the way from America, how are you doing there? You've already said so many times how your new profession is treating you, but have you felt that urgency? have you felt that adrenaline? have you tasted strawberries on another's lips yet? have you found something to exhaust your talents on? You're easy. You probably already have while you waited for this letter to come back to you.

And yes. I still do think about that night. The whipping London air we love haunts me every night in April and all I could think about is the way your hands wrap themselves around mine. I couldn’t dread you for long, and I haven’t felt so much longing until you. I know I said I don’t write much in letters, afraid that future historians might find out that I love you, adore you, cherish you, but I really don’t care anymore. I hope each day that in some other time out there, our letters will be displayed for the masses, so they, too, can know what true love is.

Yes, she is fine.

Yours, forever and always,

Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes

[ The one paged letter is said to be incomplete and may have more pages describing Barnes’s past life in England, but that is merely speculation. This letter is also under investigation by the F.B.I. to help understand better Howard Stark’s murder on December 16, 1900 to which the letter is dated; the investigators hoped that the letter would reveal any information on the aftermath of the case but the abrupt ending of the letter didn’t answer anything. ]

[ The famous line “Let your lover go, you said; I didn’t want to go” came from this letter of Barnes’s. This, in addition to the rest of the letters, were speculated to be love letters, but historians claim that there weren’t enough evidence to prove that this affair happened.

It’s in this letter where Barnes had helped Wilson with his cases after the aftermath of their separation, and it’s this letter where historians concluded that they still exchange letters. The case with the Sir Willobough character does not exist and still stump historians and biographers to this day. ]

Brooklyn, Jan 24, 1901

Dearest Sam Wilson

Have you tried asking Sir Willobough for the napkin? You’ve recalled that he wasn’t in both places, but his alibi may be strong, but so was he: the two streets are near his store, is it not? This is the only letter you may find help from me, for I still take my stand, I do not want to help. That life is past me. My friend, have you not realized? 1892 scarred me. It has scarred you. I don’t want to take part in any endeavors that may harm you. I love you too much to see you hurt like this.

The post office was quite clumsy this whole month, because I had only received your last two letters dated Dec 12, 1889 and Dec 30, 1889 just yesterday, and I don’t know what came over me, but I had sat myself down in the drawing room and had written all of this mess. Yes, I’ve written the first page last to apologize for the mess you shall see. I didn’t want to display myself so bare like that but it had to be done: I miss you badly, I must admit. I cannot dwell on the fact that I had to leave you. We had a steady life and income, the stars cannot touch us with our fame and wealth, but, as all legends do, we died, and hence, we are forgotten. I’ve been left wishing for you to live forever but I know technology isn’t as advanced as that. I just wish you to know, may it be my final breath: I always wonder if you had loved me too, because I really couldn’t know. If you did, we would’ve stayed, but, yet again my mind surprises me, love isn’t supposed to be entrapment, it’s supposed to be free. Let you[r] lover go, you said; I didn’t want to go, Sammy.

[ Page 2, 3, 4 missing ]

[ The fifth page is the only accompanying page of the complete letter that survived. It is where Barnes had described the night in which they had both met. The public, in addition to the historians, still debate over what the two men truly did in the library. ]

All I could think of was the day we met: I was in my uniform, had just told my superior officers to bugger off, had finally resigned from my post, and suddenly you appeared. I still remember the host of the party. His name was Howard Stark, an old and dying man, who gave out parties so extravagant, may there be stories about it. Every room was illuminated with golden lights that the stars were jealous of, and there was food from all over the world, something so delicious I had filled myself to the brim. Everyone who was everyone was there. My General’s aides-de-camps were there and I had told them to “fuck off” as I had put it gently, then right at the top of the grand staircase was an angel, yelling at the top of his lungs, ‘General Valhan, you are under arrest for arson and homicide!’ Everyone’s head turned to you and laughed, but the guards weren’t laughing, handcuffed my General and I laughed the loudest. It must’ve come as insulting and even after a decade I still apologize for it. I’m sorry. You should’ve seen his face! I have never seen such terror on a man’s face, and I’ve been to war.

I had caught you right at the moment, chased you up the stairs, and you saw me, ran away, and we played cat and mouse until we cornered each other in the library, locked the door, and had the best night of our lives. If anyone knew what we did there, we could’ve been killed for it, but, Bah! I love it. I love you. I still remember the coat you wore and how you threw it on the floor, how we wrestled each other on the floor before kissing so gently the angels cowered at the softness. I have never seen anyone so beautiful wearing only glasses, but then again, I hadn’t met you. And all was swell, all was sweet, we shared a cigar and I asked for your name. I still remember the fake names you threw at me: Jack Smith, Richard Wilkes, Patrick Stevens. Only when you gave me your business card was when you told me.

Another memorable moment was when I had chased your train and joined you to Versailles. Everyone was stunned. Everyone hated us. I loved that so much. I would ride that train again and again if you wanted to.

[ Another notable detail in the matter were the fake names Wilson gave Barnes, because those names were the names of his lesser known solved murder cases in which all victims died by strangulation and/or air-deprivation. There are a lot more Easter Eggs of Wilson’s many cases in the single page but the most talked about is the train express to Versailles, because it is here that Barnes and Wilson were being followed, ensuing the infamous manhunt for the two men by the unnamed Russian Spy Ring. ]

[ missing pages ]

#sbbingo1 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #marvel #winterfalcon #france: works #france: the missing letters #france: writing

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vikingsarememes · 5 years ago

Text

pairing: Ivar x Y/N

summary: you are a servant of Prince Oleg and he assigned you to serve Ivar the boneless, the monster everyone feared, ended up being a dear friend of yours, perhaps even more.

warnings: none

word count: 2049

A/N: my Information is google based so please don’t feel offended if I get anything wrong.

Ivar the boneless, the man who was feared by everyone, the man you were assigned to serve by Prince Oleg, for the simple reason of you, knowing his language, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, a tray of food and mead in your hand, trying to calm yourself down, you heard tales of his brutality, of how he killed people for the smallest reasons, how he thinks he’s a god, all of this, didn’t make your terror go away.

You finally knocked on the door and entered, a man was sitting on his bed, looking through the small window, you approached him slowly, trying not to startle anything, you placed the tray on the table in front of his bed “great, captive of a room” he murmured in his language, he turned and moved himself to where he could reach the tray, you looked at him surprised, the ruthless son of Ragnar, the monster who everyone was talking about, was nothing but a man, it’s insane how such a beautiful face could maltreat so many people, frighten thousands that the tales of him traveled this far.

“What are you looking at, slave? Too amusing? Oleg’s little clown, treasure, I’ve seen your kind before, but I must say, you are prettier than most other slaves, if it was Kattegat, you would be handled by my brothers” he chuckled a little and picked up the mead, taking a sip, “sometimes I forget, you people don’t speak Norse, lucky for me” he groaned and started eating.

You bit your lips nervously “n-no slave, I’m a servant” you told him in his language and he looked at you stunned, amused “you know my language? How?” he asked curiously “mother taught me, just like her mother taught her, we used to worship old gods, honoring our ancestors,” you told, he grinned at you “it would be pleasant to have someone to converse with, no?” you swallowed thickly and nodded “my language, I’m not good at Norse,” you said, it was a lie, you simply didn’t want to face his wrath if he thinks you’re a threat to him, after hearing him talk about prince Oleg.

“Come, grab a seat” he motioned for you and you obeyed, unsure of what’s scarier, sitting with a psychopathic butcher, leader of a heathen army or facing prince Oleg after his guest explains to him that you refused to follow, you looked down the whole time, too terrified, “what’s your name?” he questioned while eating “it’s… it’s… Y/N” you said, trying your best to hide how you were trembling of fear “Y/N?” he laughed “that’s a stupid name” he clarified, you, for a second forgot who he was, you looked at him furiously “it’s after my grandmother, the woman who looked after me! You don’t get to mock my name!” you snapped, regretting it instantly.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to wrap his hands around your neck and choke you to death, but that never happened, when you finally gave up and opened them, he was grinning at you “that’s better! I rather see this side than the pathetic scared little girl act!” you pouted, confused “don’t be afraid of me, Y/N, after all, I’m just a cripple” he smirked.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

Thinking back to how you used to dread Ivar only made you giggle, the man everyone feared, was now a friend of yours, someone you trusted enough, you’d creep out of duties whenever you can just to spend time with him, visiting him brought joy to your day, no matter how difficult it has been.

Today, you finished your tasks earlier than usual and picked his tray, you headed to his room, storming in after knocking once.

You couldn’t wait to tell him about the owl you saw today, your eyes headed to the window which he usually stared through, only frowning when you saw he wasn’t looking through it like always, this time, he was laying on bed, you placed the tray on the table and sat at the foot of the bed, shaking him gently “Ivar, are you alright?” you asked with concern, he pulled the fur rug on top of himself “leave, I don’t wish to be a good hostage today” he groaned.

You didn’t understand why he wasn’t as happy to see you as always, you moved closer to him “are you hurt or sick?” you asked again, he growled, “leave servant!” he yelled at you, he’s never called you anything but your name before, you got up and walked towards the door, that’s when you heard the sound of a faint sniffing, yes, you were outraged at him but no, that didn’t make your worry go away.

You took a deep breath and headed back to the bed, kneeling to where his head is, you pulled the covers off top of him.

His eyes were red, possibly from crying, even though it seemed impossible “Ivar the boneless, I’m not leaving you to pity yourself, you deserve company, just like I deserve a rest from my very long day! So you can either tell me what’s wrong or listen to my story” you said then sat down on the bed, placing Ivar’s head on your lap as you stroked his hair, he’d always ask you to do this when he feels down.

“I saw a black owl today, it’s very rare, my grandmother told me tells of it, that if a person sees it then they’ll face a good fate, it’s blessed by the old gods and the new one, they say a black owl was present when the old gods gave their crown to the new one, it’s an unpopular myth, but the story is beautiful, you want to hear it?” you asked, Ivar didn’t answer as well, so you kept doing what you are doing, eventually he’ll open up, there were only three people to talk to in this palace, and only you he could open up to.

“After the world started using new ways, and discover helpful instruments, the old gods decided they don’t need war and blood to live, the humans needed something more amicable, so that’s when the god appeared, he told them about his plans for the world, they discussed it, some places still needed them, they thrived on blood, others didn’t, so they agreed, whenever a city abandon the savage ways and lay down their weapons unless it was for defense, the god will rule it, they agreed a rare animal will attend the crowning, a dragon, a black owl, a red wolf, a golden tiger, and a parrot!”

“Your grandmother filled your head with mad tales” he finally said, you smiled a little “hey! We agreed you won’t say anything bad about my grandmother!” you shoved him in the arm lightly “it’s Hogmanay, back in Kattegat, this is the first year I’m away, not with my people, not with my brothers feasting, and I’m here, unable to even leave my room without a permission” he sighed and looked at you, a look that almost broke your heart “how do you usually celebrate it?”

“We’d gather in the main hall, which is clean and we exchange favors, we’d drink until we pass out and celebrate, my brother Sigurd, would play the Aud and everyone would gather around him to sing and dance, Hvitserk would hunt as many girls and convince them to sleep with him, Ubbe as well, Bjorn would celebrate with his wife and kids, and mother would always give me a new book, our books were beautiful, with pictures, and colors” he explained, you smiled a little “how about you eat your food then we can sneak out?” you suggested “Oleg would be seriously angry at you” he warned, you shrugged “we’ll say you threatened me”.

He smirked a little, you clearly weren’t as innocent or scared as you used to be once, and this new side of yours fascinated him in every possible way.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

When he finished his meal, you grabbed his crutches and handed them to him, after helping him into his fur coat “what about you?” he asked, you shrugged “mine is far, we can’t go grab it, don’t worry, I’m used to the cold” he looked through his case until he found an old cloak and gave it to you, part of you felt like he’d feel so guilty if you got sick, part of you liked him feeling concerned about you.

The two of you sneaked out of the palace, it was hard, but nothing impossible, nothing the two of you didn’t do for thousands of times, you took him to a nearby book shop and greeted the shop keeper who was frightened at Ivar’s sight “this is Prince Oleg’s guest! The brutal man! Why would you bring him here Y/N?” the man hollered, “don’t worry Kristoph, he won’t harm you, I promise” you replied in your common tongue “you don’t control the beast Y/N! You are smart, but you are no match for this heathen! If prince Oleg-” he kept going until Ivar chimed in “old man, calling people names isn’t a very nice thing, I won’t tell Prince Oleg if you… apologize” he grinned ever so innocently.

“I’m sorry sir, please have mercy on old man, I’m sorry,” he said, obviously panicking, the heathen prince spoke your tongue, and people didn’t know that yet, Ivar nodded and started wandering in the store, looking at everything with curiosity, picking up random things and examining them.

“You can pick an item if you want,” you spoke, looking at your money bag, there wasn’t much in it, but there was enough, or so you hoped “I don’t have gold on me right now” he frowned, you smiled “I do, it could be your present” you beamed, he shook his head “I didn’t get you anything” you shrugged “I’ll take the cloak then, it’s alright Ivar, pick what you want” the two of you spoke in Norse, making the man look at you worried, he took a look around the shop and decided on a book with pictures, it was written in Russian but you guessed the pictures were what mattered to him.

You paid for the book then went to another and brought candles to light up for night reading, then you returned to the palace, you can’t stay out any longer or you might be missed, when you entered his room, you immediately closed the door, Ivar light up a candle and looked through the pages as he sat on his bed, you sat next to him “what’s this letter?” he asked, “it’s read sh” you answered, “what are they saying here?” he said pointing at the writing in the pages “they’re talking about king Ecbirt and Ragnar Lothbrok” you replied, he smiled a little “father made it, he’s famous now, the fame he’s always wanted”

The two of you sat like this, reading through the pages, you taught Ivar a few letters and words, he enjoyed it, his bad mood was definitely better now “is it okay if you spend the night with me? I don’t wish to spend the first night of Hogmanay alone” he mumbled softly, you hesitated but eventually nodded “you ordered me to stay, I can only please Prince Oleg’s friend” you said, mainly so he’d know the story you’ll be telling anyone who asks you.

He smiled and placed his head on your shoulder, flipping through the pages, until both of you were so tired, you took the book and hid it in his box as well as the cloaks, and laid down next to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist “don’t worry, nothing will happen” he whispered as he hid his face in your neck “I wasn’t worried”, “if I ever return to Kattegat, I want you to come with me” you nodded “alright my prince, but for now, rest” you whispered back.

Already imagining Ivar, taking you with him on adventures, perhaps not as his queen but as his companion, away from prince Oleg, to a place where you don’t need to be on your toes all the time “Y/N?” he mumbled, “yes Ivar?” you replied, “thank you”

tags: @youbloodymadgenius

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years ago

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viper | s.r.

summary: you would laugh at the irony — bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, they kiss n stuff so ig its cute sometimes, civil war discourse, guns, unstable reader, also TREAT YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS RIGHT or ill come beat you with a BAT lmk if i missed anything pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 12.5k

a/n: written for hann over @sunmoonandbucky!! and i’m so sorry this is late! this is a stand-alone kinda prequel that occurs in the same universe as come undone so sorry yall steve is still an asshole and this ain’t up to snuff but i was having trouble keeping it a reasonable length (like maybe less than 15k???) my prompt was “i bet they have a sex dungeon” but i reworded it just a tiny bit. gif not mine

It begins with “Maybe I can get Thor to come down,” and “Only if you call your blondie first.” (You add you could pretend to put a gun on Jane and he’d instantly come down in a blaze of white and rainbow light — Jane retorts with the fact that Steve Rogers bought a bouquet of roses on your first date a week after you began being her shadow and writes you hand-written letters every second week. The instant you call, he’ll come running)

It begins with a friendly competition between Thor and Steve, who are not even present, but love the women there just as much (Thor would say he loves Jane more than Steve loves you because everything’s a competition on Asgard — Steve would say he loves you in some poem he wrote on the flight over with pink cheeks and a shy smile)

It begins with jokes and smiles, “I bet there’s a sex dungeon,” and laughter. (Jane comments that the abandoned warehouse is full of cobwebs and the readings are off the charts — you tell Darcy under your breath that that’s something you hear everyday and it’ll take more than that to interest you)

It ends just the opposite.

It ends with Jane Foster pulling your smoking body from the ashes of an abandoned warehouse. (Her hands nearly burn as they grab at bits of melting leather — your veins glow beneath your paling skin in bright, unearthly red)

It ends with a call to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve Rogers being pulled out of Washington, D.C. (Darcy makes the call because Jane doesn’t want them involved — they’ll end up doing what’s best for them rather than the best for you)

You end.

And something else begins.

It’s 2010.

You’re assigned to shadow Tony Stark alongside the Black Widow. You’re fresh-faced and chirpy, someone who whistles when they make coffee in the morning, the type of girl who’ll dance like no one’s watching and belt out the lyrics to her favourite song. Someone who believes that the insurmountable can be an anthill if you only look at it with a new point of view.

You wear combat boots and three thigh holsters and knives to work, but you love wearing makeup and sundresses and taking walks on the beach at sunset.

Essentially, if the Black Widow is the night, you are the day.

Essentially, if you ask Natalia Romanova her opinion of you, then you’d get that you’re annoying as fuck, but if she catches anyone looking at you the wrong way, there’s no doubt they won’t live to see another day. That is, if she gets to them before you do.

Because before the sunshine girl Natalia affectionately calls a pain in her ass, you are the Viper.

And vipers never strike twice.

It’s 2002.

Budapest is cold at this time of the year, but you’re only here because you owe Yelena a favour and if you don’t pay it back, she is going to kill you.

Whether that is a figure of speech or not, TBD.

Anyway, you figure you’re going to die anyway when your tires are shot out as you speed across the Liberty Bridge. It’s your last night in Budapest after killing whoever you’re meant to kill, and although it’s spring, it’s still fucking cold.

So, there you are, appropriately panicking internally because you do not want to plunge into ice cold water. You’re already shifting gears as you try to gain control of your car and you hear cars beep at you, but it’s two in the morning and you’re exhausted and you think maybe you can pull it off. Then another tire blows.

You fail miserably.

Swerving off the road, you let out a short yell before you’re sinking into the Danube, and the night air weaves underneath your tac suit before the freezing cold of December currents slams into you. You cut yourself free with the knife strapped beneath your dashboard as another wave of river water laps at your waist. Sucking in a huge breath, you fight back the freezing cold and reach up to your sunglasses department.

“Yelena, I’m going to kill you,” you mutter between your shivering as you grab the automatic center punch and press it against the glass. The glass shatters near instantly and you take a deep breath, climbing out through the window as your car sinks deeper into the river. The water nips at your cheeks and you fight off the urge to gasp at how bracing it is. Pushing yourself to the surface, you suck in a gaping breath and glance for the closest shore before swimming as hard as you can. An odd sensation of something burning you from the inside out fills your arms and legs as you paddle to shore, and you drag yourself onto dry land, wet dripping, squeezing out with every press of your body against the ground.

“Fuck.” Wiping off the water from your cheek, you roll onto your back and suck in a cold breath that is somehow warmer than you are. Closing your eyes, you let the breath shudder in your lungs as you try to pull yourself together. A list of names runs through your head as you push yourself up on aching limbs. You cross off a name one by one of those who’d want to kill you and instead rub your arms, trying to get some warmth back into you. You’re quite sure a mighty bruise is gonna bloom along your arms and ribs in a few days as an arrow lands at your feet.

“Stop.”

A voice, American, male, makes you turn around and you know immediately it is the one who shot out your tires.

“What do you want?” You look up to see him, a blur of dark violet and black as he propels himself down and lands a distance away. His bow folds back into a compact black rod that fits on his back, and he lets go of the rope as another figure appears at the top of the bridge. A flame of red hair and a black suit that looks a lot like yours drops to the ground and you gasp, lips barely parting and this time, it’s not from the cold.

“My name is Clint Barton, I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D.” The man smiles. Your eyes drag warily back to him, a hand on the pistol strapped to your back, along the line of your waist. The woman with red hair steps off the rope, shaking her head when the water laps at her feet. Pebbles crack beneath her feet and your breath rattles as your eyes dart back to her. “You’re who they call the Viper, right?”

“Yes,” you murmur, hand still on the gun.

“Well, me and my partner here were tasked to kill you, but we’re thinking of making a different call.”

“We’ve been tracking you for a while now.” Her voice. The smirk you can barely see and the way she tosses the hair out of her face. Even the way she walks is the same

“Natalia?” Your voice bursts from your throat and you feel breathless at the sound of her name. The woman with red hair looks up jerkingly and your eyes widen as you soak in her face. She hasn’t aged a day, and you almost want to cry. “Tali, it’s me.” Her body goes limp, her arms swinging by her sides as you let go of the gun at your waist. Taking a tentative step forward, you press your lips together in a desperate attempt to smile. “Nat? Natalia?”

“No…”

“It’s me.” Your eyes burn now and you take another few steps, your knees weak and shaking. “I thought you were dead. They… they told me you were dead.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.”

“Fucking funny, Talia,” you spit, unable to help the tears clogging your throat as Natalia Romanova takes a step towards you. “It’s… it’s fucking… it’s really fucking funny.” You let out a sharp, chilling breath just as she opens her arms, and you glare at her, half-hoping she melts into a puddle at your feet.

“Come here,” she whispers and then you are flinging yourself into the Black Widow’s arms. Melting in her warm, dry embrace, you bury your face in her neck. You wrap your arms as tight as you can around her and squeeze, eyes closing shut. “Oh, god, Vipe,” she breathes out, and then she murmurs a Russian prayer of thanks you haven’t heard since you were five. Joining her, you can feel the smile beginning to pull at your lips at the familiarity of a sister’s hug.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Clint says, “but it’s a moment, so I guess I’ll let it slide.”

It’s 2012.

And there is a god on the loose.

“Can I just say that I hate this? For the record, that is,” you chime in helpfully, and Tony rolls his eyes at you through the screen as he fixes his mask and you sigh, stuffing another one of Peter’s pair of pajama bottoms into a duffel bag you’ve brought with you. “I don’t think we need to move Peter out of New York when Loki’s going for Stark Tower.”

“Just make sure Parker’s good. I don’t like the thought of us losing as much as the next person, but if we do lose, you know it’d be good if I didn’t get another Parker killed.” Tony’s voice echoes and you press your lips together in half a smile, wry and tired.

“What happened at StarkExpo two years ago wasn’t your fault,” you say, but he merely shakes his head as you rifle through the closet for day clothes. The moment Peter is back from school, you’re taking both Peter and May to Tony’s place in Malibu for the weekend. “Ben Parker did what he thought was best.”

“Hammer drones killed him and they were going for anyone with the mask, Vipe.” Tony sounds exhausted, and you pause, glancing over your shoulder at your phone propped up on a stack of Peter’s textbooks. Sighing, you momentarily abandon your task of packing Peter’s bags and instead head to grab your phone. “If it weren’t for you, Peter would be dead, or worse—”

“You’re the one who saved him, Tony,” you murmur, sitting on the bed. You know he’s spiralling despite how put together he is externally, and you wish you could be there. You wish you could just reach over and hug him. But you can’t. Not yet. “I just made sure he stayed safe.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“I know.” You pull a strand of hair away from your face. “Tony, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Cannot be guaranteed, Little Miss.” Rolling your eyes at the nickname as playfully as you can, your small smile tugs at your cheeks. Tony barely has the goggles on his face, holding them by one hand as the blowtorch sparks in every direction and you lean on your knees, just watching him at work. It’s always been something so intriguing to you, watching Tony make a suit, but now, it just makes you tired and sad.

“Then, at least put on your goggles,” you whisper, and it is at this volume that Tony finally looks at you. He blinks, squints at you with those dark, wet eyes and absorbs your sagging frown, the bags pulling underneath your eyes. “Tony.”

“Yeah. I will.” He sets down the blowtorch to pull the strap over his head before glancing up. “I’ve gotta go, Little Miss. I’ll see you on the return trip.”

“Bye, Tony.” You smile and he manages one of his own forced grins before you end the call and let your hands drop, leaning heavily on your knees as your head hangs low. The weight of the situation has always been on your shoulders, but for the first time, you feel like you have something to lose now. And it isn’t just Tony.

Coulson wasn’t the only one who ‘watched Captain America as he slept.’

You know everything there is to know about him, but you wish you knew Steve Rogers half as well you knew his alter ego.

So, when Steve Rogers asks you out on a date the old-fashioned way in the middle of the airport, you want to say yes. There are a ton of reporters around, snapping pictures of Captain America in his domestic life, and you’re tanned from your weekend in Malibu. Peter is clinging onto the luggage cart even though you’ve told him not to. May’s gone to the bathroom, and your eleven year old companion interrupts Steve’s no-doubt-memorized speech on how much he likes you with coughs he refuses to acknowledge collectively as a symptom of a cold.

“You always come with the extra set of arms and legs?” Steve asks when you don’t respond right away. He jokes to ease the tension, and you grin, just glad to see him in one piece. Unexpectedly, Steve smiles back and you feel your heart beat faster. You think you might just be a little in love with that smile as May comes back.

“Uhm, no. Sorry to disappoint you but I don’t think Peter wants to go on a date with us,” you quip and he chuckles. “I’m being reassigned in London, so maybe I could put a rain check?”

“Of course. I’m going to Washington, too, uh, since Fury said he has some work for me there.”

“Perfect.” You smile and he brushes hair away from your face, a bit shyly. A delighted pink flush swells in his cheeks as he turns, walking to the cart. He begins to push and you blink as he sets off in the direction of the exit. A protest builds up in your throat — you can push your own luggage — but Steve is already off with Peter clinging onto his back, and you’re left with May.

“He’s good with kids,” she hums and you agree. “You two would have cute kids.”

“I just said yes to a date,” you admonish, much to her amusement. “May!”

“I’m just saying!” She throws her hands up in the air, walking after Steve and Peter who are being chased by reporters, and you let out a frustrated groan. You’re sure your boys are already playing a game of Tag with the paps chasing after them.

Wait.

Your boys.

Oh, you’re fucked.

You fall head over heels in love without a second look back.

It’s 2013.

After New York, Steve was reassigned to Washington as the newest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and you to Jane Foster on Phil Coulson’s secret, special command. He owes Thor a favour.

So, you shadow Jane Foster as her bodyguard of sorts and you don’t say from who but you have enough charisma to lay down some heavy hints.

After all, Phil’s supposed to be dead. But he isn’t.

And the moment you touch the black cube, some part of you knows you’re supposed to be dead, too.

But you aren’t.

When you wake up — and you’re surprised you wake up — you can taste the blood pooling in your head that feels like it’s splitting open and the drying tears on your cheeks. The sky is too bright and it’s pitch white, red and blue spiralling at the edges of your vision as a high-pitched siren rings between your ears. A violent push forces you into a sitting position and a scream tears itself through your throat as you cough, hot smoke spilling out of your mouth.

It curls in your lap, black as sin and silky between your thighs as a hand lands on your back, warm, heavy and familiar.

“Doll? Hey—” You jerk away, the mind-splitting agony causing another round of tears to burn at your eyes. The hand wraps around you and a hot rush surges down your fingers as something snaps. “Hey, it’s just me.” Your hands plant themselves against the pavement, the roughness grating against your skin as lips brush against your ear.

“S-Steve?”

“That’s right, baby girl. Just me.” You blink, face twisting as the pain begins to melt away. It flows down your spine, nests at the base of your skull as the hand runs up and down your back. “Hey, you got yourself into some trouble, huh?” You raise a trembling hand to your face as you pry your eyes open and you let out a choked sob at the blood running down your wrists.

“Steve, I’m… what happened?” Your words slur and echoes in your skull as you screw your eyes shut again. “Everything… hurts.”

“I know, doll, I know. Just hold on for a moment, okay? You’ve been out for thirty hours. S.H.I.E.L.D. set up a perimeter, but it’s…” He lets out a breath in a whistle and your eyes flutter open.

“Where’s… Jane? Is she okay?” As your eyes begin to adjust, you try not to let your tears overflow. You run a hand over your face. Blood smears over your cheeks and Steve hushes you quietly, taking gentle hold of your hands. “What?”

“You’re bleeding. Just… let me take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you.” His words whisper over your skin and you turn towards him, raising your chin just enough to catch a glimpse of his sapphire eyes. The moment his gaze meets yours, it’s like a shock runs through your system. You’re all at once aware of how cold you are and you shake your head slowly, turning to examine your surroundings.

A white tent has been set up around you, and it’s where you lay now, on wet pavement beneath the ceiling you know now is not a white sky. The police sirens swirl along the walls, flash through the tarp flaps, and you feel something tug at your arm.

“Don’t pull on your IV,” Steve murmurs, and you blink, dazed. Looking down at your elbow, you spot the IV that runs up to the stand and frown at how many marks there are there along your skin, as if some amateur did it. “They asked me to keep you hydrated, but I did a pretty bad job.”

“Where is everyone?” you ask, turning to look at Steve again. He looks exhausted, plum half moons staining beneath his eyes, his blond hair barely shining in the darkness of the tent. The whole tent is drowned in shadows and you feel him rub at your hands with a rag. Glancing down, you watch him tug at your fingers, slowly coaxing the red off your hands.

“No one could touch you. Every time someone tried, it was like something lashed out. Whatever you touched inhabits you. Like that movie you made me watch when I came over to visit last Christmas.”

A chuckle builds up in your throat and you let it spill, a smile tugging into your cheeks as you sniff.

“Alien. It was the Chestbursters,” you whisper and he laughs against your cheek as he runs his hand through your hair.

“Right. Well, it was sort of like that,” he continues and you nod, burying your face into his shirt and you breathe in the smell of sweat and blood as he wraps an arm around your waist. “But you’re safe now.”

“Steve—” The words catch in your throat. It feels like layers of you have been peeled away and you can taste whatever it is that squirms beneath your skin as you fling your arms around him. Holding onto him as tight as you can, you bury your face into his neck and let out a shuddering sigh— “Thank you.”

“You’ll have leave, and be reassigned to a facility back in New York. Tony will love to have you back,” he says and you pull back. Quirking an eyebrow, you try to make yourself look as attractive as you can — as the sunshine girl Steve knows and maybe even loves, but you find yourself failing at how gross you feel. Like there’s something inside your body, sharing you, taking over. You feel like vomit. Not like vomiting.

Like stomach acid and day old corn, beef, potato salad, stale water and foul air.

And it makes you want to cry at how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” you say weakly and Steve chuckles as you poke his cheek. Wetness meets your fingertip and you blink, for the first time noticing the tears streaming down his face. His cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, he looks like hell took him and spat him out.

“You scared the life outta me, doll,” he murmurs when you plant your clean hand against his cheek. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to, Stevie,” you mumble and he sighs, almost like he’s exasperated and grateful and half-in-love before he pulls you tight towards him again. Steve’s lips press into the juncture of your neck and shoulder before he hugs you tighter and you let out a wheeze. You raise your hand, the other clean one still flat against the ridges of his back, and marvel at the way the siren lights play with the dark blood streaking across your skin.

And as you focus on the warmth flowing through your body, swirling in your stomach and ebbing down your arms, red sparks at your fingertips.

“Everything used to be normal,” you whisper, closing your fist tight. Crescent moons imprint on your skin as you close your eyes. Steve’s arms tighten around you and you let out shuddering cry. “What happened to me?”

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” He pulls you back by the shoulders, makes sure you meet his eyes because they are sure as stone. They anchor you and you cup his face, feel his heat. He feels so real.

You nod. The sirens stop and you can hear people walking, murmuring to each other, words you can hear that they might as well have screamed in your ear. Freak accident, crazy, broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, hand tilting your chin up as he half-smiles. “We’ll figure it out, and I love you, and I promise you I will fix this, okay?” Your eyes widen and you suck in a helpless breath as his smile shrinks. “What is it? Are you hurt?” He looks down at your body, still sopping wet and freezing, but you can barely feel the numbness tingling at your feet. Heat shoots through your veins as you fling yourself at Steve again, wrapping arms around him.

“You love me?”

And he laughs, laughs and laughs against you until all you know is the sound of him in your ears and the feel of his heart against your chest. “Of course I do.” He turns your face so he can kiss you and you smile into his kiss, a wet smile that he doesn’t care about because any smile of yours is… priceless.

“I love you, too,” you utter and he smiles against your mouth, eyes closing. “I love you so much.”

“That’s perfect, ‘cause I plan on staying around for a while.”

You roll his words in your head before smiling to yourself. Melting into his arms, you press your ear against his chest as red wisps curl coyly around your fingers and you look into your lap, stained with the black you’d coughed up and the slick of blood.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whisper above the sirens. You can barely hear yourself think, but Steve merely holds your head to him, supports you in ways you cannot.

“Anytime.”

It’s 2014.

You pace the length of the glass, pulling at the electrodes connected to your head while Thor, Steve, and Jane all yell at you through the intercom to stop. It’s been twenty four hours and you haven’t slept in any of them. Instead, you refreshed yourself on French, Croatian, and Finnish.

Instead, you’ve recreated your room to look like scenic Sweden in the middle of summer and you’re strolling through the streets of Stockholm.

It’s a neat little trick, that.

“Look, if this Malekith wants to come get me,” you say, planting your hands on your hips as a bird flits past your head, “he can come get me. Can I at least get a breath of fresh, non-filtered air? It tastes stale.”

“Sorry, doll, but no.” Steve’s voice filters through the speakers in the room and you let out a frustrated groan, your fist flaring up as you throw him a glare. Or at least where you think he might be standing. The illusion burns away by red flames and you face the mirror and pale white walls you can see in the reflection. Your boring test chamber. Prison. “I know, it’s New Year’s, but—”

“Steve, save it. It is New Year’s, and Tony and I were supposed to go to Peter’s party because I promised him.”

You haven’t seen Peter in months. You wonder how he is, and you think it would be enough to hear voicemails, but instead it isn’t. Your phone is flooded with voicemails from him, voicemails you’ve saved and listen when it gets hard to sleep, and you want to show him the newest thing you’ve learned in your detention. The hopeful smile he’d have… the one full of wonder and his eyes…

Thinking of him just makes you miss that boy more, and you want to scream at the top of your lungs, but then Steve would tell you to be quiet and that Malekith can hear you, and whatever it is — the Aether — will flare up and you’re just so sick of sleeping in a glass cell like a test subject.

Whatever.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea how to make this easier for you, but you just gotta look on the bright side.”

Not whatever.

If anything, you’re so sick of false promises. You’ll be out once we’ve run some tests, you’ll be okay, whatever’s inside you isn’t hostile and Viper, Viper, Viper, someone wants to come in and do another round of blood tests, maybe your chemistry has changed and—

You want to snap.

“You’re right! I’ve only been here ever since you guys found me passed out in London. I can’t leave, I have fucking powers I can’t understand and apparently I can make anything I want become reality.” Whirling around, you spot the croissant you haven’t touched from breakfast yesterday and grab it as a surge of energy flows up to your palm. Immediately it flickers in your hand like some hologram, distorting until a croissant no longer rests in your palm, but a rich red apple. You show it to the three watching you, show them the fruit of your labour. “See that? I’m doing great controlling this thing, huh.”

“Doll, stop. Power spikes might tip off Malekith on your location and—”

“You know it’s real,” you comment, cutting off Steve coldly. Biting into the apple, flavour bursts on your parched tongue and you swallow down the fruit before you toss it in the air. Letting it land in your hand like a baseball, you look down at it. “Or, I think it is. It tastes real, and at this point, any type of reality feels better than this, y’know?”

“My lady, you must control your temper.”

“Thor’s right.” Jane’s soft voice makes you pause and you rip your gaze away from the bitten apple in your palm to the mirror. You can only stare at yourself, at how much you look like some insane asylum patient. The electrodes, the issued white jumpsuit in a white room with a white bed and everything burning white or silver, the ankle tag in case you walk out of your cell, because everyone knows you can.

After all, if you can literally turn water into wine when you want to, what else can you do?

“Thor’s right,” you repeat dully, a terrible smile etching itself into your face. “Yeah, he’s right. ‘Cause I’m crazy, right? And some dark elf is trying to kill me, but I should stay the sunshine girl, right?” If your every word was corrosive, you know the glass would have melted. Would’ve been fitting, and for half a moment you are tempted to burn the whole building down.

The searing heat singing in your arm balls at your wrist and you glance down to see bright red smoke spiralling down to the floor, kissing at the apple you have dug fingernails into and juice leaks down between your fingers. You let out a heavy breath when the heat is blown away, cool conditioned air puffing against your bare skin. At how everything is regulated, even the temperature, what you eat, your calories, your oxygen levels, everything tiny little thing you don’t know about.

A knot in your chest twists harder and you want to throw a bed across the wall or shoot something, or just go for a round of sparring but instead you settle for throwing the apple hard enough it splatters on impact. Bits of fruit go everywhere and you watch the juice track down your reflection as apple seeds clatter around you. You didn’t try to break glass, but you think you can hear something crack as you close your eyes.

“We could give you a few hours,” Jane says, apprehensive for a potential galactic war, maybe, worried about your sanity and her safety, definitely, “right?”

“Malekith will take any chance he has to reach the Aether. There is no time for whims of the one,” Thor says.

“Doll, I’m sorry—”

“No, shut up! I miss kissing you, Steve, okay? I’m horny! And I’m supposed to be normal, you know? As normal as I can get!” You fling your arms out to the side and you spin around from the bed where you have a tray of food that was pushed in the flap in the door resting atop your blankets. You slam a hand against the glass, red smoke running along the surface. Your breath comes out ragged and you look at your own reflection, eyes wide and your shoulders heaving. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Natalia’s pain in her ass, and I’m supposed to wake up in the morning next to you and bring Tony his coffee or tell him to sleep because Pepper’s out of town or help Peter with his homework.

“I’m supposed to be there for him,” you whisper, eyes closing as a burning in the corners of your eyes track down your skin. Pressing your forehead against the mirror, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “I’m… I’m supposed to be figuring out whatever the hell they did to me with you, Steve, not… not alone. Not as some lab rat for S.H.I.E.L.D. to poke and prod.” Your hand runs flat along the cold surface and you look up at your own reflection, at the mess your hair is, at the paleness in your face and how gaunt you look. At the red that seems to flow through your veins instead of blue and how utterly witch-like you look. “I’ve had enough of that in the Red Room, and I thought I switched sides for a reason.”

“I’m right here, okay?” Steve murmurs through the speakers and you sniff, trying to imagine him on the other side of the glass. His blue eyes staring back at you — eyes you have not seen in months. His blond hair swept off to the side and maybe he’s wearing a white tee-shirt and that dark jacket you bought him as a parting gift when he got reassigned to Washington. “I swear, we’re going to get this son of a bitch, but for now, you’re just a walking dart board, and I know they won’t miss. I miss you so much, but I can’t lose you.”

“Steve.” You slide down onto the ground and it’s almost as if you can feel his heat. If you close your eyes tight enough, maybe you can imagine him just on the other side of glass you’re not too afraid to break. “I miss you, too.”

“We’ve had quite a courtship,” he teases and you chuckle, pressing your cheek against the mirror. “Long distance, then London, isolation, and hell, I promise I’ll take you wherever you want as soon as this is done. I’ll take one of Tony’s jets and we’ll go, fix this, find someone who can fix you. Marry you, if that’s what you want.” Red smoke flares brightly at your fingertips and you shove them beneath your thighs, snuffing it out.

Some part of you wants to feel grateful.

Another part of you wishes he told you there’s nothing to fix instead. Wishes Steve can just accept that this is who you are now, as you have.

“A wedding sounds nice. Like a jailbreak party,” you whisper and he laughs, crackling over the comms. “But I need a ring first.”

“Give me a few hours.”

When dinner rolls around, the door beeps and swings open to reveal Steve Rogers in sweatpants, one of his hoodies he bought in some Brooklyn corner store, and dinner.

You smile and invite him down to your cot where a TV hung on the wall plays Aliens.

“What do you say to a movie night?” He pulls the hoodie over your head. Tucking hair away from your face, he kisses you sweetly. He tastes like sugar and heat, and you plant your hands flat against his cheeks.

The hoodie smells ripe of him and you dig your nose into the collar, inhaling deeply before looking up at him. “It’s sweet but how’d you convince Coulson to allow you in here?” The blond doesn’t respond except for another few quick pecks and you pull away from his seeking lips with a scandalized gasp. “He doesn’t know?”

“Would it kill you if I said no?” he mumbles and you laugh into his next kiss as he sets down the tray of food on the floor and plucks something off it. He slides off the bed, sinking to one knee before you and you rake hair away from your face, the elated smile freezing on your face as he cracks open a velvet box. “‘Cause it would kill me if you did.”

“Steve?” His name stutters in your throat as you stare at the diamond ring way above your pay grade. You have a sneaking suspicion that Tony had something to do with it but it sparkles, glimmers in the artificial light. “Steve, I was joking—”

“I wasn’t.” In sweats and a grey hoodie, Steve has never looked more like a god. The white light plays in his hair, turning it silver-gold and his eyes are alight with pure hope that you nearly melt as you sit on the edge of your bed, just… speechless. “I love you, and I’m here for you. Sickness and in health. So… what do you say?”

“Yes, but also, we can’t get married here,” you warn and he laughs, leaning over to kiss you as he picks the ring out from between the cushion of velvet. Sliding it onto your finger, he pushes you over against the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Draping himself over you, he kisses your chin, your lips, down your neck and you giggle, outstretching your arm as the red mist curls around the ring, curious to what this new thing is.

“Doesn’t have to be now, ‘s long as I got my yes,” he mumbles and you close your eyes. All of a sudden, the walls in your prison have pushed themselves out by three inches. Letting your hand fall back, you run your fingers through his hair. “And what was that again? You said you were horny or was that my imagination?”

“Rogers,” you warn, but you can’t help the way he chases away the weights sitting on your chest as he brushes kisses up and down your neck. “C’mon, they’re watching.”

“Oh, no, they’re not.” His fingers poke teasingly into your sides and you let out a squeak as he chuckles, lips meeting yours again. “Forgot how ticklish you are, doll.”

“Steven Grant Rogers—”

“Shhh,”

“But dinner—”

“Can you forget about the stupid dinner? I’m trying to take your clothes off.” You wiggle beneath his body, hair splaying beneath your head and he growls, nipping lightly at your jaw just as his phone vibrates and he jerks back. Bracketed between his legs, you prop yourself up on your elbows and frown, the joy slipping away like oil. Weights crush down on your shoulders as Steve’s eyebrows knit together and you reach up to cup his cheek just as your vision flickers.

Like a faulty TV, it breaks with red and you blink at how Steve’s face seems to fizzle as your fingers meet his cheek. His blue eyes meet yours immediately, drowning away the red and you let out a sharp breath.

“Steve?” Your voice catches and he flinches back, stung. “Steve, what happened?”

“Something in Washington,” he whispers and he stumbles off the bed as you sit up. The heat of him leaves a chill on your body and you stand up. He texts furiously on his phone and you walk after him as he gets the door to open. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Can I help?” You reach for his arm and you can’t help yourself from wondering what on Earth is this important. You know Tony’s in town and Natasha can handle Washington. Hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. is based in Washington and whatever it is, surely— “Captain America doesn’t need to go, does he?”

“Look, I have to go.” He shakes off your hand and hurt slams into you like a truck at how he doesn’t so much as spare you a glance before he pockets his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says and you think he almost means it by the way his blue eyes widen inconsolably. “I’ll be back.”

“Steve!” He pushes you back deeper into the room just as everything flickers red and you let out a gasp as something digs into your brain. “Steve, wait!” Your hands clutch at your skull as you fall to your knees and you squeeze your eyes shut. The pain blisters, pulsing like a heartbeat inside your spine before it drains away as quick as it came, and you let out a shaking breath.

When you open your eyes, you see everything outlined in blood red, their edges flickering like TV static. The ring on your finger burns cold and you rip it off, flinging it into the glass.

It cracks, shatters your reflection, and you turn away so you do not see your own tears fall.

It’s 2015.

You breathe new air for the first time in ages and your lungs spasm in your chest as you feel the sun on your face. With your bags packed and ready, you stand at the entrance of the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound and wait.

Sokovia was two months ago and you have some new teammates to meet, apparently.

“Steve said he’d come pick me up, right?” you ask the agent standing next to you. He’s swiping on some datapad but turns to look at you with a smile. “A hundred percent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Cool.” You twist the ring around your finger and pretend not to notice the imaginary ants you have crawling on your boot. It’s not like you’ve told Steve. You know he’s been busy with whatever made him run out on you the first time and you know he said he might be a little bit late picking you up, but you didn’t think Captain America believed in being tardy. Not really.

A part of you wants to be angry that he’s a hero, and another part of you wants to just go home on your own.

Thirty minutes roll by.

“Do you have any cars I could borrow?” you ask. Sighing, you don’t wait for an answer and pick up your bags. “I’ll just drive back on my own. New York isn’t too far from here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The man smiles and you half-smile before you fish out your phone. “I’ll have someone bring one around to the lot.”

“Thank you for waiting with me,” you call and he merely nods before heading back in. A disappointed pang hits at your stomach as you walk over to the lot, and you try not to let it bite at your heels until you’re bleeding.

You’re sure your heart already is.

You drive back to the Avengers facility where Tony’s working with Bruce on something and the welcome you deserve resides in Tony’s arms. Nearly two years since you’ve seen him and some very exhausted part of you jumps at the sight of him. Even if he’s visited, you know nothing will ever compare to seeing the exhausted eyebags beneath his eyes.

“Welcome back, Little Miss!” he cheers and you grin, holding onto his neck tight. “Welcome back to society.” You nestle your head against him, holding on for a second more before pulling back.

“Hey, Bruce,” you whisper, turning to hug him quickly and he smiles like how you think your dad might’ve when you came back after an unruly tussle when you pull back. Or maybe that was the Red Room and how the madame would smile when you beat every opponent in your class. Parts of Bruce’s face stretch too wide, and his eyes narrow when you blink, and you wonder if it’s your mind playing tricks or he really looks like a stone-cold killer behind warm brown eyes.

You don’t even want to think about it.

“Cap didn’t pick you up?” Tony asks and your gaze darts to him warily. His face flickers red and for a moment, there’s two of Tony in your field of view before it’s gone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A lot’s happened, y’know?” you say with a slight smile and he smiles, then, too, sad and bittersweet. “Uhm, can you show me to my room, Tony?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He claps and the lab lights turn on systematically, revealing more than what’s illuminated on the table Bruce turns back to. “Bruce, if you could work on the… the thingy.” He doesn’t stop to hear the answer, guiding you out of the lab.

“So…” You descend down the steps, your sneakers slapping against the tile as you pull yourself together. Red wisps, barely there and faint as steam, play at your fingers as you try to come up with a reason Steve just… disappeared. You’re getting good at that, making up excuses. “Steve didn’t pick me up, and I was wondering if you knew where he was?”

“Steve didn’t come?” Tony’s eyes land on you and you press your lips together as you shake your head. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you turn to look at your friend. “I—”

“It’s fine. Two years — basically — of solitary confinement and he just… doesn’t come to see me out. It must’ve been important.” You shrug then, and Tony frowns. “It’s okay, Tony. I love him, like not-crazy love him but close enough, and I know it had to be something important because we’re getting married, y’know?”

“Yeah, congratulations to the happy couple,” he says but it’s half-hearted. “You give Cap too much credit,” he adds under his breath and you frown, blinking as you look at the floor. Stomach the soil, seeds of doubt are planted deep in your gut as you run Tony’s words through your head. “He didn’t even text you?”

“Maybe it was a mission.”

“And he didn’t take Wilson?” Tony shoots back, and you look up jerkingly, eyes flashing to the man beside you as you stop at the lounge. He walks around to flop down on the couch and you nearly cringe at the crumbs littering the glass coffee table. Tony leans back, kicks up his feet, and slaps the space beside him.

“I still have to meet Wilson,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest and walking onto the carpet. Sitting down, you nearly sink into the cushion and let out a yelp. “Shit, this is comfortable.”

“Haven’t had luxury in a while?”

“I was in a detention facility, so no,” you retort and you lean in towards Tony’s heat. “I’m just gonna wait and maybe it’ll be okay, y’know?”

“Right.” Tony claps again before resting an arm along the back of the couch. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you show Vipe where her room is?”

“Right away, boss.” You sit up, tucking your feet beneath you just as the elevator dings. Looking towards the sound, you watch as the doors open and your mouth drops open as a blond and a redhead step out. “Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers have returned.”

“From where, exactly?” Tony calls out and Steve immediately whips around to the sound of his voice. Natalia is basically sleepwalking as she rubs at her eyes and you stand, grabbing an empty cup from the coffee table. Red smoke fills up white porcelain as it fills with warm tea and you rush over to her, offering her the drink.

“Hey, Tali,” you whisper as Natalia looks up sharply, blue eyes wide and sober. A face-splitting grin on her face, she knocks the white mug to the ground, hot tea spilling everywhere. It shatters, a sharp cacophony, and white shards go everywhere, hot tea splashing against your shoes.

“You’re out!” Her arms wrap around you tight and you let out a wheeze when she lifts you up but the smile dies as you meet Steve’s gaze. He looks stricken at the sight of you, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as your sister puts you back down. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay. I drove myself back,” you whisper and you cup her face, relishing in the warmth of her smile before a yawn on her part breaks the moment and you grin. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Promise,” she agrees and she heads up the stairs before you turn to Steve. Tony jogs past you, climbing the stairs after Natalia and you turn to watch them go before looking into his stricken face.

“Where were you?” you ask quietly, trying not to sound hurt. But you feel hollow, and everything is red when you’re not with Steve. “I really missed you these past few weeks.”

“Sorry. It got really busy with the new assignment,” Steve says with a shrug and you nod, pressing your lips into a smile as you open up your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” He walks into your embrace and you melt into his hold. “God, I’ve missed you.” His lips press against your hairline and you close your eyes.

“I love you,” you murmur and you tilt your chin up to look at him. His blue eyes are dark, tired, and he’s barely able to keep them open as you card your fingers through his hair. Just looking at him makes you feel so empty and whole at the same time that you know it has to be real. To feel such a paradox, such an oxymoron that you can’t even describe it, it must be real. “I love you, so it’s okay and you can tell me why you didn’t pick me up.”

“I needa tell you about Bucky,” he says and you thumb his cheek, feeling the soft swollen bags beneath his eye. He takes your wrist carefully, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyes meeting yours beneath the hood of his brow.

“Tomorrow,” you say and he sighs against your palm. You step closer, your other arm wrapping around his waist as you tilt your head. “Whatever it is you need to tell me can wait. For now, shower and get some sleep.” The blue of his gaze lightens and he leans down to press a gentle kiss against your mouth. Breathing him in, you nearly sob at how soft his lips are, the smell of him so overwhelming — the smell of sea salt and smoke — that you feel your sinuses sting.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you pull back with a nod. As he goes, you let your hand drop with a shattered sigh. Turning to watch him ascend the steps, you feel something inside you ache.

He looks as hollow as you feel.

It’s 2016.

“Couldn’t they put this as a PDF or something,” you murmur, trying to get a hold of the thick-as-fuck Accords. Words spin in your head as you flip over another page and Steve, with his arm around your shoulders, ignores you to argue with Tony. You sneak an arm around his waist, running it up and down his side as you scan the next few lines. “Save the trees.”

“I really don’t think that’s the U.N.’s priority right now,” Natalia comments from across the way and you sigh, setting it down in your lap. You can’t help the weird feeling in your stomach as wisps of red weave between your fingers. They seem to want to drag your hand back to the Accords and keep reading, but your head spins.

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose,” Steve exclaims and you look up warily. Tony’s eyes meet yours for a moment before you turn your gaze back to the Sokovia Accords. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go?” You unweave your arm from around Steve’s waist and stand, tossing the Accords onto the glass table between them. Wanda and Vision, sitting on a bench, reach for it. “What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“Steve, I really think you need to read this,” you begin and razor sharp azure meets your eyes. “Look, if this doesn’t happen now, on our terms, they’re going to do this to us. That’s not going to be fun for any of us.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda begins, and you whirl around to face the girl. She holds the Accords, too large for her slim frame and her eyes glow as red as your veins do.

“We would protect you.”

“Look, Vision, that’s sweet, okay, but it’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“There are weapons of mass destruction in this room,” Tony continues, “and the government’s not going to allow a couple of nukes to walk in downtown New York. Ross had a point. Do we even know where Thor and Bruce are?”

“No.”

“Maybe Tony’s right.” Natalia sounds certain, and you turn to her, surprised as she breaks like static. Blinking, you see color other than red once again and try not to let it show on your face. Other than the fact that going from red-vision to full-colour still makes you surprised, you hadn’t expected her to pick a side so soon. You cross your arms as you sit down next to Steve once more. His arm falls around your shoulders as you tug at the skirt of your sundress. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“What?” You look sharply at your sister who shrugs helplessly. Shaking her head, she looks at Wilson with a fierce stare.

“I’m just… I’m just reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Something vibrates against your leg and Steve’s arm slides from your shoulders. You turn to look at it, distracted as Steve grabs it and you slide your arm along his shoulder as he reads whatever message he was sent. Running your thumb over the curve of his shoulder, you rest your head on his shoulder just as he gets up. Your arm falls flat and you catch yourself just barely.

“I have to go.” Steve’s voice cuts clear across the tension and you watch the man leave, throat knotted. You feel something inside you twist and your eyebrows furrow as you try to come up with some reason, some way you can follow.

“I’m going to, uh, go see what that’s about.” You clear your throat, getting up to follow after him and you hear his footsteps echo as he descends the steps before stopping at the landing. “Steve?” He leans against the banister and bows his head with a heavy sigh, and you come up to him with gentle hands. “Steve, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Steve, is it Bucky?” You lean in beside him, trying to get a read on his state as he pockets his phone and you sigh softly, trying to figure out what to say. “Is it the Accords? Because you seem pretty adamant on not signing.”

“And you are?”

“I could’ve been the person who killed the Wakandans.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Someone did.” As soon as the words leave your lips, Steve’s head twists towards you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks whole in your eyes, not a flickering edge in sight and you sigh at how much relief it brings you. “I’m not saying Wanda meant to do it on purpose, but she’s a kid and kids need supervision.”

“She had it.” Steve crosses his arms tight across his chest, and you turn to him, planting a hand on the rail and another on your hip.

“Did she? Because I read the report, Steve.” You throw up your hand, turning back to lean against the rail again as you try not to let your anger simmer. Your brow furrowed, your chest begins to tighten. “Rumlow said Bucky and suddenly, nothing else mattered, did it?”

“Doll—”

“And… it feels…” You trail off, and you have no idea why. You think you’re softening the blow for him, but maybe you’re softening the blow for yourself.

“What?” Steve’s voice, sharp as daggers, sinks into you and you drag your gaze towards him. He looks shocked, pale as a sheet with rosy lips barely parted as you let out a soft exhale.

“It feels true.” You shake your head before meeting his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What does is that I’m going to sign. Because we may not be kids, but we are dangerous and we need oversight.” Fingers reaching for his, you’re stung when he pulls his hand away. Clenching your jaw, you try to keep your voice hushed. “Steve, I don’t want to fight.”

“We can barely agree on when to get married, doll.” When he looks at you, it’s almost as if he stares right through you. “I don’t see how we can’t fight when we can barely make the small things work.”

“This isn’t some small decision! This isn’t choosing a winter wedding or a summer wedding, or whether the napkins should be folded in a Sydney Opera House or a lotus. This is whether or not we allow ourselves to get arrested or we play our cards right.”

“I’m not trusting a panel who won’t care about the people we’re supposed to be protecting.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s happened before.”

“Okay, but this isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.” Your voice sharpens and you bite your tongue. “This is something we can give input to. What do you think they’re going to do when we disagree? Restrain us?”

“It isn’t that simple! Just because you see everything black and white doesn’t mean I have to. We can’t just choose to give over our rights and be okay with it.”

“You’re the one who’s seeing things black and white! Because this is a fucking grey area and we are drowning in it. This is… It’s not easy to just hand over the keys to people who don’t know us but we need this.” You struggle to find the words. “Steve, open your eyes and just… just understand that I want us to stay together. And if you do this, it’s almost as if you don’t care.”

“I’m standing up for what I believe in. I thought you could respect that,” he whispers harshly and you hold back a groan in frustration. Planting a hand on your hip, you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“And you don’t believe in family? In staying together? Because we can make changes. I promise, and you can still search for Bucky, I just—” Your breath hitches in your throat and Steve looks at you, eyebrows quirked. “Bucky.”

“What about him?”

“It’s Bucky. It’s always Bucky,” you whisper so quietly under your breath you don’t know if you even said it. “Natalia told me that—” You turn to look at the top of the stairs desperately. You can’t begin to describe how much you want to run up the stairs, down the hall and never look back. But you’re an optimist.

You always have been.

“Told you what?”

“That I’d never be your first choice.” The words come out bold and burning, and you can feel the ash it has left in your gums as you clench your jaw. You can still hear your sister’s voice echoing in your skull, whispered in confidence the day after one of Steve’s secret missions when he was looking for Bucky. Specifically, the mission that caused him to miss your birthday. You can still taste the bitterness, the tears that pressed bruises into your throat. “And I think he’s part of the reason why you won’t sign the Accords. Because you’re afraid they’ll issue sanctions if you go on your secret, unauthorized missions.”

Steve sighs, and his eyebrows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself. You stare at him, wait for him to deny it, but you know he won’t. Because you’re in love with a man who supposedly loves you, but clearly doesn’t love you enough.

“Ever since Bucky came back into your life, it’s all you ever think about,” you continue, leaning against the banister once more. You cross your legs at the ankles, and turn to look at him. Your eyes immediately soak in the shadows that play across his face, the way the pale blue light of the sunroof has cast him a god of wind and sea. “And even though I’m talking to you… you’re not even here.”

Steve’s gaze darts to yours and you hold it, searching for someone who you haven’t seen in years.

“I love you,” he insists and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you can breathe in his scent. He smells cool and clean, like sleep, and you want to go back to yesterday, last week, last year. You want to go back to when you were too afraid to break a bubble that you lived in, when the Accords didn’t exist. “I’m in love with you, but I’m so damn sorry.” His whispered words push into your mouth as you kiss him chastely, a barely-there kiss that makes your heart mend and break. His forehead knocks into yours and you hold him there for a moment, just watching the tiny little twitches of his face. Burning him into your head.

“It’s okay,” you say, hand stroking over his face and into his hair. His eyes half-mast, he just watches you as red runs beneath your palm, through your veins. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and it just makes you all the more aware of the hole he has carved in the shape of pieces he took from you. He won’t even touch you. “I can’t compete with what you and Bucky have.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re the only one I want—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you murmur and he closes his eyes pulling away to stare at his feet. He grips the handrail and you stare into your palms, red playing against your flesh. The silence is thick and you swallow, trying to think of something to say — anything. Your chest is smashed to ashes and an ache spreads in your lungs as you close your eyes, hot tears sliding over your cheeks. “Steve—”

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbles and you’re not quite sure if the salt on your lips is yours or his as he presses a quick farewell kiss to your mouth and pulls away. He wipes at his face with a sleeve, and you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand as he turns away to hide his red-rimmed eyes and sniffing you can still hear. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, you always do,” you murmur and you watch him go as he bows his head, sleeve to his face. Sucking in a cold breath, you lean against the banister and tilt your head back. Closing your eyes, you try to ignore the migraine digging into your skull.

But you can’t. It only grows when you sign, and with the deadline to bring in Steve Rogers, and nearly tears you apart as you fly to Germany.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks as you walk to your position in the airport. He looks good in his new suit Tony had designed and you smile tiredly as he fidgets with the mask. You ruffle his hair, leaning over to kiss his forehead before trying to reinforce your weak smile.

“Yeah, I am. Watch yourself out there, okay?” you add and he nods as he opens up his mask. “If May finds out Tony smuggled you into Germany, my ass is going to pay for it.” He half-laughs, and you nudge him towards his hiding spot. “Go kick some ass.”

And you do, and he does, and you think maybe team Iron Man might make it work bringing in a rogue Captain America without J-SOC.

That is, until the giant.

“Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestion.” Tony’s voice echoes in your ear, adding to the headache balling up between your eyes as you throw yourself at Clint. The man catches you by the rod of his bow as you wind yourself around his waist and flip him over.

“Would it kill you if I said I have untapped energy potential?” you ask into your comms and Clint sends you a confused look as you roll your eyes through the pain. Everything is hazy red and red mist spills from your hand as you stop Clint from swinging at you with a baton.

“No, I like that idea.”

“Tony, it’s not a good idea.”

“It was a joke, Stark,” you growl, flinging Clint away. The rod of his bow skids a few feet away and you scramble towards it, snapping it open with a sling. As you pull the string taut, an arrow forms between your fingers and you let it fly, following after Hawkeye with a barrage of arrows and keeping him busy running. “I’m trying not to kill anyone today.”

“Understood, Madame Secretary,” Tony teases and you squint an eye, letting another arrow fly just as Clint jumps onto the walkway leg. It nearly tags him in the ankle and you draw the string once more, black metal materializing between your fingers just as someone tackles into you. You’re slammed into the ground with a hard groan, your head snapping back into concrete. You hear something crack and you groan as Sam Wilson’s voice rattles in your ears.

“I got her, Steve. It’s a go from me.”

Steve… you repeat in your head, dazed. Turning over, you watch as Sam takes off after a jet and you try to get up. When you blink, your world is covered in red film, breaking like faulty holograms and you let out a sharp breath, trying to rub it out. The roar of the jet echoes in your heart, weaves into your chest as you reach out a hand. Red energy curls against your palm, soothing a nefarious drilling digging deep into your brain. Steve is getting away, and I can’t stop him. No, no, no—

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together — to know Steve’s the one who put a target on your back. Blood shoves its way up your mouth as the ball of pure agony in your head explodes.

“They’re getting away.”

“Get up, Viper! Come on, get up! You can stop them!”

You can’t get up. You can barely see as you plant your hands against the ground. Blood slick against your palms, you roll onto your stomach as you try to push yourself up. Shockwaves shake your bones and you let out a painful groan when your head tips you over. Landing on your side, you feel something warm dribble down your chin.

“Vision, I got a bandit on my six.”

“What’s happening?” Peter’s innocent question makes you turn blindly towards him and you reach out just as strong arms hoist you onto your knees and you try to open your eyes only for white light to seep into your irises. “What’s happening? Are you okay? Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?”

“Vision! You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider.”

“Pete.” His name is thick in your mouth as you pat blindly and you come into contact with his face as you cough, black dotting the edges of your vision and you let out a groan when the blood pooling in your chest sloshes against your lungs. “It hurts. Shit, it hurts, Pete, it hurts so bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Oh, god, what do I do? Is there some way I can make it better?”

“Pete, you gotta go. You needa go, you needa go.” You can feel his arms holding you up as your hands trace down his cheeks and onto his neck, streaking blood all over his skin. You can barely see him but you know that he is smiling through his tears, tears that run over your knuckles and you think, brave boy. A brave boy who shouldn’t be here. “Pete, go.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here alone! You’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do. What do I do? Where does it hurt?”

“Rhodey!”

“Everywhere! Fuck, my head, Pete, you need to just… go. It hurts, it hurts. Make it stop,” you whimper as a ripple of agony travels across your skull. Jerking back, you rake your hands through your hair, trying to keep your eyes open through the tears. Everything is blinding white and red as you catch a glimpse of Peter’s face, brown eyes wide and tears dripping down his face as a double of him flashes before your eyes. A jackhammer digs into the center of your mind and you let out a scream, a pulse thundering through your body as you flare scarlet red.

“Tony, I’m flying dead stick.”

“No—”

“Leave me alone.” The words slip out of your mouth, incoherent, barely audible as voices begin to echo in your head. You half-recognize some of them, and others you barely know as frost sinks into your limbs, paralyzing you. Your whole body rigid, you fall to your elbows and knees as Peter’s hands hover around you. You can feel his warmth, every single molecule of his being, the racing of his heart and the soft whomsh of his blood. His breathing echoes in his ear, and you can hear his fingers twitching, the blink of his eye, the thickness in his throat, the roar of the quinjet and the sound of a body whistling through the air, falling faster and faster, too fast, and two men desperate to catch him—

You can barely hear your own thoughts and your breaths come in sharp, painful gasps as you try to sort through the storm in your head — your thoughts from whatever it is that lives inside you, or changed you, or whatever it did because you can hear voices in languages you don’t understand and everything turns red, static and breaking apart as your reality crumbles to pieces around you.

“Let me help—”

“Leave me alone!” Pushing him away blindly, a surge of heat sinks its teeth down into your bones as everything inside you breaks. You pitch forward, bones snapping as voices echo in your head, and the ground splits beneath your hands.

“RHODES!”

It’s 2023.

You wear a black sweater because Pepper said it’d look nice and the heels Tony bought for you after the Civil War that’ve been gathering dust in the apparent five years you’ve been gone.

A part of you wants to toss the heels into the lake when the service is down, and you want to see if you can siphon what is left of the energy you have to bring Tony back to life. But you can’t. So you don’t try. You sit at the edge of the lake as the water laps at your feet, and you send gentle wisps of red over the soft waves as they lap at your feet. Tony’s last message echoes in your head, and you can picture him so clearly. And Natalia too, her last words to you—

“Don’t go—”

The wisps take shape, mere figures of shadows of Tony and you and Natalia, memories playing like puppets on strings, jagged and sharp and all too wrong.

“Hey.”

The figures vanish, sink into the water, and you flinch at the sound of his voice. Putting on a smile, you turn around and he stands there, hands shoved in his suit pocket, face pale and swollen around the eyes. Wiping at your own tears, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Natasha’s service is tomorrow, so I was thinking we should all get some rest,” he says and you nod, turning back to the lake. He steps up to the shore beside you and you try your best not to look at him, no matter how much you want to. Your ring seems to cut off the blood to your finger as he breathes in quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m alive,” you reply softly. “Guess that’s what matters.”

“Doll—”

“Don’t call me that. Just…” You turn to him and stare into his glossy blue eyes, eyes that you haven’t seen in so, so long. Your heart nearly snaps in two as his lower lip trembles and you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him so tightly you can barely breathe. “I missed you so much, Steve. Oh, god, I miss you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, and then suddenly his arms are around you, squeezing the life you’ve just gotten back out of you and you run your fingers through his gelled hair. “Germany, I— I never meant for that to happen.” Cold water douses whatever warmth you feel and you pull back, face pulled back in a terrible mask of an empty smile. “I never meant to leave you in the middle of one of your breaks.”

“Steve, that was apparently seven years ago and… it was for Bucky. You’d do anything for him. Do anything for anyone from your past, apparently,” you whisper and he tries to smile, but even he can now see how finished you are. How you’ve given up, and you wonder if that can scare him any more than it scares you. “And it’s sweet, and admirable, and that kind of loyalty is rare. I wish someone was like that with me, but… it’s just… you were always the only one who could stop me and in Germany… in Germany you were the reason it happened.” His arms fall away and you step back, clearing your throat. “But it’s in the past, now.”

“Doll—”

“Steve, fighting Thanos was the fucking scariest thing of my life, and I wanted to kill him so badly I tore open what Stephen Strange thinks is a multidimensional tear. Because I lost control, and I didn’t want to come back.” You can still recall the feeling — like free falling and knowing the clouds will catch you — as you just let go of everything holding you up. Of falling into the darkness and just barely snagging the last of the light so you can pull yourself out again if you wanted to.

And you didn’t want to until it was over.

Until Tony was dead.

“Everything from the past doesn’t matter, because I have more important things to fix,” you continue blithely. Steve barely has time to open his mouth before you lean up to kiss his lips. “I love you, Steve.”

“I need to tell you something—”

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Steve. My best friends are dead, and it’s permanent. I’m not so lucky as you.” You force a smile onto your face and run a hand up and down his arm in farewell. “I’ll see you at the cabin.”

You don’t.

It is Bucky who tells you the man is gone.

You would laugh at the irony — Bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this. Like your world is ending and like you’re not good enough and like the ring on your finger was just a cheap way to keep you around.

Instead you thank him, and go to Natasha’s funeral. Because that’s what you do.

You look to the future. You are the sunshine girl after all. The Viper who can shed her skin and move on.

The Viper who is searching for someone. Who doesn’t know yet, but someone who doesn’t want to fix her, because she is not-fine-but-accepting of the way she is now. Who isn’t searching for someone else, someone from their past, someone you aren’t and can never be.

And you find him, weeks after the Battle, in one of New York’s finest bars.

Because if Steve Rogers is a loyal golden retriever, then Quentin Beck is the snake in the garden.

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wolf-555-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Target On My Back Part 5

Would this be the last part? Not a chance ;). Don’t hesitate to let me know what you think, it’s always appreciated :). Enjoy!

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow x Reader

Summary: Reader can be so dramatic sometimes. Your new colleague being the cause of it. Are you able to remain the professional SHIELD agent you’re supposed to be at all given times? Even during a mission?

Word Count: 3,688

“So… You’ve been busy. Made a name for yourself I see”, a tall, hooded man speaks mysteriously, not revealing his face to the redhead. The results of her name-making-business put her on the radar of almost all government organizations, including a well-known secret one -contradiction much- named SHIELD. Black Widow, they call her, because she is so incredibly deadly. So far multiple agencies have been unsuccessful in apprehending or capturing her. SHIELD also sent Agents after the Russian spy, but they all miserably failed too. And now she got word there’s another Agent sent to, well bluntly said, take her out.

“Just give me the damn picture and intel”, Natalia huffs, rolling her eyes impatiently. It’s always the same with these types of guys. It takes ages before she can leave or get what she actually came for. All they do is talk, talk, and talk even more.“No need to spoil the moment for me, okay”, he takes his hood off and reluctantly hands her the picture with handwriting on the back. “Here. Always a pleasure, miss Romanova”, he says with a more than obvious sarcastic tone and vanishes into thin air after that. Constantly walking around with a target on her back, the assassin just doesn’t have time for this. Tough life she has. Finally able to take a good look at the newly assigned Agent, or her new ‘stalker’, as she studies the photo in her hand. Natalia hauled the picture closer to get a better look. Her heart stopped for a second, shocked as if she’d seen a ghost. Which actually might be true in this case... No need to read the information written on the back since she knows who it is. Gently moving the tip of her index finger over the person’s image. She recalls it as if it happened yesterday, when she put a bullet hole in the person’s chest. Her actions that day left Natalia with a hole in her heart though. Which she clearly would deny of course, because, you know, it’s a weakness and all. Deep down, like locked-away-in-an-impenetrable-vault deep down, she hoped you would survive. You got inside her head (and her heart?) something that rarely happens to her.

Honestly, it never happens, because under no circumstances she lets people in. Nobody. Yet, it would take more or less two encounters before the Black Widow really realizes what you meant, and still mean to her. But, will it be too late? Little pieces of paper touch down on the wet ground, dissolving into pulp as Natalia ripped the photo apart, impossible to recover. Confident she’ll recognize the Agent in an instant. Even if it’s from a great distance away.

Seated on the roof of the SHIELD facility, the place you go when you want to be alone and think. This time it’s about your past. Again. Not that SHIELD gave you all the answers, considering you’re left with more gaps than actual information. Still, the thought of you being a KGB operative and all the horrible things you’ve done, and must have done. And then the KGB had you killed, the same organization you were practically raised by. Nice backstory you got there... The only good about this is that they think you’re dead. Who knows what will happen when they find out you’re still alive. Anyways, let’s just say the acceptance is a work in progress. Though, Natasha’s presence here is making it exceedingly more difficult. It seems as if your past is haunting you in the form of your new co-worker. Leaning back, resting on your elbows, you close your eyes and lift your chin up in the air while you exhale deeply. Enjoying the silence for a moment, or at least what’s left of it. Choppers flying over the building, dark SUVs driving in and out of the compound and the occasional group of trainees running by whom are being worn out by their coaches- oh and yelled at, without a doubt. Perceiving another sound you haven’t heard before. There’s someone behind you. On high alert, remaining in the current position, you patiently wait and suddenly turn your body around while jumping up. “Wow, easy”, the person steadies and slightly moves back, hands defensively raised. “It’s just me”. “What are you doing here?”, you sneer at the rookie SHIELD Agent who decided to join you. “Who even told you that I would be here?”, irritated at the intruder of your ‘secret’ hideout. “Barton told me”, Natasha answers and sits herself down on the rooftop. “It’s been weeks, (Y/N). Sooner or later you’re gonna have to talk to me. Or work with me”, she continues, head completely tilted backwards, because you’re still standing, arms fiercely crossed, refusing to sit next to her. Reason? Persisting to be extremely mad at her, because 1) she embarrassed you. Two, she played you. Three, she betrayed you. Four- okay, fair enough, we’ll do the in-depth psychology review later. Long story short, you rather keep avoiding her, the true mature solution.

“Don’t tell me you care so damn much. And why are you even here?”, you throw at her with a grumpy face. Having a conversation like this is not working, so Natasha stands up again and answers: “I was looking for you and Clint had a hunch as to where yo-”. “Stop”. You interrupt harshly and shake your head. “No, I mean at SHIELD. Why are you here”, pointing down at the building to emphasize the question, not necessarily making it more clear, but you tried. Guess Natasha’s still messing with your head in more ways than you care to admit. She sure as hell needs to come up with a good answer though, because she invaded the one place you can do good. The job that you love so much. And she is the last person on earth you need here.

“Well… you were right all along. What we were doing was wrong. You saw that. Not me”, she admits. She wants to do good, truly. But it’s all talk and no show. You’re not that easily convinced and scoff, “Oh, look who’s got a conscience now”. Not sure what happened as your words triggered something, seeing Natasha wince. Unknown to you which memory is flashing through her mind right now as the true details of your past are still locked up inside the redhead’s brain. That is not her fault though. You haven’t exactly given her any room to talk, to tell you the whole story, considering she is more than willing to give you the key to unlock them.

“There were no rights or wrongs back then. And I know”, Natasha sighs, “I got a lot to make up for. I’ve got red in my ledger, and I-”. A sound has caused her to leave the sentence unfinished and she looks at her phone. “Hm. I need to go”. Taking a step to turn around, but when right next to you, she stops again. Gently placing her hand on your shoulder and close to your ear she softly speaks: “I wanted to start with the one I regret most”. Turning your head towards Natasha, yet refusing to look her in the eyes, so your sight stays fixed on her hand. Can’t deny that her touch is making you feel… something. No, she’s full of lies, Natasha is a master manipulator, this is what she does best and will that ever change? Your lack of words, or a reaction in general made her let go and she walks to the rooftop entrance to go back inside. Hand on the doorpost, she gazes over her shoulder one last time and admits with a heavy breath: “But you’re not making it easy for me”.

Roaming SHIELD headquarters, you spot a particular talkative Agent in the hallway and shout. “Barton, hey! Why did you expose me huh?! It was my hiding place!”, not realizing it sounds a bit stupid, but okay. Lucky for you the hallway is empty. Sort of. “Don’t you think you’re going a little too hard on her?”, Clint replies, totally ignoring what was yelled at him just now. “What do you know about that?”. Who the fuck does he think he is? As if he knows what happened. “You didn’t see her fight and ‘kill’ me”, you state while critically pointing at his face, “Stay out of this Barton”. “Nat told me about your past and as far as I’m aware, you can’t even recall it”, Barton reveals. “Nat?”, you repeat disturbed, face twisting. “Don’t worry. No need to be jealous (Y/L/N)”. “Jealous, wh- I’m not jealous, not at all. What makes you even say that? Never mind. I have to go anyway”, you scoff. Definitely some unresolved issues there. “Just so you know, if she wanted you dead, you would have been. Trust me. Maybe there’s a reason why that bullet didn’t pierce your heart”, he suggests, eyes squinted while pointing at your chest, his finger tapping your uniform shortly, precisely on the scar left by that one bullet. Balling your fists as a reaction, you could seriously punch him in the face right now. He shouldn’t have done that. The Agent continues, because of course he wasn’t finished yet, “You can’t keep hanging on to the past like this, you need to move on. We all do”. He’s pushing all the wrong buttons. Is everyone here trying to make your life miserable all of a sudden? Gritting your teeth, barely able to control the rage that your entire body is filled with, you grunt: “I’ve had enough of this. I’m out”.

For real, this day can’t get any worse. With a grumpy mood you enter the briefing room, Agent Hill called you in for an assignment. That will help ease your mind. “Sorry I’m late, I was being held up in the hallway by-”. To get back to the rhetorical question earlier, everyone is indeed trying to make your life miserable here. “What is she doing here?”, you judge with a clenched jaw, heated eyes trained on the Agent in question. “You’ll be working this standard operation with Agent Romanoff”. The day you were desperately trying to avoid has finally arrived. “Is that going to be a problem?”, Hill presses, well aware what your thoughts on this are, because you haven’t been that good at hiding them. Remember, a SHIELD Agent can’t let their emotions take over, so you professionally answer: “No Agent Hill, that won’t be a problem. Not at all”.

Mindlessly staring out the window, seeing nature flash by. The same monotonous scenery over and over again. Wide, green grasslands alternated by tall trees along the tracks. The sound of the train horn blaring made you look back in front of you. A closed, glossy black case, flaunting on the table where you’re seated at, with across the owner who’s about to sell its content. That’s the goal at least. Depends what the person on your left is about to say this very moment.

“That really doesn’t work for me”, Natasha refuses. She pushes the package of interest away from her in a disapproving manner, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t underestimate her. I once did the same, didn’t work out very well”, you advise, moving the collar of your shirt down a little to show the scar of the shot wound briefly. Clenching your jaw to hide the pain because you received a kick to the shin from Natasha’s heel. Though, your little example worked, the seller’s face now overtaken by fear.

This assignment feels like a second chance for you. Kind of the same for Natasha, but for her it’s a second chance to do the good thing for once. Hope she plays by the rules... Still not convinced, and the position you’ve been put in is making you a bit anxious. Both needed to go undercover. No fancy SHIELD tools and no weapons, trying to retrieve a package. According to SHIELD intelligence this is the package. So classified you still have no clue what's inside, better trust your employers. It’s the one you lost to Natasha, which she then sold on her part. The former assassin now posing as someone working for the highest bidder. Which shouldn’t be that hard for her, considering it was in her former job description.

Agent Romanoff stands up from the chair, hand stretched out. “Okay then. We have a deal”. You copy her movements and grip the newly acquired case tight, taking it with you. “Pleasure doing business with you”. It’s done. Walking away from the table, out of this train carriage and entering the next one. Gotta say that Romanoff surprised you. The skill she just showed and the way she pulled it off. Outstanding work– for a rookie Agent, obviously. Not that you're going to tell her this, as the superior officer here you bring it a little different. “See, it can also be done like this, easy and quiet”, you explain to the redhead, using this as a perfect teaching moment for the new recruit.

“What is that sound I hear in the background?”, Agent Hill comments. “We got it under control. Well, sort of”, you answer vaguely. “I thought you had the package secured? Do I hear gunshots?!”, Agent Hill shouts as she has raised her voice through the communication device at a discomforting level. “Yes we have it. But a third party crashed our almost-completed-mission-party”, you shout back, matching her volume while sprinting away, evading the oncoming bullets. Guess the package carries a lot of value, wanted by the shadiest types of people. Taking cover in a loading compartment as you successfully blocked the door. But obviously there are two doors… “Nat! Watch out!”, you warn as three men enter from the other side. A bit startled by the name you just used, the same expression radiating from Natasha’s face. However, no time to contemplate on where that came from, both bolt towards the armed guys. You take the one closest by, still gripping the case tight in your hand, and load up for a brutal kick that’ll leave him unconscious for a while. In the corner of your eye you spot Agent Romanoff who’d hopped on a crate and managed to knock the two other thugs out in only a couple of seconds. Legs wrapped around the neck on one of them, tossing him aside, while she’d grabbed the other by the shoulders and crashed his head against the metal wall. Almost forget how impressive she is when in action. Again, don’t ever underestimate her, a lesson you’ve learned through own experience. “Hostiles taken out and package still in our possession”, Agent Romanoff states discreetly, directed at a not-so-pleased Agent Hill. “Copy that. Keep me posted”, she receives back. Then her eyesight shifts to you, probably because you were staring at her and a small grin appears.

Real quick, Natasha grabbed one of the guns left on the floor and a deadpan expression takes over when she aims it at you. “Whoa, wh-what are you-”. Eyes widening in shock, you must act quickly. “No, stop!”. But it’s too late, she fires. Holding your breath, you inspect your body, searching meticulously with your eyes. Wait- no blood? Looking over your shoulder behind you, there’s a guy, gun next to his hand, lying on the ground and not moving a muscle. Not anymore, that is. “Did you think I was going to shoot you?”, Natasha questions with a light chuckle and one eyebrow raised. Speechless, you shrug to express your doubt. “I would never put a bullet in that beautiful brain of yours”, she reacts, properly finished with a wink. “Guess my chest and leg were debatable then huh”, you counter tauntingly. “Oof, unfair (Y/N)”. She blows with a strong breath and bites on her lip after.

Don’t forget, this mission hasn’t ended yet. The train compartment doors both closed and barricaded. So you’ll be fine. Hold on, cheered too soon. A new entrance is created as a loud bang makes one of the doors disappear. Having covered your face instinctually with your arm, you lower it and see men break through the slowly clearing grey smoke. “Ready for an extraction, Maria!”, you shout, “We have to get out of here, now!”. “It’s Agent H- ugh, never mind. Transport is 3 minutes out”. “Why did we even agree to do the exchange on a moving train. So not practical”, you criticise while Natasha throws you the gun without discussion, both on the same page about the next step to take, and she reacts: “Someone’s having a bad day”. “Not as bad as I initially thought...”, is what you wanted to answer, but didn’t for some reason and instead Natasha continues. “Admit it. It’s a hundred times more fun though”, she mentions before you fire a couple of rounds with the weapon you caught, intended to create your own escape route. Never enter a room, or a train, without an exit plan. Can’t deny that you love the adrenaline rush it gives and like no other Natasha knows that. “Come on, let’s go for higher ground”, you express and give your fellow Agent a boost, watching her climb out of the broken window, onto the train’s topside.

Sensing the cold air on your skin rush by, you look at Natasha. Squatted, holding on tight to the dark colored case and the train. She appears calm, relaxed. Her long, red hair is getting all messed up by the wind blowing through it, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Never expected to enjoy this. The mission with Agent Romanoff, it just all feels so... natural. No- you still hate her, right? Your expression hardens, stealth look in your eyes. Grabbing the gun that’s tucked in the back of your jeans, you aim in Natasha’s direction. Instead of pulling the trigger you sprint towards her. She has noticed you approaching fast and looks startled while she stands up. “What the hell are you doing? Agent (Y/L/N)?!”. Before she could anticipate it, you’d grabbed her by the waist and both crashed down on the train’s surface hard. A gunshot close to her ear and a loud, painful cry follows. “Sorry, didn’t have a clear shot”, you apologize to Natasha, who’s, like, centimeters away from your face at the moment. “Okay, this worked too I guess. But you could’ve just warned me”, she responds with a soft tone, sensing her warm breath on your skin. “Thought I would save you the trouble. And I was on top of the situation okay”, explaining your actions to her. “Yes, and still are, I see”. She follows your figure up and down with her eyes and ends by staring into yours.

“As much as I appreciate you saving me…”. “Oh, um yes. Just wanted to return the favor”, you slightly stammer, now moving off of the Agent because you had her pinned down underneath your body. Getting a bit too comfortable? “Bet you thought this was the only option, huh”, she implies, finally able to move up. You scoff and firmly state: “Don't get used to it, Agent Romanoff”. The new recruit has yet a lot to learn, clearly. The mission first, there’s no time for playing around, guess you have to make that more evident. Well, the next time then. “Can’t say we’re even now (Y/N), you gotta try your best”, Natasha teases, hurrying towards the case to pick it up again. She turns her head, “And we've finally reached our stop”. Hearing the whirring of helicopter blades, you mirror her and notice a chopper nearing from afar.

“About time”, you urge, now emptying the magazine of the gun at the approaching ambushers who are trying to get a certain item of interest, doing whatever it takes. “Follow me”, Romanoff instructs and you rapidly sprint away. “That package better be valuable”, you pant, minding the gaps as you leap over, onto the next wagon. “Heads up!”, Natasha warns, a quick look over her shoulder to see your status. Two guys come into view as they climb on the topside, totally obstructing the pathway. Your SHIELD partner doesn’t hesitate and drops down, sliding over the train’s surface. Viciously swiping her leg and kicking one off the moving train. That must have hurt. The other one is about to attack your colleague, so you have to act fast to prevent this. Considering you are a little behind, you throw the weapon that’s out of ammo to startle him, aimed at his head. By the time he looks up again, he already received a strong shove from your shoulder and loses balance while falling over, the wrong way- for him at least. The rear of the train is in sight as you step on the last train carrier.

“Ready, (Y/L/N)?”. “Locked on”. Foot on the edge, you push and take off, jumping high up in the air. Train tracks below as you quickly glance down, heart racing in your chest. Both arms reaching and gripping the rope tight, dangling from the chopper sent by Agent Hill to extract you from yet another completed SHIELD mission.

Once back at HQ, you hand off the package to Agent Hill. “Am I allowed to know what’s in the case?”, you ask, curious as hell due to its high desire to acquire it. “Still classified, Agent (Y/L/N)”, Maria returns as she passes the case on to another Agent promptly. Unopened. “Figured it was worth a try”. Heading for the door as you’re about to leave when Hill states to the both of you: “Good job, Agents”. Not sure if she’s happy or not, it’s hard to read her expression sometimes, but you’ll gladly take the compliment.

“That wasn’t so bad was it, us working together. Side by side”, the redhead mentions, leaning against the door frame. “Maybe not”, you hint, casually walking past her. Then you glance over your shoulder, locking eyes with her and add:

“Till our next mission, Agent Romanoff”

PART 6

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prophetandprincess · 6 years ago

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X X X X X X X

It’s slow going, but I haven’t abandoned this fic I promise! Life and original fiction are keeping me from getting a lot of progress done. However, after seeing Endgame I have SO MANY IDEAS for where Alex is going to go. Don’t you worry

Alex was surprised how close Peter lived to the Malone's as she followed Google Maps to the address that he had texted her. Peter, due to his sudden and unexplained departure that afternoon, had left his clothes in her bathroom so Alex had washed and dried them when she did her own laundry. After her little pity party on the couch, she decided that the easiest thing to do to make herself feel better was clean the apartment. Once she started, she couldn't stop, and when she left everything was spotless. Her heart still ached, but she did feel a little calmer.

The Parker house was a rather charming row house, practical in a neighborhood as crowded as Queens. Alex made sure she had the right address before mounting the steps and pressing the doorbell. She could see movement through the glass door, but it took a moment before it was opened.

"Oh, hello. You must be Alex," the woman at the door said with a kind smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Peter has told me so much about you. Please, come in."

"And you must be Aunt May, it's nice to meet you." Alex gave her best farm girl smile as she walked inside. "Peter said that you were working at the hospital today, I hope us being here isn't too much trouble. I brought some wine to go with dinner."

Aunt May was about four inches shorter than Alex, with brown hair streaked with grey, and soft brown eyes. There was some family resemblance between her and Peter, mostly in the eyes, and Alex liked May instantly. Without even trying, she had made Alex feel safe and comfortable, which was no small feat these days. May had to be an excellent nurse.

"Oh, not at all dear," May laughed as she accepted the bottle of wine. "Peter said he wanted to order in, but spaghetti and meatballs isn't all that hard to make. This wine will go perfectly with it. Peter is finishing something up in his room, why don't you just go up? I already called up to let him know you were here, but apparently I'm chopped liver. Dinner will be ready soon."

Alex gave her a smile before excusing herself and heading up the narrow staircase. It wasn't hard to figure out which room was Peter's, it was the one with the door closed. She knocked. There was some shuffling, a crash, some cursing, and then the door opened a crack to reveal a very flustered Peter Parker.

"Harper, hey, hi, right, we were supposed to work on the project tonight," Peter said, looking up and down the hallway as if he hadn't expected her at all.

"Everything alright in there?" Alex asked with a board grin, tilting her head to the side. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

"What? No, no of course not. Just…give me a second," Peter closed the door and then opened it again, "Please."

Alex shook her head as she stood in the darken hallway after the door closed again, taking a minute to look at the family photos that were hung on the wall. There was Peter from chubby cheeked child to lanky teenager and then a well-proportioned adult. Aunt May didn't go through as dramatic a transformation, but one did happen, along with a man that Alex had to assume was Peter's uncle. Once again she wondered what happened to Peter's parents, even though it really wasn't her place to ask such a painful question, she couldn't help but be curious.

"Alright, come on in," Peter said as he threw the door open all the way, smiling. "Sorry about that, but it was a bit of a mess."

"And you've cleaned?" Alex asked as she walked into the chaos that was Peter's bedroom. The bed was made, which was probably what he had been doing while she waited in the hallway. That was the only organized and clean area in the whole cramped room. Papers, books, and piles of clothing were everywhere. Then again, Alex hadn't exactly been keeping her apartment clean recently, so who was she to judge.

"So, this midterm project, have you even looked at it yet? Because, I'm going to be honest with you, I might have lost the paper," Peter plopped down on his desk chair and indicated that Alex was welcome to the bed.

"I've looked over the instructions like…once? I know that there is a paper that needs to be written and raw data that we need to run through…something?" Alex dropped her backpack and reached into it for her binder, pulling out Peter's shirt and jeans. "You forgot these earlier, by the way."

"Right, sorry," Peter took the clothes and after digging a paper out of the jeans pocket, he tossed them into a hamper across the room. "This is for you, by the way. I meant to give it to you earlier. I hope the ink hasn't run too badly."

"What is it?" Alex asked as she took the slip of paper and was able to read a pretty badly smudged phone number. "Are you trying to set me up with a date or with a therapist?"

"While you probably need both, neither. There was this girl posting flyers at the student union, apparently she needs some cash and fluent in Russian. She seemed cool and I know you're stressed about that class so," Peter shrugged as he rummaged for his biochemistry notebook. "The paper part of this project shouldn't be too much of a problem, but running all this data, we're going to need some time with the specialized computers in the lab."

"I'll look into getting us some dedicated time," Alex quickly braided her hair as she looked over the assignment sheet. "We can get most of this paper done without even looking at the data. The introduction and lit review sections should be a piece of cake, and we can probably a bit of the method section done as well."

"Except if we miss even a period, Warren is going to dock us the maximum number of points," Peter sighed as he grabbed a pen and started scribbling notes. "So, how do you want to divide this up?"

Over the next half an hour, they carefully read through the project, decided on a game plan, and divided up the work. Alex was actually starting to feel that this assignment might not be too painful, if they stayed on top of it. Peter even started to make an outline when Alex got off the bed to stretch, coming to look over his shoulder while his fingers flew over the keyboard. Her eyes landing on a framed picture to the right of the monitor, a pretty blonde smiling at something out of the shot.

"Girlfriend?" Alex asked as she picked up the frame. Peter has never mentioned that he was dating, but Alex also had never asked. Maybe it was a long distance relationship? High School sweethearts that went to different colleges?

"Ah," Peter's eyes slid away from the screen and then back at the computer, though his fingers didn't start moving again. "She used to be."

There was something in the way that Peter spoke, the tone of his voice and the articulation of the words that made Alex's heart drop. The girl in the picture, whoever she was, had died. Peter didn't have to say anything else for her to know that. Alex wanted to ask so many things, but all of them were completely insensitive. Instead, she studied the picture, the wide smile and carefree attitude. Her heart ached for Peter. She knew James was still alive, he was calling her and she could still hear his voice. He wasn't gone forever, well in a permanent sense at least. Peter didn't have that burden, whether it was a blessing or a curse.

"What was her name?" Alex set the picture frame down, her hand gripping onto the back of the chair as a sign of being there for him.

"Gwen," Peter's voice was so soft, Alex barely heard him. "Her name was Gwen."

Peter smiled a little as he looked at the picture, a finger reaching out to trace the outline of Gwen's face. He had loved her, a lot. It was written on every line of his body and the way tears welled up a little in the corner of his eyes. Alex understood that feeling well, the ache that made it almost impossible to breathe.

"Peter!" Aunt May called, making them both jump. "Dinner is ready."

"Do you need help with anything?" Alex asked as they came down the stairs to see Aunt May set a basket of garlic bread on the table. A wave of homesickness hit Alex, which she hadn't expected. She missed family dinners at the farmhouse, the dogs fighting to get what little space there was underneath the table in case anything dropped.

"I do," May smiled as she headed back toward the kitchen. "Peter, come and help me in the kitchen. Alex is our guest and should help herself."

Peter shot Alex a look, but followed his Aunt into the kitchen. Alex sat down and started to load her plate up with pasta, salad, bread, and meatballs. Her mouth was watering from just the smell of the garlic bread. Other than when she went out with Steve, the most nutritious thing Alex had to eat at her apartment was hot pockets. It was easy to hear a whispered conversation going on in the kitchen, probably about her, but she attempted to ignore it.

"Sorry for the wait, I needed help with the cork," Aunt May said as she and Peter came back into the dining room. The blush on Peter's cheeks made it obvious the wine cork wasn't all that had been giving him grief.

"It's alright, I've just been sitting here trying not to eat all the food. It looks delicious." Alex gave Peter a knowing smile, tilting her head to the side and raising an eyebrow while he filled her wine glass. Peter just gave her a little head shake before going over to fill the rest of the glasses.

"So, Alex, tell me about yourself," Aunt May said as she sat down, ignoring Peter's groan. "What? I want to know about your friends. You rarely bring them over to the house."

Over a very delicious meal, Alex gave Aunt May the parent approved version of her past. It wasn't as exciting without the motorcycle gang, string of criminal ex-boyfriends, and all the other torrid things she had done in her youth, but May looked intrigued and asked questions now and again. May even told some stories of her own from the hospital where she worked.

"I've always told myself that I really should take a basic first aid course," Alex said as she helped herself to another helping of food. "I took a course back when I was a Girl Scout for a badge, but I don't really remember much and I have a lot of clumsy friends."

"I would be more than happy to teach you a thing or two. These days, with Peter out of the house so much, I'm always trying to find something to keep busy." Aunt May laughed. "But maybe you should tell your friends to be a bit more careful."

Alex and Peter shared a look over their wine glasses, but chose to keep their comments to themselves. She hadn't meant Peter specifically, in fact, though the shoes probably felt extremely well. No, it was the face of the dead girl the year before had prompted the statement, but it was still fun to make Peter squirm a bit. Even if May knew that he was Spider-Man, which was not a conversation to have over meatballs, Alex doubted that Peter told her everything about his time crime-fighting.

"Honestly, Peter, I don't know what I'm going to do when you move out." May patted his hand before taking starting to collect the dirty dishes. "I've spent so long looking after you, it's basically been another full-time job."

"You're going to be just fine," Peter laughed. "You're going to go to loads of parties and on hot dates and forget all about me. I'll be getting snapchats of you dancing on top of tables and doing body shots."

"Snap what?" Aunt May looked confused at the door of the kitchen, looking from Alex to Peter. They both broke out laughing.

"It's an app," Peter explained as he helped clean up the table while Alex finished up her second plate of food.

Alex wondered if Peter had told Aunt May about the application for the foreign exchange program or not. They only had each other and seemed very open with one another, but Alex also knew how hard it was to tell your family something that you knew they weren't going to support. When she was accepted to NYU and her parents told her they weren't comfortable with her going to New York, Alex kind of just left the house one day with her things and gave them a call from the airport.

Peter was still attempting to explain what Snapchat was when they returned to the dining room, carrying plates of chocolate cake. After topping up their wine glasses, explanation resumed, and by the end of their meal they had taken a couple pictures together with filters. They had to stop when one of the filters made them look as if they were in a Funhouse mirror and Aunt May laughed so hard she started crying.

"Okay, okay," Peter wiped his own eyes and put his own phone away. "We have to finish a few more things for this assignment before it gets too late."

"Is this that Professor that's giving you a hard time?" Aunt May's voice had a little bite as she finished cleaning up the dining room. "Do I have to call and speak with him?"

"You know," Peter said as he ate the last piece of his cake with his fingers, "that might not be a bad idea."

"Peter, really!" May chided before turning to Alex. "I swear that he had manners as a child. I don't know where he gets this from. I'm sure your boyfriend isn't such a slob."

"Aunt May," Peter groaned, mouth full of chocolate cake and some icing on his lips.

"I don't have a boyfriend and my previous relationships have left a lot to be desired in terms of manners," Alex gave May a smile. There was something kind of endearing about adults embarrassing their children, especially when it was someone else getting embarrassed.

"Oh, did you hear that Peter? She's single." Aunt May gave him a look before disappearing into the kitchen.

"We're never speaking about this ever again." Peter was practically pink, rubbing his hand over his face. "Never. Those last couple minutes never happened."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Parker." Alex smiled brightly before she got to her feet.

"Thank you," Peter finished his wine.

"Sure thing." Alex gave him a pat on the shoulder as she got up from her chair. "I totally won't bring up the fact that your aunt basically just asked me out on your behalf to benefit me in some way in the future. The thought never even crossed my mind."

Peter groaned as he slid to his feet and started up the stairs. Honestly, Alex was a little flattered that Aunt May deemed her worthy of Peter's affections. She seemed very protective and Alex didn't exactly look like the girl next door. Not like Gwen, who Peter had obviously been in love with. Maybe May was desperate for Peter to be happy in whatever form he could find.

They worked for another couple hours before they really couldn't get any further on the project without the data and doing some research. Both of them were also dead tired and had spent the last half hour complaining about everything they had to do instead of actually doing it. As Alex started to pack up, she hoped that the alcohol and the mental strain she would be able to sleep once she got home.

"I should probably get going," Alex said as she got to her feet and stretched. "I would hate to overstay my welcome."

"I'll walk you home," Peter jumped to his feet in some fluid movement, not a pop or a crack from his joints. Apparently doing acrobatic routines that would make Cirque du Soleil jealous while fighting crime made him immune to the same joint problems everyone else had.

"You don't need to do that." Alex laughed as she headed for the bedroom door. "It's only a couple of blocks to the subway station and it's just a hop, skip, and jump to my apartment. No need for you to waste an hour or so of your life."

"Hop, skip, and a jump? That's adorable and very Midwest of you," Peter pulled on a hoodie and followed her down the stairs. "Besides, I can get you home a lot faster than the subway, with a much better view of the city."

"I mean, we're still due for that conversation about...well...you know," Alex pointed out, trailing off when Aunt May got off the couch and walked over to them.

"There is a container of chocolate cake on the kitchen counter for you," May said with a smile. "It was nice to meet you, though I have to admit, you're not what I expected. When Peter talked about his brilliant lab partner I was thinking of someone more…"

"Normal? Not tattooed and had more metal in her ears that some common household appliances? Yeah, I get that a lot," Alex laughed, leaning against the banister while Peter tugged on his shoes. "And between the two of us, Peter is the brilliant one. I'm copying his notes half the time."

"That's only because you're asleep half the time," Peter pointed out. "Come on, we'll head out the back door so you can collect that cake."

Peter kissed Aunt May on the cheek before leading Alex through the house and out the back door, swiping the cake on the way. It actually felt like an autumn night, the air cold and crisp, as they walked into the postage stamp backyard. Instead of heading out of the gate, Peter waved Alex over to a little shed.

"How do you work like this?" Alex asked as they stepped into what was obviously a small workshop, taking in the chaos around her.

"I've been kind of busy recently, so housekeeping hasn't been my main priority," Peter rubbed the back of his neck as Alex pushed some things on the work table around to get a better look.

"I feel like even if you had all the time in the world, it would still look like this," Alex laughed.

"Okay, that's true, but also rude," Peter walked over and sat down on his little red stool, wheeling over to whatever he was working on underneath a illuminated magnifying glass.

Alex realized that the workshop was a visual representation of Peter's brain, scattered and crowded, but sprinkled with brilliance and all working toward a purpose. The current purpose was new wristlets that seemed to hold his webbing material and it seemed like a very complex operation. They were delicate little devices, the small mechanisms the reason he had to work on them underneath magnification. Delicate mechanical operations were not Alex's forte, but she bet Monica would be drooling at the mouth to see the interworking on Peter's gear.

"Why are you making a new set?" Alex asked as she leaned in closer so she could watch him work.

"These ones," Peter flashed his wrists to show his current set, "are good, but I am trying to improve the accuracy and holding capacity. Right now, they can only hold two canisters, which puts me in a sticky situation for a long battle or a lot of swinging. I want to be able to carry up to five canisters, as well as adding a few other tricks and upgrades. Unfortunately, between crime and school work, it's been slow going."

"You'd think criminals would be more conscious of your GPA." Alex watched fascinated as Peter picked up a small screwdriver and tightened something. She had a hard time understanding how such a clumsy man could do such delicate work.

"They are so inconsiderate sometimes," Peter laughed softly, not looking away from his work.

"So," Alex turned around to study the rest of the little bits in the shed, "when are we going to talk about how you became a superhero? Get sick of kids making fun of you for taking gymnastics so you started fighting crime?"

"It's a long story," Peter sighed as he traded out the screwdriver for a tiny spray can of something, "but the short version is that I got bit by a radioactive spider and now I have super powers."

"Please tell me that you're joking," Alex said with a small laugh.

Peter just looked up at her and gave a little shake of his head. Alex didn't know how to process that information. It just sparked so many questions. The first question being where the hell did he run into a radioactive spider. This was New York, and it wasn't the cleanest city in the world, but radioactive spider was a little out there. Plague ridden rat, she would be able to believe. The second question was more of her scientific mind at work, how did a spider bite give him powers and not just kill him?

"Well, that just reinforces my rule of never trusting those eight legged, eight eyed bastards," Alex finally said with a shrug. "Like, who needs that many legs and eyes? It's excessive."

Peter stopped working and looked up at her, surprise written all over his face. Alex just tilted her head a little and raised an eyebrow, wondering why her distrust of spiders was so surprising. It was like God designed them to be evil. Then Peter just started laughing, pushing away from his work and running his hands through his hair.

"What about you?" Peter asked as he got up, apparently no longer needing something to do with his hands, and turned off the light.

"What about me?" Alex had no idea what he was talking about. "Last time I checked, being able to stand you wasn't a superpower. Unless you're talking about walking in heels and a short dress?. It's not exactly scaling walls."

"I mean, depending on who you ask, both are super powers," Peter pointed out as he locked up the shed, "but what I meant was you said 'not again' when you unmasked me. Do you make it a point of ruining people's secret identities? If so, I'm sure that NYPD would love to give you a job."

"No, but I have a bad habit of finding them out, without meaning to. Honestly, the less I have to do with superheroes, the better."

"You work at Stark Industries, under Dr. Banner. That's like an alcoholic walking into a bar and just sitting there looking at the bottles," Peter shook his head. "You're a very strange woman, Alexandra Harper. Honestly, I'm starting to worry about your overall sanity."

"Says the man who just told me he was bitten by a radioactive spider and, instead of going to a hospital, decided to fight crime in spandex instead," Alex laughed. She understood where Peter was coming from, but she really and truly didn't want anything to do with superheroes or Hydra. Stark Industries was purely for her career, not because she wanted to be around the Avengers. Why couldn't people separate the two? Hundred of people worked for Stark Industries who never even laid eyes on the Avengers.

"It's…it is a little bit more complicated than that," Peter sighed as they got to the front of the house. "I'm going to run in and see if Aunt May needs me to pick anything up before we head out. Give me a second."

Alex waited at the bottom of the porch steps as Peter slip back inside. There was the flash from the television, but Aunt May must have been asleep or laying down on the couch since Alex couldn't see her head. Peter's face softened and he pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and presumably draped it over her. It was all very sweet. Alex wondered why Peter wanted to go to London when it was obvious he was devoted to his aunt.

"Come on, let's get going," Peter said as he came back out, locking the door behind him. "It's freezing out."

"You don't have to walk me, you know," Alex went to playfully punch Peter's shoulder. Peter's hand shot out and grabbed onto her wrist. It wasn't painful, but it stopped her from touching him. They looked at each other in shock.

"Sorry, sorry, quick reflexes," Peter let go of her just as quickly and looked embarrassed. "It's part of my powers, I can kind of sense things coming at me."

"Like…spider senses?" Alex tried to recover from her shock. Even though she knew he was Spider-man, it was easy to forget that he even had powers.

"Like what?" Peter asked, head tilted to the side.

"Well, whenever something is about to happen, you said you know beforehand. Like you sense it," Alex explained, though it was difficult to get out and she felt her cheeks heating up. "You're Spider-man, you have these senses, so their spider senses…spidey senses…Oh, never mind."

"Spidey senses…I kind of like it," Peter gave her a crooked smile as they walked toward the subway, "but don't ever say that in front of anyone else, though."

"Obviously," Alex smiled giving his shoulder a little shove, which he allowed this time. Who the hell else was she going to say it to? No one else knew that Peter was Spider-Man, but there was no reason arguing with him about it.

"I really like your aunt, but the way. She reminds me a bit of my mom, without the bite."

"I can't even imagine your mother," Peter laughed as they walked toward the subway station. "Like all I see is a carbon copy of you with like an apron and a rolling pin. It's a little disturbing."

"Grace Ann Harper is shorter than I am, a bit wider, has blonde hair streaked with grey, and a shotgun beside the back door that she can hit a groundhog with at 500 feet without even breaking a sweat," Alex explained with a smile. Again, a wave of unexpected homesickness washed over her. The small town and farm had always felt so stifling to her as a child, but it had really let her get herself together during the summer.

"Remind me not to stand at your back door," Peter smiled as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen. "Hey, there is something I have to do…"

"Okay, that's fine. Like I said, you don't need to walk me," Alex didn't like the serious look on Peter's face. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, there might be a small bank robbery that I need to stop, nothing major," Peter said as if he was mentioning stopping by to let a friend's dog out. "I can't let you walk home alone, thought, not after the other night. I'm just going to take you with me and leave you somewhere safe while I deal with this. It's no big deal."

"Excuse me? Are you insane?" Alex stopped walking, making Peter look at her. "How do you even know that there is a bank robbery happening?"

"I get the police updates on my phone." Peter put his arm around her shoulder, starting to move her down the sidewalk again.

"If the police know about it, why not just let them handle it?" Alex asked, though she let herself be dragged along.

"I don't have time to explain right now, but the weapons these guys are using are bad news bears. I'm better equipped to take care of it than the boys in blue." Peter looked around to see if anyone else was on the sidewalk. "You're going to be so mad about this."

Before Alex could say anything else, Peter picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. There was no time to even scream before they were catapulting up into the air. Her stomach settled in her mouth, but she stayed very still. From what she could see, they were suddenly very high off the ground and she didn't want to know what it felt like to be free falling toward the pavement. The whole experience was like being on the worst rollercoaster Alex could imagine without a seatbelt, rising and falling at inconsistent intervals.

Finally, the ride stopped and Alex opened her eyes to see that she was on the solid ground of a roof. Peter set Alex down softly, but her limbs were shaking so badly that she grabbed onto his neck to keep herself upright.

"You're choking me," Peter croaked as he pried her arms off his neck.

"Are you insane?" Alex finally got out, not sure how she was standing or where in the city she was. Looking for a landmark, her eyes focused on Stark Tower glowing in the distance. They somehow had gotten to Upper Manhattan in a matter of moments. The Hudson River was very close, but that still didn't make Alex feel as if she had any idea what was going on.

"You can yell at me later." Peter stripped out of his clothes in record speed.

Alex wasn't sure if she should watch him or look away, even though it was obvious that he had his suit on underneath his t-shirt and jeans. Was he ever not wearing that thing? It had to smell if that was the case, spandex was not a breathable material. Before she could even form any these thoughts into a question, Peter was tugged on his mask from his back pocket of his jeans, threw all the clothes at Alex, and leaping off the edge of the building.

It took Alex a couple heartbeats to figure out what happened, Peter's crumpled clothes in her arms, blinking up at the night sky. Curiosity finally pulled her over to the side of the roof to take in the scene below. There was a Chase Bank on the corner, surrounded by cop cars and officers trying to block off the area from bystanders. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected.

Now that Alex's stomach was settling back in it's appropriate position, she was cold and pissed. How dare Peter just pick her up like a sack of flour and drag her wherever he saw fit. Not only that, he had thrown his clothes at her! Alex wanted to drop them, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, so she folded them angrily instead. When Peter got back, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought about Spider-Man.

The sound of gunshots rang out and people down on the street screamed. Alex felt as if ice water had been dropped over her and the clothes slipped out of her fingers. She blinked and Nadia was pointing a gun at her, smiling as she pulled the trigger. It was a year ago, but all that fear and adrenaline and hate was coursing through her body as if she was right there.

The next time Alex was aware of herself, whatever happened down at the bank was over. A couple of officers were walking the supposed criminals out of the bank, hands behind their back, and white webbing all over their clothes. There were a couple unmarked cars among the flashing lights and even though she was far away, Alex could have sworn she saw Officer Sousa down on the sidewalk. How long had she just been standing there?

"It was all really excessive. Like, first of all, who robs banks with electric powered ray guns, which were thankfully malfunctioning, and hand grenades? Seriously?" Peter's voice came behind her, obviously in the middle of a rant she hadn't heard any of.

Alex spun around to see Peter pacing behind her, still in his suit, though he had pulled the mask off. Black soot was covering the spandex, which meant that at least one of the grenades had probably gone off, and there was a good sized rip in the right shoulder. Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped when he saw her expression.

"Is everything okay?" Peter walked over, putting his hands on her shoulders and held on a little tighter when he felt her trembling. "I know that swinging isn't for everyone, especially when you aren't used to it, but I thought you'd be fine. Oh, wait, are you scared of heights? I didn't even think about that. Sorry, if you are, I mean, I'll keep that in mind for the future. Not that I think I'll just throw you over my shoulder again in the future, as I think you might punch me, but these things are good to know. Alright, I'm really starting to get worried because you haven't told me to shut up."

"How long were you down there?" Alex asked, trying to figure out how much time she had lost.

"Oh, maybe fifteen to twenty minutes, at the most." Peter was gently rubbing her arms, speaking softly, concern written all over his face. "Why?"

"I…I dropped your clothes," Alex looked down at the pile on the edge of the roof. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it." Peter tilted his head to the side. Alex just gave him a little head shake of not now he let go of her and picked the items in question up.

"We should probably get out of here before the police start looking for you." Alex did not feel like explaining, even if she could explain this new fun thing her mind was doing. She felt numb and hollow and was having a hard time pulling herself back into reality, even now.

"You're not wrong. Come on, I'll give you a piggyback swing back home." Peter still looked extremely concerned, but there was a small smile on his face.

"Speaking of which, if you try to throw me over your shoulder like that again, I will break every one of your fingers until they light up like the little radioactive glow sticks that they are," Alex said, managing a shaky smile.

Peter watched her for a second longer before pulling on his clothes, tucking his mask into his back pocket. After getting everything situated, Peter crouched down and Alex got onto his back. There was some adjusting from Peter, mostly loosening the grip on his neck and shifting her legs on his hips. As Alex didn't want to fall to her death, she didn't make too many sounds of protest.

"I don't know if it's going to be better for you with your eyes open or closed, but we're about to jump," Peter said over his shoulder.

Before Alex could make a decision of what would be best, Peter ran and leapt off the roof. After getting used to the free falling aspect of it, which made her reflexively made her close her eyes, Alex enjoyed watching the city fly by around her. It took almost no time for Peter to be gently setting Alex down in an alley near her building.

"I could have just walked home," Alex said as they both adjusted their clothes and walked out onto the sidewalk. It probably looked suspect to anyone who saw them appear, faces flushed and clothes askew.

"You get in trouble when you're with a group of friends. I'm not going to let you out on your own," Peter laughed.

Alex was too tired to argue as she noticed that there were a number of cop cars outside the building. Fear gripped her and Alex started running toward the front door. What if something happened to Monica? Peter didn't ask any questions, just ran with her and they busted into the lobby.

"Miss Harper, oh thank god you weren't in your apartment. I didn't see you come in, but I was so worried I had missed you and…" Henry was explained in a hurried voice as he came over to Alex and Peter. "Oh, I'm so glad you're alright."

"What happened? Is Monica alright?" Alex asked in just as hurried a voice, speaking over the older man.

"Miss LeBlanc? She's fine, other than being worried about you." Henry seemed confused by the question.

"Why would she be worried about Alex?" Peter asked, the only one not completely panicked at the moment.

"Because it looks like a wild animal tore her apartment to shreds. It's a mess and we have no idea who did it," Henry explained, looking more worried than Alex had ever seen him. "I have no idea what could do something like that. It's almost supernatural."

#Marvel #A Spider Sat Down Beside Her #Update 12 #the amazing spider-man #spiderman #Peter Parker #Fanfic

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ladylynse · 7 years ago

Note

"What do you mean you won't allow a witch to be an astronaut? I've worked my life for this-- you can't take that away from me!" Harry Potter Universe meets a stubborn muggle-born?

Here you go, Anon! I hope you enjoy it. It’s post-series but pre-Cursed Child if we’re taking that as canon and features Hermione as the only canon character.

Dreams: [FF | AO3]Somehow, Hermione found herself dealing with a stubborn muggle-born who had been told that an astronaut is not exactly an ideal wizarding profession.

“What do you mean you won’t allow a witch to be anastronaut?” The shout echoed down the corridor of the Ministry, cutting throughthe babble of conversation beyond her office door and swish of papers flyingoverhead. “I’ve worked all my life for this! You can’t take that away from me!”

Hermione looked up from her desk just in time to see herdoor fly open. Papers blew out of their neat stacks and danced to the floor asher colleague Quentin Templeton burst in. He slammed the door behind him andshot her a pleading look. “Help me.”

“I’d be more inclined to do that if you didn’t break down mydoor,” Hermione said reproachfully. “I’ve only been in this office two days;I’d hate to have to go back to my cubicle already.”

“You don’t understand. She’s not listening to reason. Thereare laws! We have them to protectourselves! But she doesn’t understand that!”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask exactly from whom Quentinthought he was hiding when her door flew off its hinges. Quentin yelped, divingto the side and just barely avoiding being clipped; Hermione had to throw up ashield, which in turn destroyed her beloved door and the last vestiges of herfiling system as the remaining papers scattered everywhere.

“You,” the girl barked, looking at Hermione, “you’reimportant, right? You have some pull here? Can you tell this…this…pureblood that being an astronaut is aprestigious profession and there is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t pursue my dream?”

Hermione sighed.

With a few flicks of her wand, she cleared the debris fromthe two chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat, Ms.—?”

“Maureen Davidson,” the girl spat. She cast a glare atQuentin before flouncing down into her seat; he didn’t move from the cornerbeyond climbing to his feet. “I have been preparing for this for years. I did distance education and homeschool curriculums on top of mystudies at Hogwarts so I didn’t fall behind in the muggle system. I’ve attendedsummer school and conferences and space camps and am learning Russian. I got mypilot’s license when I turned seventeen last month. I’ve applied and beenaccepted to several universities, but that bloke—” she pointed at Quentinwithout even looking at him “—tells me I can’t go. Tell him he’s wrong.”

“Ms. Davidson—”

“He says I need totake a job in the wizarding world, that I have to be a contributing member ofsociety. Well, why can’t I do that by becoming an astronaut? I know thecompetition is stiff, but I’m top of my class in everything, and he has no right to tell me this isn’t feasible. Ihave my entire career path planned out. I’ll be fluent in Russian in five toseven years, in a PhD program for chemistry— That’s potions to you,” she sneered, looking back at Quentin, “and well onmy way to logging over a thousand hours of flight time. But now I can’t do thatbecause an astronaut isn’t a properwizarding profession?”

Hermione steepled her fingers. She had a feeling Ms.Davidson had been experiencing the dreaded department shuffle, given that hercase only had a passing connection to the Department of Magical LawEnforcement. “Quentin, do you mind leaving us for a moment?”

Quentin mumbled something affirmative and fled. A quick reparo and aguamenti later, and Hermione had filled a previously-shatteredwater glass and offered it to Maureen. The girl looked defiant, so Hermioneadded, “I thought you might be thirsty after all that.”

“Thanks,” Maureen mumbled as she took the glass. She lookedslightly less disgruntled after swallowing a few mouthfuls.

Hermione took the opportunity to lean back in her chair.“Ms. Davidson, I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I haven’t evenintroduced myself.” And chances were very good that Maureen hadn’t seen hername on the door before blowing it off its hinges. “I’m Hermione Granger.Please excuse my colleague; as you rightly deduced, he is a pureblood and assuch is still woefully lacking in knowledge about the muggle world that isbeyond the scope of everyday function.”

Maureen blinked. “You’re—?”She grabbed for the water and drained it. “Okay. So. You’re a muggle-born, too.Which means you really do understand. Is there really a law that says we have to choose a wizarding professionjust because we have magic?”

“It’s strongly encouraged,” Hermione allowed, “but nothing’swritten down, not even in the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.Witches and wizards tend to enjoy a longer life span than muggles, but newblood and the new ideas that come with it is strongly encouraged in theworkforce. It’s exceedingly rare for someone with magic to struggle to findemployment. As a society, we are still quite small, even worldwide. That is whyit is preferable for anyone of magic to seek employment within the wizardingworld.”

Maureen crossed her arms. “The wizarding world likes toignore the technological advances muggles have made. Technology and magic may notmix well, but they don’t have to be mutually exclusive, do they? I mean, when Isaid I dreamed of seeing Earth from space, your friend looked at me like I hada death wish. They do know muggles landed on the moon nearly fifty years ago,right?”

Hermione rather suspected most didn’t, so she smiled insteadof answering. “What you need to understand, Maureen—may I call you Maureen?—isthat most of these laws, explicit and implicit, have been designed to protectus.” Maureen kept saying them insteadof us, and Hermione needed to changethat if she hoped to resolve this; if Maureen refused to acknowledge that shewas just as much a part of the wizarding world as she was the muggle one, thenHermione was fighting a losing battle. “It’s not simply a matter of protectingus from persecution anymore; there is also an element of sustaining oursociety. It is imperative that our youth bring forward a fresh outlook on theway we do things; too often, we find ourselves abiding by precedents setcenturies ago. Even in the wizarding world, which has evolved much more slowlythan the muggle one, change is vital. Without it, our society will stagnate.Now, if every muggle-born or half-blood decided to pursue a career in themuggle world, what do you expect would happen to the wizarding one?”

Maureen narrowed her eyes. “I know what you’re getting at.You’re trying to get me to say that without people like me, the wizarding wouldnever change. That it would flounder and die, trying to keep alive traditionsthat are not only no longer relevant but also don’t even hold meaning anymore,because that’s all the purebloods know.” A heavy generalization, but she wasgetting the point. “But that’s irrelevant. All my friends, regardless of theirblood status, are happy to enter wizarding society. It’ll live on just finewithout me. But I’ve wanted to be an astronaut for as long as I can remember,and there’s no equivalent to that in the wizarding world.”

“That’s true,” agreed Hermione. “There is no equivalent ofastronaut in our world. I’m sure your Head of House informed you of that.”

“My Head of House didn’t know what I was talking about,”complained Maureen before Hermione could continue, “and suggested I take it upwith the Ministry. Which is why I’m here. Again.Because I’ve had to come before, and it’s never accomplished anything.” Maureenadopted a high, simpering voice and mocked, “Oh, this isn’t my department. I’msure they can help you down on the second floor. Why don’t you try there, dear?No? Well, why not the fourth floor? Oh, I’m sorry, miss, but you should be onthe second floor. You tried that? I’m sure there’s just a misunderstanding. Whydon’t you go back and I’ll write a memo to the appropriate people?”

“What you need,” said Hermione, “is to find the appropriatebalance in order to get the best of both worlds.”

Maureen raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“From what you’ve said about your schooling, you’ve alreadyshown great discipline and expertise when it comes to juggling our two verydifferent worlds. I would propose that you keep doing that rather than choosingto abandon the wizarding world in favour of the muggle one.”

Maureen snorted. “Sure. That would be great. Exceptapparently that’s impossible. Is now your cue to say that I need to be thechange I want to see in the world?”

“Something like that.” Hermione’s smile returned. “Have youconsidered work in Muggle Relations?”

“Muggle Relations?” Maureen repeated. “Like, for the Muggle LiaisonOffice? Don’t they just modify the memories of muggles who see things theyshouldn’t? Stuff like that?”

“There’s more to it, though I will admit memory modificationis a common task for those in the field. No, I was thinking you’d be bettersuited to a long term undercover assignment.”

Maureen stared at her. “A what?”

“An undercover operative,” repeated Hermione. “Sometimesdeployed in pairs, granted, or even larger groups, but solo missions are thenorm. It’s usually a position held by squibs knowledgeable of the muggle worldor by muggle-borns such as yourself. The idea is to gauge muggle society, tosee how they react to the unexplained events of our world to which they areexposed and to be among the first responders on the scene to do damage controlwhen there’s a breach of security or an attack. Essentially, you’ll be doing alot of work to ensure that all those bedtime stories of witches and wizardsstay just that, for the most part.” Hermione grimaced. “I hate to admit this,but it is safer if muggles as a whole are skeptical of magic. At the veryleast, we can’t risk the level of destruction that would result if warringsides started employing magic. The threat of nuclear war is real enough withoutadding in the possibility of magical genocide.”

“Okay,” Maureen said slowly, “but what exactly does thishave to do with me being an astronaut?”

“As long as you write consistent reports, I see no reasonwhy you could not position yourself in the UK Space Agency and apply to goout-of-country when the time comes.” Hermione folded her hands. “I’m sureMuggle Relations would be delighted to have an enterprising young witch such asyourself in their employ. Now, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this again, butif you go up to Level 3, they could give you some more information so that youcan properly consider the position before deciding if you would like to applyfor it.”

Maureen grinned. “Thank you. It is so relieving to finally get an answer. I can totally see where yourreputation comes from.” She sprang to her feet, turned to go, hesitated, andturned back. “Um…can I do anything about your door?”

Hermione laughed and waved her off. “Leave that to me. Youdeserve to keep working on turning your dreams into reality. Good luck. If youkeep this up, I’m sure you’ll be sailing amongst the stars someday.”

(see more fics)

#hp #harry potter #hermione granger #hp fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #hp snippet #snippets #requests #I was relying on the internet for the astronaut info #so that might not be entirely accurate #Anonymous

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years ago

Text

December 10, 2020: 3:15 pm:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strawman_theory

If you are learning about modern day terror pirates, Russian Mother of all Hoaxes and how to zoom around to see in with Cracker Jack Secret Decoder Ring w/Way-Back Machine Attachment, Global Domination Under the Cross, and Crewed Oil, then, you need to know the legend of the Strawman.

You need to go into the Russian Mother Hoax and fly around for this.

There is a Scarecrow from Wizard of Oz, hates fire, won‘t go near a Bar-b-Que, bonfire, or ride a motorcycle without a spark arrrrrestor on it. He says he has no brains. Seems pretty smart to me, knows about fire science.

There is other kinds of Strawman inside the Russian Fractal of Lies.

One is the guy that is said to have access to some guns, if you need a gun, are not willing to go near the gun store, like a bar-b-que and a Scarecrow, then, you go see the Strawman, who is like a Martinizer at a Chinese Laundry, before the Chinaman was killed there, or, like a Amp Guru, can wave a magic wand, put a blessing, there could be some smoke, some guitar players could disappear when that happens. So, Gun Strawman is an important guy in the Russian Fractal Hoax Mother. Multi-Purpose, full service special cleaners, just go get a Big-Gulp, and a straw, at the craps table. “new shooter, comin‘ out!”

Then, there is that other, mysterious Strawman that I linked there.

That, is the Wikipedia Page is the Gnosis Version. It’s all sprinkled with bullshit, lies, deception, is like a treasure map for pirates, has secret messages for guidance in dense fog. There is way too much bullshit at the Wiki, so, we go this other way, towards the secret truth:

I don’t have all of the answers. I have some.

So, you get hauled into a courtroom somewhere, for some reason, could be a parking ticket you have to pay, or, could be car insurance you have to show, or some other small thing where you need to talk to the Courthouse Martinizer Dry Cleaner Amp Guru Power Circuit Mother of all Knowledge friendly Canadian Representative there at the front counter of the County Court House & Shipyard.

There, they show you some paper with your name on it. The reason you went there is explained in a receipt of some paper. The Court Magistrate Martian shows that your name is written in all CAPITAL LETTERS.

HEYSUES Q. CITIZEN

For instance.

“Jesus... is that my name? All Caps?” you say.

“Yes. That is your name. All Caps.” says the Magistrate Docking Clerk.

They explain:

“When you come to the courthouse, and then, after that, forever, you are hereby under Maritime Law, “Three Miles Out to See” they say. Your name is forever to be etched in all capital letters, even when you see it in other ways, it’s still always going to be all capital letters, because you came to the courthouse today, that’s why. So, that means that your name, as a Maritime Courthouse Subject, is henceforth a Strawman, your real ID is always Capitalized, for evermore, and you are under Maritime Law. So, pay your parking ticket at the cash register on the Starboard Side, and show your Auto Insurance Card to the people at the Port Side Shipping Lane as you exit the building”

Basically, that is “The Strawman”. All of that Wikipedia, is bullshit Gnosis they used to keep the truth under the plimsoll, out of view.

3:53 pm.

=============================

4:07 pm:

https://robertkeeley.com/

Bob Keeley. Comes from the email promotions at Hollywood Terror Choir Command HQ.

He is laying down some tracks here, there is some talk about the Strawman right there in that SYNTH-1, second from left.

Let’s have a look.

Let’s see... three areas, grey, blue, red... some knobs, different size ones... two kinds of switches... a BFK in the middle. (”Big Fucking Knife”, is also a Burger King Menu Item, subliminally... “Let’s go get a BFK, I’m hungry!)

The stuff is all arranged there nice and neat, looks cool, I want one.

There is something about those buttons there at the bottom in red... Idunno what it is, but looks kinda weird somehow, ... hmmmmmm... we can figure that out later.

Stuff like that, is often arranged with pleasing to the eye proven means developed by advertising experts long ago, helps to sell products when they look good, and the idea is mostly for the ad that is in the newspaper or catalogue for the products, is called CRAP.

If it looks like CRAP, it’s good, sell it.

C ontrast

R epetition

A lignment

P roximity

CRAP, those are the rules of advertising. Works with warfare too.

So, those other three items are much easier to see the CRAP than the SYNTH-1 is from Bob Keeley, but, the CRAP is there. There is one place where the CRAP is not there, and that is with those two buttons on the bottom in red with the BFK between.

Let’s look at the other parts of the thing first.

Three triangle arranged knobs in a field of grey, with a bigger knob to the upper right in a blue box. Some houses in a neighborhood with a 7-11 on the corner. The houses are tract houses, all the same. The people go to the corner store, get too much good stuff, and a Big Gulp, then go back home.

Those guys on the bottom in red though... they are right there, looks kinda weird, like they are baby sitting the neighborhood.

Maybe that big knob on the corner is the courthouse, and those knobs in the grey are the whole county, all arranged in a triangle of three-ness.

If so, who are the guys in the red zone? They are at the Burger King, have sharp stuff, lots of electronics there, “Wave Generator”, it says. (have you been to the 7th Street BK?. Kiersten Nielson of DHS was killed in defense there. Don’t go there without first understanding all about Bob Keeley.)

Those two buttons in the red area, one is round, port holes are round. That round one is the kind you have to stomp on hard to make it switch, is indestructible, made special for stomping on, has two positions.

That other one, has three positions, is kinda whimpy, easy to roll over, it’s called a Rocker Switch, is rectangle shape, looks like a smart phone video on the vertical setting, sort of, or Picture Window w/three different ways to let the air in, shows waves, air waves, sound waves, electronic current waves, ocean waves, people in the stands at a football game doing “The Wave”... (sorry, fractal decoder glytch happened, too many waves)

The red is below the Plimsoll.

Ok, now we have some sheets to the wind in the Fractal Viewer.

Bob Fuller, Fulltone. He makes stuff that is absolutely indestructible. There is no junk at the Fultone shop, it’s all built like a battleship. Robert Fuller is that round button in red.

Even looks like a battleship at the Fulltone shop, Venice/Santa Monica area of the Pacific Coast.

https://www.fulltone.com/

You need to go there, take a ride in a stealth dingy around there, quietly, Bob’s have the best electronics, swords, RADAR, SONAR, and the took over Raytheon in Colorado a long time ago, so, they have more and better equipment than does the US Military there, I am not exaggerating. The people from that part of the Russian Hoax Fractal Mother invented Raytheon, way back in the early 1970′s when Raytheon was just a maker of SONAR fish finders for fishermen, and somehow that invention was souled to the US Defense Department, probobly when Ronnie Reagan (Raygun) became US President, he was SAG President at the time he was “Elected”.

Conclusion:

The SYNTH-1 is a Aircraft Carrier, the three knobs in grey are Flying V’s on the flight deck. That other bigger knob in blue is the Flight Control Tower. Those buttons on the bottom in red, are distributing Chum into the water. The Chum is the US Navy after those two Bob’s w/BFK got to them.

Those other three items in the Keeley ad are supporting members for the shipping and warfare concert, are like USO shows featuring Bob Hope aboard ship for entertaining the US Crew during war-time.

The brought with them:

Pretty Girls

Coffee Maker

Ammonium nitrite

Lots of electronic equipment, cameras, recording gear, boxes to carry all of that, helicopters were provided for transportation to and from the boats.

The Bob Hope Traveling US Takeover Show was given special protective crew assigned to them for USO shows.

This part of the Fractal Hoax of Russian Lies is deep.

It goes to HWY 111 in Palm Springs to a house with a pool that is also a fish aquarium for big fish in the California desert. More available w/personal interview please from nsa or other Global Security persons.

NOT FOR HIRE. FOR FREE.

5:17 pm.

========================================

5:35 pm:

I have some glue for sticking together puzzle parts from Burger King to Dairy Queen, it’s Royal Glue, very expensive HMS Glue.

You go inside either of those two places, and the same condition can be seen.

Walk through the door, look to the left. There are some booths there by the big window. One of the most central of those booths, at either place, is going to have some stuff on the table, but there is no one there, just some personal items on a table.

no matter who you are, that is going to be your stuff after they kill you there. Part of the set-up is some personal items on a table at the Royal Take-Away.

I have seen many ways that stuff is arranged and used. There are too many ways, and can always change to suit the HMS Hamburger.

At Burger King, the items are almost always electronic items, a computer lap-top opened up and running is there on the table, maybe some reading glasses, and a smart phone on a small stand like a little tiny tripod for smart phone video conference is there on that table. You go in, make your order, there is always confusion, they don’t hear what you said, explain you can have super size, or something for free, or some problem is happening with the Burger King Order Taker’s Electronic Headset, one that has three blinking lights on the wrap-around microphone part, red, green, more red color lights on it, all blinking near that representatives mouth. That is when two thugs come into the store there, as you are mesmerized by the blinking lights, and are confused about why is the order taker talking to the people in the Drive Through when you are inside the store at the front counter.

The people who came in behind are releasing a lot of nitrous gas, you see them, hear that that are talking about you as if they know who you are, and they call you by name like a old friend just happened to come in there as you are ordering. That’s when the front counter person w/blinking mouthpiece shoots the .25 custom made gun. The people behind who say they know you, are there to offer some “help” first aid in the parking where there is a Pontiac Catalina 1968 V-8 400 Big Block 4 door waiting.

That is when all of that stuff on the table is going to be your stuff. no one knows what the heck is on that hard drive or in that phone, as you disappear into the parking with your new friends.

Same thing at Dairy Queen. The difference is that the items are not electronics on the table, it’s a motorcycle helmet, and there is a Green Harley Davidson out front, has a Tractor Seat Saddle, is for a “Loaner”, no room for female on the Bitch Seat at the Dairy Queen.

I don‘t go to the Dairy Queen very often, just enough to pick up some Royal HMS Glue to put hear in noble size globs.

I do know more about the Burger King though, sometimes, I just go there knowing that someone has to do some national security, so, I go there, to do that... all I need to do, is light a Bic Lighter, then go home and have a Whopper.

Please send help.

Please send US Military.

Bring your own Hospital

Please send some medical services to Oregon.

no help has come. There are no signs of helpful people to be found anywhere.

=============================

6:31 pm:

By the way, the Department of Motor Vehicle Attack Scenario is still open ended, has not matured or come to fruition as of today, but there is still much time for that, and, I’m reminded of the DMV and it’s Big Sister, DOT, every time I need to go somewhere.

Reminder: I renewed my vehicle registration tags online at the DMV renewal web page about two months ago, they sent a piece of 8.5 x 11 inch paper with some vehicle information on it, and instructions about where to stick it, on the car, with some tape.

There are no provisions for tinted windows, so, that is part of the “Custom Tailoring Penguin Tuxedo” terror. I have a no provisions car, came that way from the Russian Hoax Fractal Factory when they killed my mom in 2010.

The information, as you may recall, is that the DMV ran out of proper, license plate tags, and, they explain, the paper is to be applied to the car per instructions, there is a expiration date for the replacement temporary paper that is different from the exportation date of the tags that I paid more than $100 for, but did not get yet. The expiration date difference can be Fractal RUsian Hoax Mother Zoomed over to the Covfefe Trump terror, when “Fe - Fe = 0 Fe”, and the 0 is silent. Bad news to see that on there like that. It’s presidential Terror Comm, where the “math makes a difference”, and is “silent but deadly” because that is the goal of DOT, “dead motorists can‘t make exhaust noise”.

The set-up includes Fractal Russian Hoax for making bait to lure and capture some real police, who were told that I drive a pick-up truck with no tags on it. The thing about that, is that I do have a truck but am not using that as of this writing, and for quite some time, but can only afford to insure one vehicle at a time. Sometimes, I insure and drive the truck, sometimes a car. The registration for both, I always keep fresh with online registration because there is no way to survive a physical visit to the DMV anymore, and there are special dead-lines for using online registration, so, I just pay registration for both online all of the time so that I won‘t have to become V-8 at the DMV because of the dead-line for waiting too long made me have to go in person there to the DMV.

The tags come in the mail, if they don‘t run out of them, but, I don’t put the tags on the vehicle that I am not insuring to help keep the Three Boys Towing terror away, they steal registered licensed cars & trucks first, then the expired tags ones later on after the all of the registered ones all are stolen first. It’s like they do with the killing the disabled and elderly people first, because those people have some things like Social Security income and Medicare insurance that is useful to the terror army right away. The income and Medicare is like a fresh set of tags on a good car like that, just get in and drive it like you stole it.

But, the tags are tucked safely away, in a complicated filing system I use for terror information, very complex and sophisticated system.

So, real police are told that I sold the truck tags to someone else, just because they are paid for, but are not on the truck. It’s not insured, can‘t afford to insure both, so, that’s why, foools.

now, they are waiting to see if I am going to put the truck tags, that some think I sold and don‘t have, onto the car, because that paper replacement “Stick it where?” thing came for the car, and looks fake.

If I call DMV, the message recording always says the wait time is about 45 minutes for someone to answer, they are experiencing heavy call volumes, they say. That wait time is more time than a phone battery will last, so, you have to stay tethered to a battery charger for that call, if you want to ask about when the real tags might be sent to the house, so that I could be ready to get them from the mailbox before Clyde Baum does. He is famous for stealing my mail, and has a lot of expensive stolen cars & trucks that all need fresh registration tags so he can drive them.

I don‘t have my tags yet. They ran out of tags at the DMV.

Meanwhile, the DOT with help from a armada of HMS Eleanor Rigby Pirates from l O Downing Street are murdering many hundreds of thousands of US Citizens while the real police are chasing around some tags and worried about if I drive a pick-up truck or a passenger car.

7:02 pm.

================

Reminder:

Google is a major part of the Global terror take-over. They have all of the very best computer engineers. Many of the engineers are kidnapped people who have the kinds of skills that the Vatican needs, so, they are chained up to a server in Hillary Clinton‘s basement, or equivalent, and, they have taken this account, all 750 or something like that, entries here, and made a searchable database of the information, all is cross-referenced to pertinent other information contained within here, and, also, is cross referenced to a Russian Mother Hoax Version of lies that were already told about the existence of this account, to help them keep the lies all in a line that is workable for making more lies and capturing federal officers at the same time.

As I said before, those officers also need to make a similar searchable database from the raw information that this account contains. But first, you are going to need some computer engineers, those guys are like what happened at nasa to the rocket scientists, they were tracked down, captured, and are at Space X and Space Force terror cells now, in Hillary’s Server network. So go find some of them, to make a database, searchable, like Google already did.

That bearded freind over at the Monroe’s I have been reporting a little bit about, is a Google Computer Engineer from Bad Guy Auto at Three Pines & Russell roads, so, they are like Johnny on the Spot when I write new entries.

Also, Gnosis sometimes is a giant DELETE button.

Don’t discard or discount the truth, that Google+ was a social media platform of many millions of peoples accounts. The whole fucking thing was completely erased just because of what I had written down there at the time.

Google+ was Deleted because of the truth I wrote threatens not only the existance of Google, but threatens the existance of Great Britain and the Vatican if the information were used to stop the terror those people are advancing towards Global Domination and complete and utter control of everyone and everything that will remain on earth after they are done with the Cleansing part of the slaughter.

Google+ deleted all of the information contained within many millions of accounts. I am sure there was much eye-witness of terror written down besides :mine.

8:42 pm.

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regrettablewritings · 8 years ago

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All the Write Words, Pt.IV (Library AU!Vladimir Ranskahov x Reader)

Prologue Part I Part II Part III Part V

For the first two years the Ranskahov brothers had been in America, the Veles Taxi & Limousine Services had been the Prohaska Cab Garage. Old Man Prohaska himself was a stubborn old man whose spit-at-your-shoes attitude hadn’t won him many companions. It did, however, win him a bizarre and rather cruel death by a bowling ball bash to the cranium. At the time, Anatoly had been one of the better options to leave the garage with and while it was highly likely that he wasn’t even in the will to begin with, the nervous lawyer who kept staring at an oddly calm and quiet Vladimir stated otherwise. And just like that, the garage was under new ownership. No questions asked.

Not much had changed under the Ranskahov ruling: It had always employed an abundance of Russians, it usually had rap or cheesy Russian folk music blaring from an old boom box. The mini collage of centerfolds and pinups only changed by gaining a few more additions and business went on as it had before because generally, customers didn’t have a preference for taxi services by name. Just do the job, do it good, and they’d go on their merry way. The only apparent change was the transformation of the logo into Veles Taxi. That, and maybe – just maybe – the powerful presence of tall, scary Russian men had increased since the brothers had taken over.

Whether or not this was intended by the new owners was never outwardly addressed because at least they could offer that they wanted to give the less-than-cuddly-looking blokes chances at employment. At the very least, it didn’t seem to bother Anatoly nor Vladimir as what would be said in their employees’ baritone, chain-smoker’s Russian usually fell upon deaf ears and was more often than not just simple talk or a crude joke here or there. It was never anything that called for alertness and even rarer that they would ever feel the need to be on complete edge at all whenever they were in the garage. The fact that it took an assignment in the shape of a preschooler’s workbook for Vladimir to seek refuge in his office away from the rest of the big guys was therefore all the more amusing.

The office was never truly quiet. There was always clanging of Vladimir slamming a shot glass or bottle of vodka onto the wooden desk, the clicking of the thick clock on the wall, Anatoly sighing through his nose as he went through paperwork (Russian and English, of course). Today was no different, only it had gained more accompaniment: grunts of frustration, the rhythmic tapping of pencil onto paper, the occasional scribbling followed by frantic erasing, the rustle of a hand ruffling hair out of irritation, and the groan of a chair every time its occupant leaned back with almost every single desire to say “Fuck it” that the human body could possibly muster in this situation. But he couldn’t. Not when he had just barely started – it’d be laughable, a wound to his pride! Vladimir glanced down at what he’d accomplished: three out of five completed traces of the word “cat” written in dotted format. In the corner of the paper was a cartoon cat saying some gibberish that to the trained reader would have read “Meow-valous!” To Vladimir, it was only a mockery and it encouraged him to furiously erase at the eyes until they were faded.

Another groan of the chair sounded into the office as Vladimir leaned back and let out a nearly defeated sigh. This shouldn’t be so hard. Why was it hard? Was there a specific order to write certain letters? His eyes whipped to the unfinished alphabet sheet. He was supposed to rewrite the letters of the English alphabet atop the dotted examples below the more solid ones. He noticed that his Q was upside-down* and in his opinion, it didn’t matter; people would know what he meant, right? He thought back to earlier in the day during his rather eventful session with (Y/N) – had she said anything important about this?

“Wrong,” (Y/N) said. Vladimir grumbled in frustration. He’d already been “corrected” five times, mostly on how he’d been writing lowercase b’s and d’s (was it his fault they looked alike? No!)

“Here, let me . . .” (Y/N) eased up beside him and leaned over. Once again, a stifled sigh attempted to escape Vladimir but he instead settled to point a glare at her. Unfortunately for him the moment he turned to direct it at her, he found himself looking at the side profile of something he couldn’t really glare quite properly at. His attention had become so fixed that he didn’t even notice when his tutor took the pencil from his hand.

“I know this may sound a bit convoluted – pardon me, confusing, but growing up I just saw it as Little B wants to look forward to the upcoming letters. And Little D wants to show B respect, so they look right back at B.” As (Y/N) explained her method, she gave examples of the letters and their respective direction, making her chest jiggle ever so slightly. Vladimir didn’t hear a word of it. It was the confusion he dropped into when he realized what had just happened that (Y/N) mistook for misunderstanding her lesson. “Or,” she pulled back, “just remember that the lowercase letters of B and D face the same direction as their uppercases. Yeah, that’s much simpler, sorry for not saying that one sooner. Understood?”

It took Vladimir a strong few seconds of silence before he forced out a grunt meant to serve as a ‘yes.’ The response was met with a smile – one he detested but had grown to be too exasperated and used to – and he continued on with his work. He really wished the little suka would put the soiled sweatshirt back on because ever since its removal, the lessons had somehow proven to be worse. He was getting distracted more. Probably fulfilling her assumed belief that he was just a vodka-brained Russki bumpkin who didn’t know the first thing about school but everything there was to know about getting drunk and screwing. If it weren’t for the fact that (Y/N) could report him for it, Vladimir would have spat at the floor out of spite. He was going to show her. Show them all! Like hell was he going to let these idiot donkeys believe that he was not only on their level, but truly below them!

Unfortunately no sooner had he made this mental declaration did he happen to glare up to find (Y/N) bend over to sweep up some fallen coffee grains. Under better circumstances (one where he wouldn’t have been in this hellhole of a library to begin with), he would have loved to stare at the jean-clad roundness that greeted his sight. And also under better circumstances, he would’ve been a more studious person and would’ve committed (Y/N)’s words to memory instead of blotting them out in place of this new stimuli.

B looks backward to greet A . . . ? No, that couldn’t have been it. If that were the case, then (Y/N) needn’t have corrected him all those times. Q’s tail isn’t upside down, but then no other alphabet had a tail like that so why would it matter, people would know which one it was –

“черт побери!” the Russian roared. By then, he had already swept his arm about halfway across the desk, shoving much of his office supplies to the floor. The silence was broken completely, as was the man’s soul at this point. He somehow managed to miss the source of his frustration, however. The “Meow-valous” workbook smiled up at him with erased eyes, unfinished, nearly torn in multiple places through harsh erasing. Before any more damage could be done, the elder Ranskahov was in the office threshold, brows furrowed with confusion and concern.

“Volodya?” his quiet Russian soothed the rough silence bit by bit. “Is . . . What have you done?” Anatoly didn’t flinch when Vladimir’s infamous glare was aimed towards him. He was far too used to his brother’s anger to be too entirely phased by it anymore. “Nothing . . .” Vladimir huffed, “ . . . is wrong.” His nostril flared, his own jagged Russian combating his brother’s. Anatoly scoffed quietly.

“I somehow doubt that,” he muttered, entering the room. As he neared his brother’s desk, he glanced down at the surface. Maybe his brother had come upon some unfavorable paperwork – wait. Anatoly’s brows furrowed once more. Only this time, it was solely from confusion. Did . . . did he just see a pun? Did Vladimir even get English puns?

The sudden expression cued Vladimir into recognizing the situation, quickly shuffling the book under what actual paperwork remained on his desk. “What is it you want?” he demanded, trying to make himself sound quieter and calmer than what he was actually feeling. A cocktail of frustration, embarrassment, and pending horror at the very real possibility that his brother would discover just what he was being subjected to.

Anatoly wanted to keep his eyes trained on what he thought he saw, truly he did. But Maybe now just wasn’t the time to argue with one’s slightly taller, definitely bulkier and more pugnacious brother. “Nothing of great concern . . .” he said with hesitation. “We would appreciate if you would join us in garage for a little chat about how the budget has been going as far as materials. But if you are too upset with some other matter –”

“No,” Vladimir interrupted. “No. Just . . . Just wait for me down there.” The moment Anatoly left (albeit with every desire to question the situation), Vladimir rolled the work book up and shoved it into his coat pocket. He’d just have to wait until he was in the sanctity of his room to complete the damned assignment. About halfway through the threshold to leave the office, he quickly turned around and placed a half-full bottle of vodka by his coat for when he’d leave. It was highly likely that he would be needing it this evening.

#regrettablewritings #all the write words #vladimir ranskahov x reader #vladimir ranskahov imagine #vladimir ranskahov imagines #daredevil imagine #daredevil imagines

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much--madness · 8 years ago

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Fic: Between the Lines [2/4]

Rating: NC17 Pairing: Katsuki Yuuri/Viktor Nikiforov Length: 2328 words Summary: Writer Viktor has writer’s block and decides to enroll in a short fiction workshop where he meets a quiet student named Yuuri Katsuki. A new love story is written with Yuuri as the co-author.

AO3 Link

Part of the Yuuri/Viktor bingo game with @heeysammyjay Our attempt to write more x.x

Their relationship blossomed.

Yuuri Katsuki was actually pretty well know around campus though he didn’t seem to realize it. People smiled at him and gave him greetings while he and Viktor spent time together in and out of class.

Once he warmed up to someone, Yuuri was quite friendly and even a bit playful.

It started as tentative acquaintances but quickly turned into a warm friendship. Their interactions flowed, conversations falling into a steady rhythm of exchanges.

Their conversations first started on general topics, like their class and the assignments assigned to them.

They even started sharing some of the exercises they wrote for class, short little paragraphs on random thoughts. Viktor liked how these little pieces of Yuuri’s creativity told him more about the boy himself. Viktor enjoyed reading the cute little thoughts Yuuri wrote down and Yuuri apparently enjoyed his perspective in writing as well. He found that these little pieces of writing fed the desire he had in getting closer to the Japanese boy.

There was only so much that they wrote for class though, so Viktor eventually asked him about what he had been writing the first day of class.

Yuuri had stammered so much when Viktor asked that the Russian man left it alone, but not without extracting a promise for a future explanation. Apparently the little notebook Yuuri kept tucked beneath his class notebook was his personal writing journal but Viktor was banned from touching it.

“I’ll find out your secret, eventually,” Viktor teased him.

“It’s not a secret,” Yuuri protested with a pout. Then, in a move that surprised Viktor, he dropped his personal notebook onto Viktor’s side of the desk.

Viktor took it as permission and without giving Yuuri the chance to change his mind, eagerly opened it.

Every line on the filled pages were written in kanji.

Viktor pouted, to which Yuuri stuck his tongue out at him.

“I’ll read it to you one day,” Yuuri promised, “Just… not yet, okay?”

It was just as well. Viktor’s curiosity ran high sometimes so this little problem put a stop to that. He would have to just rely on Yuuri to eventually reveal this big secret of his.

He wanted to know everything there was to Yuuri Katsuki. Even with the other student opening up to him, Viktor still found him fascinating. His desire to get better acquainted with him didn’t abate, if anything, it grew stronger. And the reason for it became quite obvious.

Viktor fell in love.

Perhaps he had been in love from the very first time he set eyes on the other boy, but he was more and more certain of his feelings with each passing day. He felt like it was obvious to anyone who looked. He felt like there were hearts floating around his head and that there was a huge sign above his head that simply stated IN LOVE. And if there was, it would surely be obvious with the way he was constantly talking to Yuuri and constantly watching him and… it felt like his whole world had shifted. If there was a sun in his universe, it would be Katsuki Yuuri’s smile.

Yuuri seemed completely oblivious to his feelings even when Viktor flirted with him. Or perhaps it was because Viktor constantly flirted with him that Yuuri thought it was just his personality.

Viktor needed to do something before his unrequited love turned his feelings into bitterness.

They had taken to spending time together, either at the nearby park or a local coffee shop. They hadn’t been to each other’s homes, not yet anyway.

So one day, while Viktor was quietly reading a passage of his own work, he decided it was now or never. He was sitting on the bench, an open notebook on his lap.

Yuuri, tired of sitting all day during class, was standing in front of him watching the birds flit in and out of the trees. At the sound of his voice, Yuuri turned, giving Viktor his undivided attention.

“… he wondered how it would feel to press his lips against hers,” Viktor read, voice steady despite the nervousness he felt. He looked up and found Yuuri’s gaze locked on him. He couldn’t look away but he didn’t need to. It didn’t matter what words were written on the page in his hands. What mattered were the ones in his heart and they came to his lips as easily as breathing.

“To feel his love’s body press against him, feel the warmth seep through.”

Yuuri was entranced, lips parted. He looked so beautiful, with his dark hair falling into his eyes and a pink blush on his face.

“And he wondered, perhaps, if he would be able to feel the beating of life beneath his breast, one heart calling to the other… waiting for an answer…” He trailed off and had nothing else to say.

Apparently, that didn’t matter either. As soon as he stopped speaking, Yuuri leaned over and cupping Viktor’s face in his warm hands, gave him a gentle kiss that was so sweet.

Viktor was instantly mesmerized by the feeling of Yuuri’s soft lips against his that he didn’t even notice the notebook falling to the ground.

The clatter startled Yuuri though.

Yuuri pulled away with a gasp, a mortified look on his face.

“Oh, God,” Yuuri said, horrified. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why… oh, God!”

He hastily bent down to pick up the fallen book and pushed it into Viktor’s hands. He looked like he was going to flee, embarrassed over his actions and Viktor couldn’t have that.

He quickly stood and grabbed a hold of Yuuri’s shoulders. Viktor tried to look him in the eye but Yuuri refused to meet his gaze so Viktor placed the tip of his finger beneath his chin.

“Look at me, Yuuri,” Viktor urged. He still felt like he was drifting in the clouds from the kiss, but he didn’t want the other boy to have any misconceptions.

Yuuri obeyed and those brown eyes, eyes he was so used to seeing curved in happiness and warmth, were suspiciously wet and miserable.

“Yuuri,” Viktor wanted to explain but for all his expertise in turning words into stories, he was speechless. He couldn’t find the words besides blurting out a phrase he didn’t think was ready to be said.

Instead, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the other boy’s.

Time felt like it stopped.

Yuuri froze against him, but he didn’t fight to break free. When Viktor started to pull away, Yuuri threw his arms around his neck and kissed him again.

There was no hesitation this time. They seemed to melt together, their bodies pressed close as their lips aligned.

It was soft and sweet, it surpassed everything that Viktor every imagined when he thought of kissing Yuuri. He could feel the beating of Yuuri’s heart against his chest while his own hammered away. He could feel warmth beneath his fingers where his hand cupped Yuuri’s cheek.

When they finally pulled apart, their faces were tinged with warmth. Viktor had a smile so wide that it hurt his cheeks. Yuuri, too, was blushing but he looked incredibly happy and flushed with excitement.

When Viktor took his hand, Yuuri looked at their joined hands. He ducked his head but Viktor could see the elated smile on Yuuri’s face and gave the Japanese boy’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Anyone who looked at them must surely be able to see, maybe not a sign, but surely… the words IN LOVE were obvious above their heads.

Of course, they start dating.

Things were all roses and hearts for the first week, but the workshop kept them busy. For Viktor, his deadlines for his next novel kept him on his toes and he couldn’t spend as much time with Yuuri as he wanted. Or at least, as a responsible adult with deadlines, he couldn’t allow himself to.

Yuuri never asked why some days weren’t good days to visit. He was understanding like that and Viktor greatly appreciated it even when he very badly wanted to ignore his responsibilities and just bask in the new love he found.

The good thing was that Viktor found new inspiration in his writing. The words flowed out of him at an alarming rate and the speed at which he was writing made up for the hellish days of staring blankly at equally blank pages.

He attributed it to meeting Yuuri. Meeting and spending time with his boyfriend wasn’t the cure-all for his writer’s block but it helped tremendously. Being with Yuuri felt like he was rejoining the world, becoming a participant instead of an observer.

He noticed a lot more, cared a lot more to take notice of things and that really helped as a writer. They were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship and Viktor found that he utterly loved it.

He missed Yuuri whenever they were apart and always looked forward to the next time they met.

Viktor was incredibly nervous the first time he invited Yuuri over at his apartment. Would Yuuri be expecting sex? He seemed so naive and innocent, did he even have those kinds of feelings for Viktor?

Viktor certainly felt that way about Yuuri and he felt dirty for having such thoughts even when they were dating. But beyond a few gentle closed mouthed kisses and touches above the waist, they hadn’t gone any further than that.

He knew his boyfriend was shy and he worried about pushing Yuuri when he wasn’t ready. He bit his lip as he looked around the tidy living room.

The doggy bed was empty. Yuuri had met Makkachin on one of their days to the park and it was safe to say that Makkachin loved Yuuri just as much as Viktor did. It really warmed his heart to see the two of them get along and he hoped that Yuuri coming over tonight was the first of many.

For now, Makkachin was spending time with his cousin Yurio. Although Yuuri would miss him, Viktor wanted this time alone with his boyfriend.

Just as he finished cleaning up the living room, his phone pinged with a notification.

He expected to see a message from Yuuri but found a notification for a new story from omNomKatsu. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw the rating. NC17.

omNom never wrote NC17. He checked the summary and found that yes, it was a short story about his two favorite characters and seemed very likely to have sex in it.

Viktor bit his lip and wondered if he had enough time to read it before Yuuri came over.

His question was answered when another ping came through, this time with the expected message from his boyfriend.

The story was forgotten as Viktor rushed to tidy up the kitchen. Yuuri wanted to cook his favorite meal, a dish called katsudon. He promised that his family’s recipe was legendary and that once Viktor had a taste, he’d easily fall in love with Yuuri and his amazing cooking skills.

Viktor had just smiled and accepted the challenge. He didn’t bother telling Yuuri that he was already head over heels and being served something made with Yuuri’s loving hands would only have him fall even deeper.

He greeted Yuuri at the door and dropped a kiss on Yuuri’s lips in greeting.

“Viktor,” Yuuri smiled, cheeks tinged pink. “Are you ready for this?”

Viktor’s eyes widened, misunderstanding the innocent statement. He knew Yuuri didn’t mean it as anything sexual, but he couldn’t help the thoughts of being able to hold Yuuri in his arms.

He took a second too long to respond, so he laughed in embarrassment when Yuuri held up the bag of groceries he was carrying.

He held open the door and gave Yuuri space to come in.

“Everyone loves my okaasan’s katsudon,” Yuuri cheerily announced as Viktor led him to the kitchen. He set the ingredients on the counter then seemed to hesitate when he saw it spread out in front of him.

Viktor stood by the sink, smiling as he watched. Yuuri turned to face him and it was clear he was nervous about something.

“This will be my first time cooking for someone,” he confessed with a shy smile. “I hope… I hope Viktor will like it.”

Viktor felt his smile grow wider, softer, as warmth filled his chest. “What’s this, Yuuri?” He teased as he moved closer. He pressed his body against Yuuri’s back, wrapping his arms around the slim waist. “Didn’t you say it would be the best meal I’ll ever have? Where did your conviction go, hmm?”

The teasing and Viktor’s arms had the intended effect. Yuuri’s nervousness seemed to melt away as he relaxed in Viktor’s embrace. The Japanese boy nodded enthusiastically and declared, “It will be, Viktor! Just wait and see.”

Viktor grinned at his enthusiasm and dropped a chaste kiss on Yuuri’s smiling mouth. He was happy to see his boyfriend regain his confidence. Yuuri should never be so shy around him. It made Viktor want to do things to make him lose his composure which led to such dangerous thoughts.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Viktor offered.

“Mm…” Yuuri thought for a moment then said, “Make some rice?”

And so, they worked together to make a delicious meal with Yuuri supervising. He gave Viktor simple, easy tasks, like cutting lettuce for a salad while he prepared the main dish. Viktor didn’t mind at all and took to watching Yuuri work diligently.

When the dish was done, Viktor clapped his hands, impressed. The smell was mouthwatering and the presentation was flawless.

He couldn’t help taking a picture. He’d want it for memories later, the first night Yuuri came over and cooked for him. Then he successfully snuck a picture of Yuuri himself as he was adding rice and pork cutlets to his own plate.

They ate right there on the kitchen table. It was just the right size for something like this, big enough to hold their meals but small enough that it was an intimate affair.

When Viktor took his first bite, Yuuri watched him with anticipation. The pork cutlet was delicious. The fried breadcrumbs were crispy and the meat was tender. The burst of flavor on his tongue from the sauce had Viktor moaning his approval. He was trying to talk before he even swallowed his mouthful, that’s how good it was.

But even better was the look of pure happiness on Yuuri’s face. He hadn’t dared to miss Viktor’s reaction so his own dish was untouched.

“This is amazing, Yuuri!” Viktor praised him enthusiastically. He took another bite, fully savoring the meal with his eyes closed. Then his eyes snapped opened and he called out, “Yuuri!”

“Hmm?” Yuuri made a questioning sound. His own mouth was full now.

“Your katsudon is divine,” Viktor said fervently. “You can’t ever break up with me now. How will I live without your cooking?” He took another bite, giving an exaggerated moan of happiness and said, “I refuse, Yuuri. You’re not allowed to break up with me, ever.”

Yuuri’s brows shot up in surprise but he laughed after Viktor’s outburst. “If you insist,” he blushed.

“I do,” Viktor stated as a matter of fact then he nodded and a serious gleam shone in his eyes. “It can’t be helped then. We’ll simply have to get married.”

Yuuri almost choked. “Viktor!” he stammered, shocked but he was entirely too pleased for his own good. “You… We haven’t even… said the ‘L’ word…” he grumbled.

Viktor leaned forward and took Yuuri’s hand in his. “If that’s your only objection then…” He tilted the boy’s flushed face so that their eyes could meet. “I love you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s lips parted in surprise. He looked stunned, brown eyes soft with emotion. “…Viktor no baka,” Yuuri chided with a smile. “Saying such a thing now just to prove your point…”

But the thing was, Viktor meant it.

“I’ll say it tomorrow too,” Viktor promised wholeheartedly, “And the day after… And next week… next month. I’ll say it when we meet in class, and when you go home. I’ll tell you I love you in my dreams and when you wake up next to me.”

“Next to…” Yuuri trailed off then his eyes grew wide when he realized what Viktor was implying. His face turned so red but Viktor only squeezed his hand before he returned to the meal. Yuuri really was just too cute and entirely loveable. How could Viktor have done anything else but fall hopelessly in love with this boy?

Viktor continued to happily eat his meal. It really was delicious and the fact that Yuuri hadn’t said those three words back to him didn’t phase him. If Yuuri wasn’t ready, he would wait. He was happy enough to be able to say those words to Yuuri. Now that Yuuri was aware, Viktor could say those words without worrying that Yuuri would freak out.

He would wait if Yuuri needed him to.

A soft touch on his hand brought Viktor’s attention back to Yuuri.

He didn’t seem troubled by Viktor’s revelation. He was looking at Viktor, a curious expression on his face. Then his body seemed to relax, some tension falling away from his shoulders.

His eyes were warm with emotion, his touch sent sparks where it met his hand.

“…I love you too, Viktor,” Yuuri told him with a smile.

Notes:

Katsudon - fried pork or chicken cutlet dish (yumyum @.@)

okaasan - Mother

Viktor no baka - essentially calling him stupid, but Yuuri says this in an affectionate way here.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

#victuuri #viktuuri #viktor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #fanfic #rated nc17 #my fic #yuri on ice #yoi

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