#that the stark kids now had to fill in their father’s shoes and rise and become leaders in their own right and while we still have twow an

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Might be a hot take but a major character’s death is really only as good as the weight and the treatment that the narrative gives it. Sure, any author has the ability to write death as they see fit. But whether the consumer (of any given form of media) is actually able to emotionally connect and resonate with the departure of someone who has occupied a good chunk of narrative space very heavily depends on how it’s treated within the story. If it’s a major character, the narrative needs enough built-in breathing space. As in, the consumer doesn’t have to fill in the blanks as to how the death impacted the plot or the remaining characters. Let the narrative do that for them, and that would actually allow the consumer to better react and relate to that major death (sadness, anger, joy, etc). Allow the rest of the characters (who were impacted by the deceased) to react to their parting. Let them engage with the death in a manner that helps justify the character’s inclusion in the narrative to begin with. Make it clear how the character’s life and (especially) their death relate to the larger themes of the story. Because most consumers aren’t stupid. We don’t want our hands held at every waking moment, but we also don’t want our investment in a story to be insulted just for the sake of a cheap shock. Give us time to breathe and grieve. And respect that we have put in a lot of emotional investment in a story and its characters, and we deserve to have that acknowledged.

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

[stressisakiller]

Little Sister

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 8)

Summary:  Tony has some explaining to do

Warnings: References to murder referenced child abuse also cussing, but I feel like its warranted

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N:   Lot of new information in this one as well. Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!

Series Masterlist

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When you were little, you had looked up to your father, what little girl didn’t believe that their father hung the moon? That quickly changed when you were five and your father took you with him to work. You had always wondered what kind of father could have done the things that your father did to you. Now you understood. A father who wasn’t your father at all. 

Your eyes were wide as you stared at Tony, your thoughts going a million miles an hour, racing past in an almost unintelligible stream. Wait, he’s your brother? Not only your brother but your twin brother? That meant your father wasn’t actually your father. You weren’t related to that asshole at all! Fuck. fuck. You… you killed… how could you… how could he… no. no. no. There had to be a mistake, you couldn’t have. And yet. 

All eyes were on you. Watching your emotions race across your face, watching as your eyes widened in understanding. Watching as your eyes glassed over and you broke. 

The ground was hard, unforgiving under the weight of your body. Legs no longer willing to hold you as grief washed over you. A strange feeling of warmth brought you back. A hand sure and strong on your arm, a lifeline, pulling you out of the depths of your grief. Eyes focusing on the face of your soulmate crouching in front of you, concern etched in every line of his skin. Blinking the tears away you looked at him, the man you had saved, the only good thing you had ever done. His words rumbling in your ears as he murmured to you.

“Come back to me my love, the past no longer holds you, I am here.”

His voice pulling you firmly out of the abyss. Staring at his features just a moment longer before looking at the man who called himself your brother. 

“How?” your voice sounded scratchy in your ears, “How are you my twin?”

Tony’s eyes were soft as he gazed at you, everyone else turned to him, waiting for the explanation.

“When I was young,” He began, taking a seat on the floor in front of you, “my parents told me that I was not meant to be an only child. I had a twin, a sister. My mother’s labor was long and arduous, we were not positioned in the best way for an easy birth. When I came out I was slightly blue, apparently, I wasn’t getting enough air while being born. The nurses took care of me, making sure that I suffered no lasting damage. When my sister was born, there was no crying, no sign of life. Mother said that the nurse seemed to be acting strange about it but that she was too medicated to do anything. The nurse pronounced the baby dead and took her from the room. My parents never saw her again, and they never truly recovered from it. When they first told me about it I thought nothing of it, but as I got older something about the story started to bug me.” He stood up at that, beginning to pace across the room,

 “ I began to look into it, I searched for the records of my birth and found the hospital and the name of the nurse that had been in the room. I discovered that shortly after my birth she was found dead in an alley, a single gunshot wound to the head. That obviously piqued my curiosity and I searched deeper. I finally found that she had been given a large sum of money days prior to my birth. She was paid to steal one of Howard Starks’ babies. I found the proof in the police reports, they cataloged anything suspicious or strange at the nurse’s house. Specifically a note, she had written the day before she was killed, she said that she was sorry and that she had been forced. She didn’t give a name but in the corner, she drew an octopus.” He stopped, letting the information soak in. His body in front of your spot on the floor. Wide eyes looked up at him, your mouth parted in shock, realization flooding over you 

“Hydra,” the name came from your lips little more than a breath. “Hydra paid her to steal me from my family.” Tony nodded slowly face solemn. “I could have been normal, I could have been raised by someone who loved me. My whole life is a lie.” 

Anger and confusion began to bubble in your veins, thoughts of how much different your life could have been. Your fists clenching as the man you had called father flashed before your eyes. You stood quickly looking around at your friends, all of their eyes filled with pity save one. Bucky looked angry, pissed at the people that had done this to you. He caught your eyes and you motioned for him to follow you, 

“I need a minute, I need to release some steam, or I will explode. I am going to the training room, I need to punch something and I’d rather it not be one of you.” Turning quickly you stalked to the practice rooms. Stripping out of your jacket and shoes, wrapping your hands before stepping onto the mats. Bucky mirrored your movements, knowing exactly what you needed. Stepping on the mat in front of you, he didn’t speak, he simply waited for you to make the first move. Stepping forward you struck, Buky blocking with one arm and throwing a punch with the other. Ducking you avoid his fist, bringing up your leg and kicking him in the stomach sending him back a couple of steps. And so you continued, falling into a steady rhythm, moving around each other in a violent dance. Years of training together are obvious in the knowledge you had of each other's bodies, knowing each other's weak points and yet choosing not to exploit them, at least not this time. Grabbing his arm during a punch and using your momentum to throw your legs over his shoulders you pull him to the ground in a chokehold. Both of you breathing hard as he taps out, your anger spent. You are ready to talk. Turning to leave the room, you are surprised to see Tony standing near the door watching. 

“Hey,” you say, walking up to him.

“Hey, nice fighting there.” He said with a smirk.

“Yeah, well I’ve had a lot of practice,” you shrug, not knowing what else to say about it.

“Come on,” he said throwing his arm around your shoulder, “Let go talk, I know a great spot”

Tony leads you to the kitchen grabbing you water and a snack, and whiskey for himself, before leading you to the elevator. He presses a button that needs his fingerprint and you feel the elevator begin to rise. You end up on a roof terrace. 

“This is my secret place, the place I go when the world and my lab get to be too much.” He gestures to the green space around you, a small couch and table in the middle surrounded by a multitude of plants. You can’t help but smile, it seems so opposite to the Tony you know to have a secret garden, and yet, it makes perfect sense. He leads you over to the couch, relaxing for a moment before speaking.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to take in today and it’s getting late but I really wanted to be able to talk with you before sleeping.” he seems nervous as he speaks as if he isn’t sure just how you will respond. To ease his nerves you give him a small smile.

“I would like that,” you state, turning on the couch so that you are facing him. “I still can’t believe that I’m your twin sister, especially considering that you’re now physically older than me. I hate that we didn’t get the chance to grow up together.” your brow furrowing as you speak, thinking about all the things that you missed out on.

“Hey,” He says softly placing his hand on yours, “it’s not your fault, and I’m just happy to get to spend time with you now, knowing that you are my sister.” Nodding, you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Can you forgive me?” your voice comes out as a broken whisper, “I killed our parents.” your head drops, and you feel the tears well up. “I murdered our father as he begged for our mom’s life, and at the time I felt no remorse. How could you ever forgive me? How can I ever forgive myself?” Your whole body trembled as you started to sob. 

Tony pulls you into his arms holding you close as only an older brother can do, comforting you as the tears pour down your face. 

“Oh little one,” his voice is soft, “How could I ever hate you? How could I not forgive you for something that you had no control over? There was nothing that you could do, the only one to blame for this is Hydra. Not you, not ever.” you pull back looking into his face, searching for any condemnation and yet finding none. 

“I will admit that at first, I was furious, I couldn’t believe that someone I trusted could have done that to my parents. Then I walked away, and all I could hear was your broken voice saying that they did this to you when you were only 11. You were still a child and yet they did this to you.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing, 

“I met this kid a couple of years ago, his name is Harley, he helped me out when I needed it. I thought about how old you were when this happened and my mind saw him. How would I feel if this kid came up to me and told me the same thing that you just did? As soon as I saw him, my anger at you was gone. My anger at Hydra on the other hand is alive and well.” His lip tugged up for a moment before falling. 

“You’re my sister, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you know what it’s like to have a family that loves you.” He paused for a second before grinning, “Now about the Winter Soldier.” You smacking him lightly, chuckling through your tears.

“He’s my soulmate, so sucks for you, but he’s not going anywhere. I’ve worked too damn hard to get us free and safe to lose him now.” There was a ferocity in your voice as you spoke, Tony smiled to himself as he heard it, you had your spark back, he had been afraid that it was gone after everything that happened that day.

 He raised his hands up in a placating manner, 

“Alright, Alright the grizzly bear stays! Although I’m not sure how I feel about my little sister living in the same room as a boy.” The teasing sound of his voice and shit-eating grin causing you to laugh.

“Well tough, you may be my brother but that doesn’t mean you get to choose who I sleep with,” you said, grinning at the fake shock on his face at your words.

“Well I never,” His voice took on a thick fake southern accent, his hand dramatically clutching his heart, “That is no way for a young lady to speak!” 

You giggled again leaning against him. You sat like that for a long while, just soaking in everything you learned today and how much your life had changed in the last two years. Stretching, you finally stood, 

“I should go find Bucky,” you said looking at Tony, who was still seated. “I know he’s worried about me and we need to talk about everything.” Tony smiled, 

“Well, I think I’ll just stay up here for a while and have a bit of a drink.” He raised the whiskey glass in his hand. “Let me know if you need anything and just ask Jarvis to lead you to your room if you need, it’s the same one as last time.” You nodded, giving him a small smile,

“Goodnight big brother,” 

“Goodnight, little one.” 

Walking into your room you were happy to see that it was mostly the same as last time, all of your stuff still on the walls. The main difference was the muscley man leaning against the headboard. His hair laid limp on his head, still wet from the shower, he must have taken. His eyes opened at the sound of you entering and he quickly stood and pulled you into a hug. You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when you felt Bucky shake his head.

“Shh Sunflower, we don’t need to talk about it right now. You are still the same woman I fell in love with, we just know a little bit more about where you came from now.” 

You smiled into his chest, heartwarming at his words. Of course, he understood, who could understand more? You thanked your lucky star that this wonderful man is your soulmate. He pulled back, quickly kissing your forehead,

“Ok doll, it’s been a day. Go on and take a hot shower, make it as long as you need, and then when you’re done we can lay down.” He gently pushed you towards the bathroom. Stepping away from his warmth you grabbed onto his hand, pulling him with you. 

The heat from the water running over your shoulders caused you to sigh. You were leaning forward, forehead pressed against Bucky’s chest as he gently washed your hair. Gently massaging the knots in your shoulders, causing your eyes to shut in exhaustion. He finished helping you wash up and gently helped dry you off. The adrenaline from the day had faded, leaving you dead on your feet. Picking you up, bridal style, he walked you over to the bed and softly laid you down, turning off the lights before he finally joined you. You snuggled into his chest, basking in the feeling of his heartbeat. The last thing you heard before succumbing to sleep was bucky’s soft voice, 

“Sleep my little sunflower, I’ve got you.”

[astaralys]

A Frozen modern AU oneshot

Oneshot collection can be read on: FFN | AO3

[Backstory chapter, direct continuation of oneshot #3, Searching] In which Anna officially moves in with Elsa.

-----

Anna sifts through the stranger and collects details like flecks of gold buried in the sands of time.

When she follows her sister through the airport and realises she still has to look up even though Elsa is only wearing flats: Wow, she's taller than me.

When Elsa tries to help her with the luggage and nearly drops it on her own foot: … But not exactly stronger. Got it.

When they get into a small white car: Oh, she does drive.

When Elsa struggles so badly to merge lanes she misses their exit on the freeway: Oh my God. She can't drive.

Anna tries so hard not to grip the door handle for security that she can't remember what she spends the ride rambling about. Her sister is mostly silent, all hums, terse nods and white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel. Anna tells herself it's because all of Elsa's focus is going into keeping them on the road, and not because Elsa, like, hates her or anything. That's absurd.

Right?

When they reach the city, Elsa's driving suddenly improves; Anna suspects it's because there's so much traffic they're barely moving. Sitting at a red light (Elsa slammed on the brakes when it turned yellow), Anna is so captivated by the bustle beyond her window that she nearly misses her sister tentatively asking, "Do you have your license yet?"

Anna snaps her head around too keenly, and winces when she sees Elsa flinch. Is she scared of me? "Sorry? Oh—my license? Ah, no, I kinda, um, failed the test. Twice. But I know how to drive!"

Elsa blinks, and Anna panics—crap, she thinks I'm a total dunce for failing twice—but then the lights go green. Almost immediately, the car behind them honks impatiently and startles them both.

Seeing her sister's shoulders tense up again ignites something inside Anna. She twists in her seat, stares straight through the rear window, and glares at the other driver. She can't tell if they can see her, but she likes to think it was the heat of her wrath that sent them scurrying into the nearest side street.

"What a stinker," Anna huffs as she turns back around. Then she remembers that it's not Kai in the seat beside her, and flushes as she glances towards Elsa. "Am I embarrassing? I'm embarrassing, aren't I? Hans always says so—i-in a nice way, of course. Like, you know, 'you adorable dork' or—"

"You're not embarrassing," Elsa says quietly. There's a pause as she carefully navigates an intersection. Then, "Hans is a friend?"

Oh, Anna realises. I'm not the only one playing detective.

"He's, um, a little more than that."

Elsa's surprise manifests as an especially jerky stop at a pedestrian crossing. "You're dating someone?"

The urge to defend him rises from nowhere. "You'll like Hans! He's a perfect gentleman with the sweetest sense of justice. He just graduated from law school. And he likes chocolate and sandwiches, just like me."

He didn't like you moving across the country, a niggling voice reminds her. Anna purses her lips and pushes the thought to the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry. That question came out strange." Elsa glances at Anna, adding softly, "Sometimes I forget that you're not five years old anymore."

"Well, we're lucky you remembered today, or you never would have found me in the airport. Waaait a minute… why didn't we just go to the information desk and tell them to make an announcement?"

To her surprise, Elsa laughs. "Haven't you had enough of that for a lifetime? You used to get lost every time we went shopping with Mom and Dad."

The memories come flooding in like a storm carving up a forgotten river. "Hey, you got lost all the time, too!"

"You got us both lost all the time."

The warm glow fills Anna's chest and remains there as Elsa turns into a long driveway leading down into the basement of one of the tallest apartments. Elsa takes a full five minutes to park, and then they're zipping up in the elevator.

Following Elsa down the plushly carpeted hallway, Anna discreetly pinches herself. Ow. It's actually happening. It doesn't matter that Hans planted that horrible question in her head ("You haven't lived with your sister in over thirteen years, Anna. How do you know she even loves you anymore?")—she's here. Elsa's here. They'll be coming home together from now on.

Then they reach the door at the very end of the hallway, fitted with one of those fancy keyless locks, and as Elsa reaches for it, she seems to remember something and says rather awkwardly, "It's your birthday."

She forgot.

It shouldn't be so surprising—Elsa hasn't been there for thirteen years of birthdays. Their parents would always give Anna 'a present from Elsa', but Anna knows how hard it is to pick out something for a sister she sees once a year at Christmas ("She likes books," Grandpa replied every time Anna called for research). And Elsa's presents are always a little too perfect, as if she still sleeps on the top bunk and can't escape twelve-year-old Anna gushing about skateboards. And after Anna noticed that, it became harder to ignore the voice that kept wondering if those presents were really from Elsa—a voice that is now smugly saying: I told you so.

"Y-Yeah! It was actually two months ago but time sure does fly. It was a super fun day—Hans and I went to an amusement park. I spent, like, two hours at the bottle toss trying to win this cute Baymax plushie. I've got it in my suitcase; I'll show you later. It's the best cuddle buddy ever."

This gets her an odd look from Elsa, but a beep from the lock distracts them both. Elsa opens the door. She steps back, gesturing shyly for Anna to enter first.

"There had better not be a trapdoor in there," Anna jokes. She doesn't know why she's nervous about this moment. It's a door. It's open.

She steps through.

Her first thought is that everything is minimalistic and very white. An open kitchen with an oak splashback against pale tiles. Cream carpet visible through a glass coffee table sitting in front of a light grey leather couch that looks more like a recliner for one than a place to watch Netflix with friends or sisters.

Even the bookshelves standing sentry on either side of the wall-mounted television contain neat rows of books with the stark pages facing outward. Anna opens her mouth to make a quip about finding any books—but then her curious gaze falls on the small dining table with its single placemat and chair.

Why does this detail hurt so much?

"This place is amazing! I bet myself ten bucks that you had great taste." Even Anna can tell she sounds too loud, too bright. "Remind me to treat myself. I'm craving chocolate fondue right now. Actually, scratch that. I'm always craving chocolate fondue. Any good places around here? Please say yes."

She hopes Elsa still likes chocolate and building snowmen.

Elsa hovers by the shoe cabinet, her left hand loosely gripping her right elbow. "Yes. I'll take you someday. Would you like to see your room?"

Anna catches herself on the verge of saying something stupid like 'Of course! It's the whole reason I'm here.'

"That's the bathroom." Elsa points to a door at the end of a short corridor, then gestures to two other doors on either side. "My room. Your room. I was only using it as a study, so it's very empty after I moved the desk to my room. We can—"

"Relax, sis! I'm so easy. All I need is a—" Anna throws open the door. "—bed."

It's literally the only piece of furniture in the room.

"Woooow. You really weren't kidding about empty, huh?"

Behind her, Elsa sounds apologetic. "I wasn't sure how you wanted to set it up, so I only got a bed. If the mattress is too hard or too soft for you, we can exchange it tomorrow. Or if you don't like the view, you can take my room instead. It really doesn't—"

"I love it." Anna spins around with a grin. "This means we get to go shopping together! But let's get IKEA to deliver to us, yeah? Your Mini Cooper can only fit, like, two-thirds of a flatpack. Ooh, I've seen apps that let you drag furniture onto photos to see how the room looks with—" She's interrupted by a shockingly huge yawn. "Goodness, 'scuse me. Where was I? Right—apps… Elsa? Where are you going?"

Her sister returns with the suitcase. "You just got off a plane; change into something comfortable and get some rest. Dessert and furniture can wait until tomorrow."

"But I'm not—" Another yawn swallows up the rest of Anna's sentence. "—sleepy… Okay, fine. But promise you'll wake me up for dinner, or my rumbling tummy will wake you in the middle of the night."

Elsa promises, and then the door closes with the softest of clicks.

Anna listens, but there's carpet and her sister moves so quietly that it feels like she's back in the big house. Alone. Except she's not.

She checks her phone. Nothing from Hans. She sends him a quick message to say she's arrived at Elsa's place, then looks around at her new room, and decides not to add a photo.

Her suitcase springs open as soon as she unlocks it, spilling her life across the floor. Gerda helped her pack, but none of her neat folding survives the trial of Anna digging for something to sleep in. Anna changes into pyjama bottoms and one of Hans' shirts.

Then her gaze catches on a grey, threadbare sweater.

There's a cartoon graphic of a single slice of pizza. The rest of the pizza is on her father's sweater; a matching Father's Day gift that immediately became a game of chicken. If one of them wore their sweater in the house, the other had to wear theirs, no matter how sweltering the day. It drove her mother crazy. "Can you two please stop wearing those long enough for me to wash them?" she used to sigh.

Now, pulling the sweater over her head, Anna realises in the darkness that it's the little details. It's the fact that their sweater streak was still unbroken when she answered the door to find two police officers solemnly waiting. It's electricity and phone bills that continue to pay themselves, because direct debits don't care that Anna's parents are gone. It's not being able to send videos of Elsa's horrible driving to the group chat because no one else will see them.

A knock on the door startles her. She whirls around with her head still stuck in the sweater and—oh no, bad idea.

"Anna? I forgot to give you… are you okay? I heard a loud noise."

Lying winded on her back, Anna wheezes, "Nothing! My shirt just fell."

"That was very loud for a shirt."

"Yeah, um, that's because I was kind of in it."

The door opens as she sits up. "Did you break anything?" Elsa asks as she helps Anna get her head through the sweater.

"God, I hope not. Keep all your favourite mugs away from me. Actually, keep all your expensive stuff away because I'm ridiculously uncoordinated. As you can see."

"I meant bones, Anna. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh." Anna lets out a laugh, rubbing an elbow. "Totally fine. Super thick skull. What did you forget?"

Elsa gestures towards the bed, where she's placed a stack of bath towels. "To give you towels in case you want to take a shower first."

"Thanks. Wow. That's… a lot of colours."

"I wasn't sure which ones you liked."

Anna blinks at her sister. Who might have given her a spare room with nothing but a bed, yet bought towels in literally every colour of the rainbow, just for Anna.

"Oh, and this." Elsa holds out a silver key. "In case the keyless lock fails for any reason. There's a panel you can slide down to open the door normally with this key."

The key feels both light and heavy in Anna's hands. She flashes Elsa a grateful grin. "I'm going to use this every day because that pin code looked so long, I'd forget it every day."

"I don't think you will."

"Hah. You don't know how bad my memory is." And Elsa really doesn't know, does she? There are so many things they don't know about each other.

But then Elsa cocks her head to one side and says, "You can't forget it. I told you: it's your birthday. Month, date, year."

When Anna stares speechlessly for too long, Elsa hurriedly adds, "When I moved in, I was told not to use my own birthday because it's too obvious, so the first thing I thought of was yours—b-but we can change it to your phone number if that's easier for you. Or maybe… Anna? Are you okay?"

The details Anna has collected scatter as she throws her arms around Elsa for the second time that day. Except this time, it doesn't feel like she's hugging a stranger.

When Elsa awkwardly rubs her back, Anna wipes her eyes on her favourite sweater and thinks: That's my sister.

[ashsblurbs]

Rise of the Black Widow

Kat paced around the room not understanding what her parents were telling her and her siblings. Her life was a lie. Everything was a lie. She rubbed her face desperately wanting to leave this conversation but knew she couldn’t. Not when her sister was missing. She pulled her phone out scrolling through contacts. She hovered over the name, Arne. She pictured back when life was simple with him. She clicked the phone off and placed it back in her pocket. Kat turned back towards her family wanting answers.

“So, you are telling me that both of you are Russian assassins.” Bucky piped up to correct her but she put her hand up to stop him. “Sorry, former assassins. That you were the black widow and you were the winter solider. We grew up hearing stories about these heroes but they turned out to be you. Why the lies?” It was weird; her brothers were taking it a lot better but probably already been told when Ana was takin.

Her mom stayed sitting in the chair looking up at her beautiful daughter. Knowing she would have been the top choice for the red room. Would have been top of her class. Natasha looked down at the floor trying to wipe that thought out of her mine. Before she said anything, Bucky stood up and wrapped his arms around his little girl. She slouched against him. Bucky was the only one that ever got through to her, comfort her.

“Kitten, the reason why your mom and I didn’t tell you. Any of you.” He turned and gestured to his boys. “Was because what your mom and I went through was so awful that some things we could never speak about. We wanted to protect you from the nightmares we went through and all the blood on our hands.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about the Avengers then?” She leaned back a little and he could see the hurt in her eyes. It didn’t matter that she was twenty years old sometimes he still saw that little girl that would beg him to let her take karate one day and then do his hair the next.

“Because good doesn’t mean there is no bad. It looked like we failed, and you guys still got hurt. Hydra is a nasty organization. We have Tony looking right now for any traces but no such luck.” Kat knew what her next move was going to be. Deep down the traditional path with the white picket fence always felt suffocating. She tried doing the college thing, it didn’t feel right. She then tried the free spirit wherever the wind blew she would go. That got old fast. This decision was in her blood.

“I understand that what happened to the both of you so many years ago you would like to forget but Anastasia is gone, and she needs a hero. Mom. Pops. Train me to be the next black widow.” Bucky turned to look at his wife. Natasha had a blank stare on her face, but Bucky saw in her eyes that she already knew her answer.

“Katrina, I knew the day you were born that you were just like me but better. You have the hero soul in you.” Natasha stood up and walked to the closet that was always locked. Her parents used to say that when they moved into their apartment the door was always locked. There was no key and the lock was broken so no use in trying to pick it. Her mother pulled the necklace that was around her neck off and inserted it into the lock. She turned the knobbed and pulled out a dress bag. Natasha placed it into Kat’s hands and unzipped the zipper. Inside was her mother’s suit. The red hourglass called out to her.

“Are you ready for your first mission, Black Widow? Welcome to the Avengers.”

“Huh.” The training was harder than she thought. Kat had a black belt in Karate, training as the Black Widow shouldn’t have been as hard as it was.

“Get up! You always need to see what is behind you and what is in front of you. Never take your eyes off of your opponent.” Kat sucked in a breath and glared at her mom. She stood up and slammed a fist against the wall out of frustration.

“I can’t do this. I thought I could do this but I’m not you. It’s like I can’t even control my own movements. I’m done.” She turned around, her mom gave her a stern look. Ugh, the mom look.

“Yeah, you’re right Kat. You aren’t like me because I was trained by monsters and your brainwashed father. I started training when I was about five years old.” Kat closed her eyes feeling like a real piece of shit. Her mother also had to realize that Kat’s Black Widow wasn’t going to be like hers. Hers didn’t have red in her ledger.

“Mom, the way you are training me doesn’t work. It feels like my hair is on fire.”

“Well, if we just keep working on it. Let’s try the scissor flip.” Natasha kept her voice even, but she didn’t know why Kat couldn’t believe in herself.

“No, mom! I’m done. I don’t want to be the Black Widow anymore. I quit.” Kat screamed.

“You know what that’s your problem! You never know how to finish anything. College quit. Soccer quit. Acting lessons quit. Every boyfriend you had you left. I don’t understand where this mentality came from that you aren’t good enough because Katrina you are my daughter. You can do anything you want but you are too afraid to fail.” Kat gritted her jaw. This wasn’t the first time she and her mother had gotten into one of these heated arguments, but it had been a long time though.

“Shut up. You think you know me. Okay well clearly, I didn’t know you so it’s impossible for you to know me. So, mom, even if that is true why don’t you leave me alone.” Nat turned to leave the room but paused at the door. She turned back around and stared at her daughter.

“Want to know why I’m so tough on you because you have that spark in you. Just thank about what you want. I love you.” Natasha turned back around leaving Kat alone in the room. She knew what she wanted. Some she couldn’t have and others she could if she just got her head out of her own ass. She went over to the punching bag and hit it and hit until tears started rushing down her face.

“Don’t do that.” She whipped around to see James Rogers-Stark looking at her. It looked like he had just come back from a mission himself. “Mr. Captain America”. He leaned against the door eyeing her.

“Do what?” James gestured at her knuckles.

“You need to wrap your knuckles in bandages if not you will tear the skin and damage your hands.” She looked down at them and saw that it already started. There was blood bubbling at the surface. She walked over to the cabinet by the window to grab a couple of bandages and alcohol so it wouldn’t get infective.

“You should take it easy on your mom.” James still didn’t move from his spot. Kat rolled her eyes.

“James, thanks for the advice but you don’t understand.” James moved swiftly across the gym to her. He took the medical stuff out of her hands and grabbed hold of her right hand.

“You can’t just put alcohol on an open wound and a band-aid-like this.” Kat didn’t pull back her hands. It was nice being taken care of. “Also, I do understand. I’m trying to be Captain America. You’ve heard the stories of my dad. Hero of a nation. I have pretty big shoes to fill. But I tried the whole being normal thing. People like you and me aren’t supposed to be normal. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.”

“Why not?” She stared at him waiting to get a read on his face but there was no such luck.

“Because we are kids of superheroes. Now get your shit together and be one.” There it was the asshole that James was famous for being. She pulled her hands back finishing clearing the cuts herself.

“You’re a jerk.” He shrugged his shoulders

“Kat, you know I’m right.” He stood up leaving her be. All she wanted to do was be left alone anyway

He leaned dow closer and whispered. “By the way happy birthday.“ James leaned back and gave her a smirk. "Your first legal drink is waiting downstairs at the bar.”

“Please tell me you won’t be there with it.” He rolled his eyes.

“In your dreams, sweetheart.” She flicked him off as he closed the door. She sat in the room liking the silence. Kat had a lot to think about but first a drink.

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Two

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff.

Chapter Two

“We just want to check the throttle shafts,” Bucky murmurs, bent low and looming over her tiny shoulder, pointing at the carburetor. “See? Right here. See that groove in it?” He cocks his head to watch her as she closely investigates, bright blue eyes a mirror of his own as they narrow, searching for the divot. A hint of her bubblegum tongue peeks out from the corner of her mouth as she tries to find the elusive mark. He feels a sudden swell of warmth collect in his center – in his chest, where this precious little girl lives, forever entwined with his heart – and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a crooked grin.

She nods firmly, one single, definitive bob of her head. “Yep.”

He pulls upright, dropping a steadying hand to her back as she leans even closer to get a better look. “That is our problem.”

“Oooh,” she breathes out, tone utterly genuine.

He takes a step back and watches as she gingerly pokes at the carb, careful not press too hard with her perfectly pudgy forefinger. And again he smiles, crooked and wistful, as he thinks back to the very first thing his father ever taught him about cars – and damn was there a lot that the old man had taught him. It was how to clean the carburetor. He was nine, maybe ten years old. And since that time he’d cleaned out, rebuilt, and replaced hundreds of carbs.

Of course, most of today’s cars are different beasts altogether, fuel-injection engines taking over and all but eliminating the pleasant pastime of solving puzzles like this. Nowadays it seems like he barely gets to solve anything at all. With a million and a half electronic sensors over every inch of every vehicle, always spinning out error codes and warnings, most of his time at the shop is spent plugging in a computer to read an error and then ordering some ridiculously expensive new sensor for a pain-in-the-ass repair that should take little more than twenty minutes, yet somehow takes up the whole damn day because some genius engineer decided to bury the tiny damn sensor under a dozen other damn parts that are damn near impossible to remove!

If Bucky had a dollar – even just one measly little dollar – for every time he chucked a tool and stormed off in frustration when working on some Mercedes or Audi or other fancy piece-of-shit car, well, he’d be able to buy Steve out of his half of the garage.

He’s pulled suddenly from his wandering reverie by the steady tap-tap of hard-soled shoes on the concrete floor. He straightens quickly, tearing his eyes away from his little girl just long enough to catch a glimpse of the woman approaching.

A subtle, ahem falls from her lips, followed by an almost nervous sounding, “Oh, hi,” when she sees him peek out from behind the car. “Hi.”

Bucky recognizes the woman immediately, despite the form-fitted suit and classy looking heels she’s wearing in lieu of her more typical cutoff shorts and T-shirt. “Hey,” he says, wide grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Bronco, right?”

She nods, bright smile splitting her face and setting off the deep dimples that he – for some inexplicable reason – remembered resided on either side of that pretty, full-lipped mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, you remember me?”

“Course,” he says with a nod of his own, his hand falling down to the shoulder of the little girl beside him, tugging her back a bit as she pitches forward on her stool and nearly topples into the engine compartment. “’75 Bronco wagon,” he announces, casually righting the kid and holding her steady without ever taking his eyes off of the woman. “Don’t see many of those around. Especially in the city.”

Her expression falters just a bit at the realization that he remembers her car more so than her. But she recovers quickly, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder and stating simply, “Yeah, that’s my baby.”

He frowns suddenly, quickly wiping down his hands and stepping around the car to approach her. “Something wrong? Everything looked good when we did the oil change a few weeks back.”

“Oh,” she nearly exclaims. “Yeah. No. I’m… I’m not here for…” She steps closer, her fingers lazily trailing along the side of the Cobra, eyes ticking down to her feet as her cheeks gain a peculiar rosy blush. “I’m Mr. Stark’s personal assistant.” She reaches out a hand as though prepared to shake – as though they hadn’t already met before… over a blown-out tire, some rusted paneling, a busted transmission, and an oil change that she damn well could’ve done herself. “Annie.”

His eyes linger on her outstretched hand for a long moment before finally accepting the greeting. “Annie, huh?” he asks, kicking himself for not knowing that already, for having somehow committed her face to memory – and her car – but not her name.

She sputters nervously for a beat, about to correct herself – Angela – mentally tearing herself a new one for using her childhood nickname instead of the adult moniker that a woman should go by, when a scuffle and a squeal sound from behind the hood of the car as the little girl awkwardly hops down from her stool, shouting at a rather piercing level, “I’m Lana!”

Bucky steps back and grabs her by the arms to steady her and settle her on the firm ground, nudging the wobbling stool to keep it from tipping. He shakes his head fondly as she scurries over to the woman, bouncing on her heels in front of her.

Annie’s face seems to light up, her bright green eyes going wide and crinkling at the corners as she drops down to the four year old’s level. “Lana, well it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, extending her hand for a shake.

The girl accepts, dark ringlets bouncing in time with the body-quaking handshake she offers. And the corners of Bucky’s lips inadvertently tick up.

“Lana,” Annie repeats languidly, letting the two syllables dance over her tongue. “What a beautiful name.” The little girl lets out another giggle and releases her hand, hopping away, back to her father’s side. Annie watches her go for a moment, still grinning sunnily, before rising and slinking around the car, lazily tracing a finger over the fenders until she gets to the front and peeks under the hood. “How’s she coming along?”

“Not bad,” Bucky breathes out as he leans back and wipes his hands on a rag. “Think we might need to replace the throttle shafts. Right, baby?” he asks, glancing down at the kid by his side and giving her a little bump with his hip.

She hops back to avoid the hip check and gives her father a pointed don’t do that glare, the look being almost identical to the one he’s received on countless occasions from her mother. He stifles a laugh and rolls his eyes, ticking his chin at her to indicate that he’s still waiting on a response. She heaves a giant sigh and gives a definitive nod, lips tightly pursed, brow slightly furrowed. “Yes,” she states, very matter-of-factly before returning her gaze to the woman now reaching into the engine compartment.

“It’ll probably just be another day or two,” he tells her. “We should have everything I need, but I still want to check out the turbo.” He bends down, dropping a knee to take a quick glance beneath the car. “And I’d like to get her up to take a look at the suspension.”

“As long as you can get her driving like she used to,” she says. She looks down at him for a brief moment before her eyes narrow and tick to the side, a rather mirthful glow filling them to the brim.

Before he can turn to catch a glimpse of what she’s looking at, tiny arms attack him from behind, his little girl throwing herself into his back – from a full run, he’s sure – and gripping tightly around his neck. He pitches forward, awkwardly catching himself with one hand while his other moves to loosen her fingers and free his windpipe. Maniacal giggles echo in his ear, but all he can see is the bright, gentle smile of the woman standing above him.

He clears his throat once Lana’s grip slackens and reaches around to hoist his baby higher on his back, standing effortlessly and letting out a single rich laugh when her giggles turn to a swift shriek of excitement. She lets out a small oof and settles her arms around his shoulders, curling her warm body around him. “Sorry,” he murmurs, a bit bashfully. “There was an incident at daycare. We don’t usually let little monsters run free around here.”

Annie bites back a laugh, actually chewing the corner of her mouth to do so, and says simply, “I wondered why we hadn’t met before.”

He cocks his head at the woman, only just now registering what she had said about the car a moment ago. “You drove this?” he asks her, his voice carrying a hint of surprise as he casually bounces in place to keep his monkey-girl amused.

She chuckles lightly as she watches the little girl’s face continue to shine. “Yeah,” she breathes out. “Got a soft spot in my heart for Mustangs. We’re a Ford family.” Her eyes flicker over to meet Bucky’s. “My dad had one… a ’67 Shelby GT.”

“Ooo,” he intones with a hiss. “Nice.”

“Yeah. We restored it together. He’s still got her, though she’s trapped in his garage,” she says with a frightful countenance as she looks over at Lana and successfully pulls a giggle.

Bucky gives his girl another bounce and cranes his neck to look behind him. “Wanna tell her what’s living out back in our garage right now?”

She shoots her head out from behind her father’s, giant toothy grin on her face as she states proudly, “Stingray. 19…” Her voice fades off as she gives a dismissive shrug.

“68,” he supplies.

“Wow,” Annie responds, drawing out the word and nodding appreciatively, never taking her eyes off of the little girl’s satisfied face. “You’re really lucky.”

“Well,” Bucky starts, self-deprecating smirk blooming, “it’s not exactly – ”

“Lana!” cuts him off mid-thought, the call tumbling in from the back bay. Bucky spins to see Peter hopping towards them, goofy smile on the disheveled teen’s face as he approaches. “Hey,” he says, locking onto the little girl’s eyes as she peeks out over her dad’s head. “It’s lunch time. I thought you were gonna eat with me.”

She twists and tugs in an attempt to scurry off her father’s back, and he grunts out a, “Wait,” as he awkwardly dips to lower her to the floor. “Pete,” he mutters, standing back up and glancing at the kid. “How’s the Mazda going?”

“Oh, fine, Mr. Barnes,” he declares simply, giving a small nod as Lana takes a firm hold of his hand.

“Pete-er,” she corrects haughtily. “There’s a er, Daddy.” She tugs and pulls at Peter until he relents and lets her drag him over to her new friend. “That’s Annie.”

“Hi, Annie,” he says with a grin and a wave.

“She’s Stark’s assistant,” Bucky mutters with a raised brow.

“Oh, wow,” he intones, countenance lost somewhere between shock and intrigue. “That must be… something.”

She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s hell. Sometimes… heaven.”

“Pete,” Bucky starts before staring his little girl down and tacking on the, “er… wants to work for your boss someday.”

“Well, I mean… yeah…” the kids stutters out. “You know… maybe… I mean…”

Bucky chuckles lightly, catching a glimpse of the boy’s bright pink cheeks from the corner of his eye. He rocks back on his heels, shit-eating grin on his face as he goes on to say, “It’s all he’s been talking about since he showed up here with that Vette a few weeks back.”

Annie’s eyes narrow. “He brought the Corvette here?” she asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Needed some body work. Passenger’s-side door, some paneling.”

The narrow gaze flips in an instant, eyes blowing wide. “He damaged the Corvette?” she asks, tone positively aghast.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, looking down as Lana grabs hold of his wrist and gives a swift, firm tug. “Something about parking in the city. What, baby?” he asks distractedly.

“I’m hungry,” she whines, hanging off of him and leaning back so far that her hair almost touches the ground.

“Your lunch’s in the fridge. Peter’ll help,” he tells her, voice low and soft as he gives the teen a swift nod and hands her off, watches as the two head back to the office. He turns back around just in time to see the shock on Annie’s face finally begin to wane, utter bewilderment filling in behind it. He laughs despite himself, the twist of her features, subtle crinkle of her nose as the gears so obviously click and sputter and turn inside her head. “No clue, huh?”

Her eyes pop up to meet his, suddenly freed from their ruminating. “Sorry,” she sputters. “No.”

His own brow twists in confusion as he recalls something the cocky billionaire had mentioned on that first visit to the shop. “He said his assistant recommended us. Was that you?”

Her mouth gapes open, bobbing helplessly for a long, silent moment as a deep red blush begins creeping up her neck. “Well, I mean… yeah. I… I mentioned you… Because I use you. I mean… not use you. I mean…”

He feels a laugh bubble up his chest, his jaw suddenly aching from holding a smile so wide and stretched. “You okay there, doll?” he asks through the chuckle, for some reason absolutely delighting in her sudden discomfort.

“What?” she bleats. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, though he’s not quite able to keep them from crinkling at the corners as amusement continues to wash over him. “What exactly did you mention to him?” he asks coyly, taking a single deliberate step forward. The blush blazes then, firing up her cheeks, extending to the very tips of her ears as her eyes dart frantically around the room.

“I don’t… what do you mean?”

It had been a long, long time since Bucky had made a girl blush, made her practically buzz with nervous yearning just from a look. Or at least it had been a long time since he’d taken notice of it. Natasha and Steve were always telling him, trying to point out to him the effect he has on women. She was totally flirting with you. That woman was eye-fucking your brains out. Stop being so dense. But, really, those two are more desperate to get him laid than he’d ever been himself. They’d say just about anything to get him to move on, move forward with his life. And let them live theirs.

And besides, he knew. Back in the day – the days before dirty diapers and marital strife and a struggling business – he hardly ever spent a Saturday night in his own bed. Or if he was in his own bed, there sure as shit wasn’t a cold, empty spot beside him.

But that was the old Bucky Barnes. It might’ve been a mere five or six years in calendar time, but to him it seemed like a lifetime ago.

And yet, when that old grin he used to wear – the cocky, teasing, suggestive crooked tilt – perks his lips in a familiar pull, it feels utterly natural. Just like muscle memory.

He takes another step closer, his eyes trailing down to Annie’s exposed clavicle, the part of her body where the blush tapers off to show subtly tanned flesh peeking out from beneath a pale pink silk blouse. “You said you mentioned me,” he reminds her, quirking an eyebrow as he locks onto her deep green eyes, the color eerily similar to the pristine paint job on the Cobra at their side. “To Stark… what’d you tell him?”

She clears her throat, blinking only once to collect her composure. The bright red remains splashed across her skin, but her eyes settle on his, her once agape mouth pulling into a tight, firm line, twisting up at the edges to show off the effort being put into biting back a smile. “I told him,” she starts, small, subtle lilt to her voice. “That you were great with the Bronco.” His brow lifts higher, a silent invitation for her to go on, and she cocks her own high to match. “And that you were cute. And that I might… I don’t know…” She shrugs, her gaze ticking away for just a fraction of a moment. “Be… interested.”

He nods slowly, appreciatively, and does his best to shift his face into an impassive mask. “You told Tony Stark I’m cute?”

She snorts out a laugh, loud and utterly undignified. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

His brows twist together, face pinching tightly in a sudden realization. “He was checking me out. Sizing me up,” he mutters vaguely, lips parting as he huffs out a quick, “Huh.”

“I didn’t tell him to,” she says abruptly, pitching forward onto her toes, seeming a little too enthusiastic with her denial. “I never asked… I mean…” She shakes her head and breathes out a laugh. “He gets sort of attached to his assistants. The ones that last anyway. He’s getting ready to marry one of them.”

Bucky’s mouth clamps shut, lips curling into a frown.

She laughs again. “I didn’t mean…that made him sound sort of creepy. No, it’s just… when you devote yourself to work all the time, the only real friends you make are, you know, at work.”

“So Tony Stark is your friend. And your boss. And your… matchmaker?”

“No,” she bleats out. Then, “Maybe,” amid a rather perplexed look. She shrugs. “He means well.”

“He put me through the fucking inquisition,” he mutters, feeling suddenly nervous. He brings an open palm to the back of his neck, scratches wildly at his scalp as his face twists. “Did he… did he tell you that? Or… tell you anything?” he asks, thinking back and trying to recall just how many bullshit answers he gave the man, how many irritated glares and fabricated stories.

A brilliant smile rolls over her face, one that somehow manages to immediately put him at ease, his fingers slowly slipping from his hair and back down to his side, casually tucking into his pocket. “He just told me that he gave me an in… and then said I should go check on the Cobra.”

“Ah,” he breathes out simply, rocking back on his heels.

“So,” she drawls out languidly before beginning to awkwardly pivot back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her hands clasp tightly behind her back, eyes nervously roaming the floor for a brief moment before rising to meet his. They seem to lighten two full shades as they lock onto his – admittedly – curious gaze. “Can I buy you dinner?”

[prider-parker-imaginations]

ℕ𝕠 𝔼𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕤

Title: No Escaping the Ghosts

Characters: Quentin Beck + Male!Stark!Reader (also a little bit of Peter Parker x Male!Stark!Reader, which can be read as platonic or romantic)

Warnings: language, grief, violence, angst, general nightmarishness, bastard man being a bastard man, implied PTSD, past trauma, manipulation, basically psychological torture, Endgame spoilers, Far From Home spoilers

Prompt: Midnight Thoughts by Set It Off (also elements of Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Lorde if you squint)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Another submission for @locke-writes​ Intro to 2020 Challenge and sequel to ℍ𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥, 𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥

An extended illusion would never have worked on Peter. The kid’s instincts were too sharp. The best Beck could have hoped for with Peter was keeping him under long enough to shake him up. Accomplish what needed to get done quickly before he posed too big of a threat. But you? With you, Beck could savour the unravelling. He could take his time breaking you apart piece by piece for what your father had done to him. And then, when he was finished, he could kill you.

A slow grin curled Quentin’s lips as he strode over to the chair you were chained to. “You know, I wasn’t planning on doing this to you at first. I was going to give you a clean death or at least something close to one. The world would have wept for your loss, or at least for mine when I was forced to kill you. I would have held you in my arms as you died and sworn revenge on the people who’d turned you into a monster, vowed to keep going in honour of you and your father, yadda yadda yadda, the tragic hero. Peter would be heartbroken, but that would be fine, I’d be there for him to lean on. He’s a good kid, though I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” The man’s expression darkened, “Too bad he got too nosy. Now I’m going to have to kill both of you.”

The chains holding your wrists behind your back rattled as you yanked against them. A snarl curled your lips, “If you touch him-”

“You know, as much as your tough-guy act might impress Fury, I’m really not that intimidated by a kid with daddy issues.”

“You should be.” Heat rushed down your arms, the metal turning to putty against your flesh. You grabbed hold of the solid end and whipped it over your head towards Beck, red-hot sparks flying from the links. But instead of hitting him, searing hot metal passed right through him and crashed against the concrete with a clang. Beck smirked and disappeared, the world going dark around you. You whipped around, heart pounding.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” his voice echoed from all around you. “And here I was hoping you’d be civilized about the whole thing. Guess you can’t expect much from a Stark, can you?”

“Show yourself, Beck!” you shouted, still turning in the dark as you struggled to orient yourself. Even the chair you had been bound to had disappeared, the half-molten chain gone from your hands like nothing more than smoke.

He materialized out of the black, EDITH perched on his nose, “Miss me already?” Before you could even take one step in his direction, he was gone again, appearing this time a few feet to your right.

“Those don’t belong to you,” you snapped, rage boiling in your chest as he continued to shift from one place to another, always just out of your reach. 

“Last I checked, they don’t belong to you either. Does that hurt? Knowing your dad cared more about some kid he scraped out of Queens than he did his actual son? Then again, he did scrape you out of the gutter too, didn’t he?”

“You don’t get to talk about my dad!” This time when you lunged for the illusion, your world shifted dizzyingly. You stumbled, breath catching in your throat as you recognized your new surroundings.

“Fine. Then let’s talk about you.”

You could already feel your hands starting to shake, your body betraying you as you faced the room plucked from your nightmares and midnight thoughts. This was classified. How did he know this room? And if he knew this, how much more did he know? The fire in your veins had turned to ice in an instant.

Beck’s voice seemed to emanate from the very concrete that made up the small cell, “You remember this place, don’t you?”

The anger in your words was undermined by the tremour beneath them. “Fuck you.”

“What’s it like for a little boy to get turned into a monster?”

“Shut up.” Your fists were clenched so hard it hurt, smoke curling up from between your fingers.

“Which came first, rewriting your brain or your DNA?” His voice was insidious, taunting you from every direction.

“Shut up!” You threw your arms out at the concrete walls, heat pouring from your palms. The last time you’d been in this cell, you’d been a frightened kid surrounded by monsters. You weren’t that boy anymore. You didn’t have to be afraid anymore. But even as the concrete turned molten and you pushed your way through, your world shifted again and you were strapped down, machinery hovering around your head. 

“They turned you into a weapon. And that’s all you’ll ever be. You were Hydra’s attack dog and now you’re Fury’s. Some things never change.”

You thrashed against the restraints as the paddles of the machine lowered towards your skull, every muscle tensing in panic. “This isn’t real,” you spat, half trying to convince yourself as ghosts from your past tried to drag you somewhere you wouldn’t be able to escape. They had tried to make you forget, but your body remembered this place and it was afraid.

“How do you know? You’ve had so many people walking around inside your head, how do you know anything anymore? For all you know, you’re still some sad little kid hitting his head against a wall in a room where the light won’t find you. For all you know, you never left. No one knows where you are and no one’s coming to save you. You’re alone, and you’ll always be alone.”

“You’re lying.”

“Do you even remember your life before they stole it from you? Do you even remember your own mother? Or how he killed her?”

Your rage overwhelmed your fear. You jerked against your restraints, the metal biting into your wrists and ankles, unable to move your head. “Shut up!” you screamed. You could feel the heat pooling in your hands but the cuffs held fast, pinning you in place, keeping you helpless, keeping you a little boy stuck in a memory you wanted nothing more than to forget.

“You had to know. It was all in the files. Or did you know and just pretend it wasn’t true? Were you there when he killed her? Did she scream? Do you even remember the sound of her voice?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

His words burrowed into your ears like worms, relentless and poisonous. “Did you think he rescued you because he cared about you? Or did he do it because of his guilt? Because he was the one who condemned you to becoming a human weapon. Because he was the one that destroyed any chance you ever had at a normal life. Because he murdered your grandparents just like he murdered your mom. If he really cared about you, where is he now? Why isn’t he saving you this time?”

You ground your teeth in frustration, trying to calm the shaking in your hands. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Killing’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” Reality shifted again so you were on your knees in the dark, a single gravestone looming before you. Your breath caught in your throat. “Too bad it didn’t help Tony though, did it? Maybe if you’d been good enough, he’d still be alive.”

The heat turned back to ice, frost crackling across your fingertips. The shaking was back, your heart pounding against your chest as you scrambled away from the name carved into the stone.

“Then again, you’ve never been good enough, have you? Never smart enough, never strong enough. Your own father didn’t even want you to be part of his legacy. You’re a menace to everything he ever created. Why would he ever want you? You’re a danger to everyone you’ve ever cared about. You know it, and Tony knew it. Maybe if you’d died instead of him, your life would finally be worth something.”

You lifted your hands to cover your ears, squeezing your eyes shut, but his voice just kept coming, always taunting, a constant noise in your head mirroring the pulse in your veins. Tears froze on your cheeks beneath your fingers.

Beck crouched over you, one hand coming to rest on the back of your head. The contact would have been almost fatherly if you weren’t stuck in a nightmare of his own design. Then his grip tightened, wrenching your head back, forcing you to look at him. “You’re just a broken little kid who thinks he can fill his daddy’s shoes. But the only thing you inherited from him was his arrogance. But how does it feel? Knowing you’re always just a few words away from being turned into a machine? Knowing anyone with the right words could trap you inside your own mind and use you to destroy everything you love? Knowing you’re just a tool someone created in a lab?”

The sound that tore from your throat was half a scream and half a sob as you threw yourself at Beck. Your hands came up to his face, smoke and heat pouring from your palms. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to make him suffer. But when he cried out in pain, it wasn’t Beck anymore. You jerked back, bile rising in your throat as you saw Peter’s face marred by burns in the shape of your hands where his suit had melted away.

But then another Peter was next to you, grabbing your arm, “Come on, we’ve gotta go!” 

Another Peter grabbed your other arm, “He’s not real, don’t listen to him!”

A mob of Peters descended on you out of the darkness, pulling at you, begging you to listen to them, blocking out any light with red and blue and grasping hands. You struggled to break free, panic filling your lungs. It was too much. You shut your eyes and a shout tore from your mouth. Heat exploded out from your body and the pressure disappeared. When you opened your eyes, a single Peter stood before you in an empty warehouse, his suit torn and smoking in places. Half-melted chunks of drone lay scattered across the concrete.

Peter said your name and moved towards you but you held out your hands, heat still pulsing through your palms even as your own clothes smoldered. He stopped, pulling off his mask, “It’s okay, it’s me.”

You shook your head, sweat and tears steaming faintly as they leaked down your cheeks. Your voice shook. “You can’t trick me.”

Peter took another step closer, his expression turning pleading, “Please, let me help you. You’re safe, I swear.”

“You’re not real.”

“Beck’s gone, you broke the illusion,” Peter insisted, gesturing with one arm towards the shattered drones.

Still you didn’t lower your hands, “No, tell me something only Peter would know!” Inside, your mind was screaming. Not him. Please not him. Please don’t make me hurt him again. Your arms shook. Were you nervous or were you insane?

He blinked, face going blank for a moment, “Y-your dad left you a message. On EDITH. He-he wanted you to take care of Morgan.”

Slowly, your hands fell to your sides as your legs folded beneath you. Peter caught you before you hit the floor, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, “Beck’s gone. You’re safe.”

A shudder passed through your body as the heat leached out of you. “He’s in my head, Pete. He knows everything. I can’t shut him out.”

Peter’s hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. Blood smeared under his nose and across his cheek and his eyes were red and wet. “He can’t hurt you anymore. We’ll figure this out.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard, the tears coming faster even as he tried to brush them away. “He lied to us, Pete. He lied about everything.”

“I know, I know, we’ll figure it out, we’ll-”

Peter’s words were cut off but the crack of a gunshot. Your eyes widened as the boy slumped against you, blood already spilling out onto your hands. “No, no, no, Peter, please, no,” the words spilled out in a panic as you struggled to hold him upright. His head lolled, his eyes fixing on your face as blood dribbled past his lips. The look of shock in his eyes, of confusion and pain was enough to shatter your heart a thousand times over. Your voice cracked, “Stay with me, please, Peter, no-”

Your name fell from his lips, a quiet gasp among the blood and tears. He gripped fistfuls of your smoldering shirt, pulling you down to your knees. 

You could see Beck standing just past him, clipping the gun back to his belt. “I’m sorry. He forced my hand.”

Your pulse was a roar in your ears. Cold radiated from your body in waves as Peter stilled in your arms. The blood that pooled beneath him crackled faintly as a web of frost spread around you, covering the scorch marks from before. Your whole body shook as you stood, face twisting. Your breath clouded as it fell from lips trembling with rage. “I’m gonna enjoy killing you.”

A slow smirk stole across Beck’s face. “That’s the spirit.” Then he snapped his fingers and the world turned black.

[theasgardianbuckylaufeyson]

Marvel Preferences~ Your First Meeting

Tony Stark: This was the first business meeting Toni has been to in a while but it was the only one that he actually gives a shit about. This deal was to merge his company with a well known home technology corporation. All he could focus in as her walked into the board room was how much safer this would make everyone and how much easier it would make his job protecting said people. Only those thoughts are wiped completely from his mind when he seen you sitting in the chair opposite his. You on the other hand seemed rather unimpressed by the arrival of your soon to be business partner. On the outside you held a stone expression having already read up what you needed to know about the billionaire genius, but on the inside you were internally screaming. No amount of informant sheets could prepare you for how handsome the man before you looked.

After clearing his throat he steps forward and offers you his hand, “You must be Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Oh please, call me Y/N. And you must be Mr. Stark,” you replay as you rise from your seat and slip your hand in his expecting him to offer you a handshake.

Instead he turns your hand up right and places a kiss on the top before responding, “Please, call me Tony Mr. Stark was my father.”

Steve Rogers: It was nice for as early as it was in New York that morning but no one was going to complain, especially not you. Deciding to take advantage of the weather as much as you could even though you had to work that day you leashed up your dog and walked towards the park near your house. It was typically pretty quiet so you knew it would be the perfect spot. Steve had the same idea when his alarm woke him up and he soon discovered the weather. Quickly slipping on his running clothes and shoes he heads outside and to the one place he thinks is truly peaceful. He knew not many people came here at this time of day because he always ran there so he wasn’t paying attention to your dog running straight towards him in route for the stick that had landed a few feet away. Y/D/N crashed right into his legs causing him to topple to the ground with a huff.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention when I threw the stick, I figured people normally weren’t here this early in the morning,” you exclaim while helping him stand back on his feet.

“It’s not a problem ma’am, I’m sure this little guy didn’t mean it anyway,” Steve replies petting your dogs head as he does so.

Bucky Barnes: The one time Steve convinced Bucky to visit the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian you were there intently studying the section dedicated to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. The two men watched you from afar at first, studying your every movement but attempting not to seem like creeps at the same time. After a few minutes more of staring Bucky couldn’t take it anymore and gave into his curiosity before he could stop himself. Walking right up to you he tried to muster up as much of his old courage and charm that he could before asking, “What ya doing there doll?”

Startled you slam your notebook to your chest and nervously shift your eyes anywhere but to the man beside you, “Im uh. I’m taking down some notes for a report I’m writing for my blog.”

“And what could there be to report on a dead guy?” the man questions with a snort.”

“A lot more than you think,” you retort before mumbling under your breath, “Especially when he's not dead you idiot.”

The comment was so quiet a normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but Bucky did and he stiffened instantly. If you knew he was alive that meant you knew he was the winter soldier. It also meant that you could possibly recognized him if you looked at him. After a moment of silence he decided he didn’t want to take the chance and bolted to where Steve stood in front of the video of Peggy. As he dragged a confused and dazed Steve out of the building he left an equally confused you behind.

Thor Odinson: You were friends with Pepper as well as both the female Avengers so naturally you were invited to all of Toni’s parties. And every time you said yes, no matter if you wanted to go or not because there was nothing like a Stark party. Tonight was one of those nights. You were wrapped in you Y/F/C dress all dolled up and leaning against the side of the bar, but you wished at that very moment you were anywhere else. While you were drowning in your own thoughts and wine coolers you didn’t notice the god admiring your from where he stood with Steve across the room. After another cup of Asgardian alcohol and some more encouragement from Steve, Thor finally makes his way over to where you are perched.

Offering you a warm smile he begins to speak, “Hello my lady, I am Thor the God of Thunder.”

“Hello Thor, I am Y/N,” you reply with a giggle as you take in the features of the god before you.

Clint Barton: Today was the first day of Avengers training. Before this you were just a typical assassin until SHIELD realized you were more than human. Your parents were fallen agents of HYDRA and injected you with the super soldier serum at a young age hoping it would turn you into one of their greatest assets. Instead their plans backfired and they created their greatest enemy. When you were old enough to leave you did and from that day on you were always with SHIELD. That was how you ended up in the Avengers training room now with both Black Widow and Captain America flanking you on either side ready for you to show them what you got. First Natasha approached you, but you’ve been doing this so much that you predicted her moves before she even took her first step and easily had her on the mat. Steve took a bot more force to take down, but using the momentum you had from Natasha you took him down just as fast leaving face to face with a man in the doorway of the room.

He began to clap slowly as he approached you, “I was coming to see if Nat wanted to train, but it looks like she has her hands full..I’m Clint.”

“I’m Y/N.”

Sam Wilson: You worked as a volunteer for numerous support groups and other veteran situations so when you got a call from a friend today asking you to fill in for her you didn’t really think twice about saying yes. Instead you got dressed and raced over to the building the session was being held in as fast as you could to help whoever she was supposed to work with that day. When you arrived you were greeted by a man’s back as he set up pamphlets by the door, oblivious to your arrival as it appeared.

Stepping forward you clear your throat and speak up, “Uh hi, Y/F/N couldn’t make it today so she asked me to fill in for her. I’m sorry I’m late, but this one last minute so I tried to get over as fast as I could.”

It is then that the man turns around with a smile present on his face, “That’s not a problem, I would've done the session alone if i had to.”

With a nod of understanding you offer him your hand, “Im Y/N Y/L/N.” “Sam Wilson,” he replies shaking your hand

Loki Laufeyson: You had been trapped in the dungeons of Asgard fora crime you didn’t do for longer than you could remember. There was word spread that your were a dark elf working for to turn on Odin and overthrown the throne. The only reason they didn’t execute you was because not all of their story checked out, Instead they locked you away until they knew they truth, the only issue was they weren’t trying to find any other leads leaving you down here to rot. Until one night when you’re nearly asleep on your cot you hear someone being thrown into the cell beside yours. Sitting up in shock you look over to see the one and only Prince of Asgard, Loki, being tossed into the cell angry and screaming. Though the guards didn’t acknowledge his tantrum you were staring intently at the man since he had grown into a handsome prince since you last saw him. When he realized you were staring though he instantly put an illusion up causing you to return to your attempted sleep.

Peter Parker: Today you started at one of the est school’s New York could offer and to say you were nervous would be an understatement. Even though you excelled at you old school, everyone who went here excelled at something or everything. As you walked the halls trying to find your first class you weren’t paying attention to what was in front of you and plowed right into a girl walking down the halls in the opposite direction.

“I am so sorry. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going instead of the school map,” you say quickly while trying to pick up your things.

“It’s cool. You must be the new girl, I’m Mj,” the girl replies brushing herself off.

“Yeah that’s me,” you sigh before studying your map again.

“What class do you have?”

“Uh, english.”

“Oh, that’s on the way to my class. I could show you if you want,��� Mj offers kindly motioning to the way she was previously going.

“Really that’d be great, thanks,” you reply rushing to follow her.

When you reached the classroom you said goodbye and parted ways with her. You had seen Mj a few more times throughout the day so when lunch rolled around you were relieved to see her face once again. As you scanned the lunchroom for an open seat she called your name, drawing the attention of the other students in the cafeteria as well. Quickly you made your way to the open seat beside her and sat down smiling at all the other kids already seated at the table.

“Hi, Im Y/N,” you say introducing yourself with a smile.

“Im Ned and this is Peter,” one of the two boys across from you answers while the other just sits there dumbfounded.

[winterironholidayexchange]

2018 WI Holiday Exchange: Gift List

A giant THANK YOU to everyone who was a part of the @winterironholidayexchange this year. No matter if you created something, shared our posts to get the word out, or are now leaving comments and kudos on all the wonderful stories and art, this exchange wouldn’t have been possible without each and every one of you.

You rock, you are the best, and we love you.

And now, the thing we know you’ve all been waiting for: the complete gift list.

Enjoy! ⛄

“Welcome! Everything is fine.” by burbear for sara_wolfe

The afterlife was a lot weirder than Tony thought it should be. For one, it’s called the Good Place, and the points system that decides whether a person goes to the Good Place or not definitely had a flaw in it somewhere because, hello, why would he, Tony Stark of all people, be in the Good Place? Also, there’s a ridiculous number of frozen yogurt shops.

Just what the fork is going on here?

❄

Nightmare Dressed Like a Daydream by DreamcatchersDaughter for glyphsbowtie

Bucky accidentally crashes a blind date and hes not all that sorry about it.

❄

Mini-Stark by TheMaroonRedWolf for Tahlruil

De-aged Tony fic. My fill for the 2018 WinterIron Holiday Exchange.

❄

Wicked Game by StarSpangledBucky for OneSmartChicken

Leading a double life was troubling enough for Bucky, one as the superhero ‘The Winter Soldier’, the other as a florist. Now that his newfound friend, Tony Stark (who only knows him as Winter) has met the other side of him, things get complicated. Bucky isn’t prepared for the consequences he might face, as love between himself and Tony starts blossoming…quicker than he ever intended.

❄

Up, Up, Down, Down… by burbear for monobuu

Tony has just about had it with Loki and magic, seriously. Being transported into a kid’s movie? How is this even a kid’s movie? And no offense, Thor, magic hammers are not that great. Oh, and to top it all off, he’s dressed in ridiculous blue outfit like some kind of retro handyman while his crush gets a badass cyber-suit.

God, he hates magic.

❄

barren winter with his wrathful nipping cold by sevedra for StarSpangledBucky

Tony had expected to spend this Christmas alone. But he has James now. All is looking up for them until secrets try to tear them apart.

❄

Undercover by glyphsbowtie for marsmaywander

“It’s absolutely an option.” Bucky unfolds himself from the doorframe, rising to his full, impressive height languidly, like a deadly cat uncurling from a nap. “You’re all too recognisable, right? Nobody is going to recognise me. Stick some nerd glasses on me and I’ll blend right into a tech conference.” The idea of Bucky in glasses does things to Tony, but he clears his throat and looks back down at the laptop, trying to avoid making eye contact with Bucky. “Yeah, except for one obvious problem, old man. You’re a million years old and know absolutely nothing about tech.” - Bucky and Tony work together on a mission, and Bucky reveals he knows about Tony’s secret crush on him.

❄

The Tsum of Our Parts by Shi_Toyu for Briz

Tony couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had his soul Tsum. The little thing had appeared as soon as Tony was born, which wasn’t completely unheard of. It just meant that his soulmate was older than him, old enough to have already developed their own Tsum characteristics, so maybe early teenage years. That happened all the time. It wasn’t even particularly scandalous. They’d probably meet later in life, when the age gap didn’t mean quite so much.

What was unusual was how cold his Tsum was.

❄

Howl At The Night by Eirlyssa for beir

Having escaped from their kidnappers, Bucky and Tony have to find a way to get home. Unfortunately, Tony isn’t doing very well.

❄

Plums by Morethancupcake for Feelingsinwinter

“Everything hurts for a second, and the Asset fights the nausea, tries to figure out where he is, what he’s supposed to do, and most of all, who decided to taunt him with his words.”

The Asset isn’t supposed to dream, but he does, and soon his world revolves around a smart little boy with brown eyes.

❄

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting by TheSopherfly for Arboreal

Bucky writes letters to his sweetheart back home during the war. Nobody knows his sweetheart is Anthony Stark, Howard’s younger brother.

~

In which Tony and Bucky meet, part, and meet again.

❄

Get Your Flirt On (Or: How to Stare Your Way into a Date) by InsaneJuliann for Nantai

Bucky’s come to Hogwarts for his seventh year, and joins the Quidditch team at the persistence of his friends Clint and Steve. Through a Quidditch game he meets Tony - competitive and constantly sending Bucky challenging looks. Bucky has no idea what his deal is - or why everyone he knows thinks Tony’s not as much of a jerk as their little stare-offs would make him seem.

❄

Tattoos and Tulips by MassiveSpaceWren for Morethancupcake

Silver fox tattoo artist Tony goes on a date with florist Bucky.

❄

Prank Wars gone wrong by IronEyes for dendrite_blues

Bucky and Tony are roommates and hate each other from the start. It starts to delevop in a prank war that hurts nobody, until Tony takes it too far. Or does he?

❄

Swipe Right by dendrite_blues for tonystans

hey we hooked up last night and it turns out you are my kid’s teacher.

❄

You’ve become quite familiar by MassiveSpaceWren for Morethancupcake

Tony recently gained a slighly scruffy crow as a roommate.

❄

Of instagramers and their followers by eriot for TheVagabondBoy

prompt:  Bucky the Instagram Thot, Tony the thirsty hoe.

❄

Resilient by nativemossy for gryvon

Anthony “Tony” Carbonell, disinherited son of a billionaire, proud graduate of a community college in nowhere New Jersey, and out-and-proud bisexual is the proprietor of a small coffee shop by the name of Resilient. Now that his life has settled down he’s beginning to suspect that he might have a few problems that are making work much harder than it needs to be.

James “Bucky” Barnes, disabled veteran, hermit, and long-suffering best friend has returned from Afghanistan to a world that he doesn’t quite know how to live in. He wants to contribute more to the world than sitting on his couch and collecting his check every month, but is having a hard time gathering the energy to do much more than tie his shoes.

A coffee shop full of meddling friends might be just the place where both men can find a place to heal and move on, hopefully together.

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Anima by Arboreal for burbear

Bucky had always been able to hear the voices of the things around him.

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Focus by Nantai for eriot

Bucky Barnes, veteran and ex-assassin, is just trying to make some legal money for once. He is reformed after all! Tony Stark, billionaire and mob boss, really needs an escort who can double as security because Steve is a worrywart.

Neither planned for secrets to come out and apologies to be made. And yet, here we are…

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Resting Murder Face by camichats for lordofsoup

Everyone knows that Bucky and Tony love each other.

…Except for Tony and Bucky. After watching them pine uselessly, the Avengers and Company do their best to get them together, even if the oblivious idiots make it more difficult than it needs to be.

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I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight by Sullen for TheMaroonRedWolf

Okay, look, it’s not James’ fault, no matter what the rumors say. The guy was so scrawny he could be blown over by the wind. This is a crowded hallway! If you don’t want to get knocked over, you should keep some meat on your bones, your stance wide, and not run around corners and into him.

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I Will Always Be by blue_pointer for celtic7irish

In a world where people see through the eyes of their soulmates when they sleep, Tony Stark’s dreams send him off the edge.

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You Bring Me Peace by Towaneko for IronEyes

Time has been reversed for Tony Stark and this is when he first meets Bucky Barnes.

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Not Exactly What I Wanted by Tahlruil for phlintandsteel

Tony has always been happy to piss off Alphas who try to control him - especially Howard Stark. Unfortunately he managed to push his father just a little too far… and the man arranged to have him auctioned off to the highest bidder. Now he’s married to a guy he hardly knows, one that is too damn patient and too damn nice. There’s no way that isn’t an act, and Tony is resolved to be a little shit until he finds out the limits of his husband’s fake personality.

Though he’s been back from the war for a while, Bucky has been left scarred by the experience. The most prominent one is the personality that came into being because of Hydra’s torture and brainwashing attempts when he was captured. They were rescued before they became the Winter Soldier, but Winter is still very much sharing space in his head. Winter has never responded to anyone positively… until they met Tony at an auction Bucky had been dragged to by a former commanding officer. They are both captivated by the Omega and buy him despite their better judgement.

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The Warlord’s Tribute by TheSopherfly for MassiveSpaceWren

Warlord Bucky, rumored to be ruthless, ends up in the possession of Tony, who slowly learns that Bucky isn’t so bad.

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Safe (Only In Your Loving Arms) by tonystans for Eirlyssa

“No eating in the lab, that’s poor etiquette.”

“And you’re all about etiquette and rules since when?”

Tony playfully rolled his shoulder and turned his head away from Bucky, acting the part of scandalized. “Since Steve gave me one lecture too many.”

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One More Day (Five Hundred Left To Go) by Rospergs for Estelle

Tony and Bucky go to the same gym. Bucky looks very rough and intimidating. Tony is a single parent and looks small and frail. Then Tony finds out Bucky is the new preschool teacher at his child’s school, and is super kind, and amazing with the kids. Lots of mutual pining happens.

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Love Planted a Rose by Gavilan for iCheat

Bucky wants to show Tony how much he likes him … but how?

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We need to talk about babies by GenericUserHere for sevedra

The classic ‘I’m pregnant but we haven’t discussed having tiny humans yet’ fic Otherwise known as Tony is pregnant and Bucky is accidentally a dick but luckily these idiots have friends who help them work out their shit

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Dust to Dust by lordofsoup for Shi_Toyu

One moment Tony is fighting TaskMaster. The next moment he’s back on Titan.

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ready to comply. by rightsidethru for james

It wasn’t often that Tony himself went to the weapons conventions that those in the business knew about: he’d always been of the opinion that that was what his minions in R&D were for—scoping out the competition, making notes on key elements that they liked, seeing how Stark weapons were assessed by those in attendance. Tony already knew that his designs were top-of-the-line, that the companies who could stand up against the leviathan of his reputation were few and far between—but there were still contenders. Sometimes.

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Don’t Overthink It by Potrix for Gavilan

Now, Jim is about as straight as a person can be—tested a couple of times by drunkenly making out with his best friend, which Tony loves to bring up whenever it’s really inappropriate to do so—but he has no problem admitting that, objectively speaking, Barnes is an attractive guy. He’s got that whole gruff, frowny, bad boy thing a lot of people are into going on, but whenever he actually does smile, it’s devastating.

One time, Jim had seen a girl on the street do a double-take and nearly walk into a magazine stand after Barnes had smiled at one of Tony’s dumb jokes.

Or, alternatively; Rhodey means well, meddles, and actually sort-of-kind-of ends up helping in the end.

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over or under me? by Larissaloki for Sullen

hunger over bucky made a phone call the night before and forgot.

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Under Your Skin by Niki for endof_theline

It’s not often an alpha gets quite as deep under an omega’s skin…

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mythos by beir for Towaneko

The lights flickered back on. There, standing behind Barnes, was the Merchant of Death.

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Project Relationship by iCheat for blue_pointer

Peter and Harley are best friends and they have a project to do. After some debate they decide to get their Dads together. Scientifically. It does not go as they planned.

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Love Tap by Feelingsinwinter for DreamcatchersDaughter

When Bucky started dating Tony, a kindergarten teacher, he was expecting the usual trouble. Some issues with Bucky’s life as a mob boss to begin with, a bit of screaming, a bit of swearing maybe. Some fight, possibly, after all Tony looked ready to fuck shit up if need be. He wasn’t expecting Tony to accept it with open arms and start to gift him with bags of rifles but Bucky could roll with it.

Probably could’ve done without the troubles that came with that, however.

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Stay in my arms if you dare (or must I imagine you there) by Estelle for Chef_Geekier

Bucky doesn’t exactly think that being a bodyguard is his dream job, but after leaving the military, it was a good way to make money without having to go through a lot of education and training. When he gets hired by Howard Stark to protect his son, he thinks that that will be easy enough. Turns out that it isn’t, especially not once feelings are involved.

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Happy Together by TheVagabondBoy for Potrix

The tattoos might have been one of the first things of Bucky’s that Tony had fallen in love with.

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The Long Con (Don’t Kid Yourself) by phlintandsteel for camichats

When Tony finds out that Howard is thinking about changing the terms of Tony’s trust fund, he embarks on a not-so-elaborate scheme to prove that he’s totally settling down and not in continued need of Howard’s “guidance” until 25 instead of 21. Step 1: Get a fiance Step 2: ??? Step 3: Profit (Finally be free of Howard)

Unfortunately, Tony Stark is the worst con-artist ever, and may only be kidding himself…

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In Your Hands by james for its_inherited

Sometimes Bucky needs help to relax.  Tony loves to provide.

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The Price of Forgiveness by celtic7irish for Cheerydandan

Tony fell in love once.  And then his lover left without so much as a good-bye, and Tony moved on with his life.  Now, Bucky Barnes is back, hired to be Tony’s personal assistant and hoping to pick up where they left off.  Can Tony learn to forgive him?  Will he risk opening his heart once more?

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While You’re Busy Making Other Plans by marsmaywander for TheSopherfly

Bucky was cold, tired, and his bum shoulder was killing him. Being stuck in the middle of Nowhere, North Carolina with a busted bike was not how he envisioned spending the last few weeks of his leave. Thankfully, there’s a sleep-deprived, big-hearted mechanic there to help Bucky out.

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Forward-Facing by Eirlyssa for Larissaloki

Bucky is doing fine, he really is. But Steve wants him to be more than just fine, which is why he asks his friend to join a yoga class in the park.

Which is where he first sees Tony.

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answering a salty siren call by OneSmartChicken for GenericUserHere

Yeah only an idiot wouldn’t have at least a little crush on Bucky, and Tony really wasn’t an idiot.

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Three times Tony brought Bucky out of a zone by Briz for InsaneJuliann

And one time he didn’t.

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Nothing Changes (Except You) by ezazahaz for badgerling

Between teammates bickering over breakfast cereal, a boring Stark Industries meeting Pepper wants him to attend, and rampaging trees in Central Park, Tony isn’t having the best day.

The fact that it keeps repeating only makes it worse.

But then it turns out he isn’t alone–Bucky Barnes remembers the repeating day as well. They’ll need to work together to find a way to escape the mysterious loop… and maybe become a little closer in the process.

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Ready to Comply by monobuu for Rospergs

For the prompt: “What if Tony had been captured by Hydra.”

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Let This Be Called a Word Unpronounceable by badgerling for rightsidethru

Tony was fine serving the detention he had earned. He was not okay with serving detention with Bucky Barnes. And he definitely not okay with running for his life from a manticore. An apparent manticore. Because there shouldn’t be manticores in the Forbidden Forest.

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The lesser of two evils by Briz for ezazahaz

Bucky has trouble sleeping when Tony ends up hurt by his hand during a mission

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Grown With Love by endof_theline for nativemossy

Tony Stark, college student, single father, and wingless? Tony meets a stranger at the gym that helps him in a way that he had deemed impossible, it’s just a bonus that the single father status might change to father along the way.

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Better For You by gryvon for malome78

Tony stares at the extensive array of baked goods. There are shelves full of different flavors of cupcakes, trays of cookies, a variety of scones and muffins and things that look good but he has no idea what they are. There are almost too many options. He’s getting diabetes just from looking at all of it.  

“What’s the occasion?” Hot barista asks.

“Business meeting. What says ‘Sorry for showing up an hour late?’”

Hot barista comes to a stop across the counter from Tony, arches an eyebrow, and says, deadpan, “Being on time.” 

[fanaticfandomfan]

Tags- Chapter One (A Bucky Barnes x OC Fanfic)

Masterlist

Disclaimer. I do not own anything Marvel affiliated, only any original characters.

A muffled giggle was the first thing Tony heard as he pushed open the door to his study. His lips curled up into a smile, spying a pair of light up shoes just peeking out from beneath the large mahogany desk. He whistled, moving leisurely through the room, looking every now and again at the desk to his left. Hopping up and taking a seat on the desk, he heard another hushed laugh beneath where he sat.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. your certain you cannot find Abby anywhere?" He called out to the empty room, trying to keep the mirth out of his voice.

"I'm afraid I cannot find Miss Stark on the grounds sir." The A.I. replied, amusement filtering through his program. "Shall I make a call to the police?"

"The Police! J.A.R.V.I.S this is my baby girl, my pride and joy! We need to call the SWAT Team, the Coast Guard, the Ma-" before Tony could finish, loud laughter filled the room as a head of auburn curls popped up from behind the desk.

"It's OK daddy, I'm here." The little girl exclaimed. Tony pressed his hand to his chest exaggeratedly as he moved from the desk, scooping her up in his arms before pressing kisses to her face.

"Oh my little sprout I found you!" He exclaimed dramatically. When he looked down into an almost identical face, he saw the suspicion swirling in her brown eyes, a thin eyebrow raising up slightly.

"You knew I was here huh?" Yep, she was his daughter he thought, taking a seat in the chair with her in his lap.

"First rule of hiding, loose the light up sneakers kiddo." He said, gently tapping the tip of her nose. "Now miss snoop, what were you doing in my office?" Tony watched as his daughter's eyes looked around, not meeting his.

"I wasn't snooping, I was exploring." she replied confidently, only to be met with a snort from her father.

"Bullsh- soup." Tony quickly caught himself before the curse slipped from his lips. He didn't need a repeat of when his two year old went two months constantly yelling the word 'fuck' every time she could.

Glinting light caught his eyes, his hand moving to pull at a chain hanging around her neck, the majority of the item hiding behind her dark red coveralls. When he pulled the item fully into view, he found a pair of dog tags pressed to his palm. A pair of very old dog tags by the look of slightly at the chain, Abby played with the tags, her eyes scouring over the faded letters and numbers etched onto the metal.

"I found them in that box daddy. There really cool. Can I keep them?" Pointing a finger to the direction, Tony's eyes followed, falling on an old cardboard box tucked away in the corner. It had come from one of the many secure storage facilities under his father's name. The last few weeks Tony had decided to go through them, throwing things that were not needed and keeping those that could be useful. The box in his office had been filled with nothing but old photos and a few odds and ends that Tony had not even gotten through. Taking the tags of the chain, he brought them up to have a closer look.

JAMES B. BARNES 

32557038 T42 43 A

"Whose James Barnes daddy?"Abby questioned, her brown eyes looking up quizzically at her father.

"Well he was someone your grandfather knew when he was helping the military. He fought with Captain America." At the name, Abby's eyes widened, her smile growing.

"Really! That's so cool! Oh daddy can I keep them please, please, please?" Tony knew she had him cornered, especially when he noticed the puppy dog look creeping into her eyes. He shrugged, quickly ruffling her hair. It wasn't a huge loss to him, just some old dog tags.

"Sure sprout. Now if we are done ransacking daddy's office I believe a Popsicle is in order." Abby squealed as she suddenly found herself hanging upside down, Tony's grip on her waist secure as he carried her from the room, the tags, clinking around her neck.

Washington D.C. February 2014

Glancing down at her watch for what felt like the millionth time, Abby huffed as her heeled feet tapped a rhythm into the floor. It was nearing 10 am, only an hour before the exhibit would be opening to the public. She could faintly make out the sounds of the press and crowds gathered outside the Smithsonian, waiting to finally see one of the most anticipated exhibits to be featured to date. Workers milled about, finishing up last minute touches before the grand opening, making sure everything was ready to go.

Abby's eyes wandered from her watch and towards the large mural decorating the entrance, a smile tugging at her lips as she took in the face of Captain America. The exhibit had been her pet project, starting out a year ago while she had been taking the reins of the outreach program of STARK Industries.

Growing up, she had loved the history of her grandfather and the rise of S.H.I.E.L.D., particularly in regards to the creation of Captain America. She had remembered going through files that had been kept by her grandfather, files deemed classified to anyone else without the Stark last name. She had loved when her history class spoke on the subject, enthralled with every detail of Captain Rogers and the Howling Commandos as they worked to eliminate Hydra.

Her fingers moved, absentmindedly toying with the chain around her neck, the tags clinking together as they bumped against each other. The dog tags belonging to one James Buchanan Barnes had hung around her neck since the day she had stumbled across them in her dads study. At the time, the name had not really meant anything to her until she started learning about the super soldier and his team. While Captain America was always the sole focus during lessons, for some unknown reason Abby was always drawn to his best friend. He had no super soldier serum nor super strength, just the fierce determination to do good for his country, to stand with his best friend and team, to lay down his life for what he believed was right.

The fact that he had also been an extremely handsome man, a crooked smile gracing her history textbooks, didn't hurt either.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Quickly turning around, she let out a relieved sigh as she made her way over to the employee entrance.

"Cutting it pretty close there Rogers. You know you could just hang around for the grand opening, you know razzle dazzle the press. Technically this is your exhibit." Abby pointed out getting an amused snort from Steve.

"Think my dancing monkey days are over Abby." He quipped, his eyes moving over to the entrance. She knew how weird this still was to him, having a whole wing of the Smithsonian dedicated to him and his accolades.

Trying to lighten the mood, she nudged his shoulder playfully before making her way towards the doors. "Well come on frosty, you got a good hour before this place is flooded with fans and press." Steve fell in step with the youngest Stark, heading for the doors.

Time seemed to slow as the two friends wandered around the area, moving from one artifact to another. Abby hung back slightly, watching as Steve took in every display, watching the emotions play across his face. She laughed a bit along with him as she had stood next to the changing display of him pre-serum ( "Wow capsicle you were smaller than me!"), she listened as he recounted stories of him and Howling Commandos, his eyes locked on the mannequins displaying the uniforms each of them had worn. She had watched as he fought back tears when they watched the film reels of Peggy Carter, recounting her own stories of the war and Steve. Abby had moved her hand, taking his and giving it a squeeze.

She had noticed the shift as soon as his eyes found it. Steve walked slowly, almost afraid to approach the display. She watched as a myriad of emotions played across his face: confusion, realization, sorrow, pain. They both stood silent, staring at the face of one James Buchanan Barnes. They could hear one of the many voice recordings, giving the same information etched onto the glass before them but neither really paid any attention.

"Do you miss him?" She knew it was a stupid question, one she already knew the answer to.

"It's been nearly 70 years but for me...it feels like it just happened you know." Steve said quietly, never taking his eyes off the memorial for the man who had been his brother.

Abby moved her hand, pulling the dangling chain from underneath her blouse, pulling it over her head as she turned to Steve. "When I was a kid I was looking, or as my dad called it snooping through his office and found these tucked into an old box of my grandfathers."

Tentatively Steve reached for the chain, recognizing the tags instantly for what they were. She saw the ghost of a smile touch his lips as he looked over the worn letters. "These were Bucks old tags. Had them when he first shipped out. When the SSR gave him news ones with the rest of the Howling Commandos, he kept these, said they helped him hold onto himself when Hydra captured him."

"At the time I just thought they were cool to wear and all. By the time we got to learn about you all in school," shrugging her shoulders she continued, "I admired all of you of course but something about Bucky just resonated with me. He didn't have any real superpowers like you. He was just someone who wanted to do right by his country and stood with his best friend." Chewing her lower lip the next words were a little harder to force out. "Um you should keep them I mean Bucky was your best friend and all."

Steve looked from the tags to Abby, his lips twitching up in a small smile before placing the chain back around her neck. "Keep them safe for me. I think he would have rather have a pretty dame wearing them than me keeping a hold of them." Abby smiled, her hand slightly clutching the tags, relief washing through her.

"Thanks Stevie." Wanting to lighten up the somber mood she grabbed his hand, nearly dragging him across the exhibit. "All right time to see those old war bond promos you made."

The only answer she received back was a groan.

[parabellum-rpg-archive]

Congratulations, Hyde! You’ve been accepted to play Abel Costello. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

Admin note: I seriously freaked out whenever I read this. THIS WRITING IS AMAZING. Everyone, please read this perfection. - Admin V

CHARACTER DESIRED:

Abel Costello

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS:

Abel Costello was not born out of love or necessity, his father Gio whose life was devoted to the organization did not seek marriage and children to avoid a power struggle, but a close call with the police in ‘83 made him cross paths with a blue-eyed martyr. The tryst resulted in childbirth but neither parties wanted a union– Abel’s mother was smart enough to stay away but there was no denying a Costello bloodline. So what do you do with a boy whose mother had given him away to a father who never wanted a child in the first place? You make him useful. You turn him into a soldier.

He was, technically, the oldest in the latest generation of Costellos, but it meant jack shit when his father’s only ambition was to help his uncle stay on top– a noble cause, if not an excuse to spill blood. And spill blood they did, Gio and Abel made quite the pair, and for the lack of a proper father-son relationship, he made up for it with ensuring that the boy would be indispensable to the mob. If Abel really thought hard about it, squint his eyes and tilt his head in utmost concentration, it was through stern discipline and rigorous training that Gio showed his affection for his son. In truth, the man probably saw him as nothing more than another cog in the machine, and had he not shown prowess, Abel felt that he’d be tossed aside for someone else. It wasn’t enough that he was born a Costello, he needed to prove that he was worthy of the family name.

Growing up, he was tasked by his father to look after Marcel’s children discreetly, make sure they remained safe and not get into too much trouble, which was something that was easier said than done when Abel was just a kid too. Mandatory education allowed him some semblance of a normal life if normal meant partying with Chicago’s young elite on a school night. While his cousins had no problem throwing their weight around in their own little kingdom that was highschool, Abel remained in the background; he watched in quiet amusement as Ezra charmed his way in and out of everything while his knuckles willingly bled for Leon. Mia had always been troublesome, but in her recklessness, he had the most fun and thankfully, the twins were too young to be causing any real mischief. They were just like him, without a mother, and no, Cassandra did not count– just ask Mia –but like everyone else, Abel would eventually sing a different tune about the Costello matriarch. She was what he envied the most from his cousins, not the money, the prestige or the freedom to fuck up; Abel wanted the way she doted and took care of the children, wanted someone to be there for him because, despite the blood on his hands and the cold, deadly stare in his eyes, Abel was, and is still a child.

That was over twenty years ago.

As his cousins lived their lives, Abel delved deeper into the gritty side of the business. He was a quick study, eventually surpassing Gio while showing that he could be more than just someone who pulls the trigger. He was just as skilled, as knowledgeable and just as deserving to be the next in line, but Abel’s respect for Marcel and his loyalty to his cousins kept him in line. That never stopped him from rising through the ranks, and those who once doubted Abel for his youth now questioned him for another reason– what’s in it for him? Did he want a stake in the crown? Then Gio was incarcerated. It was only natural that he take over his father’s place, offering counsel to his uncle when needed, not that Marcel ever needed it much, Abel mostly agreed with how things are handled. Mostly. But between war and diplomacy, it’s not rocket science to figure out what Abel would choose.

Did Abel want more? Maybe, maybe not. But a life of crime, violence, of protecting the Costello family and making sure that they remain on top was all he’s ever known. It’s what his father drilled in his head that it had become an inside joke to some older associates that Gio loved his brother’s kids more than his own. A bad joke, but still. Watch Abel faintly curl his lips upwards, he’s a good sport, sure. Just don’t push your luck. He loved and loathed his father and Abel spent his entire life trying to live up to Gio Costello’s name, but when the saying ‘You’re just like your father’ teeter between awe and ridicule, what’s a man to do? There was no denying he had his father’s viciousness, he was old school, earning him his own following in the organization, hell, even Marcel couldn’t help but be filled with nostalgia, but that was where their similarities end. While his father had no problem killing entire families down to a helpless babe, Abel saw no point; children were spared, knowing full well that they would come after him later. It’s what kept the wheels turning, wipe them all out, then what are you left with? You gotta have something to look forward to, something to keep you on your toes, just like the shit storm that would be the Sinclair- Costello union.

WRITING SAMPLE:

New York, August 2006

His legs barely kept him steady as he stood in front of the urinal, head of dark, golden hair resting against the cold tile; he was nodding off and struggling to unbutton his jeans that an older man two urinals to his right couldn’t help but scoff. This older man was well-dressed, Italian leather on his feet and beer belly wrapped nicely in a tailored suit; rings adorned his thick fingers and a gold watch rested snugly around his wrist– a stark contrast to the boy’s zipped-up jacket and jeans combo. A teasing remark was thrown the young man’s way– he called him a lightweight –and he responded with a hum before closing his eyes to rest.

Another man emerged from one of the stalls, door slamming open and pulling the well-dressed man’s attention away from the drunk. The third man was in a hurry, foregoing basic hygiene but pulling a couple of paper towels from the dispenser before leaving as if that would fix things. The man scoffed again as he finished taking a piss, muttering something about cleanliness as he tossed his silk tie over his shoulder before turning on the faucet. Head still lowered, the blonde lingering by the urinal produced a pair of leather gloves from his jacket and leisurely put them on; no longer looking inebriated, the young man who could barely stay on his feet earlier stood waiting for the door to the men’s room to shut close.

Abel Costello listened to the movements behind him as his target took a few steps to his left and the unmistakable squish from the soap dispenser cut through the silence; the man pressed on the pump once, twice, then thrice before proceeding to furiously scrub his hands as the tall blonde silently made his way over, gloved fingers reaching for the faucet to turn it on. The man gasped, caught off guard by their proximity and Abel pulled on his tie and threw him off balance. Soapy hands failed to grab to the ledge of the sink as he clawed at his neck, he was dragged to one of the stalls, grown man kicking and screaming but his cries were drowned out by the rush of water.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Don’t you know who–” Abel gave a swift kick to the man’s throat, cutting him off, and the expensive tie that slowly choked him was stuffed inside his mouth to shut him up. The red-colored sign with the words ‘occupied’ appeared as the door was locked.

The heel of Abel’s boot connected with the man’s chest, stomping him twice before reaching over to search for a gun and dismantle it. The man was heavy-set, and the blonde groaned while he lifted him by his coat, fingers curling around bottle-dyed, jet-black hair as Abel shoved his target’s face in the toilet. He pulled the lever for the flush, following a rhythm as bejeweled fingers flailed and fought back, reaching for Abel’s arm while the man’s legs kicked whatever he could kick. But the Costello assassin was relentless, and steady hands kept the man’s mouth and nose in shallow water, drowning him until the struggling ceased.

Finally, the man’s body went limp.

Abel raised his target’s head, black hair dripping wet as he pulled out the tie that was lodged down the man’s throat to tie it around the toilet. The door was unlocked, the faucets were turned off and Abel made his way to the exit. Outside the cinema, the man who had been in a hurry to leave the men’s room earlier was smoking a cigarette.

“Is it done?” he asked without looking.

“I took care of it,” Abel answered, his voice carrying a surprising softness as he stuffed the gloves back inside his jacket. The man nodded, dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his shoe before glancing at his watch. It was eight-thirty in the evening.

“I’ll tell Gio. You fly back tomorrow morning, kid, why don’t you see the rest of the sights while you’re here,” the man instructed and he stepped off the sidewalk to hail a cab. Abel watched him leave, watched the hustle and bustle around him for a bit before making his way back inside the cinema; the 1933 version of King Kong was still playing, and if he hurried, Abel just might catch the massive beast fall from the Empire State Building.

[popwasabi]

“Spider-man: Far From Home” Review: Spidey’s Euro Trip Keeps MCU Hype Alive

Directed by Jon Watts

Starring: Tom Holland, Zendaya, Jake Gyllenhaal, Samuel L. Jackson, and Jacob Batalon

Considering “Spider-man: Far From Home” had the unenviable task of following up perhaps the greatest blockbuster/finale of all-time in “Avengers: Endgame” it’s shocking how great this film is from start to finish.

It has no right to be as endlessly entertaining without feeling like an afterthought in the wake of “Endgame’s” glorious finale yet here I am shocked at how much I loved this movie.

(Yeah own that shit, Spidey.)

It’s more than just a fun Spider-man romp, it’s genuinely a well-executed and engrossing superhero flick that will suck you in with its charm, thrills, and teenage rom-com joy.

“Spider-man: Far From Home” takes place not long after the events of “Endgame” as an inverse of the snap has occurred throughout Earth known as simply “the blip” where everyone who was snapped has suddenly come back into existence exactly as they were while those who weren’t snapped aged normally. Conveniently of course Peter Parker’s classmates, including his crush MJ, were snapped and subsequently blipped back and now they find themselves on a field trip to Europe where Peter hopes he can tell the girl he loves how he’s feeling. Of course things are never that simple as creatures known as The Elementals are wreaking havoc on planet and when a super powered man from another dimension named Quentin Beck shows up to stop them, Peter joins forces to help save the world once again.

“Spider-man: Homecoming” was a decent rebirth for the webslinger back in 2017, especially in the wake of the wretched “Amazing” series but even though elements of Peter Parker and Spider-man were there in Tom Holland’s portrayal I never felt he truly became either of them. He was a little too prone to quips, pop culture references and frankly had more in common with Miles Morales Spidey right down his fat Asian American best friend (which is a bit problematic). This isn’t to say “Homecoming” was a bad movie, in fact its easily a top 10 for the MCU, but it still felt like a Spidey flick that was just a bit off.

In “Far From Home” we finally, in my mind at least, get to see Holland really become your friendly neighborhood Spider-man but more importantly Peter Parker. Holland is more believably awkward in this film but nonetheless earnest and sincere, not reducing his lines to simple catchy one-liners but showing off more of the character’s personal emotional range. We even see more of the tech savy side that made the character one of the brightest young minds in the comic book. 

Peter becomes less of a joke machine in this film, understandably given that his surrogate father figure in Stark has died, and we get to see how this teenager grows into these huge shoes left behind. Its obviously a lot to live up to and the film plays off these emotions of the character well but though he doesn’t go as far as saving the universe he still has a hugely satisfying arc by the end of the film.

(I mean it’s a lot of pressure to live up to the mantle of a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist who just saved the universe.)

This is all happening of course while Peter is just trying to be a kid understandably and get closer to the girl he likes only complicating the teenage angst and often comedic emotions that are playing out in the story. The film balances all this perfectly though as it juggles being both a cute teen rom-com, a Spidey flick and a worthy follow-up to “Endgame” all in one.

It’s kind of nuts how well all these elements work in harmony with one another but the film is just plain delightful, exciting and even tense all the way through.

It’s the pitch perfect cast that gels all these elements together in symphonic tune. Zendaya and Jacob Batalon return and play their parts exquisitely between MJ and Ned respectively. Batalon does a a great job again playing Peter’s best friend delivering some of the film’s most humorous moments and their onscreen dynamic is a ton of fun to watch. There’s undeniable chemistry though between Zendaya and Holland who’s pairing will remind you of plenty of your favorite John Hughes movies. The two help make the whimsical teen rom-com element of the story function at pitch perfect frequency as the “will they, won’t they” dynamic between MJ and Peter is both cute and plenty of times equally hilarious. It might be the most believable teen romance depicted in a major blockbuster to date right down to the awkwardness and dry humored dialogue.

(OTP! OTP! OTP! #ImTrash)

It’s Jake Gyllenhaal’s turn as Quentin Beck aka Mysterio who (SPOILER, if you’ve been living under a rock) continues the new upward trend of quality MCU villains. Gyllenhaal’s Beck is charismatic as hell as the spurned ex-Stark Industries engineer looking to take revenge on the legacy of the late Iron Man. The way his character manipulates Peter, playing on his insecurities and emotions, is at times tense to watch in the best way. It’s nice to have a villain in these films that isn’t just a dark mirror of the hero and Gyllenhaal’s Mysterio, even with low bar set by older films in the franchise, goes above and beyond in this role.

The action is of course fun as always is still very much enjoyable here. The finale is definitely in the top tier of the MCU. The way Mysterio uses his illusion tech in the movie to fight Peter is probably the most imaginative this series has gotten when it comes to these big hero vs villain fights. Holland and Gyllenhaal do great here and viewers will likely enjoy every minute of their exchanges.

(Daaaaww, he isn’t so bad.)

There are no major criticisms I have here, other than perhaps the film still recycles a bunch of old ideas and themes from previous movies but the movie still finds a way to keep it mostly refreshing and the new setting for Spidey certainly helps as well. It’s a Spider-man film at the end of the day though and your enjoyment will probably be gauged on how much you care about seeing another movie starring the webslinger or if the MCU’s franchise fatigue has set in for you yet. Though after “Endgame” I was certainly expecting this movie to be merely just a fun but forgettable in the shadow of “Endgame” but much like this film’s hero it rises to the challenge and helps fill the big shoes left behind.

There’s a joy and energy that’s palpable in the script and the cast playing it out from start to finish that’ll be hard for even the most burnt out movie-goer to ignore. It’s a popcorn flick that rises well above the average and that should be more than enough for most viewers.

After “Endgame” it was hard to imagine how this series could possibly continue without feeling stale but somehow even just two months after its release it still feels like the MCU has plenty of stories left and energy to tell them too.

So amazingly the MCU still has a pulse even after its Iron hearted God father passed on and there is no reason for fans to believe, yet, that this series will run out of ways to entertain us anytime soon.

Not that will stop Disney from churning these films out until the end of time of course...huhah...

 VERDICT:

4.5 out of 5

Keep making dad proud, Spidey

[honeyparker]

father’s day — p.p.

summary: “hey, dad. hey, uncle ben. happy father’s day, i miss you.”

a/n: damn 3 in 3 days we’re just pumping the fics out. ik it isnt a request but it’s father’s day, so i had to. leggo. also this is based off a tweet but someone did it w tony !

masterlist

Father’s Day is for love and appreciation. It’s for happiness and telling your family you love them, specifically your father. Perhaps it’s meant to be like that, not created to cause harm to those suffering. It’s an innocent idea, really. It’s meant to honor the men in your life who love you.

And in truth, Peter Parker used to love Father’s Day. A whole day where Peter could latch onto his father without complaint, following him everywhere and climbing on his shoulders. It was always a happy day. A happy day until, all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

He remembers his first Father’s day after his dad had passed, spent crying the holiday away in the confinements of his room. He’s young then, new to the small apartment that’s to become his home. His brain scans the last moments with Richard Parker — dropping a stubby four year old at his Aunt and Uncle’s as his parents take a vacation. They don’t come back.

He remembers his first Father’s Day celebrating Ben, who’s turned into a father figure over the years. He took Peter to little league baseball games and ice-cream stands. He picked him up from school and helped him with his homework. So, Peter had taken it upon himself to buy a present for Ben this Father’s Day, a new wallet bought with his allowance. Peter remembers Ben’s grateful smile and he remembers hugging him so tight he has to let go to breathe.

It’s gone. Ben is gone and Richard is gone and Father’s Day is just a day to mourn.

Peter wakes up Sunday expecting his legs to be entangled with yours. Instead, he’s met with an empty bed and noise in the kitchen. He slowly begins to rise, numb and emotionless as he heads to the kitchen.

“Hey, bub, there’s mail for you,” you point to the counter where two piles of mail have been formed — one for May and one for Peter. “I made some tea for you.”

“Thanks,” Peter mutters as he presses a kiss to your cheek before shuffling to the counter to sort his mail.

And there, sandwiched in the middle of many white envelopes, a bigger yellow one with the words Massachusetts Institute of Technology written on the front.

“Anything interesting?”

“Yeah, actually. I,” he pauses for a minute. “I think this is my MIT rejection or acceptance letter.”

“What?” you set down your mug excitedly and run over to him.

“Shh, May’s sleeping.”

Your voice becomes a whisper. “Sorry, bub. Open it!”

Peter looks helpless in that moment. His hair is tousled and his eyes, filled with pain, fear, and sadness. His plaid pajama pants stop right above his cat slippers — a gag gift from you — and his t shirt is wrinkled. He looks so utterly tired and unlike himself, it knocks the air out of you. “I can’t,” he whispers. “You do it, I can’t.” He shoves the envelope towards you.

“This, this is big, sunshine. I think you should do it.”

“Please?” And you can’t resist.

You tear it open slowly. “Dear Mr. Parker, blah, blah, blah… We are honored,” a smile laces your voice. “To offer you admission for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology class of 2023… Peter, you did it! You got in.”

There are tears in both of your eyes and for a minute everything is fine. For a minute he's hugging you so tightly and your both just smiling and your hands are around his neck and his are around you waist. There is no Father’s Day for a minute.

But feet must leave the stars and touch the ground once again. Your heads cannot live in the stars forever. “Let’s, let’s go wake up May and tell her and then we can go tell your dad and Ben, alright?” You say as you carefully entangle your hands in his hair. “You go tell May, and I’ll grab our shoes, alright, baby?”

After May screaming in excitement for a while, your find Peter’s hand on your thigh as you drive to Queens Burial Center. It’s a small little graveyard, quaint and quite empty. “I’ll wait in the car for you, alright?”

You’ve never seen Peter so broken. You’ve never heard his voice so soft and quiet and helpless. “No, you, you come. Please?” You nod.

Peter holds your hand the entire walk. He seems to know every corner of this dreaded place, navigating his way through tombstones to reach the two you've been looking for. He sinks to the ground when he finds them.

“Hey, Dad. Hey, Uncle Ben. Happy Father’s Day, I miss you. I just came to talk a little bit, and I wanted you to meet Y/N. Also, uh, to tell you — I got into MIT. I did it. I’m gonna study there, I think. It’s been my dream for a long time but it’s a long ways from you two, mom, May, and Y/N. I don’t know. I just, I,” He pauses for a minute to wipe his tears and suck in a breath. His voice cracks with every word and you have no idea what to do. “I miss you so much. And I know that selfish of me, I’ve got so many people, but is it so bad for a boy to want his dad and uncle? I don’t know. Maybe I’m selfish… Mr. Stark says I’ve been doing great as Spider-Man.

It’s hard. I do it for you. I hope you'd be proud of me, I hope you'd approve of what I’m doing. I love you. Happy Father’s Day.” He stands up shakily, tears streaking his face and his eyes a bloodshot red. His cheeks are puffy.

“Love, you wanna wait in the car? I just wanna say something,” you whisper. He leaves you with a kiss.

“Hi, Mr. Parker, Mr. Parker, as well. I’m Y/N. I’m, I’m Peter’s girlfriend. I just wanted to thank you. For raising such a beautiful and loving boy. He’s so incredible smart and passionate, and I just know you’d be proud of him. Anyone would be. He’s — he’s amazing. And he really, really loves you. He tells me all these beautiful stories of when he was a kid and it just blows me away because I know you loved him, as well.

It’s hard for him, most of the time. It’s been years but he still stays up at night. He still cries about it, not that I blame him, and I just had to meet you. He’s going to his dream college, all that work, all that work to make you two proud. Thank you for loving him, and allowing me to do the same.”

You didn’t notice Peter had stayed. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Peter. And I know they do, too. They’re so proud of you, I’m so proud of you. You can be everything you’ve ever wanted to be. You are a hero. You are so intelligent and pure. So full of love, it amazes me everyday. There’s nothing harder than to be loving in the face of tragedy.”

And Peter Parker is crying. Maybe he’ll always hate Father’s Day. Maybe it’ll always pain him. Maybe he’ll always dread it. But right now, here, there’s a numbing peace within him. And he’s okay with it.

[marvelousmarvelimagines]

Need You Now

Part IX (of X) - Don’t Let Me Down (Part 1) (Part II) (Part III) (Part IV) (Part V) (Part VI) (Part VII) (Part VIII)

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Being Tony Stark’s daughter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For one, I didn’t want to be in the first place. My normal life was just fine, thank you. Two, there are freaking superheroes all over where I now live. There’s never any privacy. Three, everyone expects me to be this amazing genius and go to this fancy school and do incredible things. I just want to watch Star Wars and write Harry Potter fanfiction. Also, I hate Math.

A/N - Next to last chapter guys! We’re almost at the end of my first series and this chapter is a monster one. I hope you guys enjoy.

Warnings - Violence, language, blood, and then dare I say, a little fluff?

I wanted to laugh. I’m not sure if it was from the ridiculousness of her statement or the stress of the situation. “Wow . . . and I thought I had seen the craziest of the crazy on the subway.” I said. “I guess I was wrong.” 

“Oh really?” Justine said, stalking closer to me. “What’s so crazy about it? It’s not like you wouldn’t benefit from his death, and what exactly has he done for you?” She asked me. 

“You really think I’m shallow enough to be tempted to kill my Dad for money?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at her. 

It was silent for a few moments, but I met her gaze steadily. I had no idea where this courage was coming from, but I knew there was no way that I was killing Tony. Sure, we had our problems, and yes, he mostly just saw me as an inconvenience, but he was still family. Pretty much all the family I had left. Not only that, but he was Iron Man. The world needed him a lot more than it needed me. 

She never looked disappointed though. That smirk stayed on her face every second that she looked at me. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to resort to Plan B.” She fished out a photo from her pocket and tossed it in my lap. “It’s too bad. He’s a cute kid.” 

The picture was blurry, as if taken from a distance, as well as through a window, but it was pretty obvious what it was. It had been taken at the party a few weeks ago. Peter and I were slow dancing, me tucked under his chin and a soft smile on his face. I jerked at my restraints angrily. “You keep him out of this.” 

“He’s already in this darling.” The man said. 

“You’re going to have to chose which you’d rather save. The man who took everything from you, the not so innocent Tony Stark, or the man who could give you everything, innocent Mr. Peter Parker.” 

My hands shook as I looked down at the picture. That was an impossible decision. How the hell was I supposed to choose between Tony and the boy who made me feel at home? 

I wasn’t going to. 

“Tony did something so terrible to you . . . you would hurt an innocent person just to get back at him?” I asked in disbelief. 

“Tony Stark ruined my life.” She hissed, her hands tightening on the arm rests of the chair I was tied in. “The name Hammer used to mean something. My father was an idiot that dug the grave, but Tony Stark put the nail in the coffin. With him gone and nothing but an idiotic daughter who obviously didn’t get any of the Stark brains, Hammer Tech will climb back to the top where it belongs.” 

I shook my head. “I’m not going to kill my Dad, and I’m not going to let you hurt Peter.” 

She just laughed again, making me hate the sound more and more with each passing second. “It’s almost cute how you think you have a choice. Either you kill Tony Stark, or we’ll go get Mr. Parker from his little apartment with his Aunt in Queens and inject him with this.” She played with the vial once again. “Do you know what this is?” 

I didn’t respond, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. She kept on talking anyway. 

“This is a toxin. First it’ll make him pale, cause his temperature to rise. Then he’s going to start coughing. Over and over until his throat is so raw it’ll bleed.” I couldn’t help the shiver that racked my body at the images of Peter, my Peter, she was putting in my head. “After that he will, quite literally, vomit his guts up. It’s not pretty.” 

“And you’re going to have a front row seat to watch.” The man added. 

Oh God . . . how could I watch that? How could I sit here and watch Peter suffer through all that because of me? Tears pricked at my eyes. “You’re sick.” I gasped. 

I cringed as she grabbed a chunk of my hair, twirling it around her fingers before she leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “You have no idea.” Justine whispered, once again laughing at the yelp that left my lips as she tugged harshly on my hair. “We’ll leave you alone to make your decision. Don’t take too long, or we’ll make it for you.” She threatened, smirking as she grabbed a hold of the man’s arm and left the room, slamming the door behind them. 

I had to get out of here. I was terrified, absolutely and totally terrified of what they might do to Tony and Peter. I wasn’t going to let them hurt them, and I knew I couldn’t count on any help. The thought of that had my adrenaline pumping and pushed my panic aside. 

As always, my dorkiness came in handy. They had me tied up in rope. Which just so happened to be the very material my muggle character in my Harry Potter fanfiction had to escape from. Which meant I had done extensive research on how to escape from restraints. Apparently, like the villains in my story, my captors had greatly underestimated me. Since I had been unconscious when tied, the rope around my chest was actually rather loose when I leaned back against the chair. That was good. I knew it would make it easier to get out of.  

I began rotating my wrists back and forth a few times and then leaned down as far as I could, bringing the rope up to my mouth, tugging on a strand with my teeth. I repeated the process several times until one of my thumbs had finally slipped out. Once that happened, I was quickly able to remove the rest from the rope. 

One down, two to go. 

I kicked my shoes off first, knowing it would be easier to get out of without those heels weighing me down. I had to get into a pretty uncomfortable position with my chest still tied, my ass almost falling off the seat, but eventually I was able to shimmy the ropes off my feet. 

One to go. 

I couldn’t reach back to untie the rope around my chest, but because I wasn’t tied very tightly, I was able to wiggle over and over while simultaneously trying to slide down off the chair. Time and time again I kept wiggling until I slipped out of the rope and onto the floor. 

Unfortunately, as soon as I hit the ground, an alarm started blaring. I knew I had only seconds before they were back. I glanced around frantically. There had to be something I could use . . . 

My eyes landed on my bracelet, sitting innocently on the table with some tools. I grabbed it, and I had just enough time to slip it on before the door slammed open. 

I didn’t have time to think. It was almost as if it was instinct, pressing the bead, sliding it up and aiming at the man, my fist opening. I heard a grunt as the light blinded him. Taking the opportunity, I quickly tried to crawl past him, but I wasn’t fast or quiet enough. He grabbed my hair, his eyes still blinking furiously as he tried to get his vision to return. He threw me on my back violently in front of him. When I looked up, my head spinning from the force with which I had hit the concrete, he was holding a gun to my stomach. In panic, my hand shot up in front of me just as he pulled the trigger.  

There was a hot pain against my hand as the glass in the middle exploded, and then there was a scream. My eyes shot open to find the man holding his shoulder, looking murderous. “You bitch!” He yelled, lunging towards me. 

My foot shot up with surprising strength straight to his nose. Apparently I had used so much force, it not only sent blood flying out of his nose, but caused him to stumble backwards straight into a wall, his head hitting it with a loud crack. He hit the ground out cold. 

“You know, I was kind of hoping it would come to this.” 

Her gaze was menacing as she stalked towards me. I scrambled backwards, glass from my hand slicing into my body while my foot I had just kicked the guy with throbbed painfully. I crawled until I hit the wall, frantically looking around for a way out. 

There was that laughter again. “No where to go little Stark. You know, I was going to give you a choice, but now, I’m just going to kill your boyfriend right in front of you.” In a quick movement I barely had time to process, she shoved a knife right below my belly button. 

I screamed as white hot agony shot through my abdomen, numbing every other pain I was currently feeling. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to paint the walls with some of your blood before I make you kill your Daddy. You’d be surprised how much blood someone can lose and still survive.” She said with a little twist of her knife. 

Glass shattered over my head as Justine went flying past me. When I glanced up, all I could see was a suit of blue and red standing protectively in front of me. “Spiderman?” I gasped weakly, completely shocked. 

He didn’t look at me, completely focused on Justine. “You know, it’s really not a good idea to kidnap someone whose Dad is a superhero.” 

A rush of affection filled my chest for the masked hero in front of me. At that moment, I understood everyone at school’s love for the Spiderman. Standing there, strong and not the least bit intimidated, he looked every bit of an Avenger as Captain America. 

“Insect.” She spat, blood spilling out of her mouth. She started to charge-

Spiderman immediately dropped to his knees, covering me. He took out her legs with his web shooters while a bright flash of light exploded over us, knocking her back once again. 

I felt a smile form on my face through the pain. Dad was here. 

“Remember the plan, kid, get her out of here.” Tony’s voice came through the suit. 

Spiderman looked at me for the first time, the whites of his eyes widening as he noticed my blood stained hands, holding my stomach tightly. When he had kicked her off of me, he had inadvertently made her take the knife with her. “Mr. Stark, she’s been stabbed.” 

That voice . . . there was something about that voice . . . 

Tony’s voice was a low growl as he responded. “Get her to Hawkeye.” 

Spiderman slowly and carefully lifted me into his arms, tensing every time I made a gasp of pain. “Hold on tight, okay? I’m going to get you out of her.” He reassured me as I wrapped my arms around his neck. 

I closed my eyes shut tight as I felt the wind whipping my face. I knew we had to be in the air, but I was afraid to open my eyes since the pain was already making me nauseous. When we landed on a rooftop though, I slowly opened my eyes. 

I looked up and found Clint rushing towards us. He took one look at me and started calling out directions. “I’m going to get a car, put some pressure on that and keep her awake!” Clint shouted before diving off the roof. 

Spiderman sat me down on the ground gently before quickly sitting behind me, keeping me between his legs and my back against his chest. “This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.” A web shot out and hit my stomach, causing a gasp of breath to leave me. It was quickly followed by a groan of pain as Spiderman’s hand pressed against my wound heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said over and over, regret clear in his voice. “I’m so sorry Y/N.” 

That voice . . . these arms . . . It wasn’t until he said my name that it all clicked. “Peter?” I managed to say. 

I could almost see his mouth drop from inside his suit. “How-how did you -?” He reached up, taking his mask off. 

A pained smile formed on my face as I watched his curls flop around, those dark eyes staring into mine. I could see in them that he was just as scared as I felt. “I should have known.” I said with a breathless laugh. Apparently that was a bad move as a fiery pain shot through my body again, and more tears fell from my eyes. “It really hurts, Peter,” I whimpered. 

“I know, I know, but you’ll be okay,” Peter tried to reassure me, but I felt his free hand shaking as it touched my cheek. 

I leaned my head back against his shoulder. “Of course I will . . . I gotta give you hell for not telling me that you’re Spiderman.” 

I felt him press a soft kiss against the top of my head. It was so gentle it had my eyes closing, and once they were closed, I couldn’t bring myself to open them again. 

-----

It wasn’t like the movies. I didn’t wake up to an annoying beeping sound. Instead, it was the sound of AC/DC and the incessant tapping of fingers against a screen. My eyelids were heavy, heavier than they had ever been before, but with some effort, I managed to open them. 

The first thing I saw was a beautiful arrangement of flowers, next to that was a box of cookies from my favorite bakery, at the end of the table was a pack of gummy worms on top of a new Star Wars book. The second in the trilogy I was currently reading that I hadn’t gotten around to buying yet. Only then did I notice the ridiculous, and I do mean ridiculous, balloon bouquet. There must have been at least thirty balloons, each with either a funny face or a sarcastic comment about getting better on them. Finally, my eyes landed on the man sitting beside me. 

Tony’s gaze was completely focused on the screen in front of him as he seemed to shuffle things around. His brows were furrowed together in concentration in a very similar way to how mine did. I had never really spent a lot of time studying our physical likeness before, but now that he was there . . . I saw it. Of course he was also currently supporting a pretty nasty looking black eye. An eye he had gotten protecting me.  “Dad?” I said, quietly. It was the first time I had addressed him as such, to his face, and I was surprised to find it didn’t feel forced at all. In fact . . . it kind of felt almost natural. 

Tony’s head shot over to me, nothing but concern in his eyes. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?” He asked. 

I thought about it for a minute, looking down at myself. My foot was in a boot, my hands wrapped in bandages, and even though I couldn’t see it, I knew there was another bandage on my stomach. “I’ve been better. Also probably worse. What are you working on?” I asked. 

“I’m designing you a suit. What happened will not happen again.” He turned the screen around, showing me a quick glimpse. 

“You don’t have to do that.” I said quickly. “I loved the bracelet. It saved my life.” 

“It shouldn’t have had to. I should have been working on this months ago. As soon as I knew you were in danger.” Tony replied, turning back to the tablet. 

I watched him for a few moments before speaking up. “How long did you know?” 

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “A couple of months. I get threats all the time. They usually amount to nothing, I thought it would be the same for you, but just in case, I assigned you a tail.” He nodded his head out the door where I had just noticed a floppy, brown haired boy sleeping in a chair, cuddling my Chewbacca doll. I couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight. “Don’t be too hard on the kid, okay? He really cares about you. Probably would have tailed you even if I hadn’t told him to.” I bit my lip, looking down at my hands, “and not that it’s any of my business, but I just told Peter to talk to you. I wasn’t telling him what to say, and he wasn’t giving any reports or anything like that. So anything you two said . . . it’s between you two.” 

“Does this mean you’ll stop trying to intimidate him?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him as I looked back up at him. 

“Nope, like I told him, it’s the Dad’s job to intimidate the boyfriend. There was a whole chapter on it in, Raising a Teenage Daughter For Dummies.” 

I couldn’t help but smile a little at that, shaking my head at him. Then, to my surprise, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Don’t scare me like that again, kiddo.” 

The sudden affection that swelled in my chest almost knocked the breath out of me. I couldn’t believe how closed off I had been to this man who had risked his life for mine. Tears were filling my eyes quickly by the time I was able to respond. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. 

“You got kidnapped. That’s not your fault.” 

“I ran off. It was my fault. I thought you were trying to control my life, and Mom always said I had problems with authority -”

“I guess that makes two of us.” Tony said with a smirk, “but my decisions about all of this . . . might not have been the best. Which is why I’ve decided to give you an option.” Tony added. 

I raised my eyebrows. 

“I’ve talked to your Aunt. With some financial compensation, she agreed to move to Brooklyn. You could start back at your old school. All I ask for is weekly dinners with your old man.” 

My heart, if not already at bursting mode, was quickly reaching there. “You mean . . . even if I moved away, you’d still want to see me?” 

My question, along with my tears, only seemed to confuse him. “Well, yeah . . . you’re my daughter. Now that I know that you exist you’re not getting rid of - Oomph!” 

With surprising strength for being so hurt, I pulled Tony into a tight hug. “I want to stay here. I want to stay here and keep going to Midtown.” 

Tony chuckled softly, hugging me back tightly. “I’m glad Y/N.” He slowly pulled away, ruffling my hair. “Now, as much fun as this father/daughter bonding has been, there’s a Spiderling in the hallway who has been sitting there since you got here, and if he’s not home soon, his Aunt might kill me.” 

I giggled a little, brushing my tears away with my bandaged hands before a thought had me panic struck. “I don’t look hideous do I?” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a Stark. We never look hideous. Everyone else just looks slightly more presentable.” 

My dad was ridiculous. 

“By the way, I’m still making you that suit.” He said as he started to walk out the door. 

“Bracelet!” I called after him. 

Tony sighed, “fine, but you’re going to start taking self defense with Cap and Legolas. We’ll see how much you can take of that before you’re begging me for a suit.” 

“You might be surprised. Starks can take a lot, right?” I said, another smile on my face. 

His returning grin was wide. “Hell yeah, they can.” Tony turned around then, clapping his hands loudly and startling Peter so much he almost toppled over. “Underoos! She’s awake.” Tony told him. 

Peter’s gaze shot over to me and our eyes locked. My smile turned shy at the intensity of his look. He immediately leapt out of his chair in his haste to get to me. “Y/N! You’re awake! I was - I was so worried. There was so much - so much blood, and I thought I would never get to tell you how sorry I was. Because I am. I am so sorry.” 

The whole time he was rambling, all I could do was smile, memorizing my favorite features of him, his messy curls, the chocolate eyes, the soft pink lips . . . 

“All Mr. Stark said was to like say hi and maybe show you around and look after you. Then I saw you though, and - and you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You were so funny too and just as big of a fan of Star Wars as Ned and me, which is saying something, and you just . . . you get me, and I get you and -”

“Peter?” 

Finally, his rambling stopped at my voice. 

I couldn’t stop myself when I saw those brown, wide eyes. I reached up, grabbing him by the back of the head and pulled his lips down to mine. 

He was startled, but almost immediately responded, his warm lips gently pressing back against mine in a soft caress. 

It was amazing. Honestly I could have been struck by a car at that moment, and I wouldn’t have felt a damn thing. Nothing could compare to the feeling of Peter Parker’s lips against mine, one hand on my waist, pulling me a little closer, while his other cupped my jaw. I completely melted at his soft touch, and then, to my surprise, I felt him bring my bottom lip between his, nibbling on it slightly. The sensation that caused forced a moan through my lips and my hand to tighten in his hair. 

As soon as I made the sound, Peter drew back, looking at me with panicked eyes. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

In my post-kiss daze, it took a moment to realize what he meant, but once I did, I couldn’t help but flush. “That’s um - that’s not why I was moaning.” 

The tips of Peter’s ears went pink. “So - uh - I can - I can keep kissing you?” 

“I really hope so. I need a few more kisses to make sure that was really as amazing as I thought it was.” I told him, softly trailing my fingers through his hair. 

Peter was smiling when our lips met again. 

Need You Now Tag list: 

@broadwaytrash101 @captainmommaoftwogirls @iamwarrenspeace @its-nikki-bitch @little-fangirls-blog @krazyk99 @obsessedmaggiemay @thelegendaryovtlaw @whatdafricklefrackle @yourwonderbelle

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@seninjakitey

[sshardassanderson]

One in the Same || Self-Para

WHERE: Clarington Prison

WHO: Darius Anderson & Bruce Anderson NPC (with mentions of Blaine Anderson & Sebrina Smythe)

WHEN: Friday, January 25th at 1PM

WHAT: Darius goes to have a talk with his father...or to try and convince himself that they are not the same.

WARNINGS: Possible triggers for blood and violence. Mentions of murder, attempted murder, acts of violence.

What the hell are you even going here for?

Swinging his leg over the end of his bike and putting the kickstand in place, Dare removed his helmet and lightly ruffled his fingers through his hair to fix the flatness. Under his breath, he cursed himself out for even considering showing up here, but there were so many things he needed answers to, and despite actively knowing he wouldn’t get them, he still drove the whatever odd miles to the correctional facility to demand them anyway. He hadn’t expected Bruce would even accept his visit, but the follow-up phone call came not even two hours later and Dare decided it was enough putting it off. No Blaine. No additional backup. Just a one on one with his old man, so that maybe he could just be done with this for once. So, after shoving his keys into his pocket and making his way toward the main entrance, Dare tried to forcibly not talk himself out of the visit with every step that brought him closer to the doorway. The closing of the various gates and doors behind him brought about that agonizing little itch that resurfaced in the darkest recesses of his mind.

This will be you someday. Only you won’t be going in the front.

Shut up.

He finally reached the front entrance where he was immediately practically assaulted by security, ordering him up against a wall for a thorough pat-down. Shoes off, socks off, toes to ankles, up along his jeans and lingering way too long for comfort between his legs, in his pockets, then wrenching off his jacket to examine sleeves and pockets as though he’d stitched in a hole to smuggle drugs or something of that nature. Dare couldn’t stop the “be careful with that, dammit!” when his Serpent jacket was violently shook left and right for anything loose that might fall out before he was wanded, then shoved through an additional security x-ray.

You sure you’re not being arrested?

I said shut up.

They know what you are. They know who you are and who you’re here to see. They know—

Dare’s jacket was returned, and he snatched it violently from the guard, stuffing his arms back inside and wrapping it around himself like a damn security jacket before he finally reached a middle-aged woman behind bulletproof glass. The only access to her was the dip in the front counter where Dare was required to slide his identification in order to receive a “GUEST” badge. He clipped it to the front of his shirt per instruction and was finally buzzed into another room where yet another guard was waiting with the most disgusted look on his face. In hindsight, coming in with his Serpent jacket on was probably not the smartest decision, but then again Dare never was one to think things completely through before he made a decision. And for the most part the hallways were clear – it’s not as though they’d be moving criminals in the same space that they would’ve moved guests.

They reached what almost resembled a high school cafeteria – just a litany of tables and such every which way, only every door had an armed officer, and there were no cliquey groups of people sitting with their lunch trays silently judging whatever table it was that you ended up at. It wasn’t empty though, various other prisoners meeting with family, friends…fuck buddies, whatever the case was. But Bruce was alone at a table, eyes deadlocked on Dare from across the room with that cold, piercing stare that made his insides churn. But as usual, he steeled himself against his father’s hold and made his way across the room to the table. Bruce was naturally shacked at the wrists and ankles, arms bound with a chain that extended maybe two or three inches, enough that he would be able to make vague gestures but not enough to wrap the links around his neck or anyone else’s. The ends were looped through grids in the table that bolted to the floor, so no chance of him wrenching free or trying to flip the table onto someone else in the room. His ankles, though bound, were not latched onto anything, but Bruce sat with both feet planted firmly on the ground.

He seemed almost tired – gaunt face, a few new bruises and scratches that really brought the color to his sharp hazel eyes. Nothing Dare hated more than sharing the same color. At least Blaine’s were almost gold, it helped to pull him out of his spiral when he needed something to latch onto. But here…he needed to purge Blaine from his thoughts otherwise his father could practically smell the weakness clinging to his eldest’s skin. Bruce appeared to be thinner too, as though he were on a hunger strike. He secretly hoped Bruce had been bullied and beaten in prison, food stolen, finally knowing what it would feel like to be starved. Of course, the forced sobriety couldn’t have helped his situation either, especially judging from the dark circles under his old man’s eyes. Calmly, Dare finally took his seat across the table, giving back the same deadlocked, unwavering stare that his father tried to penetrate his skin with. It was working, but Dare wouldn’t let on to the fact that he was this uncomfortable. He knew better now.

“Well…you look like shit.” Dare commented, Bruce still unblinking and disinterested in the comment. “Must suck to have people beating the shit out of you every—”

“—Are you still fucking your brother?”

Dare froze, but the retort wasn’t unexpected, and his composure returned a millisecond later. “I’m not here to talk about Blaine.”

“I’m not interested in anything else.” Bruce added flatly, leaning back.

“I don’t really give a shit what you’re interested in. I came here for answers, not for questions. So we’re not talking about him.”

“Him who?”

“You know who.”

“Blaine.”

Dare narrowed his eyes. “While I’m here, you’re not going to so much as breathe his name, do you understand me?”

“Is that what you think? That you get to come in here, new hotshot Serpent leader, and tell me what I’m allowed to do?”

“That’s exactly what I think. You left everything behind, and you left it in fucking ruins. So while I’m here, you get to answer to me for once.” Dare leaned closer, arms propped up on the table at his elbows. “I’m in charge now. The Platts are exiled, and the disaster of a situation you left behind for me to clean up after…I’m more disgusted with you now than I have ever been before.”

“That makes two of us.” Bruce replied as he leaned back in as well, their faces inches apart. “You think you’re hot shit now, boy. But you don’t know the first thing about being a leader.”

“I’ve done better than you ever have.”

“By who’s standards, Darius? Your friends? Those people haven’t seen what you’re fully capable of, have they? Have they seen how much you second guess yourself? Have they seen you lose control? Have they seen the way that you crumble and fold at anything that might injure Blaine?”

“I said don’t fucking say his name.” Dare growled. “What they’ve seen are results. They’ve seen their homes restored. They’ve seen people like you and the Platts driven the fuck out. They’ve seen the good that we can do and the—”

“—Good?” Bruce barked a laugh, spittle hitting Dare’s face in a way that made his skin crawl. “Nothing the Serpents have done could ever qualify as good.”

“Things have changed. We’re not just a band of fucking lowlife drug peddlers. It’s back to being what it should have been. And people are happy with the way things are.” Dare slammed his fist on the countertop. “I’m NOT here to explain myself to you!”

“You want to know…what? About why I did what I did to Sebrina Smythe?”

“Yes!”

“And you want to know why I was helping the father cover everything up?”

“I want—”

“Do you really even know what you want? Or did you just come down here so you could look me in the eye and say that you’re nothing like me?” A wry smile passed over Bruce’s lips, that same fucking condescending, smug ass look to his face that let twins know growing up that they were treading into very dangerous waters. Only now the old man was stark sober, and able to focus so fucking clearly. “I know your every button, son. And I know that whatever good you think you’re doing with the Serpents now is going to blow back in your face, and you will lose everything. You’re a pushover deep down, and you want to know why?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s because of your brother. He’s always held you back from your full potential. But when your mother left, she abandoned both of you to my care. And I’ll be honest…Blaine shouldn’t have survived it at all. I tried to make sure of that. Tossed him into a lake. Left him tied up in the closet for hours on end—”

“I said enough.” Dare’s fingers were clenched, knowing that Bruce was purposefully trying to get a rise out of him.

“—And yet you just had to make sure he survived. Gave up everything to make sure he was fed and tended to and had a good life. Is that why you’re fucking him, Darius? Because Blaine can’t even date correctly so you have to fill the role as his lover too?”

The corners of his eyes were practically bleeding red into his vision, and it was all he could do to keep the minimal amount of composure he had left in check before he lunged over the table and killed his old man. He tried to remind himself that Bruce had no power except his running mouth, and that’s exactly what he was doing. Manipulating. Darius was falling prey to it all over again, just like when he was a kid and his father took things just one step too far. Coming here was a mistake. Dare knew deep down there were never going to be any answers. But he wanted to look into his father’s face and know beyond a doubt that they were never the same. That the constant plague of nightmares paralleling the two men, of Dare engulfed in his father’s shadow and moving arms and legs like a puppet on strings were just that…nightmares.

But they weren’t.

He saw himself in the demise of Sebrina Smythe despite having nothing to do with it personally, even if an itch at the back of his head begged the question…Bruce had done this because he’d found out about the summer party. He’d known that Sebrina and Dare hooked up, and that maybe, just maybe, that fucking baby was his. He’d told no one of his suspicions, and it’s not as though Sebrina had reached out to him to let him know. So…maybe it wasn’t. She was bound to have slept with other people around that time. But then why would Bruce be so deeply involved as to help hide the body? These weren’t just nightmares. This was the cold reality.

Bruce’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “You know he came to see me too.”

“Who?”

“Kevin. He’s been worried about his son. Hasn’t seen him in week or so.”

“They were exiled,” Dare answered flatly. “Why should I give a shit where they are?”

Bruce’s shit-eating grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just seems odd that Kevin Jr. would disappear out of the blue.”

“Not my fucking problem.” Dare replied through tightly gritted teeth. “I’m leaving.”

“He sneak up on you?” Bruce inquired before Dare could even stand, the grin never once leaving his face. “Make a pass at Blaine? Threaten you?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Does Blaine know? Do your friends know?”

“Know what?”

“What am I supposed to tell him when he visits next?”

“Nobody’s gonna come fucking visit you, old man.”

“Tell me what happened, son.” A condescending plea for understanding. But all too knowing of what the answer was without Dare saying a word. One in the same. “Tell me what he did.”

“Fuck off, Bruce.”

He might’ve had the leg up if he hadn’t tripped over an empty beer bottle that’d rolled out of the overflowing garbage can. Might’ve stood a chance at getting his hands around Dare’s neck. A flurry of fists and the complete destruction of his trailer. Blood splatters. Dare wrapping an extension cord three times around Junior’s neck until the grunting and choking subsided and nothing but a death rattle in its wake. His hands were still, even as he cleaned the evidence and wrapped the body up in a tarp. Stuck it in a truck, buried him in the damp earth from a recent, brief thaw that the ground was nothing but muck. Deeper and deeper, it never quite felt like enough. He dug so far down it became almost impossible to crawl out of the grave himself, and by morning he’d walled himself up against the entire ordeal. The body was dumped without remorse, then buried up again once more. Another freeze was expected in the next day or so. If it wasn’t found by then…

Dare blinked at his father and stood up from his seat. “Enjoy rotting in your prison cell forever, old man. Don’t expect another visit from me.”

“Whatever you think you know, whatever you think you may have that makes you superior to me, we’re the same, Darius. I knew it when you were a kid, and I know it now.” Bruce squared his shoulders. “Riverdale is Hell, Darius. We’re living in it. You’re living in it. And Blaine is living in it. Maybe one day when someone cuts Blaine out of your life for good, you’ll be able to reach your full—”

Darius leapt across the table and violently slammed Bruce’s face into the mesh metal with enough force to hear the crack in his face from the impact. He gripped what little amount of hair he could and repeated the action, head meeting table before he was wrenching his belt off and wrapping it around Bruce’s neck, strangling him while Bruce’s hands scrambled to try and break free. Unable to lift them more than an inch or two from the table, he was left flailing, kicking his legs out wildly as blood gushed down his face and Dare cut off his oxygen.

“You wanna go to Hell you miserable fuck?! THEN GO TO HELL!”

In some respect he knew that the guards had been on him from the second time he’d mashed Bruce’s face into the table, but it took the force of another two to wholly pull him off and break off the chokehold he’d fashioned with his belt. Unfortunately, it was enough to spare the man’s life, Bruce gasping for breath and spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the laminate floor. The guards wrestled Dare back far enough, shouting something about arresting him, being a “stupid fucking kid”, someone threatening to taser him if he didn’t calm down. Being a man that was hated in Riverdale meant that Dare was able to just be forcibly thrown out of the prison rather than arrested for assault and attempted murder like he absolutely should have been. But he guards merely dragged him out of the room without letting him even glance his father’s way again and bodily launched him back into the reception area before sealing the doors shut behind him.

Muttering profanities under his breath, Dare picked himself up off the ground and tossed the GUEST badge at the receptionist who passed back his ID with a disgusted leer. Dare stuck up his middle finger on his way out, stomping through the courtyard as he stuffed his steady hands back into his pockets.

One in the same.

[kee-writestrashh]

Guns for Hire

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

ao3

Summary:  You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

Chapter 52: Wind of Change

[You: meet me in the den in 10.]

You stood there wondering if you had time to make it to your bedroom to change before having to be in the living area.

[Matt: already here.]

You'd better not risk it. Ramsay was already stressed and on the verge of a snap.

[Ben: 10-4]

[Alyn: give me like 5 min.]

[You: better hurry or I will break your knee caps, Alyn!]

You examined the ugly curtains as you walked down the hall. Those would definitely have to go. What century were they even from? Gross.

You entered the den to find Matt and Alyn, arguing over baseball teams.

"What's up?" Alyn asked as you took your seat beside him.

"I want to get Rams out for the night. He's turning into a cranky old businessman." You said with a heavy sigh.

"I can't go. Race night. Have a spot to defend." Alyn said with an apologetic shrug.

You frowned and shot a look at Matt, who quailed under your glare.

"I'm free." He said quickly as Ben walked in, looking rather angry.

"Stop yelling at me, woman!" He yelled as Carmen could be heard shouting from down the hall.

"Not even going to ask you, because you're coming. You could use a drink or five." You said as Ben threw himself in a chair with an irritable growl.

"Where we goin'?" Matt asked.

"Dunno. I'm always just along for the ride, you boys can choose."

"Well, what are you wanting to do?" Ben asked, eyeing you closely.

"Find someone for my husband to take his frustration out on." You said.

Ben gave an understanding nod, "right. Got a couple places we could go. Are you feeling expensive rich or just rich?"

You snorted, "does it matter?"

"Nah, rich people are shitbags." Ben chuckled, motioning to your group.

"Hey, don't include me in that. I'm not rich." Matt chuckled.

"Nah, you just now have temporary residence in a manor where people wait on you hand and foot, make more money a week than most do in a month, own a brand new Corvette with thousands of dollars of custom work done on top of the list price, and head a street gang with a bloody reputation." Ben laughed, "oh, and at the age of eighteen. You are such a little Ramsay."

Matt flushed, shrugging in defeat, giving a shy grin.

Ramsay walked in, looking your group over. So small now with Damon gone. And even Yellow Dick. You wondered if Ramsay would fill in Yellow Dick's spot?

"Well?" He asked, looking over at you.

"I have two of three." You said, hopefully.

"Who's being a party foul?" Ramsay asked, frowning.

Alyn raised his hand, "Racing tonight."

Ramsay tutted and sucked his front teeth, "ever find out what happened to the Stark girl?"

Ben shook his head, "nothing. She's a ghost apparently. Like the rest of her family."

"Hm." Ramsay hummed, "Well I guess it doesn't matter. Where are we going?"

"There's a new club that just opened up on the north strip, not our kind of place. But it's  No Man's Land. I'm sure we could drop some elbows on Lions and Stags. Got some men itching to make some money." Ben said giving Ramsay a sly grin.

"Then let's go drop some elbows. We leave in three." Ramsay smirked, glancing down at his watch.

"I don't have to wear a tie do I? I'm really not cut out for that." Matt hummed, pulling his hat down over his eyes, crossing his arms, and pushing himself back into the couch as far as he could.

"I won't make you wear a tie, but you're not going to look like a slob, representing me." Ramsay said, kicking Matt's dirty shoes.

"Yessir." Matt yawned, pulling a blanket over him.

You rose from your seat, stomach rumbling.

"Well, I'm going to go raid the fridge." You said leaving the Boys.

You stood there staring at the shelves of the refrigerator with a small frown.

"Whatcha doin'?" Kaden asked, from his spot at the bar, drinking from his straw.

"Well it would seem that your Cousin Damon is hungry, but nothing seems appetizing to him." You sighed, closing the door.

"What kind of things does he like? Maybe you could add them all together." Kaden said, eyeing your belly.

You laughed, "I don't think it would taste very good honestly. What do you have goin' on there?"

Kaden held up a dinosaur chicken nugget, "Abuela made me dinner before she went to help mama. You can have some if you like."

"Dinos it is, then." You laughed. He beamed.

You made a plate and sat beside Kaden, who kicked his feet against his stool.

"What kind of vegetables do you like?" You asked.

"Peas are my favorite. And green beans. And corn." Kaden said brightly, looking down at his plate.

"Hm. Me too. Uncle Ramsay hates peas." You said, pushing your peas around on the plate.

"Well he just don't know what he's missin'." Kaden said, chewing on his straw.

You laughed. He sounded just like his father. Children. Perfect miniature versions of their parents. For the sake of your sanity, hopefully your son was more like you, not that you were any better than your husband... But maybe not quite so wild.

"So... do you eat the head or the tail first?" You asked, examining the t-rex closely.

"Depends." Kaden shrugged, tearing into his nugget.

"On?" You asked, watching the boy with a grin.

"Oh, don't be stupid. It depends on the time of day and rotational tilt of the earth in the fourth year in the trans-something-or-another orbital... shit." Ramsay said with an air of superiority, yet finishing rather lamely.

You snorted and rolled your eyes, pulling your hand away from him.

"Get your own, good sir." You shrieked, waving your husband away.

"I'm afraid mine have all gone extinct." Ramsay sighed in mock sadness, glancing down at his watch, "they all moved from Jurassic Park to Jurassic World."

You laughed. Kaden crinkled his brows in confusion.

"Kid! Why did you let her force those nasty little things on you?" Ramsay said in distaste, looking down at the peas.

"We like peas." You said, sticking your tongue out.

"Yeah. We like the good stuff." Kaden pipped up, finally setting his fork down long enough to speak.

"Knock some sense into you, boy." Ramsay tutted, taking a seat beside you.

You looked at your husband fondly. He was quite a character. How could someone so full if anger and rage, and yet act like he had no emotions, be so charming and funny? How did he do it?

"Ah! There you are, tiny ese. I've been looking everywhere for you." Ben sighed, walking in.

"Sorry, he was my dinner date." You said, offering a smile, holding up your nugget and biting its head off.

"Nah, it's cool. Just didn't want my ass chewed by the devil woman." Ben said, glancing around hopefully for food, swiping a handful of nuggets from the tray. "You know, these are the best drunk food. Kid you not."

"Children." Ramsay tutted, rolling his eyes.

"Says the man with thirty boxes of Scooby-Doo gummy snacks." You said with a sly grin.

He shrugged, pushing his stool away from the bar and standing.

You finished the last of your food, "sweetheart, I enjoyed our dinner. Maybe we can do it again sometime. Maybe you can help me make pizza. I make really good pizza dough."

"The best." Alyn added, walking in, "right I'm out of here. Need to change tires. I'll be back sometime tonight. Don't plan on racing all night, but got some other shit to do."

"Like what?" Matt asked, walking in behind Alyn, swiping a soda off the counter.

"Your mom." Alyn chuckled, side stepping Matt's fist and shaking Ramsay's hand.

"Well, I'm going to go get dressed, I guess, while you three pregame." You said, sliding from your stool.

Ramsay slapped your ass as you walked past. You threw him a dirty look, heat rising in your face as Kaden giggled.

Halfway up the stairs you ran into Carmen.

"Have you seen my little one?" She asked.

"Him and I just finished dinner. He was still in the kitchen with Ben when I left." You smiled, pushing up the stairs.

You glanced out a window at a cloudy, twilit sky as you walked past.

"Whew. I'm getting too pregnant for this." You muttered, crossing your room to your closet. You glanced the dresses over with a small frown as the door clicked behind you. Grey fuzz and a tiny meow wound around your leg as you turned to see Ramsay standing there.

"There you are. I was beginning to worry you were lost somewhere." You said with a small smile, glancing down at Herman. You looked up at your husband, "what am I dressing for? Is it cold?"

"A bit of a chill in the air. Just be grungy. We are rich enough to afford that look without being looked down on." Ramsay shrugged, pulling his tie from over his head and tossing it on the bed.

You crossed over to him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and kissing each bit of skin you exposed.

He drew a deep breath, resting his hands on your hips as you kissed across his chest. The cuts from the night before still hot and angry, yet scabbed over nicely... or as nicely as scabs and cuts went.

"How was work?" You asked, resting you cheek to his left breast and listening to his heartbeat.

"Fucking bullshit. Losing roughly twelve point five in sales, as everything burnt to the ground. Someone, and if I ever find out who, they are more than dead, set up some dodgy fucking insurance scam. So all building and replacing will come out of pocket. So that's easily another three to four months of lost income." He said bitterly.

"Yes, maybe... But, the bar opens next Saturday. And you've projected a decent amount of legit income from that." You said with an encouraging smile as you pulled away from him to find a pair of jeans and band tee.

"When is the last time you talked to Olyvar?" He asked, stepping into the closet with you, nudging the cat out of the way.

"Hmm... been a couple days. Why?" You said, grabbing a pair of jeans from a hanger.

"Just curious. You seem rather distant from him in the last few months." He shrugged, examining two pairs of jeans.

"We've all had a lot going on. He understands. But after the bar opens, we will be able to see one another a lot more." You said, sliding your pants down, and pulling your shirt off to change.

"Is it weird that I find you extremely fucking hot while you're pregnant?" He asked, running his eyes over you with a wolfish grin.

"I'm going to say no, for the sake of my self-esteem." You grinned, struggling to button your pants and finally giving up with a frustrated sigh.

Ramsay pulled you into him, nipping at your ear, "leave them like that. I will make it worth it."

"Is that so?" You purred, pushing a finger into his bare chest.

"Have I ever failed you yet, little mama?"

You gave an embarrassed grin, pulling a shirt from its hanger and sliding it over your head.

"How long do I have?" You asked, walking into the bathroom and crossing the cold marble floor to a vanity in the corner.

"Long as you want." Ramsay shrugged, leaning in the doorway and watching you as you plugged a curling iron in.

"Well, give me about thirty minutes and I will be ready." You said, looking at him through the mirror.

"Aye, aye." Ramsay hummed, pushing off the door frame and leaving.

×××

Ramsay helped you from the car, dropping the keys in the valet's hand and grabbed the teenager by the front of his shirt, "fuck her up at all and I will kill you. Literally." He growled, shoving the kid away from him.

"Y-yes sir." The kid nodded, eyes wide in fear, clutching the keys to his chest.

You grabbed Ramsay's hand and pulled him along, "stop being so grouchy."

Ramsay clucked, "I'm not grouchy, woman."

"Mhm, and I'm not almost six months pregnant." You replied, leading him to where Ben and Matt were leaning against a wall.

"Haven't seen that shirt in a minute." Ben said, glancing your shirt over.

You had chosen one of Ramsay's old band tees, as none of your shirts were long enough to hide the fact that your pants were unbuttoned and only halfway zipped.

"Yeah, guess I had left it in my closet when I left home. Shit ton of other things I forgot I had." Ramsay said, looking at the shirt with an almost uncharacteristically sad smile, that made you feel as though you should have chosen something else.

"Scorpions, man. Best concert ever. I miss Dame whistling 'Wind of Change'. He always did it at the worst times." Ben grinned with the same sad look.

You gave Matt a quick glance who gave you the same look. Two outsiders intruding on heartbreak.

Ramsay laced his fingers in yours and led you through the doors.

It was loud, dim, and you could feel the music drumming in your chest as people walked around wearing glow sticks and very revealing clothing.

You pulled Ramsay along with you to an empty table near the most vacant side of the club.

You made to sit but Ramsay pulled you into his lap as Matt and Ben waded through the crowd towards the bar.

You watched people dance, laugh, and shout at one another in loud, drunken voices as Ramsay rested his chin on your shoulder, occasionally biting at your neck.

Ben returned with a tray of shots, and a few moments later Matt returned with Tyene on his arm, who was closely followed by Obella.

You smiled brightly at them both and gave them brief one armed hugs.

Ben passed out the shots and Matt sat a glass of water in front of you as you shed your jacket, placing it in the empty chair beside you were a shot for Damon had been set.

"So glad you came. We have some news." Tyene said, sitting beside you and Ramsay.

"Well, spill the beans." You prompted, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table as Ramsay ran his hand up the back of your shirt, tugging at your bra strap.

"Tyrion Lannister has been spotted, in the presence of some blonde. No one seems to know exactly who she is. Working on that. Cersei is going off the deep end. Really twisting the Tyrell's into doing all her dirty work. Heard she's about to put in for running for mayor", -Ramsay snorted into his glass- "Right? Anyways, Feds are crawling all over. Upturning every rock. Asking all kinds of questions to all kinds of people. Offering safety and amnesty for cooperation and shit. It's getting weird." Tyene finished by taking a long drink from Matt's glass.

"Maybe I should have Alyn drop the spot and not race tonight..." Ramsay said thoughtfully, glancing at his watch again.

You squirmed in discomfort as baby movements caught you unawares in the ribs.

"But you girls are safe? No problems from anyone?" You asked, glancing the club over and taking a sip of water.

"Not yet. Just a matter of time. With Papa's record, we will be targeted." Obella cut in.

You looked at the two girls and frowned, "keep your ears and eyes open, but don't engage in anything. Please. For your safety. The Boys and Kings can take care of the muscle. Report anything suspicious to me immediately. I will come by the shop tomorrow. I'm taking my soon to be sister in law dress shopping and all that jazz. Mostly I'm just ready to cake taste, but... whatevs."

"You didn't tell me that." Ramsay frowned, giving you a hard look and digging a nail into your back.

"Sorry baby. I guess I forgot. Kind of been a long few days." You said, offering an apologetic smile.

He merely clucked in annoyance, watching people walk by.

You leaned back into Ramsay who seemed to have melted into his chair as he continued to drink and light cigarette after cigarette.

"You okay?" You asked, kissing at his ear.

"Fine." He sighed, wrapping his arms around you, resting his hands on your belly.

"Liar." You hissed, grinding your ass into his pants.

He pushed his hips into you and let a smirk form.

"You are evil." He chuckled, sitting up straight and pulling you further back into him.

"I learned from the best." You winked, nipping the corner of his mouth.

"Have you found someone yet? I'm getting bored. This place blows."

"Bored? Well we can't have that now, can we?" You said, standing up and glancing around.

"What are you doing?" He asked, resting his elbows on the table and watching you through narrowed eyes.

"Making it a bit more fun." You grinned walking away into the crowd.

You glanced back to see Ramsay sitting there in momentary confusion before he rose from his seat, as someone bumped you in the arm.

You turned to see who it was. A very drunk man, who grabbed your arm painfully with a grin.

You looked at him in disgust and pulled away from him. You glanced him over quickly, taking his image in so you could find him later before pushing on further into the alcohol perfumed crowd.

You glanced around to find yourself alone in a group of strangers, all having a good time. It was hot and you quickly grew tired of people bumping into you, afraid someone may accidentally hurt your pregnant belly. You pushed through the crowd until the breathing air became a bit cooler, and moving space was more ample. You turned to give a sweeping glance over the crowd again, grinning in triumph that you had given your husband the slip.

You turned back around and stifled a small gasp as Ramsay pressed his lips harshly to yours.

"Nice try. But I believe you are now 'it'." He chuckled, pulling you in closer, and sliding his tongue in your mouth.

You closed your eyes, relaxing into him, running your tongue over his, tasting the alcohol and cigarette smoke.

He pulled away from you when you were both breathless.

"I found the man I want to kill." You panted, pulling him back in for another kiss.

"Show me." He murmured against your lips with a dark grin.

"I don't know where he went. But he's wearing a dark button up with a purple tie. Dark hair, grey eyes. Wearing a stupid smirk like he owns the goddamn place." You said, glancing around again.

"Dark shirt, purple tie. Got it." He hummed, tugging you back along to your table.

It was as if the heavens knew how to deliver, as the man sat at your table, having a seemingly good time with your girls, Ben, and Matt.

Ramsay caught your eye and you gave a tiny nod and shrug.

"And who is our friend here?" Ramsay asked in polite interest, eyes glittering in the thrill of the hunt.

"Names Cley. Cley Cerwyn." The man said, glancing you over again.

"Hm. That last name sounds familiar?" Ramsay said, pretending to take an interest and sitting at the table, pulling you possessively into his lap.

"Yeah, maybe. Family full of cops. My father worked a lot with Ned Stark and his son." Cley said with a nod.

Ramsay snapped his fingers and gave a mock gasp of shock, "that's right. I know your father. Or knew your father, rather. I stomped his fucking head in a couple months back. Real pain in the ass he was."

You watched the man stare dumbfounded at Ramsay, who motioned to Matt and Ben before the man could register what was going on.

"Let's go have a bit of fun." Ramsay smirked, sliding you from his lap as Ben seemed to do no more than pat the guy on the shoulder as he slumped forward, unconscious. Looking simply as a passed out drunk.

"Oh, I love when you do that." Ramsay chuckled, looking down at the man.

Ben gave a grin and a wink as you waved to Obella and Tyene.

×××

"Well, this is new." You said, glancing around the abandoned building.

"Just found it. Haven't used it yet. Just a run down apartment complex. Set to be demolished soon." Ramsay said, opening a door for you.

You entered the flat, glancing around the empty place bathed in the orange glare from the street light outside. It had the smell of a house that had been left to sit and rot. You glimpsed a mouse running across the floor to get away from you.

Ramsay grabbed your hand and tugged you into a small kitchen. The cabinets open, appliances gone, but the outline of them etched on the walls. Ramsay turned on the sink tap, grinning as the water came out. He had no doubt had the water turned on, ready to use this place at least once before it was gone. You assumed it to be like a tiny little hidden gem for him and his sick games. There sat a bucket, which Ramsay had grabbed up to start filling with water, and a simple wooden chair. On the floor beside the chair sat a box of surgical gloves, a flashlight, and a rusty looking knife.

You looked out the kitchen window, watching a stray dog forage through rotten garbage at an over flowing dumpster. You had never been to this side of town other than when Ramsay made you sit and wait in the Nova as he took care of some financial business.

"How, um... populated is this area?" You asked, looking back at Ramsay, who sat the bucket of water down.

He shrugged and lit a cigarette, "pretty dense. But if you're afraid of anyone hearing anything or seeing anything it's all for not. People around here don't trust cops and have a serious bystander effect disease. Nobody wants the cops over here. Too much illegal shit going on."

You simply nodded as Ben and Matt came in, dragging Cley along, depositing him in the chair, tying his hands behind him, and securing his legs to the legs of the chair.

"Thank you, Boys. You are both free to go." Ramsay said, running his eyes over the still unconscious man.

"You sure?" Ben asked, looking from man to Ramsay.

Ramsay nodded, "just be sure to leave the front door unlocked for me."

Ben chuckled, grabbed Matt by the elbow and they both disappeared into the dark.

You sat up on the counter as Ramsay flipped the flashlight on. He said nothing until a minute or two after you heard the front door close.

"What's up? I know you didn't want to do this for shits and giggles. You look ready to pass out any second with your pregnant ass." Ramsay said, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the counter you sat on.

You sighed, "you told me never to fuck up. So I won't. I never meant to. I just... I love you Ramsay. So I thought we could have a heart to heart while making hearts stop."

"You are just a bleeding romantic, aren't ya?" He laughed, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You gave a laugh, "Well, maybe a bit. But really baby, we need to talk."

"Fire away." He murmured, pulling gloves on and glancing over at the unconscious man.

"I spoke to your father today." You said meekly.

"Why?" He asked, picking up a bucket of water.

"Because I hate him and I'm tired of him hurting you." You said, sliding from the counter, pulling your own gloves, and picking up the knife.

"He doesn't hurt me, baby doll." Ramsay replied, dumping the bucket of water on the man, who awoke with a scream.

Cley's eyes were wide in fear as he struggled against his restraints, trying to make words but failing miserably.

"Yes he does, baby. Last night... When you were in there. I walked in. I was worried about you. I heard the things you said. The things he said. You were hurting and upset." You said gently, stuffing the man's mouth with a cloth you pulled from Ramsay's back pocket.

Ramsay turned to you and gave you a long, sweeping look through glittering eyes, taking the knife from you.

"Why are you telling me this?" He demanded, rosy patches appearing on his cheeks.

You gave a soft smile and stepped into him. You grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pressed your lips to his.

He did not kiss you back immediately, but you pressed your lips harder to his, sliding your tongue in his mouth. He opened his mouth under yours and cupped your face.

You pulled away from him when you were winded, looking up at him with the same soft smile, "I'm telling you because I love you. I'm tired, baby. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I'm no good at all this sneaky, secret keeping bullshit. I'm good at things like... cooking, and riding horses, and shooting skeet. I'm not stupid, but I am a bit slow. You're always going. And I don't understand how. Damon told me you had to or you get lost in your head. What does that mean?"

"Damon told you that, huh?" He said, raising a brow and turning to the man you two were supposed to be torturing.

"The day he brought those pictures. I think he knew something was wrong. Told me not to fuck up. Told me I'm the foundation and not to crack." You said, taking the knife from your husband, and pressing the blade to the man's chest to cut away his shirt.

"He just meant that I'm suicidal. Which is apparent. But sometimes it's hard for me to tell if I want to engage in self harm to feel the rush or to end the rush. I don't want to die, but I couldn't give a shit if I did." Ramsay shrugged, grabbing the knife back.

"Baby, what did your father do to you?" You asked, watching him lean over the man to slide the knife just under the skin.

Cley screamed out in pain, making violent movements and further damaging his skin as the knife hacked and sawed at him in his struggle. The blood came down thick and bright red, like a continuous stream from the sink tap.

"Why does it matter?" He asked, making a quick, complicated movement and peeling flesh from the man.

You looked away as an unpleasant queasiness set in.

"Please tell me. I want to understand. I want to help you heal, the healthy way."

"Torture I guess is about all that needs to be said." Ramsay said, slowly sawing at the skin where it was still attached to the body, and watching the piece of flesh fall to the ground.

"Like?" You coaxed, stepping behind him and wrapping your arms around him, closing your eyes tight, ignoring the screams of agony and torture.

"He beat me, raped me, burned me, shocked me, half drown me... You know, stupid shit." Ramsay shrugged.

You listened to the rumble of his chest with a deep frown.

"Why is he still alive?" You asked, a fresh wave of anger forming as you pulled away from Ramsay and took the knife from him, stabbing the man in the leg as he continued to beg and scream into the gag.

"Because, now I get to force my company on him, and he has to endure twenty seven years worth of lost time with his youngest son." Ramsay smirked, biting his bottom lip as he watched you wrench the knife from the man's leg.

"I'm going to kill him. I am." You said, baring your teeth and pointing the knife at your husband.

"Oh?" Ramsay asked with a wicked grin.

You sat in a chair, ready to recount your encounter, thinking next time you would just record it. If there was a next time.

You took a deep breath and began your story.

He made a face, lit a cigarette, and turned back to the man who seemed to have passed out in pain. He made a small tsking noise and pushed the bucket to you.

You picked it up to fill it at the sink, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he listened to you recite the conversation from today with Roose. His face remained impassive and no emotion registered as you struggled with the heavy bucket.

He glanced at you, stepping in to take the bucket from you. Your words had long since ended, but he remained silent as he dumped the water on the victim, sat down on the bucket, and pushed a burning cigarette cherry into an open wound.

You watched the man scream and writhe in pain, trying to get away from Ramsay, tears streaking his face.

If carving skin could be considered an art, Ramsay Bolton would surely have been the Leonardo Da Vinci at it. Even with his dull, rusty blade, he seemed to cut through the flesh like sharp scissors to wrapping paper.

He offered you the knife but you declined with a small smile, assuring him that this victim was for him to play with, and you would help him with the next one.

You looked down in surprise when your phone rang, and even more surprised when you read Chase.

You stepped out into the next room, "hello?"

"Hey, I'm working nights this week. And one of the guys said I missed the excitement earlier. So I asked what was up, right? Two feds came in. Took all the case information on Clay's death and also wanted a gander at courthouse records on who bought all the land around here in the last few months." Chase blurted quickly.

You frowned, "any idea what their names were?"

"No. But I'll text it to you. Stay safe."

"Always. You too. Keep me posted. Oh! And you and the whole gang better be here next Saturday night." You said before hanging up.

You slid your phone back in your pocket and walked back into the room. With a purposeful stride you walked over to Ramsay, took his knife, and gutted your victim.

"Hey! What did you do that for? I was having fun." Ramsay chided, giving you a very displeased glare.

"We need to go home." You said, annoyed you couldn't keep your voice steady.

"What's wrong?" Ramsay asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Chase just called. Said some Feds came by the station to get information on Clay's death and got the information about who has bought all the land in the surrounding area. I'm afraid it's those Lannister men." You said, heaving a sigh and pinching the bridge of your nose, "what if they connect it all to us? What if they threaten my parents?"

"Baby girl, they can't possibly connect us. Yes, some of the purchased land is in my name, but there's nothing suspicious about that. It's your hometown, we are rich, of course I'm going to buy up land there for you. It's clean land. Nothing on it but a couple of houses that need demolished. I've covered my tracks." Ramsay said, taking the knife from you and giving a sad glare at the dead man.

"Still, if they are Lannister's, they know." You said, fear setting in at the thought of your parents.

"We will go home and clean up and I will see what's going on." Ramsay said, kissing your cheek as he walked past you to the door. He suddenly stopped, turned, and beamed at you with a mischievous grin.

"What?" You asked, raising a brow.

"You. You're funny. It's like you have a vendetta against men with the name Clay." He chuckled.

You looked over at Cley, his insides slowly pushing themselves further out of his gut, and gave a shrug. "Yeah, maybe so. Fucking douchebags. Now, let's go home. I'm fucking tired."