#the dust was and is low key triggering to look at but i laughed so fucking hard when i opened it

[homura]

the last time i was at my parents’ house i found my old limited too neopets CD cases and when i opened this one up i was immediately greeted with this black and white printer picture of mitchel musso

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

New Duties

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, cheating, fuck machine, toys, tied up.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bucky’s wife is never around as much as the maid.

Based on these drabble requests:

Bucky Barnes + “If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought.” + Maid AU + Bucky is rich and married too, but his wife is never in the house so he decide have fun with the naive maid. 

Bucky Barnes + “You really think this is over?” + Fuck machine + honestly just the reader being tied up and left with a fuck machine and some overstimulation.

Both requested by anons.

The large house was often empty when you went there. You had a key on a tag and the alarm code written on it. You showed up in your black pants and matching shirt and let yourself in as you always did. You tied on your apron and looked around as you went over the work in your head. 

It was hard not to be envious of the grandiose abode. Hard not to feel bitter at all the money spent on the place and yet it seemed the resident never enjoyed it. They hired a maid, you, to clean the table they never ate at and make the bed which was the only lived-in part of the place.

You started on the lower floor as usual. Living room, dining room, kitchen, the office, the foyer, and the parlor dedicated to a carved pool table and shelves of expensive sculptures. You climbed the stairs and set off down the hall of unused rooms. There wasn’t much more to do than dust and check that the sheets didn’t smell musty.

As you approached the master bedroom, you stopped short as the door opened and you were met by one of the elusive owners of the mansion. You saw Bucky Barnes more than his wife but your run-ins were still rare. And you’d never seen him like this. You were embarrassed and off-centre as you were surprised to find him there.

He wore only a pair of silky pajama bottoms and his hair was amess, sticking out at all angles. His muscles moved under his skin as he rubbed his eyes and smiled at you. His voice was thick with drowsiness and he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, “thought I heard someone.”

“I didn’t know you were here, sir,” you glanced around. It was late for him to be sleeping still.

“I took the red-eye home,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you chuckled nervously, “I can come back when--”

“You sure?” he batted away the last of his tiredness with his lashes and leaned on the doorframe, “you almost jumped out of your shoes.”

“Uh, yeah,” you assured him and started to turn back.

“It’s fine, I’m up now,” he stopped you, “I’m gonna have a coffee…” he caught up to you and brushed by you, facing you as he blocked your path, “bedroom is all yours.”

You fidgeted as his eyes flicked away from your face for just and instant but you didn’t think much of it as the apron hid made your figure lumpy and vague. You nodded and gave another yes, sir. He watched you until you spun back and headed for the bedroom. You felt his gaze until you slipped inside and let out your breath at the rumpled blankets. 

You heard him descend the stairs and set down your bucket of supplies. You went to the bed and fixed his side of it. You could smell his sweat on the sheets still. Then you began to wipe down the edges of the tables and inspected for any inch of imperfection.

“Looks good in here,” his voice spooked you again. Bucky stepped inside and set his tall coffee mug on the polished table beside the door. “I’m glad I caught you, I did have a special request.”

“Oh?” you stilled the cloth and twisted it in your grip. You watched his metal arm as he he rubbed his middle finger with his thumb.

“Here,” he crossed the room and waved you over, “it’s a bit of a secret but… I haven’t had the time to take care of it myself.”

You watched as he went to the bookshelf on the far wall and he reached behind the gilded globe. He spun it slightly but you could see what exactly he was doing. There was a shift and the shelf lurched forward. He carefully pushed it over until the edge met the corner and a small doorway appeared.

Your eyes rounded in confusion and he chuckled as he looked over his shoulder, “our little secret,” he said, “I figured since you’re here…”

“I… yes, sir,” you neared as he waited, his hand on the shelf, and as you stepped by him, he quickly followed, so close you could feel his body heat.

You stopped short as he flipped on the light. A red haze cast over the hidden room. You were shocked, almost laughing in disbelief as your brain spun to process what you were seeing; leather cuffs hung from the wall on one side and a leather bench sat center with similar bounds, there was even a sex swing dangling from the ceiling. You never expected that but really, you tried not to think about your clients intimate habits.

The shelf shifted behind you and the room grew dimmer, only the scarlet shadows of the tinted bulb remained. You turned back to Bucky.

“My stuff,” you pointed to the wall behind him. There was no visible mechanism and that made you nervous.

“Oh, well, you see, I haven’t had a chance to use any of this,” he shrugged and stepped closer. You inch backwards and dropped the cloth as his hands settled on your upper arms, “Ilona’s never here, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Mr. Barnes,” you winced as his vibranium hand squeezed, “I should get back to my--”

“The house is spotless. I only pay you because my wife can’t be bothered to lift a finger herself or even be around,” he said.

“Please, I should go,” you gulped, “I think you, uh, you…”

“Fine, go,” he moved out of your way and smirked at the wall, “if you want to, go.”

You looked between him and the smooth wall. You neared it and shoved on it. It didn’t move. You felt all along it, searching for anything that might trigger a response. There was nothing there.

“Can you--” you began to ask but stopped as he pressed himself to your back.

He tugged at the knot of your apron and it fell loose. His hands crawled up your back and he lifted the strap over your head. He grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face him.

“Thought you were going,” he taunted.

“Let me out,” you tremored.

“I said go, so…” he gestured to the wall.

“I can’t--”

He snickered and pulled you with him as he walked backwards. “It’s just a little fun,” he purred, “for both of us.”

“No, I-- you’re married--”

“My wife, if you can call her that, hasn’t touched me in a year, probably more,” he pulled at the hem of your shirt, “so this is as much her decision as mine.”

“No, Mr. Barnes, I--”

“Listen,” he grabbed your jaw and loomed over you, “you can be a good little maid and do what you’re told or I can report you to the agency for stealing.”

“What, I never--”

“Maybe a few of Ilona’s necklaces go missing or a few bills out of my wallet,” he growled, “we’ll see who they believe.”

“Please--”

“It’s time you start earning that tip,” he turned and thrust you towards the low bench, “now get undressed and lay down on your stomach.”

“Mr--”

“I have a gag. I have several if you want to choose,” he warned, “even if I’d rather hear that sweet voice calling my name.”

“Why are you--”

“I won’t tell you again,” he barked as he crossed his arms and paced. 

You noticed how the front of his pants tented and you slowly neared the bench. It was all so jarring, you didn’t know what else to do but obey. You couldn’t leave and you were certain if you tried, he would lose all patience. You peeked over as his metal fist tightened and a chill went through you.

You pulled off your shirt and kept your eyes down. You rolled down your pants and took your time untying your sneakers. You hesitated to strip off your underwear but a gristly breath made you wince and you added them to the pile of clothes. 

You were cold but your flesh burned as you sensed his close attention to your every move. You got down on the bench, the leather icy against your chest, and stared at the floor. Bucky walked around behind you and framed your ass with his hands as he stood over you. He pushed your thighs apart until your legs bent over the side of the bench and the cool air tickled your cunt.

“Hmmm,” he mused as he flicked his finger along your folds, “I can’t decide what I want first.”

An overwhelming wave of panic shook you and you tried to push yourself up. His hand slapped down on the middle of your back and he held you down. He tutted and reached down to slip your wrist into a leather cuff and tightened it until you whined. He ignored your struggles as he did the same to your other arm and your ankles. You straddled the bench as he pushed himself up and groped your ass again.

“Why are you making this hard?” he asked, “you’re already spread for me.”

“Please…”

He sighed and you heard his bare feet on the floor as he marched away from you. He came back around you and knelt to force the ball gag into your mouth and buckled it behind your head. Your eyes glistened as you watched him desperately and breathed heavy through your nose.

“We have a lot to do,” he touched your chin, “you need the proper training.”

You tried to talk past the gag but it only came out as muffled gibberish and your saliva soaked the gag. 

“If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought,” he chuckled and stood, rubbing the front of his pants, “guess you’ll have to wait for it.”

He left your eye line again, even as you craned your neck around. He was quick to huff and stomp back to your. He took the collar that hung from the front of the bench and secured it around your neck so you could stare at your impossible escape.

You heard something rolling behind you and metal fasteners being loosened then tightened. His fingers scared you as he touched your cunt and felt around for your clit. He teased you until you tilted your pelvis in response. You moaned around the gag as your thighs quivered. Despite your fear, it felt wonderful.

He played with you until you were wet and then you heard the same wheels. You felt a prod at your entrance, a hard silicone tip slowly slid into you until you were full. You gasped and choked as he pulled away his hand entirely. You heard a soft click then a whir and the dildo began to move, your cunt sucking at it loudly as you grew wet around it. He reached under you and a new buzz began as he placed a vibrator against your bud.

He rounded you again, his pants were gone and his hand glied up and down his dick. He watched you with fiery eyes as you tried to hold back. The flames licked from your core and crawled along your thighs and back. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as your voice droned sloppily as the gag made you drool.

You came in defeat and hung your head. You gasped and gulped for air and your entire body tensed and released, but he didn’t stop it. The vibe kept buzzing on your clit and he only turned the machine up so that it fucked you harder and faster. You wined and rolled your head back and forth.

Another orgasm strangled you and your muscles ached from the tension as it snapped again. You lost count as the red light glared through your eyelids and a sheen of sweat coated your body. Breathless and battered, you could only twitched as you were rocked by climax after climax.

And then it all stopped. The machine shut off and the dildo was slid out of you, your thighs sticky and sore. The vibrator stilled and slipped from under you and you groaned. There was a moment of peace as your heart slowed and then a slap across your ass made you yipe.

“You really think this is over?” Bucky asked as he got behind you and bent over you. His tip pressed against your entrance and his hot breath bristled against your scalp, “I’ve only just begun.”

🧹🧹🧹

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed.

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food mention, kissing, vague descriptions of potentially triggering physical characteristics (Logan is very skinny and Roman notices), (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <<none>>

...

A few years had passed. Things weren't perfect, or easy, but they had each other. The three of them had found a one bedroom apartment together, and rent was easy to make with three contributors. They all went to college, Virgil and Roman to an arts school and Janus to a pregrad Law program.

Roman had rehearsals late that evening, and so Janus and Virgil had spent their free afternoon together, preparing dinner for Roman.

A stew (Virgil's family recipe) simmered on the stove, and Janus held Virgil close in his lap on the couch, carding his fingers through his hair. Virgil nuzzled into his boyfriend's collarbone, sighing with a small smile.

"Darling," Janus near-whispered, his voice rumbling in his chest as he pressed his face into Virgil's hair. Virgil hummed.

"Do you know the moment I started loving you?"

Virgil's head shot up, and he looked at Janus with pleading eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't force any words out. Janus smiled at him meekly, running fingers down Virgil's cheek.

"Do you recall," Janus continued, cupping the corner of Virgil's jaw in his hand, "In eighth grade, when I... when I found you between classes..." Virgil nodded, breathing shallowly. Janus pursed his lips. "It may be a bit... irrational for me to say, but... you allowing me to hold you in my arms when you were in such a vulnerable state..." A single tear ran down Virgil's cheek. Janus' brow furrowed, and he swiped the tear away with his thumb. "Oh, my darling, are you okay?"

Virgil made an odd noise, something between a scoff, a sob and a laugh, and suddenly surged forward, intertwining his fingers on the nape of Janus' neck as he connected their lips.

"That's when I knew, too." Virgil said as he pulled away, voice very very low. Janus raised his eyebrows in surprise, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. "I knew you'd... keep me safe. I knew I could... trust you with my heart." Virgil swallowed. "Even if it took me another few years to actually... do that."

"We were very young, and... we both made that mistake." Janus admitted readily, bringing his other hand to Virgil's face in symmetry.

"Do you..." Virgil gripped Janus' shirt in his fists, "do you think we would have ever... let it happen, if... if we hadn't met Roman?" Virgil looked back into Janus' eyes. Janus sighed, tracing the bridge of Virgil's nose with his eyes.

"I'm not sure." He conceded eventually.

Virgil adjusted himself, shifting one leg so that he straddled Janus' lap. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to think about not knowing Roman. Or..." or not being able to love you two. Virgil shook his head slowly.

"Then let's not," Janus wrapped his arms around Virgil's waist, and Virgil wrapped his arms around Janus' neck in kind. He made to kiss him with an open mouth, but kept their lips just millimeters apart. Virgil rolled his hips once, and Janus chuckled at him, letting his eyes flutter closed. "Ever a tease, aren't you darling?"

Virgil simply responded by locking his lips with Janus'.

Roman chose that exact moment to open the front door to their apartment with a loud, exasperated groan.

"I give up!" He threw his hands in the air, stomping over to the couch to sit beside Janus, crossing his legs and pouting. "How am I to live?"

Virgil smirked, turning to grab his prince's jaw and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "What happened, princey?" Janus wrapped one arm around Roman's shoulder, pulling him slightly closer, and Roman began relaying his tale.

An hour ago almost to that exact moment, Roman shook his auburn red hair out, allowing it to roll in its curls in any direction it would like. He stretched down, touching his toes and beginning to walk his hands out, settling into a solid plank before beginning a few pushups.

He stood again with a small jump, readjusting his stage garments. They were simply a pair of black tights and a white undershirt, but the top had rolled up his navel slightly when he'd been stretching.

Rehearsal had all but ended, and he bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for his turn to get unmic'd. He was one of the leads this semester, and so got his mic off last... for some odd reason. Most every production he'd been involved in prior had done things in a reverse fashion to what was happening now, but he didn't mind so much. He loved the feeling of standing on stage with the theatre enclosure all revolving around him. It created a strange comforting and confidence-boosting sensation that he could never get enough of.

Soon enough, his name was called. He hopped quickly offstage, tromping over to the sound booth.

A man with a jarring appearance approached him with tact. Roman had to keep his jaw from dropping, and opted instead to stare until the man was behind him. He payed Roman no mind, never meeting his eyes.

Roman hadn't had time to look closely at the man, but caught a few key details. His hair was glossy and black, plainly slicked back with some sort of product that Roman could smell faintly (vanilla?), save for one or two strands straying across his forehead and resting on the upper rim of his square glasses. He was almost concerningly pale, and his cheeks sunk in slightly. His eyes were a deeply piercing blue. His jawline was subtle and yet extremely sharp; everything about him appeared angular and calculated. He wore a white dress shirt that was a bit ruffled, top two buttons undone to reveal his collarbones - Roman assumed that was intentional, but in full honesty he had no idea.

Suddenly the man's slender hands were up the back of Roman's shirt, and Roman quite nearly squealed before remembering that this was completely standard protocol for unmicing someone. He tried to focus on literally anything else besides the fact that this painfully attractive man had his hands working clinically beneath Roman's shirt, against the heat of his bare skin. His hands were very cold against Roman's back, and Roman very nearly outright shivered at the feeling.

Suddenly the hands were no longer up Roman's shirt, and the man walked around to Roman's front, beginning to carefully untangle the mic cord from Roman's hair.

The boy was almost a head taller than Roman, roughly the same height as his Janus, Roman guessed. There was a very faint dusting of tiny dark freckles splayed across his cheeks and nose, and there were little flecks of gray and white in his eyes, almost like a cloudy sky. His jaw was set, but his hands moved gently. Roman tried not to gasp when he finally looked down at him, eyebrows knit.

"You're all set, Roman," the man said, eyeing Roman strangely before receding back to the sound booth to begin sorting through and putting away the mic packs.

"Thank you," Roman breathed, and kicked himself internally for how small and weak his voice came out. He shook his hair out again, trying to clear his head of the onset of gay panic he'd just experienced.

It's now or never; you might not get another chance at an actual conversation with this guy until the production is over. Roman steeled himself and took a few hesitant steps towards the sound booth.

"I didn't catch your name," Roman leaned a little too casually on the door frame, almost stumbling. the boy smirked, apparently not needing to turn and look at Roman to know that he was making a fool of himself.

"I did not figuratively 'throw' it," he replied coolly, continuing to work with the stacks of mic packs that had accumulated on the desk before him.

"Well, I would greatly appreciate if you did. It seems unfair for you to know my name and I not know yours." Roman thought for a moment when he was met with silence. "And you don't need to say figuratively; I know you didn't literally throw your name."

The boy turned then, adjusting his glasses as he sized Roman up. "A little clarity has never hurt anybody."

They looked at each other for a long moment, Roman still leaning haphazardly on the doorframe. The taller boy sighed a laugh quietly through his nose.

"Logan." He said, shaking his head with a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "My name is Logan."

Roman smiled, standing up properly and clapping his hands together. "Wonderful! Logan, my dear, my sweet," Roman began verbally serenading him, and Logan only scoffed at his antics, long used to the ridiculously over-the-top confidence that actors had, "would you do me the honor of allowing me to take you out for coffee some time?" He bowed dramatically low, holding one hand out to Logan.

Logan stared for a moment, and Roman looked up when Logan didn't react to his proposal. Logan only laughed through his nose again, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm afraid I must decline."

Roman snapped up into a standing position, scoffing loudly. "Truly?" he stared at Logan, who just looked at him once more, nodding slightly. Roman scoffed again, even louder. "I- I don't know what to say! Not once have my highly sought out charms been resisted so strongly!" He gripped his shirt over his heart in a dramatic gesture, getting on one knee and reaching out to Logan, who was putting away the last few mic packs. "And that may not seem like much to say, since I have only ever used them on two others... however I-" Logan cut him off with a very very intense stare. And Roman all but swooned.

"I appreciate the... offer, Roman," Logan slung his backpack over his shoulder, which jutted out against the thin fabric of his shirt in a quite boney fashion, "but I have no interest in..." Logan looked Roman up and down slowly, but disgust was nowhere to be seen on his face. Something more similar to heartbreak, however, was palpable as Roman watched Logan's eyes.

Logan never found the words, opting to sigh and begin pacing out of the theatre.

"Wait," Roman whispered mostly to himself, reaching out vaguely in the direction Logan had left in.

...

"And that's why I have officially given up on love," Roman, his storytelling concluded, buried his face in Virgil's shirt, mimicking a sob as his boyfriends laughed at him endearingly.

"Roman, my dear," Janus took Roman's hand in his own, kissing his knuckles gently, "I expect that you'll see this Logan again soon. I'm positively baffled that he managed to evade your charms this time," Janus gripped Roman's jaw with an uncharacteristic tenderness, "but i sincerely doubt he'll last long." Janus pressed a kiss onto Roman's lips, and then removed Virgil from his lap, standing and righting himself. "For now, however," He reached a hand out to his boyfriends to help them stand, "We have a stew to attend to."

[drreidfics]

Dr. Reid and the Broken Girl pt1.

DR. REID AND THE BROKEN GIRL (Working Title)

Characters : SpencerReid x FemReader

Warnings : Abuse, Hints of Self Harm.

CAUTION // TW // THIS BOOK DEALS WITH MATURE CONTENT SUCH AS PROFESSOR AND STUDENT RELATIONSHIP, SEXUAL ASSULT, SELF HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE. IT ALSO INCLUDES A LOT OF RATED-R MATERIAL. IF THIS IS TRIGGERING OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE THEN PLEASE DON’T READ.

Here I am again, on the floor, begging him to stop. There he is again, laughing at my pleas and forcing himself inside of me. Almost every night he climbs into my bed, then in the morning, he pretends everything is normal. When anyone is around, he acts charming. He is able to trick everyone into thinking everything is fine. Well, it's not.

My phone buzzed to life at the side of me. The alarm was going off but I had been up for hours, staring at the flecks of dust dancing around the air. The sunlight streamed in through my thin, white drapes. It was beautiful out. It was the middle of May and bound to be hot out in Arizona. I could feel the warmth on my skin already. I needed to shower and get all this sticky sweat off my skin. It wasn't even mine. I felt disgusting. His touch lingered everywhere on me. The bruises he gave me stained my skin more than the self inflicted cuts.

'Morning Ms. y/l/n. Last night was lovely. See you at lunch?'. It was a text from Mr Reid. He was my psychology professor. Older than me, at thirty, he had long dark hair and deep brown eyes. His hair curled slightly at the end. He was tall and slim. Smart and nerdy, having two degrees and a doctorate, he left his job at the FBI for something less mentally draining. He had worked there since he was twenty-two.  I was twenty-one making our age gap quite small. Look at me, trying to convince myself that it even mattered. He was a lovely guy. Friendly, and handsome. He wouldn't fall in love with a student, and if he did, that student would never be me. He was too smart for that.

"Morning Dr. Reid. Thank-you for taking me. It was a fun eve! Yes, see you at lunch. We can have a chat about the stuff we saw yesterday =)". I read the message over and over again before hitting send. I was nervous as I usually always say stupid things. My low self esteem affected me very much. I was twenty-one, already with one degree and going back to do another. I was still living at Sharon's and I haven't had a boyfriend. He texted me back instantly.

"Can't wait! Need a lift to school? =)" I smiled down at my battered iPhone 6. I couldn't afford a brand new phone. I was lucky in that I only had to work a few hours a week at the local book store and that it was something I enjoyed doing. Sharon was good to me. She helped me pay for and make my way through college. I don't know what or where I would be without her. On the other hand, she brought the human spawn of the devil into my life.

"No thnx, Luna is picking me up =)" I sent but then instantly regretted it. I love my best friend but I would have preferred a ride with Dr. Reid. Our conversations were always interesting and insightful. We could talk about a wide range of subjects for hours and it would only feel like minutes passed.

"Ok, see u soon Y/N"

I smiled, almost forgetting my problems before catching glimpse of myself in the mirror. My fragile, battered body stared back. I sighed. He could never find a girl like me attractive. Not that it mattered anyway. Silly little girl crush.

After debating whether it was best to just find the nearest bridge in town and throw my self off or get ready for school (I am very mentally unwell), I decided on the latter. Luna had already texted me to inform me that she was about to set off. Knowing Luna, which I have had the pleasure of knowing for fifteen years (no sarcasm in there), ten minutes would be ten years.

I staggered down the dreaded stairs, almost losing my footing a few times, feeling light headed. I entered the brightly lit kitchen. It was so bright that I could feel an aching behind my eyes. The decor was simplistic, all white with gold features. Classic business mom who is never home asthetic going on.

       Sharon sat at the island, face absorbed in her laptop. She was in her late forties with short, mousey hair. I believe she would be referred to as a 'Karen'. She looked nothing like Dom. She was short, like me, and fairly slim. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders. Quarterback star player with the strength to show for it. He could snap us both in half. Dominic is Sharon's only child. Yes, that is correct. She is not my mum. I lost her.

Sharon looked up at me, flashing me a warm smile, still bashing the keys to her MacBook. She took a sip of her black coffee, nibbling on some cold toast. "You look like shit" she stated; matter of factly, her face blank.   '"Thanks?'" I answered with a raised eyebrow. I walked over to the coffee machine and put in a pod, sticking my travel cup underneath. 77Kcals of goodness. All the fuel I will need this morning. "Sweetheart, don't act like that. You know I'm just saying. You need to sleep more" '"I know" I sighed. It was true... "But that makes two of us" I retorted cheekily with a grin.        "Oh sweetheart, don't I know it" she raised her cup as if toasting the comment before gulping the last bit of coffee.

Sharon was my guardian, though not anymore as I was an adult and of drinking age. She still cared for me though as if I were her own. My mom died when I was seven and my dad had a breakdown. He couldn't cope. One day I came home from school and he was gone. He didn't say a word to anyone. He packed up his stuff and  left me. I hated him for a while. The anger within me burned to my core. After a while I felt sympathy. He didn't get the help that he needed. If he did then we both wouldn't be in this mess. We'd be happy - together. I doubt he would know how to contact me now.

Aunt Sharon took me in. She wasn't really my aunt, she was my mom's best friend. She was the only connection to my mother that I had left besides her wedding ring. She loved her dearly and I believe she loves me dearly too. It's not her fault she can't protect me. She works herself to death trying to help me live my dreams. Dom wasn't the child that she had always wanted. He is doing nothing with his life. That is something I will alway's respect of her, single mom raising her child and somebody else's.

I loved her, though she did have the tendency to dish out tough love which often was way - way too harsh. And she was always away leaving me with him. I knew that if I'd only just tell her what he was capable of... What he would do to me when she left... She'd have murdered him herself with her bare hands. But it would kill her. I couldn't do that to her. He was the only thing she had who was blood. Me, I had no-one.

"shit! Is that the time? I'm going to be late. I gotta go, honey. Say bye to Dom for me." she pleaded as she stuffed the last slice of toast in her mouth and gathered her briefcase and her keys. " ...And make sure you have something to eat. You're wasting away!"                                   "Have a good day at work Shaz" I shouted after her. I doubt that she heard me. She was out the door in seconds, jangling her keys and fighting between speaking with me and the ringtone on her work mobile. I heard her professional, scripted 'Hello, Sharon Cormack speaking' as the door slammed behind her.

I made my way through the spotless kitchen Gina, Sharon's housekeeper, always did a good job. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the integrated refrigerator. I also grabbed my iced latte from the coffee machine. It was almost half eight. My first classes start at nine and Luna still wasn't anywhere in sight. I scrambled through my purse for my phone, ready to give her a piece of my mind. That girl would be late to her own funeral.

"You're up early" a voice from behind me sneered. It took all my might to not to curl up in a ball, trembling.

"I... I have school"

No reply. I felt him creeping up behind me, felt his breath against my neck.

"I can think of something much better to do with the day baby"  he whispered as he planted acid kisses on my neck. It burned. I squeezed my eyes shut, putting my hands up defensively. He pushed my back into the counter. A sharp pain ran though me.

"Please stop. I have to go" I whispered as his hand snaked its way up my neck, fist knotting tightly in my hair.

'"Why do you think a whore like you has the right to tell me what to do, hm?"

'- Hello? Katy?'  Luna's smooth voice called out in sing song.

Oh, thank god for her and her timing. He released me from his grasp and increased the distance between us. His eyes were clouded. I could tell he was pissed. I brushed passed him, running towards Luna, who was standing by the open door. I ran straight into her arms hugging her tightly.

"I thought you'd never show." I whispered. She rested her chin on my shoulder, stroking my hair. I could tell that she was staring daggers at Dom and I could tell he didn't care. Like I said, the same routine. Every morning.

By the time lunch rolled around I had had enough. had gotten into a lot of trouble with Ms. Hallows over an overdue assignment and I had spilt water all down the front of my jeans. It looked like I had pissed myself. My saving grace is that they were dark jeans and so it wasn't too noticable. That didn't stop Georgie from laughing and calling me pissy pants for half the day.

Georgie was the kind of girl that you would avoid in high school. Everybody wanted to be her but everyone hated her so bad. She had golden brunette locks, a slim face and a petite nose. Her friends Nova and Ari were just as bad. Everyone used to tell you that when you left high school things would be different. I am sorry to inform you that they don't. Bullies stay bullies forever.

I forced my way through the groups of students, crowded together in the corridors. The last thing I wanted was to be late for my chat with Mr. Reid

"Y/N" I heard Luna calling after me. I could tell that she was chasing me through the crowd of students.  "Y/N. Look, Y/N stop." I rolled my eyes.

"What?" I snapped. I could see the hurt in her eyes. She leaned on the wall, panting. I sighed. "I'm sorry. What's wrong?" I asked. I felt bad for snapping at her. All she wanted was answers, like anyone would have after walking in on what she did. But I don't give answers. I shut down. I don't tell anyone anything. She tried talking once we got in the car. I ignored her and I ran once we'd arrived at school. She didn't even need to speak. I could just tell what she wanted to talk about from the look on her face. I sighed again.

"Luna, I can't talk about this right now."  I saw the hurt in her eyes. If I kept pushing her away then eventually she wouldn't fight to stay. 'Good', a small voice whispered in my head. Maybe that would be for the best. She deserves better. Everyone does. I could just end my life today and nobody would care. I used to fight hard against the suicidal ideations that entered my mind but now I didn't see the point.

"I have my meeting and I can't be late. Taco Bell after classes?" I asked. To my relief, she smiled and nodded, that beautiful smile that I loved so much. She was so easy to please. I smiled and walked away towards room 1980. Dr. Reid's office.

"I love you!" she shouted after me smiling.

"I love you more!"

"Lesbians" Georgie mocked. She was stood near the bathrooms. I rolled my eyes.

"Grow up"

Luna was gay but we weren't together. We had been intimate a few times but nothing had come of it. But so what if it had? We both agreed it felt weird as we had known each other as friends for so long. We didn't want to ruin anything. Luna and I had been friends ever since she opened up my juice box for me in kindergarten and then hit the girl who had stolen my straw. We had been inseparable ever since. She's been with me through thick and thin. I'd hate to think where I'd have been if she hadn't been there when my mom had died. We are and will alway's be the best of friends. In another life I could see us growing old together, adopting puppies and children but sometimes, it doesn't work out. And if you love someone, you have to let them go.

I opened the door to 1980 and as soon as I did my heart fluttered in my chest. There he was, as beautiful as ever. He looked up from the book he was reading, glasses perched on his nose and smiled, he seemed glad to see me.

"Sweetie!" he said, a smile spreading across his gorgeous lips. He's the only person who calls me that.

"Dr. Reid"  I smiled back. My smile was huge and I probably looked so dorky but I don't care. My day just got brighter. I pulled up a chair next to him and kicked my feet up onto his lap. He rested his hand on my calf.

"So what did you think to the book?"

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: language, attempted sexual assault and harassment, mentions of past sexual assault and harassment - do not read if these situations are triggering for you.

Word count: 6.1k - am I capable of writing anything short anymore???

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY BACK AND POSTING SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST 3 MONTHS WOW. This story continues the Agent 14 series (so definitely check that out in my masterlist if you’re not familiar!) and...it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while. I just needed to get it out. I hope that you like it and please share what you think! Feedback is appreciated!

When her phone starts buzzing, she’s mid-swing at the faded sandbag hanging from the ceiling. 

She’s glad to have the place to herself - the dusty air and stale silence more of a comfort. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, itching past her ear, and her finger scratches at the spot absently, coming away salty wet. There’s sweat slicking her scalp, too; she feels it under the tight twist of her braids, heat trapped beneath the strands. Her dirty little basement gym - faded posters lining the walls, advertising fights long finished, flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, stained linoleum - is quiet in the mornings. A kind of quiet that is all too rare in the city, in her life. 

Sure, it was nice of Sam to continue inviting her on their morning runs - she has every intention of taking him up on his offer, when she finally gets off the opening shift at work. She sees his 4 a.m. offers a couple times a week, shooting back a quick response that she’s already up, heading in to open the cafe. He finds it all so funny; calls her “Agent Barista”, and endearingly teases her about her rigorous coffee training at the SHIELD Academy. 

Okay but real talk, 14 - what’s your top secret mission down at Starbucks? Pinged her phone as she brushed her teeth and concealed undereye circles with strategic swipes of makeup. 

Key word in your question is “top secret”, Wilson. As in, tell you but I’d have to kill you. You know the drill. 

Another ping. Yeah, yeah. Y’all agents talk a good game, but I know for a fact 41 can be bought with a box of See’s candies. Just gotta figure out your weakness. 

Good luck. 

No luck needed. I’ll bring a couple sweaty super soldiers your way around 8:30, you’re welcome. 

With a wrapped hand, she flicks one swinging braid back over her shoulder, turning to her duffel bag for her phone. It’s buried under a spare pair of socks and a sports bra she forgot to wash, still buzzing as she grasps it and flips the screen upwards in her hand. 

Unknown caller. 

She’d bet every cent to her name that she could guess who was on the other end of the line. Tongue pressed against her teeth, she dismisses the call and drops her phone back in her bag. Fury can wait. 

Turning back to the sandbag, she sucks a quick breath through her nose, curling power in her lean shoulders, and then unleashes a furious combination of jabs and kicks on the beaten plastic. Grunts and harsh pants slip past her lips, fists slinging blow after punishing blow, her weight held bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sandbag is a stoic opponent, taking her fists and feet without so much as a groan of protest, swinging back only a few inches on the chain even as she whips around high for a roundhouse kick. Growling, she rocks her weight back on her heels, before leaping forward off one leg to drive her knee into the bag with bruising force. More to herself than the bag, she thinks, glancing down at the tender skin on her bare knee, stinging from the impact. She leans an elbow against the bag and drops her head, swiping at the baby hairs along her forehead. 

The phone buzzes again, insistent and muffled, and she lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed. 

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes narrowing in a nasty glare at the offending noise. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

She whirls at the sound, fists raised - she hadn’t even heard him enter. 

Steve has the good grace to look sheepish as he approaches from a shadowed staircase in the corner of the room, his hands raised in surrender. Not many people have had the sheer dumb luck - and misfortune - of sneaking up on her, and the part of her brain not whiplashed by adrenaline grudgingly admires him for it. 

“Morning, Captain,” 14 sighs, her hands falling to her hips, rolling her neck against the tension in her shoulders. 

“Morning,” he smiles. He’s trimmed back the beard, she notices, closer to the sharp line of his jaw. Dust motes swirl around his golden head like fairy dust as he passes through the puddles of light cast from the weak overhead bulbs. It strikes her then, the unassuming slope of his shoulders, a little shuffle in his gait, not quite lifting his feet from the ground. Not a strut, no stalking or preening like the SHIELD boys she came up at the Academy with, eager to throw their weight around. Somehow, despite his height, he manages to duck his head, to look up at her under a fringe of enviable dark lashes. Disarming and soft, a wayward blond strand falling over his forehead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, standing just a few feet away from her. He nods at the hanging sandbag behind her. 

“Gave that thing quite a beating,” he says, tilting a dark eyebrow. She shrugs one shoulder. 

“Looked at me funny,” she quips back, still catching her breath from the last bout. Her tongue swipes at a drop of sweat on her upper lip. Sniffing, she turns her gaze down to the wrapping on her hands. “I don’t recall inviting you, Rogers - I thought this was a private session.” 

“Sorry for intruding,” he says, scrunching his nose and swiping at the errant lock of hair hanging before his eyes. With a jerk of his chin, he gestures towards her gym bag, where her phone has gone blessedly silent. “Fury had a feeling you would, um, how does Sam say it…’shady button’ him?” 

She snorts in spite of herself, just managing to slap a hand over her mouth before her laugh becomes obnoxious. Even in the dim light of the fluorescents, she can see the high flush creeping up those scruffy cheeks. Steve rubs the back of his neck, a familiar embarrassment curling in his belly; it’s a joke the team plays sometimes, and he gets it, he really does. Gotta laugh at your CO sometimes - it brings the team together; so he drops little phrases here and there, incongruous slang with his pleated slacks and old-fashioned manners. Even things that Sam says - the word “fam”, or adding “ass” as a suffix to virtually any word - from Steve’s mouth, they’re suddenly enough to have the team rolling with laughter, Tony red-faced, Wanda close to tears. The tips of his ears burn, and he always acts put out, lowers his stern father brows, but if there’s one thing he learned as a Brooklyn-born punk, it’s how to take his punches.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” 14 says, hand still half-covering the silly grin tugging at her mouth. “It just sounded so funny coming from you. It was like-”

“Kinda like if your dad were saying it?” Steve purses his lips, tilts his head to the side.

“Oh god…yes, that’s exactly it.” It ignites a fresh burst of giggles, though she scrunches her nose and shakes her head at the image. “Uh, just do us both a favor and don’t say that again.” 

“I don’t think you can restrict Captain America’s freedom of speech.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful, considering. The slope of his nose casts a long shadow across his cheek, skin like Irish cream. She rolls her eyes, turning away to her duffel bag, using her teeth to tug at the wrappings on her hands. 

“So. You’re Nick’s new personal assistant or something?” Dropping to the bench, she rummages through her gym bag and takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She swipes at her phone screen - 3 missed calls now. 

Steve shrugs. 

“I volunteered,” he says simply, large knuckles still visible where they stay curled in his pockets. “Thought…hoped I might have better luck.”

She licks her lower lip, chasing a coveted drop of water. It’s not as though she’s tired of the job - it varies so much, from one day to the next, that it makes boredom impossible. No, it’s not the job, she’s just…tired. Of what, or why, she can’t really say. Steve is patient. He doesn’t say anymore, just waits, standing a few feet away and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his soft eyes watchful. Her fingers go to her shoulders, massaging the oncoming ache in her muscles. 

“What’s the mission?” 

  **********                                                                                      

“You need some help there, punk?” Bucky leans a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beloved NASA hoodie, an amused twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Steve frowns at him in the mirror. 

“Never really got the hang of these damned things,” Steve huffs, fingers losing the knot on his bowtie and sighing again as the cloth falls loose from the crisp collar of his shirt. Hands falling to his narrow hips, he turns to Bucky, wearing a look of defeat rarely seen on Steve Rogers. 

Wordlessly, Bucky shuffles across the carpet and begins to knot the offending fabric, fingers of metal and flesh looping one strand over the other and back again. Chin lifted, brows furrowed, a marble bust of martyrdom, Steve is ever stoic while he works. 

“Thought you were gonna shave for this,” Bucky comments, his voice quiet, not lifting his eyes from the tie. Steve makes a dissenting noise from his throat. 

“Yeah, well, the beard makes it easier to keep a low profile,” he says, a hand reaching up to rub his whiskers absentmindedly. “And besides, I’m sort of attached to it now.” 

Bucky chuckles, a smile dimpling his own scruffy cheeks. 

“Know what you mean - God, but nobody looked like this when we were kids, ya know?” He steps back, finished with the tie, and gives Steve an appraising nod, pursing his lips. “Not too bad, Rogers, not too bad.” 

Raising a dubious brow, Steve turns back to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves and adjusting his shoulders in the tux. Strictly white tie - totally out of his element, but sometimes duty comes with a dress code. He wedges a thick finger between the starched white collar and his own tender skin. 

“In this get up?” Steve shakes his head. “Never did get used to wearing a monkey suit.” 

Tongue in his cheek, Bucky grins. 

“Have you seen yourself in your uniform?” 

Steve flings a fist back behind him, grinning triumphantly when his hit lands in Bucky’s gut; a metal fist swings in retaliation, but Steve manages to sidestep, his hands raised in quick surrender. 

“Hey, not too rough,” he says, tamping down a mischievous smile. “Tony will have my head if I ruin another one of these.” 

“Tony could buy you one for every day of the week,” Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

A knock on the doorframe makes them both turn. 

It’s been years now, since he met Natasha - wind whipping up familiar curls on the deck of the helicarrier, a watchful smile, wolves’ teeth hidden under a lamb-soft face. Even later, when he learned to trust her, he always found himself surprised at her startling contrasts, the ease with which she managed to be two things at once; ally and spy, friend then enemy then family. In truth, she was testing him. They both knew. Years of probing, disguised as teasing and sarcasm and near-insubordination - assessing his strength, his weakness, the man behind the shield. And after all this time, it was his steadiness at each of her own turns that pacified her, let her learn to lean on him in return. 

She smiles in the doorway now, her bright hair swept sleek behind her ears, revealing diamond teardrop earrings, probably on loan from Tony’s collection. The tips of her hair just brush her pale, bare shoulders, revealed by the strapless neckline of her jumpsuit. Black was always her signature color - never dull, though, because with Nat black is a spectrum, a rainbow refracted through her prism: intimidating, alluring, powerful, subtle. 

“You clean up good, Rogers,” she smirks, her hands tucked into her pockets as she gives him a look of approval. “Keeping the beard, though?” 

Steve’s hand idly brushes against his trimmed whiskers.

“It’s grown on me,” he admits. “And besides, I’ve got too much of a baby face without it.” 

“Some girls like that.” 

“Some guys like that,” Bucky adds, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, well,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, willing down the flush that crept up at his friends’ praise. “I’m not supposed to be the bait tonight.” 

“No, I guess that’s my job.” Another voice appears behind Nat, her head peaking around Nat’s shoulder as she steps forward to share the space in the doorway. 

Unbidden, Steve feels his mouth fall open. He always thought she was beautiful, from the first time he saw her, no makeup and the sleeves of her sweater splashed with coffee and mocha sauce; this morning, in the dusty half-light of the basement gym, sweat gleaming on her forehead and arms. But he wasn’t prepared to see her like this, glowing in his doorway, draped in a pink silk slip that exposed one of her thighs. She’d let her hair loose from it’s tight braids, her makeup bringing a dewy sheen to her cheeks - she looked…fresh, blooming like a rose. A clean swipe of red across her lips, almost an afterthought, as if she couldn’t be bothered to make more effort than that. Steve swipes his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs and clears his throat. 

“Um, wow,” he says, wincing at his own voice, which nearly gave an embarrassingly pubescent crack. “I mean, you…uh, you look great.”

“Better than great,” Bucky pipes up, the amused tilt to his mouth the only hint that he enjoys Steve’s embarrassment. “She looks beautiful.” 

Nat nods in agreement. 

“The dress is perfect for you - is it one of Stark’s?” she asks. 14 shakes her head, modestly gesturing to the gown with her hand. 

“I’ve had it for a little while actually, I just couldn’t pass it up,” she sighs. “Just haven’t had the chance to wear it.” 

“Well, we’re finally gonna put some miles on it,” Natasha smiles, her eyes cutting to Steve, who has clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying more. “We all ready? Happy’s pulling the car around.” 

14 nods, a shy smile tilting her mouth as she spares a glance at Steve before moving to follow Nat down the hall. She turns, and he sees that the cut of her dress falls low against the small of her back - almost low enough to glimpse the sweet dimples at the base of her spine. When they’re out of the doorway, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him - he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip, one eyebrow lifted in an all-knowing look. He opens his mouth to speak but Steve lifts a hand. 

“Don’t,” Steve cuts him off. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck, but just- don’t.”

Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, standing from the bed and walking over to where Steve still stands in the middle of his room. 

“Fine, I won’t say a damn word,” Bucky sighs, shuffling across the thick carpet. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, gripping Steve with a firm hand. “Except you better move your ass instead of standing there like a dud - didn’t I tell you not to keep a lady waiting, Rogers?” 

 **********                                                                                         

Sam had whistled playfully as she glided out of the elevator on Steve’s arm, his eyebrows lifting halfway up his forehead. 

“Damn, girl - almost didn’t recognize you without your apron,” he winked, his gap-toothed grin charming as ever. 

“Didn’t match my shoes,” she winked back, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It sent a wave of her perfume drifting upwards; something bright and sweet, neroli, he thought, or orange blossom - maybe a hint of coconut. He had licked his lips without thinking; he’d like to smell it again, just to be sure. 

Here, in this stuffy ballroom across town, with eager officials and bourgeois brats trying to rub elbows with Captain America, he finds the smell much less appealing. Sweat and ambition, excess and greed, all covered in layers of atelier cologne (eau de aristocratie) and - well, Bucky heard enough of his socialist soapbox speeches back in the day, and his views certainly haven’t changed much. 

Still, he makes polite small talk with his admirers, rubs elbows, accepts drinks, all the while keeping one eye on the far corner of the room. It’s quiet, secluded, an overstuffed chaise with a soft cover tucked away from the buzz of the main dance floor. She’s perched there, ankles coquettishly crossed, the side slit of her dress revealing one leg and her glittering open-toed shoes; she leans on one arm, tilting her head towards the target, charming smile drawing up her lips as she hangs on his every word. Or pretends to, anyway. The target seems not to know the difference: Robbie Sinclair, a middle-aged man with the tanned smile of a Kennedy, salt and pepper hair slicked back from his face with a boyish cowlick escaping near the front, grins confidently as he talks to her. Steve watches him preen and puff his chest, spreading his legs to take up far more space than he needs. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move away. 

He doesn’t like this, any of it. To be fair, he’d never been a big fan of the espionage facet of his job; much to Nat’s chagrin, subtlety and subterfuge were not Steve’s strong suits. If he had his way, they’d come in swinging and arrest this creep (and his insider-trading Wall Street buddies, too). But shooting from the hip wouldn’t work here, not when they still needed hard evidence on this guy, something more substantial than rumors - heavy as those rumors might be, words like “human trafficking” and “slavery” coming up in his SHIELD files. He understood the necessity, and so did 14. 

Still, bringing her here and dangling her like a worm on a hook, hoping this asshole would take the bait…his stomach churned, whiskey bubbling unpleasantly at the thought. Steve angles his body around a chatty senator, trying to maintain his view on the corner. Sinclair looks about ready to take a bite, his head bent close to 14’s, sly smirk plastered on his face as he whispers something in her ear. Did her fist tighten around her glass? He can’t quite tell from this distance; he knows his own fingers are white-knuckled on his third whiskey. Or was it the fourth? 

In a blink, a stumble, a minute trapped in choked small talk with Miss New York (during which he wondered if her real teeth were filed down like a shark’s underneath that crown-winning smile like Sam told him), he’s lost her. 

A snowy static of panic whites out his brain, and his heart picks up against his ribcage as he all but shoves the beauty queen out of his way, his vision tunneling on the now-empty chaise in the corner. Where did she go? Where would she go? Barely managing subtlety know, he ducks his head, speaking to the comm device in his ear. 

“Natasha. Do you have eyes on them?” 

“…no, I was doing a sweep of the terrace outside,” she answers a moment later. “Did you lose them?”

Steve turns a circle where he stands, sharp eyes scanning each face and failing to find the one he wants to see. 

“They’re gone, I’ve lost visual.” He tries to keep his voice down, his tone tight and clipped. Through a break in the crowd, he thinks he catches a glimpse of her dress, but when he looks again it’s the wrong color, the wrong dress, the wrong woman-

“Alright, I’m heading back inside - I’ll go up the stairs to the next floor, see if they went up that way.” 

“Okay, I’ll take this floor,” Steve says, already making a beeline for the open doors of the ballroom, his tight-laced dress shoes clicking a solitary echo in the cavernous hallway just outside. Past the doors, and the gazes of nosy party-goers, he doubles his pace - the stiff starched tux protesting against the movement. 

They’re not tucked into the alcoves along this hallway, and he deliberates a moment where the hall forks in opposite directions, before darting to the left and continuing his clipped jog. In a small part of his brain, he knows he shouldn’t be this concerned about her. 14 was an agent - a highly trained, highly skilled agent; he’d worked with her enough by now to know firsthand how well she could handle herself. But the other part of him couldn’t shake the way Sinclair had looked at her - the way every man in the room had looked at her when she walked in, circling and waiting for their chance to close in. Not to mention the less-than-sterling reputation of Robbie Sinclair, who, aside from the trafficking conspiracy that put SHIELD on his scent, had a handful of secretaries threaten him with harassment suits, before they were quietly paid to keep their mouths shut. 

He comes to a dead end, a dancing nymph statue (far too baroque for his taste) mocking him with her tambourine against her hip. Doubling back, he curses under his breath and runs through the building schematics in his head, wondering where they could have slipped away to so quickly. 

“Natasha? Any luck?” 

“Negative. You?”

“No.” Steve clenches his fists and tries to force his heart back down from where it’s climbed up into his throat. His teeth grind together, jaw locked tight, holding in a frustrated growl. Unprompted, a wave of worst-case scenarios floods his mind - 14 dragged away by thugs, knocked unconscious, bleeding and gagged, unable to call for help. She’s a good agent. A good soldier. She can handle this. Try as he might to force them away, the tide of panic swells over and over inside him, the voice of his intuition telling him something must have gone wrong-

Behind him, an elevator dings. 

Steve turns to see the ancient metalwork door rattle open, Agent 14 stumbling out half a moment later. 

He blinks. She’s lost her shoes - no, she’s carrying them, the straps dangling from one hand. The side slit of her dress looks higher, and he notices the frayed edges along the top where the fabric has ripped. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she takes labored, panting breaths as she leans against the wall. 

It takes him a while to understand what he’s looking at. As his panic starts to ebb, something different, something wounded and green threatens to perch in its place, at the sight of her so disheveled, with swollen lips and rumpled clothes. He says nothing; he has nothing to say, shocked as he is by the bitter taste of his own thoughts, wondering if a rendezvous with Sinclair was worth the information she might have gained. 

It’s not until she starts sniffling that he notices the tears running down her cheeks.

The realization stops him cold, strangles the dark seed of doubt just starting to sprout in his heart, and fills him with shame and guilt. He takes a step forward. She’s not looking at him. 

“…14? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hushed. “Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds that he could see, though she had limped a little when coming out of the elevator. 

She nods, sniffing again.

“I’m-I’m fine,” she says, her voice scraping in her throat, barely holding back a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent tears. 

In two steps he’s at her side, though unsure of what to do, what would be appropriate, what she wants or needs. Were they…friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? Do work friends hug, comfort each other? 

“Can you tell me what happened?” he ventures softly, still not touching her, not crowding. He holds back a few inches, waiting, his hands feeling empty and heavy at his sides. “Do you want to?”

She nods, but it takes a few moments before she has regained her composure enough to lower her hand from her mouth and take a few rattling breaths, preparing to speak. 

“He…h-he,” she stutters over a sob, like a child who’s cried too hard for too long. “He grabbed me and-and was kissing me, and then he tried,” she’s interrupted by a hiccup and a shaky sigh. “He tried to…to…” 

She raises her eyes to his, tears welling up again, and shakes her head. She can’t say it, won’t say it - it is too much. It will make it real. 

For his part, Steve barely restrains himself from blacking out with rage. His jaw is so tight he can feel his teeth nearly crack from the strain, fists curled but unsatisfied with not being wrapped around Sinclair’s neck. How dare he? How dare anyone? When he gets his hands on this goddamned son of a bitch, he’ll-

His vengeful train of thought is interrupted when she collapses against his chest with a sob, gripping the lapels of his jacket for support. On instinct he wraps his arms around her, caging her in, his chin resting on top of her head. 

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he hushes her and holds her, wishing there was more he could do, more he could say. He holds himself back from other platitudes, from it’s okay, and everything’s alright - he knows it’s not true. 

She shakes and cries and rides out the storm in his arms, full of anger and fear and shame and helplessness; all the while, he stands silent and solid, murmuring soothing words his mother might have said - in another life, when someone held him, protected him. 

Neither of them knows how much time has passed when her sobs become less violent, when her breathing calms, but she doesn’t step away. Her head doesn’t move from its place on his chest, and he makes no sign of wanting it to. Gently, slowly, he rocks her in his embrace, one hand smoothing over her back. 

After a while, she speaks. 

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. From this angle, he can see her blink slowly, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. He nods.

“You’re coming down from the adrenaline - that’s normal,” he murmurs, letting her weight sag against him, wondering if he’ll need to carry her.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not like that…that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” 

She doesn’t answer, not right away; her breathing has settled into an easier rhythm, less frenzied and panting. Her fingers slide from their place at his chest to rest around his waist. 

“When I was in high school, there was this guy.” Her voice startles him when she finally speaks again, she’s been silent for so long. He makes a noise to let her know he’s listening before she goes on. “He was…I don’t know. Popular, I guess. Cute. Football player. Advanced classes. All the girls liked him.” She takes a shuddering breath before forging ahead. “And-and I guess he liked me because he couldn’t leave alone for a single fucking minute.

“God, it was constant. He’d grab my ass, or say dirty things about me to other guys…sometimes it wasn’t even sexual, it was like…he’d squeeze my waist or pinch the fat on the back of my arms and comment about my weight.” She sniffs, and Steve tightens his arms around her, not speaking. “One time, between classes, he grabbed me by the hips and bent me backwards over a desk - he wouldn’t let go, and he was just laughing…and no one said anything, none of the guys or my friends or anybody.” 

Steve frowns, feeling impotent and frustrated. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head again. 

“The worst thing is I just put up with it. I didn’t say anything…I didn’t think, I didn’t know-” she huffs a bitter laugh. “I guess I just thought it was flirting. Like I should’ve been flattered by it.” 

“You shouldn’t - you don’t have to take that,” Steve says, fighting to control his tone. “Not from anyone.” 

“I know that now,” she says. “But I was just a kid…nobody told me. Nobody helped me.”

He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say, but she goes on.

“And nobody told me that it never gets better, it never changes.” He can feel how tightly her fists are clenched at his sides. “No one told me that this would be the rest of my fucking life. First it was him, and old men at the gas station where I got snacks after school, and truck loads of frat boys following me home. Jesus even the damn milk guy at the café calls me ’sexy’ and won’t leave me alone.” She sniffles again, voice tightening with anguish. “I’m tired, I’m so tired - I’m so fucking sick of all of it…of-of just being a thing, I’m tired of being looked at, and-” She tries to swallow back her sob, but it crests and stutters in her lungs, taking over her voice once again as she presses her face impossibly closer. 

It breaks his heart and stokes his rage, the helpless, hopeless weight of her bitter words. Here he is, over a century old, and still watching people fight the same battles; battles to be heard, to be seen, to be treated like humans. He’d seen it all his life, women like his mother, like Peggy, spines of steel and hearts made of diamonds, resisting a world that would grind them down and make them small. He wishes his shield were wider, stronger. He wishes he could protect them from this. 

“I can’t tell you it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Because it’s not. It’s not okay, I’m so sorry.” She squeezes his waist gratefully and nods her head a little. “But you…you don’t ever have to feel alone in this, okay?” He leans back a little, prompting her to lift her head, to meet her tear-bright eyes. “You’re not alone. I promise.” 

It’s not enough. It’s not over. But today, for now, it feels like something. 

 **********                                                                                             

Natasha pages Happy, who pulls the car around to the front of the building. She says nothing as 14 limps down the front steps, shoes in hand, one arm linked with Steve’s and wearing his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands. Nat’s eyes slide up to his - their silent exchange lasts moments, microseconds; her lips pinch tightly and her elegant white fists curl tight. 

Happy holds the door, offering a hand as 14 drops inside, folding her legs and wrapping her torn skirt as tight as she can around the exposed length of her legs. Nat glances at the open door of the car and steps away, angling her back to the patient Happy. She juts her chin at Steve. 

“You need a hand, Rogers?” He knows the look in her eyes is mirrored in his own - the look of a boxer stepping in the ring, of a lion sighting prey, a shark scenting blood.

Steve shakes his head, a hand reaching up to loosen his tie. 

“No, it’s alright. You go on with 14.”

Happy peaks his head around. 

“You don’t want me to wait for you, Cap?” he frowns. “I can keep the car running.”

Steve glances over Nat’s shoulder at the town car, where 14 has curled up in the backseat, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“Nah. I need to have a word with Mr. Sinclair.”

  **********                                                                                        

The arrest doesn’t make the front page. Or any page of the papers, in fact. Robbie Sinclair wakes in a hospital bed, in SHIELD custody, and ready to make deals with anyone who will bargain - provided his security detail keeps him well away from the Avengers and their Captain. 

When the file crosses his desk, courtesy of Natasha, he notices the long list of names Sinclair has provided them with - powerful men, Wall Street and Capitol Hill’s finest, who found their positions one dirty handshake at a time. It would take some time to build a case against them all, find sufficient evidence for arrests, but SHIELD was up for the task. There’s a note in the back of the file, a small article someone has attached with a paperclip. 

‘Executive’s Secretaries Speak Out’ reads the headline, with the subtext ‘Sinclair accused of sexual harassment, assault’. It appears a few women who had crossed his path were tired of being silenced; they had banded together, sharing pain and courage, to finally see him brought to justice. And combined with the charges SHIELD was bringing against him, it was unlikely he’d step foot outside of a prison for the next couple of decades. 

It’s a start. 

A few days later, Steve rises before the sun, a creature of habit. He takes his run alone, listening to a podcast that Sam had recommended. By 5:30, he’s stretching at the bench in front of the tower, before making his way down the street to the coffee shop. 

She does a double take when she sees him, surprise and (he hopes) excitement creeping up in her smile. There’s only a couple of baristas in the store at this time - they haven’t hit their peak yet - and she’s wiping down the bar in front of the espresso machines by herself. 

“Morning, Cap,” she smiles. There are tired little circles under her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You want your usual?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretends to think, narrowing his eyes at the menu. “Actually…how about you surprise me.” 

She raises her brows, a little impressed. “You sure? Anything goes?”

“Anything - I promise I’ll try it.” 

“Alright,” she smirks, mischievous and much too eager, and she turns away from the espresso machines to the blenders behind her. 

Milk, syrup, ice - other ingredients he can’t see or identify, all thrown into the pitcher and blended. She leans against the counter as the machine whirs loudly, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks. Just as the machine stops, the bell above the door chimes, both of them turning to look. 

A small, wiry, white-haired man backs his way into the store, pulling a dolly stacked high with milk crates. He looks around, making sure he’s not backing into anyone, and catches sight of her behind the counter. Steve doesn’t like the look of his smile, or the way 14 ducks back down to her blender, her shoulders inching upwards.  

“Morning, sweetheart,” the man says, a bit too loud, rattling the crates on his dolly as he wheels around tables, towards the back of house. 

“Morning,” 14 replies coolly, not looking up from where she’s carefully lining Steve’s cup with mocha sauce. She doesn’t say anything more, keeping her head down as she pours out the drink and reaches for a canister of whipped cream. Steve’s eyes cut between them, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. 

The milk man hustles back through the store with an empty dolly, on his way to collect the next load of crates, and 14 sighs a little when the bell chimes on his way out. She’s just turning around to hand Steve his drink, when she notices that the café is empty - he must have slipped out as well. 

“Hey, pal,” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, consciously withholding his full force. “I was wondering - you usually deliver the milk here?”

“Yeah,” the man huffs, a little confused, and in a hurry to unload his crates. He squints, the rising sun in his eyes. “Why?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all,” Steve smiles. His hand doesn’t move from it’s place on the man’s shoulder. 

When he comes back inside, his towering, chocolate-swirled beverage is waiting at the end of the bar. 14 is waiting, too, arms crossed, one hip propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to one side. 

“Do I wanna know?” she asks. Steve shrugs. 

“Nothing to know,” he says, shuffling up to the bar to claim his drink and stare at it, incredulous and amused. “Now what on earth is this thing, a milkshake?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“It’s called a frappucino, old man,” she grins. “Drink up - you promised.”

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger|Part 4|GBD

Read Part 1 Here Read Part 2 Here Read Part 3 Here Word Count: 3k  Tags: @evergreendolan​ @someonetogray​ @vintagedolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @dolansficsandpics​ @graysavant​ @baby-turtles​ Image Credit to @graysonsbailey​ (her edits are THE BEST)

Ethan heard the front door close behind Grayson, but he was surprised by his brother’s embrace soon after. Ethan wrapped his arms around Grayson, somewhat confused while asking, “Whats up bro?” Grayson spoke from within the crook between Ethan’s shoulder and his back. “I love you bro” Ethan, still holding onto Grayson but, getting more confused by the moment replied, “I love you too bro”

Grayson pulled back to look at his brother, “I know you want the best for me and I’m sorry about what I said last weekend. I’m sorry for springing the news about Kate on you like that. But you should know that she makes me happy.” Ethan pulled back slightly at the mention of her name, a part of him had forgotten about her. But he released a small smile when he saw the kind, puppy dog eyes his brother gave him. A part of Ethan recognized these eyes as the look Grayson wore many times when they were teenagers: Grayson declared he met his soulmate no less than seven times. Grayson took the upturn of Ethan’s lips as a sign to continue, “I’m going out with her tomorrow.” Ethan tried to maintain a happy look for Grayson’s sake but inside he was skeptical. “I’m happy for you,” he started, “just be careful.” Ethan was the older brother afterall, even though Grayson was bigger in every way. But it was often Grayson’s’ big heart that needed Ethan’s protection the most. As if on cue, Grayson’s phone sounded with a ping. He dropped his arms from Ethan as the twins stepped apart. Ethan saw Grayson’s entire face turn upward when he looked down, “Is that her?” Grayson nodded, looking up to meet his brother’s eyes. Ethan felt like a third wheel and decided to leave the room. Grayson did not notice his brother step out of the room, too involved with the virtual version of Kate in his hands. He read her text a few times over: I hope living with your brother isn’t getting too unbearable. Grayson pressed his tongue between his front teeth as he smiled and typed: We’re pretty good at making up. Suddenly, he regretted the way that sounded. Does that sound too touchy feely? She’s going to think they fight all the time…well they DO fight all the time. He followed with: We never picked a time for tomorrow.

He swayed in his seat when she replied: I’m free all day, so whatever works for you works for me :)

Grayson sat in thought, trying to figure out the optimal time to visit an aquarium on a Tuesday. He knew he would wake up at 7AM and want to eat breakfast. Vainly, he questioned whether he should work out before going out with her. He knew his muscles would appear plumper and more impressive if he did. The idea of working out triggered the thought of showering and doing his hair. He tried to add everything together in his before writing: I can pick you up at 9:15 :) ****

A low, slung towel draped around Grayson’s waist while he picked out his outfit. He mixed and matched a variety of pieces, while cursing at himself for not bringing more options to the rental he was sharing with Ethan. He tried on a button-down shirt and some dark jeans before deciding that he looked way too formal for an aquarium on a Tuesday morning. He traded the button down for plain white shirt and looked in the mirror. He gulped down hard and stripped down to his underwear. He threw his clothes on the floor. He decided on a comfortable blue sweatshirt and shorts. Peering in the mirror, he wondered if he looked seasonally challenged with his long sleeves and exposed legs.

Grayson swiped the keys to the van from the top of his dresser. The keys to his shiny Porche were collecting dust in a jacket pocket Grayson hadn’t worn in months. The sports car was left to waste in the driveway while Grayson pulled out the van and set his phone to navigate for Kate’s apartment. Despite his usual confident demeanor, Grayson’s thoughts betrayed his self-esteem. Was he wearing enough cologne? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he be earlier? Was he too early, should he be fashionably late?

He pulled onto her street, regretting his sweatshirt as he sweated like a sinner in a church. He almost didn’t recognize this part of LA. Graffiti lined some of the shopfronts; trash lined the street drains; people walked with their eyes pointed down. Grayson didn’t frequent this side of the city often. He pulled up to her apartment, beaming when he saw her sitting on the front steps of a large, white apartment building. Grayson stepped out of the van as Kate picked her purse off the stairs. “You ready?” her voice was sweet. When Grayson nodded, she added “Thank you again for offering to show me around.” “Not a Problem,” Not a problem at all.. Grayson opened the passenger side door of the van for the Kate, but immediately noticed her small stature. Kate tentatively raised her bad leg up to the edge of the van, intending to swing up to the van seat. She took in a sharp breath when Grayson’s large hands found firmly held her waist and lifted her up. Kate’s face converted to a blush tone while she muttered a few words of thanks, while Grayson grinned ear to ear and closed the door behind her.

******

“Tropical fish are actually migrating away from the tropics,” Kate remarked, and she and Grayson watched the insides of a large tank. They walked slowly, taking in more of each other than the aquatic life around them. “It’s because climate change altered the warm currents coming from the South Pacific.” Grayson nodded and took in a slow breath. How does he say this without sounding like an ass? “Why do you know so much?” Okay, maybe that was a little asinine. “You have all the facts, even back at the beach.”

The top of Kate’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, making Grayson regret asking anything. “I’m a Ph.D student at UCLA.” Grayson stopped walking. “I’m trying to be a doctor of Environmental Engineering; I do research in the effects of climate change.” Grayson’s mouth hung open slightly. He struggled to find the words to describe what he was thinking. He struggled to find the thoughts he was thinking. “That’s so cool,” his voice unsteady with awe. “I love the planet” Didn’t everyone? “I’m a vegan.” Kate started laughing, seeing through Grayson’s astonished exterior. “I’m not, guess I’m a bad environmentalist.” Grayson grinned and bit his lip, looking down at her. Her aura was infectious, her presence asked him to be the best version of Grayson.

“I miss Philly though. Home is home, you can’t beat that.” Kate almost looked wistful. “What’s it like?” “It’s a city of neighborhoods, there are so many different personalities in a really small area. In one day, you can visit Beverly Hills, San Francisco, and Nashville all at once. And the food is so good!” Kate gushed, more missing her home than telling Grayson about it. Her eyes went somewhere else for a second before meeting his gaze as he spoke.

“Complete opposite of New Jersey, “Grayson nearly laughed. “My brother and I used to ride our bikes and these four wheelers all the time. When we weren’t in school, we were usually covered in mud. This one time my brother and I were riding our bikes up this hill, and when we made it to the top—I shit you not—we saw a giant grizzly bear.” Kate’s eyes went wide, “No Way!” Grayson nodded vigorously, “We ran like hell. But then we got to the crest of the hill—this is where I am the hero in the story—I remembered from TV that you’re supposed to stay super still to avoid bears. And that’s how I saved my brother’s life when we were like seven.” Grayson wore a triumphant look, eliciting a giggle out of Kate. “So you know, come to me if you ever need rescuing from a bear.” “Hopefully I won’t ever need to,” the erupted in laughs together. Kate threw her head back and Grayson felt his face go warm when he realized how melodic she sounded.

“I do need to ask you a favor though,” Grayson’s eared perked up as Kate started, “Could you take a few touristy pictures of me to send to my mom back in Philly?” Grayson smiled brightly and nodded, “Of course I can. What about in front of the dolphin wall?” The thought of Kate sending cute pictures was endearing to Grayson, it reminded him to send pictures to his own mother. Grayson stood back and framed the picture in his phone while Kate sat on a ledge in front of a tiled wall. Her wide smile warmed Grayson’s heart. He was really so happy to take that picture, to create a memory of how beautiful and happy she was in that moment. Kate bounced off the ledge and over to Grayson to inspect the pictures he took before “Do you want any?” Grayson nodded and handed her the phone. He went to sit in front of the wall while Kate started taking pictures. Grayson smiled wide, saying “cheeeeeese” and garnering a warm laugh from Kate. Grayson pulled up the hood on his baby blue sweatshirt, hearing more giggles from Kate.

An older woman with two kids by her side gently tapped Kate on the shoulder and offered to take a picture of her and Grayson together. She sat beside Grayson, while he wrapped a muscular arm around her petite frame. She leaned her head in toward him, letting him drink in her sweet scent. ****

Grayson parked the van in front of Kate’s apartment. He turned toward her; his stomach became a ballroom for butterflies. Grayson tried to muster up words but found them lodged in this throat. Kate smiled at him, her eyes turning up, “I had a great time today. Thanks for bringing me out. It’s hard since I don’t really know anyone in the city.”

Grayson took in a large breath, he reached for her hand. He interlocked their fingers and noted how her dainty, soft hand felt against his large, rough one. He felt his face turn warm and his eyes go slightly glossy when he caught her looking down at their hands. “I had a great time too,” Grayson’s entire being felt light and airy despite his size. They took a minute to look at each other, letting the silence fill the cabin of the van. Grayson broke the silence and the stare to look at her apartment, “Do you live alone?” Kate nodded and pointed to a window on the left side of the building, “Yeah, it’s not much but it’s what I can do on a grad student’s salary. You know the life.” Kate chuckled and looked at Grayson, expecting a knowing look of understanding. Instead, she was confused by the slightly blank look in his usually warm brown eyes. Grayson looked at the floor of the van and muttered, “Yeah LA life is hard.” He remembered that he was holding hands with a beautiful girl and that now was not the time to be awkward. He gave her tiny hand an affectionate squeeze and followed with, “I’m glad I can make it easier for you.” Cheesy. Cheesy. Cheesy. He could do better.

Kate smiled at him, kindly. Grayson’s anxious inner monologue paused to make way for an affectionate, puppy dog smile. Kate ran her thumb gently over his from where they interlocked. Grayson felt a warm, happy feeling bubble up in his stomach. He squeezed Kate’s hand again, appreciating how familiar the feeling of her tiny hand was starting to feel. Grayson bit at his bottom lip. I should say something. I should say something. I should do something. He was looked down and didn’t notice Kate’s gaze to melt into a similar version of Grayson’s puppy dog stare. Her eyes wore pointed down slightly and her pupils widened, fixated on the enigmatic, hypnotizing, Adonis of a man sitting next to her. “Hey Gray,” her voice was just above a whisper, gentle, and kind. Grayson removed his eyed from the floor, escaping the trap of his thoughts while he looked back at her, “Yes?” Kate crashed her lips onto Grayson’s. Her lips wrapped onto his top lip while he ran a hand through her long dark hard, resting it on the back of her head as he pulled her in closer. Kate laid a hand against his chest, feeling his firm pec underneath her fingers. Grayson leaned into her, kissing her back and taking in her bottom lip: nearly intoxicated from her scent. At that moment, every love song Grayson had ever heard played in his head. I have loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more…..And All of Me Loves All of You, love all your curves and all your edges…When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change

*****

Grayson bounced through his front door, whistling a happy tune and rocking on his heels as he stopped in the kitchen. Ethan looked up from where he sat at the island, “You’re happy.”  Grayson nodded and pulled up a seat next to Ethan. “I had my date. It was perfect dude,” Ethan recognized the wide-eyed look on Grayson’s face. “She’s amazing, like actually the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m happy for you dude. Did you talk to her about..everything?” Ethan didn’t feel like referring to the episode of Grayson yelling in a New Jersey diner parking lot.

“No. But wait until you hear this, she’s like a scientist who is trying to save the planet” Grayson beamed, very proud of his not-girlfriend. His beam dimmed when he saw the solemn look on Ethan’s face. “You should tell her Gray,” Ethan didn’t try to disguise the pragmatism in his voice. Grayson the romantic often forgot the hectic life of Grayson the business man; Ethan was the only thing keeping Icarus from flying into the sun.

“We just had our first date, I’m not about to show her everything I’ve been up to for the past five years” Grayson’s defensive tone did not match his relaxed demeanor.

“Look, Gray, if this is going to get serious. She deserves to know. You’d be doing yourself and her a favor by having this conversation sooner rather than later.”

***

Grayson’s wet hair soaked his pillowcase that night. The towel he wore out of the shower laid strewn on the floor. A thin white sheet rested over his waistline. He grabbed his phone from his nightstand. His intentions were to call Kate. He thought back to what Ethan said, about inviting her over to purposefully talk about what he did for a living. The idea of the conversation he didn’t want to have sat uncomfortably in his mind: not because he thought she would react badly but because he refused to accept that what his life was special enough to warrant a dedicated conversation. He was not looking forward to it. However, he was looking forward to kissing her again.

Her lips were plush and soft. Her tiny hands framed his face to well when she pulled him in earlier. Her sweet, citrusy scent only got better with proximity; her entire essence was completely decadent to him. She was like a guilty pleasure; there was something so invigorating about the escape she offered him. She intoxicated him: demanding the attention of every single one of his senses when they were together in an indulgent and dizzying way. She ignited his most innocent and romantic fantasies: he dreamt of sleepy Sunday mornings in a plush bed, dancing barefoot in the kitchen in the refrigerator light, and sharing the stars under the night sky from the safety of a shared sleeping bag. In a deeper place, Grayson’s other nighttime daydreams took hold: took enough hold to cause the thin sheet of fabric over his waist to start to bulge. Before his bodily functions got the better of him, the wet, naked, smitten man picked up the phone to call his not-girlfriend.

“Hey there,” her voice was sweet and song-like. Grayson felt a smile grow on his lips. “Miss me already?”

Grayson’s mouth went slightly dry when he thought of how to respond. Instinctively, he wanted to say miss you all the time. But he decided that was too much for after their first date. “I wanted to hear your voice,” oh shit, that was creepy. He quickly followed up with his next comment, hoping the first part wouldn’t sit on Kate’s ears for too long “I wanted to invite you over tomorrow.” He took a breath, thinking that he sounded like a second grader inviting their friend over for a game of soccer.

“That sounds good! You mean over like to hang out at your apartment?” Kate asked which elicited a blush from Grayson, maybe he did imply a non-truth earlier today. “Yes, kind of, I share a house with my brother not an apartment.” Grayson sounded formal; he knew he sounded format.

“Oh,” Grayson noted the hint of surprise in Kate’s voice, “Is your brother going to be there?” “He should be but I’m not entirely sure.” From the other side of the phone, Kate’s thoughts stopped for a minute. Was the genuine, sweet guy who could barely muster up the courage to kiss her really asking her to hang out at his house when no one else was home? “I would ask you on another real date, but it’s hard since everything is closed” Grayson felt bad for giving her a half-truth. He also felt thankful that his thin white sheet was soaking up the sweat from one of his hands. From the other side of LA, Kate nodded but then realized he couldn’t see her. “Text me the address and I’ll be there. Same time tomorrow morning?” “Great!” Grayson grinned, his smile beaming at the ceiling above him. His toes wiggled underneath his sheet, dancing in celebration for his romantic victory. Riding the high of today he felt the courage in his stomach build until it bursted out of his lips as “I had the best time today.” “I did too,” Grayson heard Kate’s smile through the phone. “And Grayson..” she started cautiously, “you’re a good kisser.” Grayson’s blush overtook his face. His stomach bubbled with a mixture of confidence, victory, nervousness, joy, romance, and surprise. “You are too,” and with that he felt his happiness bulge under his sheets once more and instantly knew he should gently end their call before his excitement turned his white sheet into a tent. A/N: Hello! This chapter was really hard for me to write, any feedback is valuable! I tried to make this progress the story, give the correct amount of information, but also be kind of fluffy. Let me know what you thought~

[ilovefandoms102]

Part 21

Summary: Scary shit goes down for the Pogues....

Taglist:

@lonely-kermit @iamaunicorn4704 @outerbongs @lasnaro @justcallmesams @jellyfishbeansontoast @agirlwholovescoffee @ma10427 @eb15 @lopineapples @fernweh-fangirl @hurricane-abigail @gviosca @runway-to-my-aid @tangledinsparkles 

Part 20 Part 22 

Note: I can’t believe this series is almost over! I’ve had so much fun writing this and I can’t wait to put out more content for you guys, so stay tuned!

===================================

“JOHN B!” I screamed, JJ having to hold me back from running to my brother’s aid.

The plane was still going full speed right at the van my idiotic brother decided to stop in front of the plane’s path on the runway. My heart stopped as it was mere inches from crashing into the van. Coming to an abrupt stop, I let out a sob of relief. JJ hugged me hard, Kie wiping the tears from her eyes. 

“That fucking idiot” I spat, starting to where my brother was. Then we heard the sound of sirens, all of our heads snapping to where the noise was coming from. 

“You guys have to go” I said, turning to look at them.

“She’s right we’re no good in jail.” Kie said, looking at the two boys.

“I’m not leaving you” JJ said, coming closer to me.

“You have to J, you’re on probation.” I said, “Go, I can take care of myself. I’m getting us out of this mess.” I kissed him before taking off to my brother, leaving JJ screaming for me. Pope and Kie having to drag him away to wait for us.

My brother spotted me, his eyes wide as he shook his head at me. Sarah still crying and holding on to my brother for dear life. Ward trying to get up in my brother’s face before I wedged myself in between them, shoving Ward away.

“Don’t touch them!” I shouted, Sarah reaching forward to grab on to my wrist while JB’s hand went to my shoulder. 

“You Routledge’s never know when to stay out of it!” Ward yelled, coming towards us before we saw the sheriff pull up. 

“Sheriff help us! He tried to kill us!” I said to her.

“These kids are delusional, that one stabbed me while the little brat tried to kill my daughter!” Ward said, pointing at John B. and I.

“That’s not true! You killed their father!” Sarah yelled.

“Sarah shut up!” Ward bellowed, the sheriff looking at him with accusatory eyes.

“Put your hands behind your back Ward” the sheriff said, going to cuff him when a shot rang out. We all jumped at the unexpected sound, Rafe coming from behind the plane.

“Run” the sheriff said, looking at the three of us.

“Don’t think about going anywhere little Pogue, I have major plans for you.” Rafe laughed.

“You aren’t taking her!” John B. said, pulling Sarah and I behind him. 

“Watch me” Rafe growled, lifting his gun higher.

“Rafe stop!” I said, wrenching my arm free from my brother’s hold to stand in front of him. “I’ll go with you, just let them go.” I pleaded.

“Bubba no!” John B. shouted.

“You’re finally mine now little Pogue, not even your piece of shit boyfriend will be able to save you.” Rafe said menacingly. 

He grabbed my arm and hauled me off to his vehicle, which just happened to be where the other Pogue’s were hiding out. Sarah and John B. got in the van and took off, I watched them for as long as I could before Rafe pulled hard on my arm again.

“What a gentlemen” I said sarcastically. 

“We’re going to have so much fun little Pogue.” Rafe said as he started to open the backseat door, shoving me to it.

“JJ!” I screamed, hoping that he heard me. Rafe slapped me, my head whipped to the side, and hit the car door.

“Get in the fucking car!” Rafe yelled, shoving me harder. The harder he pushed, the harder I pushed back. I screamed until my throat was raw, starting to lose hope.  Then I heard my name being shouted, I turned my head and saw JJ sprinting with the other Pogues behind him. 

“JJ!” I croaked, Rafe taking his gun and hitting me in the temple. I blacked out for a minute, seeing stars behind my eyelids. 

Rafe was pulled off of me by JJ, Kie coming to catch me as I fell to the ground. I regained my footing and grabbed JJ before things could escalate as he and Rafe were both pointing guns at each other. The Pogues took off, running towards the chateau. We met John B. at the exit of the airport, jumping into the van.

“They think I did it, the police think I killed the sheriff.” John B. said, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. 

“You have to get out of here John B., lay low until this blows over.” I said, anger coursing through me that those dumb ass cops think my brother would be capable of this. 

“I could get my dad’s boat and we could meet you down the coast. It’s the fastest boat to get you there.” JJ said, my heart dropping to my stomach at the mention of his father. 

“You sure man?” JB asked. 

“Honey we can find another way..” I said, gripping his hand tighter in mine. 

“It’s the only option, there’s no other boat faster.” he said, looking at all of us. 

=========================

“You don’t have to do this JJ” I whispered.

JJ and I were sitting in the driveway at his dad’s house, my hands gripping the steering wheel tight. I didn’t want him to go in, especially since we were basically stealing from his dad. He didn’t respond as he got out of the van, going into his home. My heart raced, hoping the man I loved came out in once piece.

I know his dad wasn’t always like this, he was actually a pretty decent guy until his mom left. JJ never told me the reason she left, he probably doesn’t even know. I related with JJ on that level since mine left when John B. and I were 3. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw that woman, I didn’t even consider her my mom. She was merely the woman who gave my brother and I life, the woman who left our family in the dust. JJ came out, an unreadable expression on his face as he got back in the van. He held up the key to me, faking a smile.

“Honey,” I whimpered, tears coming to my eyes.

“Told me he loved me, that he was sorry he was hard on me. He said I looked so much like my mom it triggers him.” he said with a smile, laughing as he shook his head. It took everything in me to keep it together, my heart shattering as I looked at my broken boyfriend.

“JJ” I sobbed, putting my hand to my mouth.

“Drive” he said coldly, not looking at me and staring out the window.

I did as he said, tears blurring my vision as I drove. We were meeting Kie and Pope at The Wreck to discuss our plan, not expecting to walk in on a screaming match.

“I’m sorry Pope!” Kie shouted, tears welling up in her eyes. JJ and I looked at each other, wondering what they could possibly be arguing about now.

“It doesn’t matter anymore Kiara, I’m going to get some gas for the boat.” Pope said, storming out of the restaurant. 

“I’ll go with him, you guys go get the boat set up and we’ll meet you back there.” I said, following Pope outside. Pope was revving his bike engine up, I told him I was coming with and hopped on the back. Kie and JJ came outside, Kie running to us.

“Pope, please-” Kie started saying, but Pope revved the engine louder. I awkwardly sat there as Kie kept trying to speak. I looked at JJ who shrugged his shoulders, he came over to me.

“Be careful, please” he whispered, kissing me hard before tugging on Kie’s arm.

Pope took off to his dad’s shop, I held on tight as he sped along the streets. We pulled up to the gas tank, taking cans and filling them up quickly.

“So it’s not enough that you blew your scholarship, but now you’re stealing from me?” Pope’s dad asked. I was frozen in place as I looked at Pope.

“Dad, I’m sorry but my friend is in trouble!” Pope exclaimed.

“Your friend is going to get you in trouble Pope!” he said.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go.” Pope said, tugging on my arm to go back to the bike.

“Don’t even bother coming home! You are no longer apart of my family!” his dad shouted as we walked away.

“Pope,” I whispered, looking up at my friend.

“He’ll understand, hopefully..” Pope said. 

We got back on the bike and took off to the garage where the boat was at. We got there and heard a lot of commotion, seeing a bike that looked like Rafe’s. I ran to the door, seeing Rafe choking Kie while Barry was holding a gun to JJ. How Barry was alive, I’m not sure. I found a tire iron and whacked Rafe in the back, making Rafe drop Kie.

“Don’t touch her asshole!” I screeched, reeling back to hit him again. 

He knocked the iron out of my hand and punched me, I reciprocated and kept going. Hitting him again, again, and again. His face was covered in blood as I took my frustration out on this man who was the reason my brother was in trouble.

“YOU-TOOK-EVERYTHING FROM ME!” I screamed as I kept hitting him, Kie yelling at me to stop. Rafe laughing as I kept hitting him.

“Baby stop! He’s had enough!” JJ said, trying to come closer to me. I kept hitting him, my knuckles splitting at the force.

I grabbed some tubing I saw by Rafe’s head and wrapped it around his neck, choking him just like the many times he had done it to me. I screamed as I pulled it tighter, JJ trying to pull my arms off of Rafe. He was yelling at me to stop along with the other Pogues.

“Rot in hell you piece of shit!” I seethed, his face beginning to turn purple from the loss of oxygen. JJ got in front of me, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him.

“THIS IS TOO FAR STOP! SNAP OUT OF IT!” JJ bellowed at me.

I let Rafe go, no one helping him when he dropped to the floor. I looked down at him with the most sinister look.

“Stay off The Cut” I said, spitting at him.

“Shit man” Pope said, running his hands over his head. 

“Are you nuts?! That was way too much, you could have killed him!” JJ yelled at me.

“Save it JJ, let’s go.” I huffed, rolling my eyes at him. He grabbed my arm to stop me. 

“No, babe, seriously what the fuck?!” he said again, I pulled my arm away from him. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about what came over me, we needed to get to my brother. 

“We need to get to John B. JJ, can you please just stop! It’s no worse than what you’ve done since you actually killed someone.” I said, putting my hand over my mouth. Regretting the words I stupidly said.

“Wow, ok” JJ nodded.

“JJ, no please I’m sorry” I said, trying to reach out for him.

“Get the fuck away from me, I can’t even look at you right now.” JJ said, his voice stone cold. My lips quivered as he walked away from me, helping Pope and Kie set up the boat.

I really fucked up now...

============================

[yandere-society]

Candy Man

Synopsis: Stepping into the world-famous Hope World Candy Factory the day of Valentine’s Day, you are filled with an overwhelming number of sweets and surprises. As a confectionary lover, this is your dream, to not only see the inside of the glittering multi-colored building, but maybe get a glimpse of the interesting man behind all the delicious desserts. There’s also something here, lingering behind every jelly bean wall or chocolate cove. After getting separated from a tour group, you think maybe this was a mistake to come in here so carefree. There may be something sinister behind these seemingly harmless candies.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 4,300+

Admin: @mintedmango​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: Yandere-themes, mentions of death/murder, mentions of gore, blood, passing out/fainting, knives, improvised weapons, being tied down/restrained, hospital beds, unhealthy thinking relationships, cannibalism.

The skin of your lips was being peeled off by your teeth as you nervously flit from foot to foot on your elevator ride up the see-through jelly tube. You could see almost every chocolate cove and red vine tree from the pink tubing your tour group was being brought down to. Your heart was pumping rapidly with a mix of excited and full of tension, and your empty stomach was rumbling as butterflies fluttered, trapped inside. You weren’t sure anymore if not eating this morning to make room for all the sweets that one could possibly enjoy was a good idea. 

You were so anxious you could hardly stand it. Ever since you learned that the infamous Hope World Candy Factory was opening up one day to the public for the first time, you decided you just had to fly across the country and see it for yourself. You’ve loved the company and all the creations that they make ever since you had your first Daydream Bar at the tender age of five. 

All you had to do was buy a ticket for the factory (that costs a pretty, pretty penny, mind you) and you were set for the whole day!

The only catch though was that it was only open on Valentine’s Day and it was strictly for couples to come and enjoy a romantic, sweet-filled day in the candy factory...

And of course, you were as single as single could be. 

That’s just how life goes, right? 

The elevator lurches to a halt suddenly and you almost stop breathing, your excitement overwhelming you. 

“Everyone, step lightly, we have much to see!” Says a stout woman with green hair and carrot-colored skin as she ushers everyone out of the tube and into a dim room with a tiny, tiny door at the end of the hallway. “Now,” she whispers, as she grabs what looks to be different colored (and probably flavored you assume) gelatin keys and sticks a goldenrod one through the small keyhole. “Beyond this door is where you get to roam the marvelous Grand Garden.” 

You gulp, mind full of wonder and awe as you watch her turn the key, and it glitters and sparkles with the bright light beyond the door, much like your eyes right now. 

From the moment of purchasing your own golden ticket, you have been scouring the internet in hopes you would find more info about the Hope World Factory and the mysterious secrets it keeps locked up tight behind its doors. There wasn’t much on the Jung family or the current CEO of the factory. Just rumors of an immense and large edible garden, with so much grandeur and thought put into it, it was something straight out of a fairy tale book. 

“Everything is edible.” She states with a smile before pushing open the door. “But please be advised to stay within the walls of the garden with your partner, or you could end up in some serious… hot chocolate.” 

A few people in your group snicker at her sweet-treated pun, but you can’t focus on anything except seeing what is beyond that bland-colored door, wanting to know if the rumors of splendor are true. Your palms are sweaty and your mind blank with anticipation. 

“Please come back to this door, under the raspberry truffle tree in one hour!” She smiles as she finally pushes the door open for you all to run inside, and see what the Jung family has been hiding for decades. “It’s something out of your purest imagination!”

Speaking of Jung family, you wonder if the rumors are true: the family's youngest son is in charge of the factory now, after his sister got engaged to a rival candy company’s heir. So many whispers and hush-hush with this family, you swear! Deep down you really wanted gossip and drama from them, as selfish as that sounds. You wish they were a little bit messy and spill their internal secrets to the world. So you only really knew what the internet and late-night television hosts would spread amongst the airways, which were usually ridiculous words of slander and vile garbage. 

But what you do know about the famous sweet CEO was that he has an amazing taste in everything from cars, to clothes, especially to candy and you’ve heard that he has an amazing, dazzling smile. Supposedly, and according to the rumors circulating everywhere. 

“Where’s your date, young lady?” The woman with white eyebrows asks up to you with a serious smile on her orange lips, breaking your inner thoughts. Her eyes rake your features up and down, like a human scanner, and you can’t help but gulp. You hoped all your hard work was not in vain. 

“Uh-He’s in...the bathroom.” You lie with a wry smile, hoping she’ll buy it with just enough time to get you into the room she’s so close to unlocking. 

She purses her lips and looks away from you, but doesn’t ask you anything further on the manner. 

“Have fun in the garden!” She says instead of throwing you out and opens the plain door to the grandest thing you think you’ve ever seen. 

Couples scream and laugh as they whiz past you on your journey to roam freely around the edible valley. You can’t be bothered though, as your mouth is going to collect dust if you leave it unhinges for too long. 

There are no words. You couldn’t fathom half the things in this room. Is this even a factory anymore, or are you in heaven? 

It’s… simply breathtaking. 

The online forms were right - there is a giant edible garden - but the words and descriptions on screen didn’t do the real thing any justice. And, of course, they confiscated your phones even before you entered the building so you couldn’t document this creation out of a book come to life scene unfolding before your eyes. 

You are stunned as you walk on the hardened peanut butter cup path towards the giant garden in the middle of four, high walls. Your eyes sparkle, filling with tears of joy upon seeing the beautiful, wonderful sights before your eyes, covering your mouth as the couples in your tour guide pass by your idle body. It is seriously extremely super overwhelming: your senses are going on overdrive as your sockets roam over every inch of the garden that you can see. You just need a moment to take everything in. 

There is so much - so many details and little things going on. 

Trees made of marbled dark and milk chocolate stand tall, protruding into the blue-raspberry colored sky, pastel cotton candy clouds wisping around above you. Most of the whimsical looking plants bear fruit of all kinds and gummy leaves hanging low off their perfectly carved branches. You hear a trickle of something, like a stream of water, and see that there is a tiny clear yet caffeinated creek of soda-pop softly crackling its way through the garden. Following your eyes, you see there’s realistic grey rock-candy gravel and well, rocks, underfoot as well as strings of grass you can only assume are sour green-apple flavored, or even possibly key-lime pie? You can’t be certain but you can’t wait to try it! There’s a fountain spewing caramel in the middle of the garden, surrounded by a pool of white chocolate, and it's held together by what looks to be a brick, but upon a further glance, you suspect that it’s potentially licorice or Twizzlers, or a combination of both. There’s tables, chairs, and benches made out of finely crafted shortbread cookies placed along the peanut butter paths of the edible wonderland. There are colorful flowers made of lollipops and sugared, blown glass softly billowing in the artificial breeze, seemingly waving at you as you gawk on in shock.  

It’s all too beautiful. Your mind is having trouble processing everything until you hear an excited scream about life-sized gummy bear bushes and you can’t help, but want to investigate further. 

Your feet finally start to move as you are openly sniffling and crying: you are such a happy mess. 

A stout figure smiles at your back, a menacing aura surrounding her as she presses a single digit on her smartwatch to the man behind this beautiful room and factory. 

“Fritz?” He questions, nearly shrieking through the speaker with excitement. “How are our esteemed guests doing?”

“Oh… Well, I suppose,” her upper lip curves into something dreadfully evil. “But, we have a lost little crumb who decided to bend the rules and attend the party without a date.” 

The young CEO sighs into the receiver, watching everything unfold from his observation deck placed high above the ground, in order to study the humans roaming around his perfect, edible garden. 

He knows. He’s known since she walked in here that she was alone and didn’t have a special someone to share this day of candy hearts and love songs to. 

Which was perfect because well, you see, neither did he. 

He sighs as he tips his silkened purple top hat up to view the mesmerized crowd down below, throwing up his dark leather boots on the desk in the observation deck. Deep down, the young man was lonely, hiding his family’s recipes and secrets for the rest of his life due to the enigma that was the candy business. His usually jovial smile turns into a sour frown as he watches her stand shell-shocked by the river of soda pop, staring up into the cotton candy clouds. Or, paradise, as he calls it.

It was as if she was looking at him, knowing there was someone watching her admire and take in all the hard work that he and his staff have given to the largest and most amazing room in the factory. He leans into the window, removing his boots from the desk to watch her with her mouth agape take in the splendor and majesty that was his garden. His eyes widen as he studies her expression. She hasn’t even eaten or enjoyed anything in the room yet… Why is that he wonders? Was she a spy for another company? No, it was more like she was in complete disbelief that this was even real. Almost like she was marveling at his handy work...

Suddenly, the young man clad in his expensive purple suit has a wicked thought. Oh yes! If she is a fan of confections of any kind she will be a great asset to the company and myself! A dream only someone of his caliber who’s spent so much of his time up in the clouds could fathom. Or she’ll do nicely for some company if I end up breaking her in the process then! 

“Fritz,” he presses his watch up to his lips that curve into a devious smile. “Bring her up.” His amber eyes turn dark and cloudy as he thinks of his lair, a lab where he designs desserts and candies of all kinds. “I think we found our new taste tester.”

Oh wow! This is really unlike anything you could even dare of dreaming! You don’t think anything can ever compare to the concoctions and creations that the Hope World Factory has let the outside world enjoy for a mere afternoon. It didn’t seem right to you to try anything. If you ate and ruined all the time it took someone to place here so craftily and carefully. No. You didn’t think you could. 

Unlike some...

A playful screech comes from your left and you duck just in time to see a flash of white pass right by your nose. 

You watch with mirth as a couple runs by you, throwing marshmallow fluff off the cherry flavored giant mushrooms placed delicately around the garden. They scream and fly past you, making a mess of the precise and wonderful dessert and bakery items it probably took a whole team of people to create. You frown with judgmental eyes, studying the pair of grown adults act like they were children. 

Though you suppose, candy does revert you back to your childhood, where everything was much more innocent and easy to deal with. 

It was amazing what a room of sweets could do to a group of people. 

They race around, running this way and that, laughing and having the time of their lives with giant smiles plastered on their faces. They disappear from view and you stand watching the space from where they left, under a chocolate tree with gummy bananas hanging off of them. 

Shooting through your body, a zinging pain shoots through your heart feeling like the zap of a thousand volts of electricity that trickles down to your toes and lights its way back up your spine again. 

You freeze watching the pair disappear behind a licorice willow tree. With a tired gulp and a teary blink in your eye, you have to face reality. Truth hurts, as some would say: you are incredibly lonely. 

“Miss,” just then, the shrill voice of the stout lady behind you echoes from where you are standing and you nearly jump right out of your skin you are frightened by the sneaky tour guide. You all but tense up, breathing hitching as your sockets expand, fearing for the worst. “Miss, a word?” Your nerves were on fire as the soda stream pops and fizzles next to you, filling your ears with the carbonated crackling, as well as all the blood that rushes to your ears. Adrenaline running through your veins, like hot-white lightening sparking up and down from head to toe.  

Shit! You think turning to face the orange lady with a sheepish smile. I’ve been caught! 

“Y-Yes?” You mumble as she smiles on at you turning to face her fully. 

“Who can take a sunrise?” She starts to sing an eerie tune and your stomach pits. “Sprinkle it with dew?” Your eyes are the size of the moon as you watch her bring a bag out of her pocket as she continues to smile that weird, twisted smile at you. “Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two?” Your heart is pounding out of its chest staring at this round orange woman who reaches into her silkened purple bag, pulling up a handful of what looks like sparkling glitter. “The candy man can.” Her mouth continues to stretch across her face, as she makes invisible worms and spiders crawl along your skin that’s turned to ice. She lifts her hand and blows the dusty glitter into your eyes, as you try to recoil from the crazy action the tour guide throws your way.  

Literally. 

“Hey!” You yell, opening your eyes to find the world covered in glistening lights, the garden shiny and bright for some strange reason. “What the heck?!” 

“Because he mixes it with love,” she ignores you and continues chanting her odd song to you. Your eyelids feel heavy, your body suddenly sluggish, “and chocolate,” you can barely stand on your own two feet as you feel yourself slumping forward and backward. You feel like you are stuck in a murky pit of blackness, and will never be able to escape from the throes of this evil she’s thrown at you. Unable to form a coherent thought, sleep seeps into your mind as you start to succumb to the feeling. Darkness creeps around your vision as you start to fall. Two pairs of hands keep your body up as you hear the orange lady say a few final words. “And makes the world taste good.” 

-

When you come to your senses, you have a sneaking suspicion that you aren’t in the garden anymore.  Your eyes are clouded with that weird dust that the weird-ass tour guide blew in your face. There’s more shining, glittering lights floating above you and you realize all the spotlights are all pointed at you. You try to blink the dust away but every move you make makes your body ache for some reason. Why were you in pain? Did you fall? No, you could have sworn there were two people holding you up, carrying you, while you heard… singing, the whole time…

So weird.

Oh crap, speaking of that green-haired tour guide… You gasp a little, foggy brain finally waking up fully, and you nearly grasp. You finally understand. You were caught! You broke the rules though and you deserve to be reprimanded and rightfully so. But, the question still stands. 

With a groan and a small shift of your head, you try to grab your throbbing head, but it was sadly in vain. 

You blink rapidly. No. This had to be a bad dream right? You are not strapped to a metal object, right? No. Your hands around bound and placed above you? No. You try to kick your legs, only to find your ankles confined into shackles connect to the cool metal item. Loud noises of your struggle erupt from your body, echoing throughout the small, sterile room. Metal clanging around itself was the worst thing you think you’ve ever heard.

There’s… no way… right? 

Your eyes expand, practically falling out of your head as your empty stomach flips over on itself. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, throat running dry. You let out a blood-curdling scream upon realizing that you are tied to a flat, stainless steel table in the middle of a brightly lit, sterile-looking room. You hear the faint melody that evil woman was humming in the distance and you want to throw up you feel physically sick. 

This was something out of a terrible bad trip, a nightmare, a horror movie. Is this a scene from a sci-fi film? Your eyes are shaking in their sockets, unable to focus on anything. 

Sure, you broke the rules. Sure, you should be punished for it or be fined a sum of money. But, wasn’t this a little extreme? What were they going to do? Torture you?  Was the policy for breaking the rules to probe you? With a hard swallow, you honestly hope that’s a solid no. 

“Hi there, little crumb.” Comes the awful, nails on a chalkboard, screeching sound of the stout tour guide flutters in somewhere above you. No! You plead to no one in your head. No please don’t kill me! I haven’t even eaten anything from the garden yet!

Your heart is beating, drumming, pounding at the shackles of your sternum to bust free from your chest. Her sweaty, orange meaty fingers come out of nowhere to twist your face toward her. A twisted smirk forms on her scaly lips, her white eyebrows rising to her wide forehead to reveal her pinked gums and dilated eyes beaming, honing in on you. Her yellow, laser-like eyes lock together with yours, which enlarge in fear. 

“You think you are special, huh?” She laughs, throwing her head back and maniacally cackling. “You think just because the young master has chosen you of all people to be his new taste-tester you think you are something else?” 

“We are going to have so much fun,” she lifts a pumpkin carving knife up to your neck, “together.” She hisses, leaning in, and you nearly taste the bile, the vomit rising in your esophagus while you can’t form a single clear thought as you watch her press the shiny blade to your throat further. Your breathing hitches as she sneers, leaning in closer to practically spit on you. “I’ve loved him for years, since he had dreams to build the garden and you think that YOU,” you wince when you feel the stinging slice of the blade a trickle of blood runs down from your skin and onto the blade. “YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TAKE HIM FROM ME?”

You are going to die. You are going to die. You are going to be murdered in cold blood by this woman who knows nothing about you. She’s going to kill you and probably play jump-rope in your intestines. 

“Hello, little lady.” A cheerful voice filters in from behind the orange lady, snapping you out of your swirling, disintegrating thoughts of your impending peril and doom. “And goodbye Fritz.” 

Before the round woman could even think to turn around, your vision, that was once white and sterile, is painted in bright sticky red. 

Blood to be exact. 

It drips from the giant blue lollipop-shaped into a knife protruding from the orange chest of the orange tour guide. Red particles splatter upon your body, painting you in the warm, maroon color of her life force that someone is robbing from her. Her eyes roll back into her skull, removing the carving knife from your throat as she spits a lump of clotted blood out of her dry, cracked lips. 

Your lips part in shock, eyes continuing to stay as wide as dinner plates as you watch the lady before you crumple in on herself and slump to the ground in a heap of orange, red, and green. 

A man in silkened purple suit, with a shit-eating grin curving his lips and whose white gloves were speckled and smeared pink from the blood of his staff, was clapping enthusiastically. The sound fills the once sterile room, the noise jarring and ear-splitting as you recoil slightly every time his covered palm connects to the other. 

Why is he clapping? He beams as he steps over her dead, lifeless body as yours tenses up. And who the fuck is he?

You remember where you are and why you were here in the first place and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

He’s… oh my God...

The young CEO of the Hope World Factory: Jung Hoseok. 

He is handsome, there’s no doubt about that. His chestnut-colored hair is barely visible due to the matching violet top hat that covers his head. Amber eyes that sparkle with mischief under the bright spotlight of the medical looking room. You can’t help but drink him in as he starts to loom over you. His slender nose sculpts into a soft-looking smirk, that's curved into a tender smile, shines gently down around you laid out on the cold metal bed. His grin really is magnetic because you are completely captivated by this man who looms lower and lower over you, until you can smell the sweet aroma wafting in around him. 

Enthralled, enchanted, mesmerized… This man has a spell over you and you can't look away. 

But you have to ask, “Are you going to kill me?” 

He blinks at you in disbelief, smile falling only for a moment before he starts scream-laughing. 

“What?” He chuckles as he clutches his sides, cackling himself into stitches. “Oh, no no no, little crumb!” His nostrils flare, honey-colored eyes dilating. “You know who I am, yes? You’ve put two and two together?” 

You nod, with a weak ‘yes’ leaving your mouth. 

“Then you know I’m the infamous candy man, Jung Hoseok.” He sneers, slamming his stained bloody gloves on either side of you on the metal table. “I’m solely going to play with you, little crumb.”

A gasp leaves your lips as you register his words in your head.

You struggle in the shackles, trying to retreat away from the man sneering down at you with mirth. He cocks his head to the side, the bright light being blocked from the man practically climbing on top of you. “Do you know what my main ingredient is here at the Hope World Factory?” His voice drops an octave and his playful eyes cloud over with something dark. 

You swivel your head back and forth in a no.

Hoseok slams his hand down next to your head, nabbing your attention in full force. “Speak when spoken to, pet.”

“N-No.” You whisper, a tear leaves one of your eyes, sliding out of your socket, dripping onto the cold table. 

“Very good.” He caresses your face with the back of his pinkened-color glove. With a menacing and misplaced smirk, Hoseok dips down to your neck where the tour guide shallowly cut you. You whimper with trembling lips, closing your eyes moving your face away from him, which only reveals the pulse point of your neck to him more. “Oh, very good.” You hear him inhale before the warm flat of his tongue laps the trickle of blood that streams out from your flesh. 

Did he just… drink your blood?

Hoseok stands then, lips swollen and colored with your blood, grinning like a wild, maniac above you. “Oh, you’ll do just nicely.”

“F-for-r wh-what?” You shake, tied to the table you are straining, desperate to get out of. 

He raises his hands above you, eyes dark with no sparkle left in them. “I drained my last taste tester, broke her, some would say. But, oh you,” he cups your face leaning in to grin at you with his pearly whites coated in your blood, “you just need to lay here and look pretty while your blood is our secret ingredient for all things sweet in the Hope World Factory.” He shrieks, laughing like an insane person as he cups your face in his sticky palms. “Isn’t that great?” 

Your heart breaks as you silently beg for a quick and easy death like the lady on the ground. This was not what you had in mind for your Valentine's Day, as well as the rest of your life.

“You can’t keep me here.” You whisper, but it sounds like you are begging him more at this point than anything. 

He ignores you and starts humming that dreadfully eerie song from earlier as he leans back over to trap your wounds in between his lips again. “The candy man can.” He hums into your skin, his tongue swirling all over your poor neck. “Because he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good.�� 

———

[likerealpeopledo-on-ao3]

35. An awkward kiss given after a first date; D/P (this one is evil, I'm sorry)

We have a GUEST answer to this ask. Distractivate wrote this glorious little nugget of a ficlet and since she doesn’t tumble, I’ll tumble for her.

Patrick flattens the front of his blazer as he stands up. Since there’s no longer a table between them, there’s nothing stopping him from just kissing David now. If he doesn’t do it now, he never will. Well not now now. They’re still in the café and that’s not. That’s not. That’s not how this should go. Not in front of the reverend and Twyla. But like, a general now would be good. Like in the next two minutes now.

“Drive me home?” David asks with a half-smile and a half-raised brow, because David was never taught not to ask for things. Patrick’s neck and palms get a little hot from that, the way they always do when he realizes he’s someone David wants to ask for things.

“Yes. Yeah. Sure.” That’s good. That gives him a ten- to fifteen-minute extension on now.

If he doesn’t do it now, he never will. The thought presses at his brain and itches down the lengths of his fingers. He could reach for David now, on the step of the café, and make this happen for them. He wants to. God does he ever want to.

He doesn’t.

So then. Against the car maybe? He washed it today, but still. David won’t be able to tell in the dark, and then he might spend their first kiss thinking about getting road dust on his sweater. And Patrick is going for a kiss that obliterates all thoughts, so that won’t do.

Maybe he should just ask. Just put a hand on David’s arm, and turn him slowly so they’re facing each other, and ask, smooth and low. When he wanted to kiss Rachel for the first time, he asked her first, because that’s what his dad said he did with his mom. Rachel liked it. She smiled and kissed him first instead. That was nice. A relief. He fell asleep that night satisfied.

Relief isn’t quite what he’s going for here either. He’s hoping that one kiss is going to make him want a lot more. He feels like his feet are set against the blocks at a starting line, waiting for the gun to go off so his life can finally start. He just doesn’t know how to pull the trigger.

When they reach the car, he really has to do it or he never will. He follows David to the passenger side, slides his key in the lock, and opens the door enough before he leans in to kiss him that it ruins everything. The kiss lands just left of center on David’s mouth as he’s dropping down to step into the car.

“I didn’t—”

“I’m sorry, I—”

They start together and stop together, both laughing nervously. Patrick feels the warmth of anticipation flare up into the heat of embarrassment.

“I’ll take you home,” he mumbles.

“Hey. Patrick—”

Patrick just shakes his head and goes around the back of the car.

The drive is quiet. Too quiet. Patrick sighs out the breath he’s been holding and it sounds like a gale force wind blowing through the car.

“Yeah so. I’ve never done that before… with a guy.” Patrick hazards a glance at David when he gets to the stop sign. David’s mouth is so soft. He knows that empirically now even though he can’t see it. It’s a soft, quiet curve hidden in the blue shadows. Patrick clears his throat. “Yeah. And uh… None of this was how I planned it.”

“Mmm.” He can hear David’s pinched smile in the hum. “Let me guess. You planned to near-miss on the other side.”

Patrick feels, feels the tension drain from his shoulders. The games he can play; it’s the serious stuff he’s still figuring out. “It’s really your better side, I’ve always thought.”

“You’re not wrong,” David says. The lights of the motel bathe his gentle smile in a soft yellow glow as they park.

“I should have…” Patrick tries to breathe, tries to think of what he would do if he wasn’t so scared of not doing it. “I should have waited until we got here. Said something charming. L-looked at you first, just long enough so you knew what was coming.”

David shrugs. “We could try again tomorrow. I could meet you for dinner. I’ll leave my hordes of friends at home this time.” David starts painting the picture of their do-over with his hands as he talks, his rings catching the lights. “We’ll order dinner. And it’s not technically my birthday, but you could give me another gift if you want, so the whole evening has that same sense of… certainty.” One of David’s cheeks tightens from the press of his tongue, like he can keep going, keep pushing it.

“That’s very generous of you.” Patrick says it with enough bite so David knows he means it.

He can see the do-over. His brain scrambles up some kind of Groundhog Day-esque long game with awkward dinner invites and vegetable spritzing and mozzarella sticks and Stevie dropping by. Stevie would show up if he asked her, if he explained the plan.

David nods a few times, glancing away and then back, and for a minute they just smile at each other, careful closed smiles brimming with tomorrow’s possibilities.

“I’m a very generous person,” he continues carefully. “I’m not generally a very patient person, though.” And then he’s crossing the foot of space between them. When David kisses him, there’s no relief to it, not in the broad plane of his palm, not in the briefest double-check with his eyes, not in the slightest smile that presses against Patrick’s mouth. Every touch, every breath, makes Patrick want more, again, always until he can’t think about what’s next at all, lost in the heady bliss of now.

[biiscione]

@ofbookshelves​​ suggests  :   a  drabble  about  Vittonio  in  Red’s  point  of  view DRABBLE MEME  /  accepting

           “Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” No matter how lowly she whispered, it seemed her voice echoed off every surface ( all of which were made of carrara marble ), possibly alerting any prowling guards of their presence. Vittonio seemingly ignores her worry and, while that may frustrate her, she assumes he’s too busy trying to find a way for them to enter the archives without triggering any alarms. Following closely behind, she can spell the determination upon his features when he turns to check, presumably, if she’s still there. Dark, low brows creased together with resoluteness            she smiles as he wrinkles his angular nose, broken so many times its shape has changed. Well, at least, that’s what he’s told her. It’s a bit odd, really, that she’s never seen a picture of him before the broken nose and scarred eyebrow . . . only images of him as a toddler, and even then, she just happened to stumble upon them. Questioning it seemed futile and it seemed the pair was content to live in the togetherness of their now instead of their separate pasts.             Before she knows it, they’re at a crossroads, flanked by mighty statues cloaked in white cotton. They create terrifying shadows from the backlight made by the very modern emergency lights well hidden by the ancient marble walls. She wants to peak under them but dust, above all, deters her from lifting the white shrouds and revealing the hidden marble forms underneath. Mindfully, she steps past Vittonio and into the center of the shelves. She turns back to watch him, squinty - eyed as he, presumably, reads the bronze numbers along the massive shelving. It was all SO MUCH            centuries of western history were stacked on the shelves in this warehouse - type chamber, such a shame that it seemed to collect dust. Red wants to enter one of those bronze - numbered aisles and devour its wealth of knowledge; she attempts to make her way down the rightmost aisle though a calloused hand curtly yet gently grips her arm.           “No. This way.”           She sighs. Oh, rightmost aisle flanked by marble statues, she will have to explore your shelves another day.           They head down the least lit aisle, most ideal for sneaking but not as pleasant and bright as the aisle of white, cotton - covered marble. This one is flanked by newer artifacts, still draped in cotton, with bronze limbs peeking from underneath them.             “They are Baroque           ” Vittonio comments in English with no provocation, back still turned to her.             She smiles            he had been paying attention after all.             “Oh            and the other ones?”             “Baroque             ma, no, del Rinascimento.” Omitting a hum, she is content with the answer that is different from her presumptions. He could be lying to her but it wasn’t like him. As silly and NAIVE as it may sound, their year - long marriage had taught her that while he was dramatic, he never did lie about anything big or small. Embellishments were the closest thing and even then, he made sure she knew the full and true story at the end of it.

          “Rinascimento            Il Rinascimento            ” She repeats to herself, letting the word melt itself into her mind. Her Italian had gotten good, REALLY GOOD, and she was grateful to Vittonio for his tangential ramblings in half-English and half-Italian because that’s how she learned best. She just wished he’d speak it a bit more with her. Maybe he’s afraid of losing his English ( but that seemed unlikely ).           THUD. Her cheek slams into his back and she winces. Ow. Looking up, he’s facing her, dark brows sewn together with worry.       “Are you okay, mogliettina?”       “Yeah,” she manages in a laugh, playfully punching his chest. “Why’d we stop?”       He doesn’t say anything and instead, turns back around. She furrows her brows. Now she was getting worried. Standing on her tiptoes, she tries to peer around his wide shoulders as he fiddles with something. Was it a doorknob? WAS HE PICKING IT? Flanking him, she gets a better view of what he was doing. One would think a prestigious Christian institution            especially one that was the center of Christendom in the West            would have up-to-date security. Red eyes Vitt’s fingers, he wasn’t picking the lock, he had a key. CLICK             and the door creaks open.         Oh? Her hazel eyes lead their gaze up Vitt’s arms to his shoulders, up his neck and to his smiling face, and smile back. Of course he had a key. She continues to watch him as he bends at the waist, extending an arm out to usher her into the dark room.         “After you.”         “Vitt, are you sure?”         He nods and she meekly obliges. Holding her breath, she passes the threshold from bronze dusk into the lowlit darkness. Suddenly, the door behind them closes and they are immersed in pitch black silence. She gasps, hazel eyes frantically searching the darkness. Her anxiety is eased only when she feels Vitt press his chest to her back, their heartbeats synchronizing with three deep breaths. A flicker of a switch and she’s blinded by light.         “God         Vitt.” She curses under her breath, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness. She feels him peer over her but doesn’t attempt to make eye contact. Instead, she opts for a playful jab to the ribs. Only is she satisfied when he lets out a puff of air, something that could mimic laughter, and finally turns around to face him.       “You know I like history and hearing you talk about history,” she begins gently, “but this seems a bit too daring.”       “And firework-gazing above the Pantheon and cuddling in Roman ruins wasn’t?” Fair . . . fair . . . But breaking into the Vatican museums’ archives seemed to be pressing against the threshold between juvenile trespassing and some serious jail time. Those Swiss guards were kinda scary too.       “No but seriously Vitt . . .”       “Dai, dai, dai . . . I will show you one thing and then we leave.” She concedes tenderly with a shrug and he thanks her with a kiss to the top of the head.       Red steps away as she feels him relinquish his embrace, assuming his position in front of her and leading her down the smaller, more densely packed aisles of this smaller room. She wishes he would tell her what he’s looking for, so they could find it quicker and get the hell out of there. But she’s grateful, noticing Vittonio’s quickened pace in searching for            WHATEVER            he was searching for. Her eyes begin to mindlessly wander the tall shelves. What secrets did these shelves hold? There were so many and yet so little time. She gasps as her husband presses an oddly labeled brown laminate box into her arms.       “Wha          what is it?”       “Let us take it over here,” an outstretched arm indicates a space opposite the aisle they stood, “and you’ll see.”       She does not wait to follow him and makes her way to a pair of elongated tables. Whatever was in the box, it was ridiculously heavy. Setting down the box, she takes the cotton gloves Vitt finds at the center of the table and begins to put them on. She watches her husband, gloved hands lifting the lid to reveal tissue - like cotton. Impatience tickles the soles of her feet          what did Vitt want to show her so badly. He peels back the fabric to reveal a large book, bound in crimson - dyed leather with stamped borders that were painted in gold. Gloved hands lift it and she is almost tempted to assist him, but is resolved to keep her own gloved hands pressed to her stomach.         “Do you like it?”         “It’s beautiful         but what is it?”         “The lineage of my father’s ancestors,” before she questions further, Vitt slowly begins his tale.         “His ancestors from the 18th century sold it to the Church as tithe and here it remains. It details the Talevi Family whose wealth came from spinning, dying, and selling wool in Genoa and how they managed to end up in Sicily,” he delicately flips open the cover and passes portrait after portrait of late 15th Century Talevi patriarchs. She wants to stop him but doesn’t. Time seemed to be of the essence. He pauses on a portrait of a young woman, clad in a gown of muted pink silk, her dark curls piled into two hornets which are strung together with pearls, and a pile of jeweled necklaces rest atop her low cleavage. Red moves her gaze patiently between the chalk-drawn portrait and Vitt, smiling at the realization. They had the same nose and eyes. “Now she . . . . she commanded the Talevi trade for EIGHTY years             ” Red follows his gloved finger as he reads the Latin under her portrait. “From 1536 to 1617. Unfortunately, she had no sons so it all went to her eldest son-in-law . . . BUT I would also like to point out this,” she watches as a gloved finger hovers over the woman’s hand upon her lap.         “She’s wearing lots of rings.” Three to be exact, one on her index, another on her ring, and the last, on her pinky, each all gold encrusted with a variety of jewels. She looks up at Vitt who is squinting to take a closer look at the rings with her.         “What do you think that is             Emerald?” He asks wryly.       “I guess               ?” Red leans further in. Well, it is green. She feels Vitt shift next to her but pays little attention. Busy is she, attempting to decipher the Latin written on the page adjacent to the portrait. She wants to know everything about this ancient woman who looked every bit like her husband. Red shifts to inquire about the inscription in the portrait itself but spots Vittonio standing oddly and bit far away. Her brows furrow.       “Do you think that ring looks like this?”       She takes the offering instinctively as it is handed to her, not questioning the how or why it was in his possession. Oh, it was a pretty gold ring . . . with an emerald. Red takes a double take.       “Wait             stop. It isn’t.” Hazel hues frantically dance between the ring and the portrait.       “It is. Well, the gem is. I had a new band cast because I didn’t think you’d want to wear gold-plated lead.”       She laughs nervously then looks at him quizzically.       “No. Vitt             where’d you get it?” Grave - digging sounds horrible but she didn’t put it past him, and if that was true, well, she’d have to unfortunately decline.       “I bought it from my father. It wasn’t as if he was going to give it to his new bride . . . And since I didn’t have the rights to give you my mother’s ring            I wanted you to have something special.” He’s nervous, she can tell by all his shrugging and the rosy shade kissing the apples of his cheeks.       “May I?”     Speechless, she watches as he removes his gloves and gently takes the ring from her fingers, setting it atop the table. Red overwhelmingly obliges as he pulls her own gloves off tenderly, finger by finger, and sets them aside. Tears well up, heavily weighing down her bottom lids. No matter how much he touted his callousness and crudeness and indifference to the cruelty of the world, she knew he was always so tender-hearted and, dare she say, compassionate below that rough exterior. She laughs back her tears as he smiles, pulling off the wedding ring they had chosen. It had matched his band so, indeed, she was determined to keep it. And she presumes he knows that, watching as he sticks the old ring into his pocket. Now, for the moment of truth. With great diligence and care does Vitt shimmy the emerald ring onto her left ring finger and when he's finished, places a tender kiss to her knuckles.         “Do you like it?”         A fervent shaking of her head before she wraps her arms around him says ‘Yes’. She buries her face into his chest. His arms hold her tightly against him, tears being soaked into his shirt. She could stay there for hours but, unfortunately, time didn’t allow for it.         “Oh god, why do you do this to me . . . What time is it?” Red sniffles, wiping her nose on Vitt’s sleeve as punishment for making her cry. His laugh is a happy reassurance before watching his demeanor change swiftly.         “It’s six in the morning.”         “What does that mean?”         “The head curator will arrive in thirty minutes.”         Red glances around her, in what she thinks is hastily, and back down to where the portrait once was. Oh, Vitt had already packed the book away and made his way to the shelf it rested on. She would have liked to see her one last time. Her melancholy doesn’t last long as she arranges everything as it was before their trespassing and meets Vitt at the entrance to the smaller room. She tugs him as she notices him reaching for the lightswitch. Oh, just one more glance back before they leave.         “Vitt…”         “Yes?”         “I love you.”         “Ti amo tanto.”         CLICK. darkness.

[brideylee]

Anti- Fan Fiction: James Woods and Robert Blake at Dan Tana’s

           The air inside is hot, full of dust, and too many rotting mouths had ordered the lasagna. James Woods sits in his corner booth at Dan Tana’s in the main room with his eyes on the bar full of shouting men in suits. Some are West Hollywood slick fratties  and others more smelly and introspective in itchy tweed from the land of 70s character actor city. Squeezed in between these men taking up more space than needed with either their narcissistic sadness or their loud, cologned  bravado are some young women desperately trying to enjoy a martini at the historic restaurant, but instead are resigned to hear a bald someones life story and feeling many passing hands needlessly touch their bare backs as men hover and spill around them.

          Woods watches disgustedly, he watches everything disgustedly: babies being born, the sunrise, an elderly woman saying “Hello, Deary”. It all makes him sick. His belly protrudes forward as he holds back a sudden burp and he releases some air through his famously skeezy lips as though exhaling cigarette smoke. He is repulsively sexy in his stony confidence. He checks his watch and decides to complain about something. Dead eyed with his arm stretched out, he points at a maitre de who is pushing 90 and is only meant to be looked at by tourists as a part of the ambiance. The command of Woods pointing hypnotizes the ancient man and he walks over in submission thinking this could hopefully be death itself beckoning him home. 

            Woods gives him his iconic half smile, where one side of his mouth stays in place while the other curls up his cheek as though being lifted by a fish hook, his head tips forward and his round dark eyes look up at him like an alcoholic father who “doesn’t want to have to discipline.” “Hey sarge, the bread is a little chewy, mind popping it in the microwave or something. I could break my teeth on it. And heat the butter up. It’s fresh, its just not soft.” Woods gets bored with himself half way through his criticism and winks at a woman at the bar whose glance regrettably fell on him. The maitre de with no capacity left to hear, nods and takes the bread away, disappointed to still be breathing. 

Woods spots Tim Allen alone in a four person booth holding up a plate to his face, licking it feverishly. They lock eyes and give each other big, knowing smirks, like two people who both know where the body is.  Allen gleefully goes back to lapping up the rest of the marinara, grease all over his chin, his napkin bib coming into good use. “Funniest man in America” Woods thinks to himself before being distracted by some plastic cleavage walking by.

           Suddenly, the air in the restaurant cools as the door wafts open and a small shadowy figure enters with the silhouette of a miniature cowboy.  “Finally.” James Woods says as Robert Blake plops down across from him “Are we angry?” Blake says defiantly with his headed tilted back, his lids hanging low and heavy across his beetle eyes. “There is this thing called time, Robert. I’ve been waiting here an hour.” Blake laughs with a childish grin crossing his face, and somehow in the smooth red lighting of Tana's, he looks twenty years younger, though still disturbingly gaunt, and getting more pale by the minute like a man whose only sustenance is the unease he inspires. He’s wearing a black velvet cowboy hat that looks too big for him, making him along with his small stature appear like an elderly child. “Time!” Blake regales with impish laughter as though hearing an old joke he hasn’t heard out loud in years. Woods stews, his eye twitches and he chews on the inside of his mouth.  Blake’s laugher continues, even Tim Allen interrupts his slurping to peak at where this sinister chortling is coming from. 

              After a few minutes, Blake calms down and stares at Woods lovingly. “You were always funnier than me, Woods. Never give that up, you can fall back on it.” Blake was full of these little jabs, always insinuating that Woods acting career never amounted to anything. Rehearsing a hurtful father son dynamic was one of the only ways these men could show their love. “How’s the old lady?” Blake is referring to Woods’ twenty-two year old girlfriend. “Driving me nuts,” says Woods gazing off, then he leans in towards Robert. “In all the right ways.” He winks at Robert. “Pet a pussy cat on the head too much, and they go bald.” Blake warns. Woods blinks, confused. He had a love-hate relationship with Blakes morsels of wisdom. On one hand it’s why he enjoyed his company so much, on the other hand, Blake had a way of making him question everything, particularly Blake’s sanity.  Woods decides to change the subject. 

“Some shrimp cocktail I ordered us an hour ago. They might be too dead to eat.” He slides an ornate glass rimmed with withered shrimp in front of Blake. All the ice inside the glass is melted and the shrimp look like they know how pathetic their fate is. Blake knocks all the shrimp off the edge of the glass towards the center and gulps them down like he’s taking a shot of vodka before going bear hunting. 

“So, what do you make of this 'Covid 19'” Woods puts Covid 19 in air quotes and his head bobbles with cocky indifference. “It’ll go away.” Blake states between sips of the shrimp water. “Everything goes away, James.” Blake studies the menu. “Not quite Vitello's…” James didn’t want to get into a Dan Tana's versus Vitellos fight tonight. For one, Blake hadn’t been there in decades since he took his wife there before having her killed and more than that Blake was just biased because Dan Tana's never named a pasta after him. Woods lets it slide, he understands the irrelevancy Blake feels to the modern world and the pain of being pushed farther and father back inside Hollywoods skeleton closet. 

         Yet, although Woods sees Blake as an oracle, his secret virus fears remain. There is a social distancing trend hyped in the media and a possible impending lock down for Los Angeles; a city full of the most insecure egos on the planet. A city that needed to love, use, and discard people so regularly that the notion of a lockdown seemed to go against its code of conduct. Furthermore,  Woods cant stand being in his house with his girlfriend for more than three hours, two if there was no oral sex involved, but even worse is the idea of being alone.

His anxiety is spiking as Blake with half glasses on seemed completely engrossed in the menu, ignoring him just like his old man. Woods dips into the pocket of his blazer and dabs his pinkie into a tiny bag of coke, neatly putting it away and rubbing the gums of his front teeth expertly discreet. Blake raises his eye brows. “They’ve got a chicken named after Sidney Beckerman. Did you know him?” Woods shakes his head, and gestures to a waiter to bring more water with an agro snottiness only he could pull off. “He produced Kelly’s Heroes. Good guy, but I never liked him.” Blake starts singing “Que Sera Sera” by Doris Day under his breath, while perusing the menu like it’s a gun catalogue.

Woods patience runs out, he blows a  long grey hair out of his eyes and grabs the menu from Blake. He smacks a passing waiter on the back with the menu. “We’re  gonna split a plain cheese pizza with a side of spaghetti, and two Roy Rogers. And lots of grenadine for this one right here.” Blake smiles like a school boy brat, pleased.

            “So listen, have you been following it at all?” “Following what?” Blake says with a gentle, Warhol deadpan. “The virus horse shit… Robert, they’re saying that we all need to go into isolation. That it’s airborne.” Blake whips the red napkin into his lap. “Get a hold of yourself. Will you? Fear is airborne. Do you know how many motherfuckers, here, still believe in Lincoln?” Blakes shifts were dramatic. Sometimes, he felt like you were talking to a screwy relative of Yoda and other times he had the grit of a  dried up cowboy that had made love with Joe Pesci. 

“FUCK YOU! NO!” The volume of Tim Allen shouting into his Motorolla razor silenced the place for a good twenty-seconds.  “500 million dollars in CASH or you can take your Santa Clause 6 and…make Santa Clause piss!!” The manager started a clap to diffuse any tension. After a smattering of applause, the place went back to normal. “Can I get a big brownie?” Tim Allen screams towards the kitchen like a kid at his grandparents house.

         Their Roy Rogers are placed on the table. Woods is sweating as the coke is hitting, and he can feel his phone vibrate with texts from his often pilled out girlfriend. Texts like “Can you remind me where the refrigerator is?”

  Blake raises his glass, admiring the red flesh of the maraschino cherry and the slow dance of the grenadine syrup descending towards the bottom, surrendering to him like a wounded lover. “Cheers! May we remember to lock the doors and make the baby swallow the key.” They clink glasses. Blake does a long exaggerated gasp of refreshment, his tongue  wagging out of his mouth for a long time. 

            “Woods, what do you think it was that got in the way of your success?” Triggered and high, Woods replies, coke speed with spit collecting at the corners of his mouth.  “Well, I think it was a lot of things. Particularly, that I am a man who values his freedom of speech and I don’t like my rights trampled on by so called “progressives” and  you know I thought I was pretty good in Ray Donovan, but I really wasn’t given much of a script, but, ah, fuck.” He wipes his forehead and collects himself. “Blake. I have a serious question.” They stare at each other. Blake has a gravelly distance between his soul and his eyes, but something in Woods reaches him. Their cheese pizza and spaghetti ruptures the eye contact, but Woods can’t give up.

“Say there is a lock down, and this virus is serious. I can’t be alone with the kiddo for that long, you know what I mean? I need a friend. Someone I can pal around with. Someone that gets it. Man to man. Blake, do you think we can live together? Either at the Ranch in Burbank or my place, wherever you feel the most like you can be you.” Woods heart is racing, this is the most vulnerable he’s felt since since the scene in The Virgin Suicides after his daughters die. 

         Blake stares at him coldly and takes a bite of pizza. “This virus frightens you.” Woods frustratedly digs into the pizza, his heart; a little more vacant, and confused. “Don’t worry.” Blake reaches into his pocket and takes out a vile of clear liquid and places it next to the spaghetti. “I got a cure for that.” Woods examines it. “Is this-“ “A vaccine” Blake says satisfied. “One sip and everything goes away.” 

       “CHANGE OF PANTS? PLEASE, CAN I GET A CHANGE OF PANTS” Tim Allen roars with a lap full of chocolate brownie. His face and khaki pants are covered in chocolate.  But Woods stays transfixed on the vile. “Where the hell did you?…” “We had to make vaccines during breaks on Little Rascals. Bastards always put us to work any way they could. Learned a thing or two though and this one is special… everything goes away. “Have you used it?” Woods asks, his head cocked to the side, watching the liquid float like the clear lip gloss his girlfriend….Kelly? Katy? wears.  “Used it plenty of times. Plenty of times.” Says Blake with the resigned faith of a Southern preacher.

          “Well, even so, if there’s a lock down, can I bunk with you? Forgive me, you’re single now, right?” “I’m dating,  but nothing to write home about," the eighty-six year old answers. Woods looks up from the vile, expectantly. “Listen, kid. My space is sacred. It’s between me and God. I don’t know if you think I can get you a bit part in something or…” “No, I just would like your company that’s all.” Woods assures him. “A man who can’t sleep alone, sleeps while awake. Take the vaccine. You’ll be free.” Woods leans back. Blake  always cuts him open and leaves him smelling like the chicken broth that seemed to emanate from Blakes pores. But that’s often the medicine Woods needs. He uncorks the vile, holds it up dramatically,“Salud!”

            Allen is standing in his boxers by his booth with his arms crossed waiting for the waiters to bring him pants while Woods finishes the last drop. The blood red walls moist from poor insulation seem to pulse around Woods as Blake stares at him. “Hows it feel?” “Like…uh..like nothing. I mean… like it was water, a placebo?” Blake giggles shaking his head. 

           Pants-less Tim Allen walks over to their table. “Hey Robert! I haven’t seen you in ages!” They high five. “You know me, keepin’ busy back at home.” Allen turns to Woods, “How ya doing, bud?” and then turn backs to Blake. “You know you’d be perfect for the next Santa Clause movie. You haven’t been in any of them yet, right? “Not yet!” “Well, right on,Cowboy!” Allen and Blake high five again. Woods gets dizzy and starts blinking slowly trying to steady himself. Perhaps taking a vaccine manufactured by Robert Blake was not smart, he didn’t know for sure. He barely knew anything. “Woods, isn’t it time we scroll through our imdb pages?” Blake baits him with their tradition. Woods nods and types his name into his phone. “I love this game! Can I play?” Tim sits down. 

           Woods can’t focus his eyes very well, but he has typed his name into imdb four times and nothing is coming up. Tim Allen can’t help  himself “Ok, so this is a show I was on where I played like a handy man…” His mouth hangs open as he excitedly awaits  the men to guess what show. “Garfield.” answers Blake without sarcasm. “It’s not working….” Woods interrupts. “Whats with your friend?” Tim Allen asks annoyed. Blakes eyes don’t leave Woods who is squinting at his phone. “Ok, I’m a dad and a handyman…” “My credits are all gone.” James’s voice seems to morph an octave lower the walls seem to run into the leather booths and booths seem to melt  into the floors and drip into the basement where a drunk couple are fucking among cans of tomato sauce.

Woods psyche seeps further into the earths crust, mantle and then core where he watches his entire identity burned in the furnace of mother earths blazing kiln. Alone with himself. To Allen and Blake, his body sitting at the booth looks like a prosthetic suite empty of an actor inside. “The vaccine works.” Blake thinks to himself sipping his pink drink through a straw. Allen whips his head from Woods to Blake and in his classic broad Tim Allen way says “Uhh, am I missing something???”

[golbrocklovely]

twisted // colby brock - chapter four

A/N: i’m excited for you all to read this chapter. things are starting to change and get a bit creepy for our lovely characters. hopefully you like this story and this chapter. please let me know what you think. i might be posting something else later today if i get the chance to write it. alrighty, see you guys later :)

description of the story

taglist: @absolute-randomness-forever , @far-to-many-bands

trigger warning: cursing

word count: 2130

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I slowly stirred from my sleep, my body waking up before my mind. I can hear three loud knocks coming from my hotel door. I sat up, looking down at my pillow, realizing very quickly it was not a pillow.

It was Colby. Shirtless.

When did he take his shirt off?

The three knocks came again. I groaned softly, rubbing my eyes as I shimmied out of my bed. I stumbled over to my door, unlocking it and opening it somewhat widely.

“Good morning!” Smitty smiled brightly.

I shook my head, surprised. “Oh, hello. Good morning to you, Smitty.”

“I just wanted to let you know that breakfast has been made. Do you want me to go tell Sam and Co-” His voice cuts, his eyes staring behind me.

I cocked my head to the side, glancing over my shoulder quickly. Colby’s body had moved around on my bed, his naked back now turned to us.

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I turned back to Smitty. The embarrassment faded immediately by the look he was giving Colby. His face was cold, the smile he had once had was gone. Frown lines had settled into the corners of his mouth. His eyebrows were low, darkening his eyes.

“I-is everything alright?” I mumbled, barely being able to look at him.

He cleared his throat, suddenly his face relaxing. He still seemed upset, only masking it. “I’m fine. Tell your friends breakfast is ready. Deb is here too.”

He abruptly left, leaving me stunned.

What the fuck just happened?

I exhaled, not even noticing I was holding my breath in the first place. I quietly closed the door, locking it instantly.

I walked over to Colby’s sleeping figure. I got back into bed, my face close to his.

“Colby?” I whispered.

His nose twitched as he let out a sigh. A groan left his mouth, signaling he wasn’t asleep anymore.

“Breakfast is ready. I’m gonna go wake up Sam.” I spoke lowly.

His head moved slightly, sort of nodding. “…mykey… ison table.”

I smiled softly, looking over Colby to see his key on my nightstand. I got and grabbed it, leaving my room quickly and walking over to Sam’s.

I knocked, hearing no movement from inside. I slid the key in the hole and turned, opening the door and walking in.

Sam sat on their bed, headphones on. Most likely, he was editing. He turned his head to me, his eyebrows raising. “Hey Angel.”

“How are you already awake?” I chuckled, sitting down on the bed.

He shrugged. “I’m always the first one up. Colby usually sleeps in when we go places. Why are you awake?”

“Smitty knocked on my door and told me breakfast is ready. Apparently, Deb is here too.” I stated.

“Cool. I’ll be down in a minute. Just trying to finish up this last cut.” Sam replied, pointing to his laptop.

“Editing first thing in the morning?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “All in a day’s work.” I got up and started to leave. “Oh wait, Angel?”

As a reached the door, I opened it. I turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“Is Colby in your room?” He questioned.

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Did he sleep there last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you two-”

“No, Sam. We didn’t fuck.”

“I was gonna say slept in the same bed. Where’s your head at?” He inquired, shaking his head.

I rolled my eyes and raised my middle finger up at him. He smirked and looked back at his laptop. “Hey Colby.”

I jutted around to find Colby standing next to me, rubbing his eyes with one hand while his other hand held his shirt. “Sup bro…”

“I’m gonna go get changed. Meet you guys at breakfast.” I said, looking down at the floor and leaving quickly.

~ /  / ~

Sam and Colby had decided to leave immediately after breakfast. They wanted to do one last XPLR trip before we left this town. Apparently there had been some abandon mall not too far from town that they wanted to see if they could get into.

I believed they just wanted to get out of here after the awkwardness that was breakfast.

Deb did most of the talking, Smitty only saying all of two words to any of us. He seemed cold towards all of us. I don’t understand why he would have been.

Maybe he just wants us to leave…

As I laid in my bed, I pulled out my camera. I realized I hadn’t filmed this whole trip and needed to make some content while the boys were out.

“Hey, what’s up you guys. Angel here. As you can tell I’m not in my apartment. I’m actually on an XPLR trip with Sam and Colby. We are up in Washington in a small town. And we’re staying at, get this, a haunted bed and breakfast. I think we have finally lost it.” I laughed.

I stood up from my bed, slowly walking around my room. “Let me give you a tour of my room. There’s this really pretty bay window, which I wished I had used more. A little vanity and a dresser. And a little chair in the corner. Now, the bed is pretty sick. It is so comfy and honestly makes me want to sleep all day.”

I jumped onto my bed, giggling as I did. “Oh, I also have this really cool ceiling fan.”

I pointed my camera up at the ceiling. As my camera focused I on it, a red dot flashed.

What is that?

The flashing dot was coming from inside a grate above the fan. I zoomed my camera in, trying to see what it was. I couldn’t tell.

I cleared my throat. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what that is, but, let me go show you guys Sam and Colby’s room. You’re gonna get a kick out of it.”

I smiled at my camera and left my room. I pulled Colby’s key from my pocket and opened their door.

“Now this… is the lovers suite.” I smirked, turning the camera towards their room.

The walls were pink, and all the furnishing in the room was a dark, sexy red. They had a same set up as my room. The difference is they had their own personal bathroom; which was also red themed.

“This really does not help the Solby rumors.” I cackled.

I ran and jumped onto the heart-shaped bed. It was a lot firmer than mine, making me groan when I landed on it.

“Oh my God, how are you supposed to have sex on this if it feels like a futon?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

I glanced up at the ceiling fan, seeing the same vent as before. I slowly zoomed my camera in, seeing the flashing dot too.

“What… the fuck is that?” I mumbled.

I turned off my camera and stood up on the bed. The ceiling was low enough that I could stand on the bed and be somewhat closer to the vent. I stared into the vent, trying to focus on what the flashing dot could be.

Is that a c-?

Suddenly a loud crash ripped through the silent bed and breakfast. I pulled my eyes away from the vent and jumped off the bed, closing the door behind me and rushing downstairs. The noise sounded like it was in the kitchen.

White chipped glass from a broken plate were scattered all over the floor. Smitty stood on the other side of the kitchen, looking around at the floor.

“Be careful. I dropped a plate.” He stated, sighing.

“I can see. Where’s your broom at?” I asked.

He pointed behind me. I spun around to see the broom hanging on a hook. I grabbed it and started to sweep.

Smitty shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”

I shrugged, still sweeping. “I don’t mind helping.”

“Oh… well thank you.” He paused, turning back to the dishes he was loading into the dishwasher. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you. How was the ghost hunting last night?”

I chuckled. “Um… it was interesting to say the least.”

“Did anything happen?” He inquired.

“We used the Ouija board, something talked back.” I replied.

“That’s spooky.”

“Yeah, and we heard a loud bang before you came in. Also, the spirit said goodbye to us before we got to say it.”

He smiled. “Unbelievable. That’s so crazy.”

I pulled the dust pan from the wall, placing it on the floor. “It was. Honestly, I don’t know if the fans are gonna believe us.”

“Who knows? Were you scared?” He questioned.

“Me? Petrified is the nicest term to use. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.” I picked up the dust pan and dumped the glass into the trashcan.

“What do you believe in, if you don’t mind me asking.” He stopped loading items into the dishwasher.

“I believe in God. When I’m at my most scared, I try to pray to Him. I think me and God have a good relationship, as weird as that might sound.” I responded, smiling lightly.

He turned to me, an indescribable gaze falling over his eyes. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. Do you believe in angels?”

“Yeah. I mean, I kinda have to with a name like Angel.” I smirked.

A pause fell over us as we stared at each other. I turned my back to him and placed the broom and dust pan back on their hooks. “Oh, I wanted to tell you again that your writing is really good.”

“Thank you, but I have to disagree. I wrote those so long ago, I don’t think they’re any good.” Smitty said bashfully.

“But they are. Seriously. I mean, if you really think they’re not good, you could always start from scratch or even just flush out the stories some more.” I explained.

“Did you finish the Angel and Demon one?” He leaned against the counter.

I nodded. “Yeah. Very eerie and kinda gory towards the end, but it was so cool overall.”

He smiled softly. “Well I’m happy to know someone enjoyed my writing.”

“I did recommend it to Sam and Colby to read before we leave.” I informed.

“Oh, since you brought them up, I have to ask. Does Colby know you like him?” His smile changed into a smirk.

“Um… I-I’m sorry?” I stuttered.

He laughed. “You don’t gotta be prude about it. I can see the way you look at him that you like him. It’s the same look other couples have given each other here. I have a lovers’ suite for a reason, you know.”

I mumbled. “I-I haven’t told Colby how I feel about him.”

“Why not?” Smitty cocked his head to the side.

I groaned quietly. “It’s complicated for a number of reasons.”

“Does he not like you back?” He crossed his arms lightly.

“Sam told me he does like me, but I don’t believe him.” I answered.

“Why’s that?” He stepped closer.

I furrow my brows, the air in the room getting hard to breathe. I rung my hands a couple times as I felt my face start to flush. I could feel myself step back.

He held his hands out in front of him, taking a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I know that might be a lot of information to give to a stranger. I apologize.”

“Uh, it’s okay. I’m just not good talking about my feelings if I’m honest.” I stammered.

He remarked, pointing at me. “Maybe it’s time you open up. You should say what you feel before it’s too late.”

“Maybe… maybe I’ll tell him when we get back to California.” I halfheartedly joked, leaning against the fridge.

“So on Tuesday?”

“Actually, we’re leaving tomorrow.”

His eyes widen. His voice dropped the cheery tone he once had. “Wait, that’s so soon.”

“Yeah. We all figured that we got everything we needed and don’t really need to stay until Tuesday.” I announced.

“But you guys haven’t explored a lot of the house.” Smitty noted.

“I mean, Sam and Colby said they have enough footage so I’m kinda just following them.” I stated, shrugging my shoulders.

“I thought you were a leader, not a follower.” He hissed, turning fully to me.

I stood straight up. “What’s that supposed mean?”

He sighed, annoyed. “It means nothing. I think I’m gonna go… go lay down. I’ve been up for a while.”

“Oh… okay.” I uttered.

He headed out of the kitchen, disappearing into the lobby and going down into the basement.

I shook my head, confused. I walked out of the kitchen and headed into the library, closing the door behind me.

<< CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 5 >>

[loki-thorbrother]

This is a submission, written by a friend who does not have a tumblr. This is not written by me!

—

Whumptober #5- Gunpoint

Takes place between the events of Homecoming and Infinity War.

The objective had been simple enough: find the rest of Edwin Cord’s guys, steal the assets back, and blow the place to hell. 

Tony had beaten Cord himself; it’d made for a pretty wild Friday night, even for his standards, but once Rhodey disabled Cord’s power system, the guy had been helpless against Tony’s tech. There seemed to be more and more of those jealous moguls who thought Tony had cheated them out of something, but at least they weren’t hard to knock out of the park. It was ridiculous how those guys all seemed to repeat the same mistakes: overconfidence, fallible technology, and dependence on rookie guards. 

The first two were expected, but that last point was an insult to his intelligence. If he had to deal with one more sleeping guy guarding the power system, he’d leave the next mission entirely in Rhodey’s hands. 

And then there was this. He’d thought he was done with Cord, then he’d gotten an assignment from Ross; turns out they wanted him to root out the rest of Cord’s guys, rather than a low-level hero or even the police, who could’ve done it just as well. That was even worse of an insult. He was Tony Stark; he’d taken out terrorists, invented new elements, (destroyed a city, don’t think about that one), fought Captain America and the Winter Soldier at the same time; and for god’s sake, he’d thrown a nuke into freaking outer space. 

But Ross was barely tolerating him now, so he’d better go out and at least pretend he was obeying the Accords. 

According to the intel reports he’d received that morning, Cord’s main back-up guy--or something--was Ethan Rooker, who was holed up with some of the other boys at a place in South Manhattan, allegedly an old Irish bar. After drinking a full pot of coffee, Tony suited up and took off for the bar. 

“Hey, FRIDAY,” he said with a yawn, “you up and running?”

“More than you are, Mr. Stark,” came the reply. 

Tony blinked. His AI was getting more sarcastic by the day. 

“Great. Fine. Can you get me anything on one Ethan Rooker?”

“One moment, Mr. Stark.” There was a brief silence, in whichTony thought about how much he hated awkward pauses. “Rooker is American-born, but was raised in Afghanistan; he emigrated at the age of seventeen. No record of personal life. He was a brilliant child, but was refused admittance to MIT.” 

Tony snorted. “And here I thought Cord was the one who was jealous. Already we’re racking up some serious envy points: he can’t go to MIT, I graduate at seventeen and become a billionaire--”

“In all fairness, you did inherit that position.”

“Thank you for your honesty. I guess someone needs to keep me in check. So, no MIT, no family connections; and then I blew up an entire terrorist organization, which, since he’s technically American, he’d probably wanted to do his whole life anyway. So I stole his thunder, became a superhero, and put his first-rate felon boss in jail.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Some people find the most ridiculous reasons to hate me, don’t you--”

“Boss!”

FRIDAY’s sudden warning brought Tony’s attention back to the mission, and he lowered the rocket boosters enough to bring him out of the clouds. The skyline of east Manhattan appeared below him, and he grinned. Even with years of experience and a hell-mix of PTSD, depression, anxiety, and just a touch of alcoholism, that sight never failed to be amazing. 

A few seconds later, and the bar was right under him, like magic. 

“All right, FRIDAY,” he said. “We’re going in.”

                                                       ~

The bar was empty. 

That was the first sign that something was really wrong. 

Tony had crashed down, straight through the ceiling--just like they were on live TV--but when the dust cleared, there was nothing. No security guards, no Rooker, no back-up...not even a few terrified bartenders. It was empty. Of course, there was the possibility that someone could have seen him coming and run away, but that was unlikely. His timing had been too perfect(thanks to FRIDAY, he had to admit). No one would’ve had time to run without him seeing them…

So that meant this was a trap. 

“Come on, Rooker,” he said loudly. “I’m here, and I know you are, too. Show yourself now, and you’ll just go straight to prison. But if you keep playing games like this, I swear I’ll--” 

Tony stopped mid-sentence. The back door was opened. 

The metal of his suit clanking as he walked, Tony hurried to the back of the bar, past tables and chairs and expensive wine glasses--why he had to waste his time on this, he had no idea--seized the back door, ripped it off…

And there, in the alley behind the bar, was Ethan Rooker.

But he wasn’t alone. There were four guys behind him, and to his left...oh, god. To his left, kneeling in the dirt, hands bound behind his back, with a gun held to his forehead, was Peter Parker.

Peter turned at the sound, his eyes widening. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” he stammered quickly, “I-I didn’t think this was something Iron Man was gonna have to take care of, just a little neighborhood problem, I could figure it out. I-I mean, he was terrorizing a bunch of kids! I didn’t think--”

The words tumbled out one after another in that too-fast, overly earnest way of Peter’s that was usually so irritating. Usually. But not today. 

“Oh, shut up,” Rooker snapped, pressing the gun tighter against Peter’s forehead. “You see, Stark, you can’t lock me away.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Tony knew he probably shouldn’t sound so rude, but he couldn’t help it. The kid was right there--one twitch of Rooker’s finger, and he’d be...no. No, don’t think about that. Stop it. Fix it. “Want me to add threatening a sixteen-year-old kid with murder to your list of charges? Wouldn’t look good in court, I can tell you that.”

Rooker laughed. “You think I’m going to court? It’d be pointless. You’re here, and you’re pissed, which is why I’m willing to bet that this is an Accords-sanctioned assignment. They wouldn’t have put Barnes through the legal system, they won’t do the same for me.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “You’re comparing yourself to the Winter Soldier? He’d have killed you by now, and without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m doing no such thing. But my trial isn’t going to be fair...which is why I’ve got insurance.” His finger tightened on the trigger; Peter flinched. Tony’s hands clenched at his side. “One step forward, and he’s…” Rooker shrugged. “Well, you know.”

That callous shrug almost got Rooker killed then and there. Before he knew it, Tony was keying up his guns. “So you think I can’t take you in and save him?”

“Not a chance.” Rooker laughed. “You need me alive, Stark. Those precious world leaders don’t want you killing somebody else, or they’ll lock you up in the Raft, just like half the Avengers. You can’t afford to kill me.”

Tony glared at him through the mask. “Wanna bet?”

“Actually, I do. And I have a better alternative for you. You leave now, I’ll let the kid go in...well. Let’s say twenty minutes. Only once I’m sure you’re away, and that I’m safe.”

“And how do I know he’ll be safe?” Tony demanded. Peter looked up in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected Tony to say something quite so...protective? No, that wasn’t the right word. Not nearly. “If I’m back in my penthouse, how do I know you haven’t killed him?”

Rooker smiled. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“Careful, boss,” said FRIDAY in his ear. “There’s a forty percent chance he’s lying. There is also a chance that he hates all of the Avengers, not just you--”

Which includes the kid, was the unspoken rest of the sentence. And I can’t take those odds.

Tony clenched his fists again, the metal creaking; he had no idea what to do. He looked at Rooker, so smugly confident in himself, at the four bodyguards, ready for an attack...and then at the kid. For some stupid reason, he knew with an absolute certainty that he did not want Peter Parker to die. The desperate look on Peter’s face was enough to tell him that.

Sure, the world needed Iron Man. But how could it count on him, when he only had a solid moral compass four out of seven days of the week? 

The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was just as important. If not more.

“Stark,” Rooker said again, looking unsure that Tony had heard him; he was anxious, even if he didn’t show it. “I said, you’ll have to trust me. Is that clear?”

Tony looked up, staring down Rooker; and then, thinking back to Afghanistan, he turned off his hand blasters...and instead selected five out of six targets he wanted dead. 

“Nope,” he said. “Definitely not clear.”

The most Rooker could do was gasp in shock as Tony’s shoulder guns shot him and his goons dead. 

Peter, no doubt surprised beyond anything he’d ever seen, began gasping for breath; adrenaline, Tony diagnosed. He’d had a rush of adrenaline, preparing himself to die, and now he wasn’t dead--and someone else was--so, boom. Loss of adrenaline, leads to exhaustion. 

In an instant, Tony lifted his face mask and hurried to Peter’s side. 

“Hey,” he said, and Peter’s head snapped toward him, eyes still wide. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” The gauntlets vanished at his command, and then he was able to free the kid’s hands. 

Peter immediately started rubbing his wrists, which were chafed red. Second diagnosis--Rooker had died too quickly. “Wow. Uh--uh, wow, Mr. Stark. Uh, uh, thanks?”

“Don’t have to thank me. Heroes save people, and you know that. From experience.” Tony finished looking Peter’s body over, and then turned the kid’s head to face him. “Tell me honestly, you okay? Don’t you dare lie to me, I’m gonna know.”

“I...I think so, yeah.” Peter’s rapid breaths were becoming less and less frequent, slowing down; that was a good sign. Great sign. “Just, maybe…” He touched a spot on his cheek that Tony realized, belatedly, was a pretty dark bruise. “Hit me here. When I woke up, I--I had a gun to my--” 

Peter’s face went white suddenly, and he stopped talking. Tony knew immediately what was happening; Peter was realizing exactly how close he’d come to dying. 

“You’re okay,” Tony said again, then amended himself; that excuse never worked. “No, sorry. You’re not okay, that’s me lying to you, that’s on me. But here’s the thing, kid.” Peter’s eyes had lost focus; Tony had to turn his head back to him again, or else he knew Peter was going to pass out, or something. And that, he didn’t want to deal with. “Here’s the thing. You’re going to be okay, because it’s over now.”

Peter looked at Rooker’s body, and a tremble shook his frame. “But--”

“Nope. No buts. It’s over.”

Peter sighed. “But you killed him. Doesn’t--doesn’t that--”

“Violate the Accords? One hundred percent. Absolutely. That’s also on me--hey, look! Seems like we’ve found a common theme here: Everything Is Tony’s Fault. Perfect. But…” Tony raised a finger. “I think I’ll be able to get a little leeway here.”

Peter frowned. “Uh, I don’t think it works like that, Mr. Stark.”

“Uh, actually, it does. For me, at least...and for you, ‘cause you’re protected under the Accords, too. So if I saved you, they just might not send me to the Raft.” Tony let himself smile, just briefly. “Oh, and also because I can pay a fine of two hundred or three hundred or even two billion dollars if they want.”

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you could do that, Mr. Stark.”

“I definitely can. Hand?” 

Tony held out his hand for Peter to stand, and the kid took it. “Yeah, definitely.”

They stood up; quickly, Tony dusted off Peter’s clothes and took one last look at him. “Yeah, you’re good, kid. Just go ice that bruise, and lie down. Rest.”

“Rest?” Peter exclaimed; Tony rolled his eyes. Here we go again. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many problems I skipped on my way over here? Kids in trouble, cars locked, bank robberies, hostage situations--”

“None of which you will be fixing. Not today, Spiderboy. You need a rest. No more...no superheroing, not today. Tomorrow, maybe. But today you need a rest.”

“But, Mr. Stark--”

“What’d I tell you? No buts.” Tony threw an arm around Peter’s shoulder, helping him walk. “And if I find you sneaking out, I’ll call your aunt.”

“Okay, fine. No superheroing, and that’s not a word.”

“Sure it is. I can make up any word I want. I’m Tony Stark.”

Peter laughed. “Maybe.” They walked in silence for a few seconds, and then-- “Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, kid?”

“You were wrong, you know. About before.”

Tony frowned. “Before? Before, what?”

“When you said everything was your fault. It’s not.” Before Tony could say anything, Peter looked up at him with those bright, too-honest expression that somehow had come to mean the world to him. “You tell me not to lie to you, but you’re lying to yourself. You tell yourself everything is your fault, and it isn’t.”

Well. What the hell could he say to that? Not everything is your fault. Weren’t those the words he needed to hear, every hour of every day, after every nightmare and mission and before every breakdown and...and all the time? Yes. Absolutely. 

But he couldn’t say it to the kid, so he settled for slapping Peter’s shoulder.

“First rule of Avenging, kid--only complain up the chain of command. So, nothing I do or think or say to you is wrong. But you can tell the guard at my front door he thinks everything is his fault all day long. Sure he’d love that.” 

“But Avenging isn’t a word either.”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Whenever he was around the kid, it was like a miracle; he stopped thinking about New York, Sokovia, Germany, and every other thing he’d ever done that would haunt him forever.

And that meant he could never let him get as close to dying as he had today. 

But instead of say that aloud either, Tony laughed. “God, Pete, I don’t know where you get these lines from, it’s like you’re a constant snark machine.” The physical contact was helping him somehow, he realized. He moved his hand up to Peter’s hair and ruffled it.

“Learned it from you.”

Tony glanced at Peter in surprise. “Now that’s witty. There’s no way I could’ve taught you that.” Taking Peter’s arm, he guided him around the bar and back into the city of Manhattan. “Come on, Spider-Man, let’s get you home.”

[scribeofmorpheus]

Counterpart [3/5]

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Framework!Steve

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Words: 6k -Yeesh!

A/N: Okay so during Civil War (which I’m using as a timeline building block where Hydra wiped out what was left of Shield’s hero’s ) Iron Man vs Cap did happen but with a twist. Vision exists in the Framework but his name is Spectre and he looks like the original version from the comics. Also, in advance, I’m sorry, but I did say shit was gonna get dark.  Also, I may do a Framework Avengers vs Hydra spin off.

Note: To clear up any confusion, everything in Italics happened in the past: memories, CCTV footage, videos etc.

Warnings: This chapter contains depictions and mentions of alcoholism, language, violence, minor-character death, etc.

It’s a dark series, expect a darker take.

PART THREE: WHO THE FUCK IS BUCKY?

"Switch weapons to non-lethal, we want them alive for questioning. Concussive rounds only!" You relayed your orders to your men.

As you advanced into the building, you heard a body thud onto a car's roof from the levels above.

"One of ours?" You asked into the comms.

"That's a negative," Clint relayed with a cocky tone as another body crashed on top of another car's roof.

"Barton, I said non-lethal," you chastised.

Barton sighed, "Guy fell out a three-story window, the SUV broke his fall, he isn't dead. Look I can see him now, his fingers are twitching."

"Yeah it's called muscle spasms, corpses do that too!" You shot back.

"Slow down on the property damage, Barton. You have swords, use them!" Steve barked orders at your partner's reckless antics. The sound of people screaming followed suit.

"I told you, you should have gone on your damned honeymoon!" Clint said in an exasperated huff directed at you.

"Jesus, you two!" You sighed, "Keep the comms clear guys!"

You took cover beside a door as several of your men took up positions according to your hand gestures. You crouched down, gave the go signal and laid down cover fire as they advanced into the building.

You took down three people, all dressed in old Shield gear.

"Three down, ground floor is clear," you chimed in as you tapped on the Hydra agent's shoulder in front of you, signalling for him to take his men and ascend the stairs.

"Three? Someone's slacking" You could all but picture Clint's shit-eating grin.

There was a low rumble coursing through the building making furniture and light fixtures shake. Just then Clint's comms were filled with static before coming online again

"Barton you good?" you asked in a panic.

After some coughing and a few grunts, he replied sheepishly, "Yeah, yeah, don't mother-hen, it's not endearing. It was a fucking EMP, one of your grunts triggered a tripwire."

"Shit," you cursed, signalling for your men to spread out and keep an eye out. "Is he alright?"

Barton sneered, "Nah, the blast knocked him clear, he fell three stories directly onto concrete. Idiots dead."

"Top floor is clear," Steve said. "Moving down. Stay alert, I don't want any more casualties. Paperwork's a bitch!"

"Copy," both you and Clint said at the same time.

"Hey, Barton, be care--"

"Yeah, yeah. This isn't my first rodeo partner," Clint chuckled. Just then his comms started to break up. "I- comi- up- o-" a metallic screech bombarded your eardrums, everyone clenched from discomfort. "Got... eyes on!"

"Barton, repeat, you're breaking up!" You shouted as you raced for the stairs, shooting and disarming several enemies along the way. "Barton!"

As soon as your hand touched the railing, a whole section of the building caved in. You ducked away from the falling debris that crushed several of your men. Blood and concrete dust was all you could see as a ringing noise punctured your ear.

You coughed a few times, whacking the dust away from your face. You covered your nose with your elbow slung around your face. When the dust cleared, you saw the aftermath of a controlled EID having gone off. A section of the floor above was now a pile of rubble at your feet.

"Y/N! Can- y- hea--" Steve's comms were muddled, breaking out between words.

You adjusted your comms until it became as clear as a whistle again.

"Y/N? Anyone? Do you copy? What's the sit-rep?" Steve barked angrily.

"It's Y/N, I copy."

"Thank heavens!" Steve let out a breath. "The fuck just happened?"

"EID. Controlled burst. Half the third floor caved in," you informed him as you carefully made your way up solo. "I'm going to look for Barton."

"Copy. I'm authorising deadly force. I'm done playing nice!" Steve said menacingly as the sound of bullets hailing down echoed over the comms. And soon, chaos ensued. Gunfire, flash grenades, screams and blood sprays. The building complex transformed into a battle zone.

When you came around a corner obstructed by some rubble, you heard some faint coughs followed by the sound of strained groans.

"Barton that you?"

"About fucking time, my leg is pinned," Barton's words slipped passed the obstructing debris.

"I'll have to set a charge to clear the rubble before I can get to you."

"Shit," Clint said in a tone that informed you he was contemplating something. "Forget it, go after her."

"Her?" When the question came out, a plasma charge burned a hole through the adjacent wall, missing your nose by an inch. With wide eyes, you ducked, rolled and shot at the direction the charge came from. Standing in a patched up blue, silver and red suit of armour was the Iron Maiden. "Oh, her."

You fired off several shots, radioing in as you advanced towards the metal suited woman: "Barton needs assistance on the fourth floor. I've got sights on the Iron Maiden."

"That's a copy. HQ just informed me Spectre is inbound. Let's wrap this up before that can-opener gets credit for another one of our missions," Steve replied as wind zipped over his comms. He was moving fast.

"I hate that fucking clank!" You spit as you charged into the next room, emptying your clip and reloading with the magazine that held electro-rounds.

The Iron Maiden shot off plasma beam after beam, at one point using a continuous stream to all but cut through the entire room.

"Arrrgh!" The beam singed your cheek. You rolled and shot at her chest in a tight six-shot formation. The suit overloaded and dropped to the ground in a loud clanking sound. The armour opened up to reveal no one inside. It was on auto-pilot. "The suit was a distraction! There's equipment up ahead, computers. I think I see a command centre, I'm going in."

"Shit!" Steve cursed, "Stand down. Wait for backup. Y/N, did you hear wha--"

As soon as you entered the metal-encased room, your comms stopped broadcasting. The static nearly deafened you, forcing you to throw your ear-piece on the ground.

You stalked into the room quietly. A makeshift command centre had been set up. Computers, radios and weapons crates filled the room. There were several display cases housing mechanical suits patched together with mismatching parts labelled Mark XLIX. A large unopened metal case had the words: 'Rescue, MK-1616,' printed on it. In smaller font below that was an inscription: 'To my love, Pepper. In case I need a rescue.'

A hot flash of pain ripped through your shoulder followed by the sound of a gunshot. You sucked in air before dropping to the ground and firing two shots. One slug hit the wall. The other hit a strawberry blonde woman above the navel.

Pepper gasped and braced her stomach with all eight fingers, a look of defeat on her face as the gun hit the floor. She brought a bloody hand to hit a wall panel, sealing the panic room shut.

You stood from the floor slowly, "Virginia 'Pepper' Potts, as an agent of Hydra, and for the protection of the people, I hereby place you under arrest."

You hobbled over to her, cuffs in one hand, gun in the other.

Pepper coughed weakly, a grim smile on her face, "Just get it over with and kill me. You people have already taken the one person I ever cared about." Her eyes fell on a half singed photo of her and Tony.

"Tony Stark died of his own ignorance when he blew up that airport," you said.

Pepper rolled her eyes, "You're the ignorant one, letting Hydra brainwash you like the sheep you are." She spat blood onto the floor. "The explosion was a cover-up."

You clicked your tongue at her nonsensical story, "Shield sympathisers and your love of propaganda. You can drop the charade, your days of terror are over."

You cuffed her hands together and pulled out a compression bandage and applied it to her stomach roughly.

"Hhnnggg..." she gurgled and spat more blood, laughing afterwards with blood-stained teeth. "See for yourself." Her head nudged towards a computer with a video kept on pause.

You got back up, eyes locked on the computer, uncertain of how to proceed.

Banging emanated off the metal door that kept you trapped inside. You looked down at Pepper, her eyes fixed on the engraving written on the metal crate.

"I say you have 30 seconds before they break through. Tick-tock, the truth waits for no one," she bit her lip with a sharp inhale as blood trickled through the bandage.

"Fuck!" You cursed yourself as curiosity got the better of you.

You placed your gun on the table, pressed the enter key on the keyboard and slapped on a compression bandage on your shoulder, eyes fixed on the cam quality recording.

***

Tony crashed through two parking garage columns, debris almost burying his suit.

"Auxiliary power failing, boss." Friday's voice came off as a silent lament for what was about to unfold.

"I know," Tony said solemnly. "Do me a favour and call Pepper would ya?" He struggled to fly on one working leg, jet engines sputtering like a choking tail pipe.

“Propulsion systems going offline, sir.”

“Just focus on calling Pepper!”

"Calling Pepper Potts," Friday relayed as Steve grabbed hold of Tony's leg and yanked him back down into the ground.

"Gahh!" Tony gasped as the metal suit grew heavy and limp.

Steve brought his shield to bear with all his strength, it separated the metal case protecting Tony's chest, imbedding itself inside.

Tony coughed as the sound of ringing filled his earpiece, "Come on, Pep." He prayed for her to pick up.

"I'm sorry boss, it’s gone straight to voicemail," Friday said calmly.

Steve removed his shield from Tony's chest only to use it as though it were a shovel digging up dry gravel, hammering at the suits power core until its lights began to flicker.

At the final strike, the sound of his ribs crushing inwards let out a sickly popping noise.

Tony removed his helmet, blood trickling down his nose, one eye bloodshot. He laughed ironically after the beating.

"I can't believe my father ever admired you!" Tony struggled to breathe as his airways constricted. "You were supposed to be our symbol of hope. A beacon for justice. Now look at you, nothing but Hydra's lapdog ever since they fished you out of the ocean."

Steve's head fell to look down at Tony's defeated body. A devilish smirk crossed his lips as he took a knee to whisper at Tony, "Tell me, Tony, with all that money, all that brainpower, did you ever figure out who murdered your parents?"

A smile crept over Steve's face as Tony struggled to move his hands, the metal weighing him down.

"I'll kill you!" Tony's voice cracked.

Steve laughed and stood up, eyes locked at something in the distance. "You, kill me? No. But you will kill everyone still in this airport." He pulled out a detonator from his trousers, his thumb toying with the red button.

"Is this how you envisioned your future? Is this the type of freedom you fought so hard for?" Tony asked with a patronising tone.

"You can't have peace without order," Steve said coldly. "And I am order."

Steve looked up at the concrete ceilings of the half-destroyed underground parking lot, a smug expression making him appear sinister.

"Enjoy the view," Steve walked away, the cameras unable to pick up his position anymore.

"Boss, should I try Pepper again?" Friday asked with a hushed voice between the whirring noises of the power cell powering down.

Tony grunted as he lay on the ground, pinned in place by own suit of armour, "Yeah, why no--"

White light filled the cameras as they stopped broadcasting, an error message playing on the screen as a loud tone beeped continuously.

***

"No…" Your eyes went wide as a tear trickled off your chin and onto the keyboard. Your hands were shaking, knees buckling and your throat went dry. "This… this can't- this isn't--"

You didn't know what to say. The banging noises from the door being forced open eerily resembled the sound of Steve's shield banging against the Iron Man suit. You whimpered, your palm pressed forcefully against your mouth to stifle the noises. Your wedding band, still cold to the touch, still foreign to you.

Was this the man you loved? You asked yourself over and over and over again.

The metal door flew off its hinges and crushed the metal box Pepper had been staring at, her skin turned pale.

Through the doorway, the ghost coloured android, Spectre, hovered into the room. He looked at Pepper, the display of suits and then you. His head moving like it was made of rusted joints.

"Are. You. Alright. Agent?" The androids detached voice was disarming and without personality, you hated it.

You ignored the android and set your eyes on Steve, anger forcing them to shutter into half-open slits.

"Explain what the fuck I just saw!" You demanded.

Steve placed his hands on his hips and let out a disappointed huff.

Clint hobbled into the room, whistling lowly as he patted Steve's back, "Someone's in the dog house."

Steve shrugged him off and walked towards you.

"Uh-uh," you stepped back.

Steve's brows came together in a look of anger.

"Hey clank, get her out of here!" Steve pointed to Pepper, words dripping authority. "That goes for everyone else, go secure the prisoners. Go! Get out!"

Everyone scattered out of the room as Spectre picked up Pepper gently, her smile conveying her satisfaction at the turn of events.

"Well?" You challenged Steve when it was just the two of you. "Care to explain?"

Steve noticed the bandage on your shoulder soak up with blood, "At least let me fix you up first."

"Stop trying to deflect, Steve! Explain to me why I just watched a video of you blowing up the airport in Germany! When I agreed to marry you, we swore there'd be no secrets between us!"

"It was classified!" Steve swept the computers off the table in a rageful outburst. "Compromises have to be made in our line of work. You of all people should understand that!"

"That doesn't change the fact you lied to me!"

"I never lied!"

"A lie of omission is still a lie!"

"God damn it, what do you want from me huh?" Steve's jaw clenched as he stood barely arm’s length from you. "I don't expect you to tell me every detail about your missions. For god sake, even Sharon understood that part of the job meant keeping certain things secret."

You snapped and suddenly your good hand struck across Steve's face, leaving behind a red mark and a smear of blood from your shoulder.

Steve turned to you slowly, menace in his eyes as he clenched his jaw so tight you could see his muscle working and all but picture morals cracking.

"Just this morning you regarded your ex-wife like she was the devil, and now you're using her name as an excuse to make me feel like shit for expecting you to be truthful in our marriage?" You clicked your tongue. "You're fucking unbelievable sometimes."

You stormed out, leaving Steve by himself.

***

Your legs kept twitching as you and Barton sat on a row of chairs waiting for your turn to be debriefed -or reprimanded- by Director Pierce. His howling voice creeped through the hinge gaps of his door, fist pounding on his desk like drums of war.

Clint had his eyes closed, laying back into the chair. His leg had been cleared by the doctor as only having a few contusions. You looked at the part of his pant-legs that was cut off by scissors, deep purple bruises shown off proudly as he crossed his legs at the ankle.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch, you know that."

Clint laughed before placing his hand on your leg to keep it still, "And you're a jittery one."

"This day has gone to shit," you complained as you watched Spectre being led by several junior agents into the 8x8 lock-box Hydra kept him in.

"I'll say," Clint yawned and stretched, his jaw popping. "What was all that stuff with Steve about?"

You sighed, "Just work problems. He's been keeping certain… details about his time in Germany a secret from me."

Clint chuckled as though he was a wizened elder, "And that, young sith apprentice, is why you shouldn't marry into your work, or have kids!"

You rose a brow at him, "Unbelievable. You're married to the woman who practically runs this branch, not including Mr Constant Scowl in there!" You pointed to the name plat on Pierce's door.

"Yeah, but she's the head of public relations and I'm a spy!" He said matter-of-factly. "I don't ask her about politics and she doesn't ask me about my kill count- Oh, speaking of which, what was your count?"

Clint sat up in his chair, staring at you expectantly.

"The way the day's gone to shit, I'll gladly pick up the tab!"

"Yes!" Clint clapped his hands in triumph.

The door opened and Steve stormed out of Pierce's office, side-eyeing you before he headed for the elevator.

"I may have underestimated which one of you two is in the dog house," Clint whispered to you.

You rolled your eyes.

"Y/N, get your ass in here!" Director Pierce shouted distastefully.

You heaved a sigh and walked into the office.

"Shut the door," he ordered.

You did as he commanded.

"Mind explaining to me why you disobeyed a direct order from your superior?" Pierce demanded, the lines on his forehead plentiful as he kept his scowl intact.

"Sir?"

"Agent Rogers relayed to me that he issued the use of deadly force after an explosion went off before you decided to capture Virginia Potts."

"That is correct, sir. But I saw an opportunity to gain a valuable prisoner and I took it," you defended your actions.

"Yes, and then you and your husband had a lovers quarrel in the presence of your subordinates," he banged his fist on the table. "When Rogers was married to Carter, I thought nothing of it because she works Human Resources, but he assured me the two of you would keep level heads while in the field."

"With all due respect, sir--"

Pierce stood from his seat and pointed at you, "Do not interrupt me when I'm talking!" He slapped his palm on the table. "This is your only warning. Any reckless displays like the one you did today and I'll revoke that badge!" He pointed at your badge clipped to your breast pocket.

"Now get out of my sight!" He shooed you out of the room.

"Sir," you took your leave.

Once out of the room you kicked Barton's legs, forcing him from his nap.

"Ouch, fuck!"

"Get up, I need a drink!"

Clint eyed you, "We're still on duty."

"Fuck duty," You headed for the elevator. "You coming or not? I'm buying remember!"

Clint shot up from the chair and hobbled over, "That's all you had to say!"

~Avenger's Compound

The room was pitch black save for the colour-shifting, low light that resonated off the television screen. Bucky sat in the deserted lounge area nursing a despondent mood and a heavy brow. His eyes glued to the television screen as it played back an old DVR'd recording of his legal trial that took place months before being instated as an Avenger.

The volume on the television was low, but the room was empty enough that it sounded louder than normal.

"Case 12773. James Buchanan Barnes vs the people. We call forth Steve Rogers as a character witness for Mr Barnes who is on trial for any illegal activities committed in the name of the secret organisation known as Hydra, between the years 1945 and 2016, while under duress. Mr Rogers, please take the stand." The judged banged her gavel to silence the courtroom.

An old and weary Steve moved towards the stand at a pace slower than Bucky's mind was comfortable reconciling. Knowing his best friend was nearing the end in that moment still stung even while re-watching it as an old recording.

Bucky watched in silence as he looked at Steve lobbying on his behalf to be allowed to be forgiven for past transgressions.

"He never even had the luxury of committing any of these crimes of his own free will or sound mind. They should be dismissed or at the very least declared a mistrial. These are the actions of the Winter Soldier, a weapon honed and trained by a nefarious organisation, not my oldest friend and former member of the Howling Commando's, James Buchanan Barnes," Steve's old and gravelly voice was filled with conviction as he spoke into the microphone.

The crowd started to rumble and several camera shutters sounded off as the Judge banged her gavel to regain order.

A mournful smile crept over Bucky's lips as he fought back tears at the sight of his best friend lobbying tirelessly for him.

How he wished he could turn to him at such a time.

Bucky's heart had barely started healing when Y/N had been ripped from him.

Bucky paused the recording at the moment when Y/N had taken his hand reassuringly after what seemed like the hundredth procession. They had fitted him with a non-threatening prosthetic to seem less menacing in the eyes of the politicians and jury members. It didn’t stop them from staring at him in distaste every time a new piece of evidence was brought to light- and there had been a lot of damning evidence.

Bucky wasn't averse to the fact that his life came with a lot of baggage, which is why he was amazed when Y/N had stood by his side through everything. Through the gruelling and soul-crushing trial. Through those bleak, empty days that followed after Steve's funeral. Even through his reluctant integration back into the field as an Avenger.

It hadn't been easy. A lot of the public hadn't been happy with that decision, but Bucky had grown used to being under every government’s scrutinous eye. Yet, despite countless news channels and tabloid newspapers calling him a mentally unstable monster who could snap back to his old ways at any time, Y/N had stood by him.

"Broodin' in the dark?" Sam's voice called out from behind the couch.

"You know of a better place to do it?" Bucky retorted with no humour present, muting the video.

"No, this'll do it," Sam replied. “I thought I’d find you in the gym, working over that punchin’ bag you’ve taped to hell and back. Or at the very least lifting some iron. This is a change of pace.” he sat on the other end of the couch.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, it's not like I wanted to be alone," Bucky said sarcastically.

"Like I needed your permission," Sam jabbed.

“The punching bag is just a bag now.” Bucky revealed.

Sam nodded in understanding.

"Any updates?" Bucky seemed almost afraid to ask.

"No, we're still trying to track her signal," he said before looking at the screen in recognition. "Oh, shit. The trial. Damn, I do not miss those days. I had to wear my uncle Earl's suit, it stunk of weed, he says it’s for a prescription but I know better. How longs it been, eight months?"

Bucky refrained from laughing, "A little longer."

"That was almost as painful as the Sokovian Accords," Sam remarked.

Bucky looked at him with knitted brows, "We were fugitives then."

Sam let a full laugh out, "Yeah, and that was still a less stressful time."

"Weren't you shot out of the sky?"

"Yeah, almost, but you got your ass handed to you by a fourteen-year-old," Sam retorted.

“So did you.”

"Ah, good times."

Both men chuckled at the remarkable power of hindsight.

Sam tapped on the couch excitedly when he remembered something, "Hey, fast forward to the time they put Shuri on the stand. I love how she makes all those suits look like idiots when she talks about all the scientific gobbledygook she used to tape your mind back together."

Bucky sighed heavily, but a small smile peaked across his cheeks as he fast-forwarded the recording.

Midway through the video, Bucky was reminded of something funny during his rehab in Wakanda.

Sam caught sight of him letting out a silent laugh.

"What?" he asked.

"Uhh, it's nothing," Bucky tried to deflect.

"Spit it out Tin-can!" Sam said impatiently.

"During my rehab, Shuri started talking about the benefits of physical therapy. In the middle of her long-winded explanations, I used to zone out a lot when she used big scientific words, I lost track of what she was saying and blindly agreed to this therapeutic exercise she recommended. Turns out it was a week of yoga."

Sam burst out laughing, his hand slapped his chest in amusement. "Did you have to wear yoga pants?"

Bucky opened his mouth to answer but thought against it once Sam laughed even louder.

Out of the blue, a red streak of light reflected off the glass windows of the lounge prompting Bucky and Sam to crane their necks in the opposite direction.

Wanda tapped on the glass and ushered them outside.

When they walked out into the night, they caught sight of Wanda holding onto a small thumb drive and sporting a satisfied smile, "We located Y/N!"

"We?" Sam asked

At the same time, Bucky also asked, "You found her?"

"Me, Friday and Pepper!" Wanda pointed to the blue Iron-Woman suit that had just landed a few feet away with a heavy metallic thud.

"Boys," Pepper greeted from within the Rescue suit.

"Pepper," Sam waved. "Is that really you, or--"

The helmet of the Rescue suit peeled back revealing no one inside before closing again. "Sadly, I couldn't be there in person. I'm gonna hand the reigns over to Friday, she'll set the co-ordinates into the Quin Jet and provide assistance on your mission. I have a girl’s sleepover to supervise... on a school night no less."

"Thanks, Pepper," Wanda smiled.

"Anytime," Pepper logged off and the distinct Irish lilt of the Friday program came online: "I'll go get the jet ready, boss." The Rescue suit took the thumb drive from Wanda and flew towards the garage.

Bucky had looked a little lost through the whole exchange, but his eyes showed how determined he was to get things rolling.

Wanda continued, "Using Stark's satellites, we managed to pin-point her location to a set radius over the Weddell Sea. All we have to do is connect Friday's mainframe to the Quin jet, which she's handling, and we're good to go."

Bucky sprinted to the jet hanger after Friday without a seconds thought.

Wanda was about to follow suit when she noticed Sam hadn't moved.

"What are you waiting for, Sam? Gear up!"

"Are you sure you're ready for active duty?" Sam asked.

Wanda, in turn, cocked her head to the side and said, "My friend is in danger, of course I am!"

"That's all I needed to hear," Sam smiled proudly as he and Wanda made for the hanger.

 ~Several Hours Later, Over the Weddell Sea

"Coming up on the signal, boss," Friday informed Wanda. "It seems like the signal's remained stationary."

All three of them were geared up, wired up and more than ready to get their teammate back.

"Probably a base of operations," Sam noted.

"The scans show no entrance above ground," Bucky frowned. "Diving suits?"

"We'd mobilise faster if we had an underwater vehicle," Sam noted. "Besides, if we jump from this high..."

"Gravity," Bucky nodded, following Sam's train of thought. "So we can't jump, we'll have to land."

Wanda walked over to the Quin Jet's hull and pressed the button that opened the doors, depressurising the jet in a rush of strong wind.

"No, we jump on my mark," Wanda said boldly. "Leave gravity to me."

"Boss, this suit doesn't have underwater capabilities, you'll have to take me along with this," the Rescue suit handed Wanda the flash drive.

Sam and Bucky exchanged cautious looks before standing beside Wanda, her eyes glowing red.

"Now," Wanda signalled as she dove headfirst out of the jet.

"Shit!" Sam groaned as he followed second.

Bucky squeezed something tied around his neck and said in silent prayer, "Hold on, doll. We're coming." And then he dove third.

As all three of them were pulled down headfirst by gravity, their speed increasing as they descended further.

Sam instinctively began to brace but suddenly a whirlpool began to form, separating the seawater to form a tunnel that drilled downwards until it reached a man-made structure. Red streaks of mist mixed with the dark water to form spiralling stripes of red and navy.

Bucky began to feel his body growing lighter and lighter, red mist covering him, Wanda and Sam in puffs of smoke.

When they reached the seafloor, they touched down lightly, the whirlpool following them like a protective perimeter.

Bucky looked up, only to see a roof of water rippling about. The whirlpool had transformed into a dome below surface level. Wanda began to breathe heavy, her fingers held up as though she were simply holding an umbrella for them.

"There," Sam pointed out as he looked at his tablet, a glowing force field shielding a metal gate. "The origin of the signal."

"You were right, it is a base," Bucky said.

"That looks like alien tech," Sam noted.

"Mind if we hurry this along boys, the sea is quite heavy," Wanda strained.

***

Once they were inside the compound, Bucky and Sam handled most of the heavy lifting, allowing Wanda a bit of respite. All their opponents were clad in black tactical gear, no flags, sigil’s or markings.

Bucky transformed into a brutal machine, dispensing of all potential threats thrown their way with lethal precision and a feral show of uncontrolled power. Sam and Wanda would occasionally have to pry him off someone when he began to seered. He was unhinging.

"Black ops?" Sam asked

Wanda shook her head as she used her ability to restrain Bucky after an outburst, "Hiding under an Ocean floor bed? No, they scavenged the alien tech. Whoever they are, they aren't military or government."

"Hhhhh!" He resisted against her powers but then let out a deep sigh.

"You good?" She asked.

Bucky shook the Winter Soldier's temperamental resurgence away, "Yeah."

"Let’s go," Wanda released her telekinetic grip from him.

Along the way, Wanda spotted an odd Z shaped symbol spray painted into the walls. She recognised it from somewhere, but she couldn’t place it.

When they got to the control room, all three of them were covered in sweat, their bodies beginning to show signs of fatigue- Bucky most of all, his rage had burned through him like a match to gasoline.

"Y/N!" he shouted, relief taking over his hardened features as he raced to the sensory deprivation tank she was floating in. EEG's and EKG's wired up to her brain and heart function. A small bar at the bottom revealed her memories were at 72% synchronisation.

"We have time," Bucky said thankfully as his hand pressed against the glass.

Wanda looked around at all the other tanks filled with strangers, "Who are these people?"

"We'll answer that question once we get our girl out," Sam said as he plugged Friday's USB into the computer terminal. Sam saw a leather bound book lying on a table, “This looks important.” He flipped through the pages.

“What does it say?” Wanda asked as she took a turn about the room, inspecting the machinery which was stamped with Cyrillic, Greek and what looked to be Sokovian letters.

“I got no clue, I can’t read Hieroglyphs,” Sam tossed her the book.

Wanda grumbled after she read the title. “It’s Sokovian. I think it’s a manifesto…” Suddenly everything clicked in place. “I know what this place is. Helmut Zemo wrote a manifesto while in prison. It was in the news around the same time as Bucky’s trial. He talked about how the world’s greatest failing was superheroes. Something about the world being a better place if the Avengers never existed. If they never toyed with the idea of global security.”

"I read an old Shield case file on the way here. A man named Radcliffe invented the Framework, it was originally designed as a training simulator,” Bucky chimed in.

“So what? A group of anarchists mobilise, take his word as scripture and build a computer program where superhero’s don’t exist?” Sam asked.

The sound of soldiers mobilising to their position became cause for concern.

Bucky ran to the control room door panel and started flipping switches hoping the main entrance would seal behind them, all it did was cause several observation shutters to open and close.

Wanda sighed then shut the doors using her telekinetic powers.

"You sure are handy in a pinch," Bucky mused.

Wanda was too burnt out to think of a retort and simply nodded in agreement.

"Ugh, guys we may have a problem," Sam said.

Bucky's metal fist connected brutally with the sealed door, generating a loud metallic thud, "Why is nothing simple anymore?"

"What's the problem?" Wanda moved closer to the monitors.

Sam typed at the keys, unsure of how to proceed, "According to the program, there's no way to manually unplug someone. That case file say anything else, Buck?"

Bucky's eyes skittered in thought as the sound of a welding blade cutting through the door alerted everyone to their shortening time limit.

“A few years ago, some agents got plugged in They were rescued and successfully disconnected from the Framework before it was destroyed. I was hoping the same rules wouldn't apply here since I'm guessing this is a rebuild."

"Well," Sam urged Bucky to drop the other shoe. "How'd they get out?"

Bucky took a deep breath, "The only way you can unplug someone from this Framework is from the inside, there’s usually a backdoor exit programed into the world."

"Shit!" Sam ran a hand over his clean shave.

Friday's protocols finished downloading and her voice blared through the old, static PA system like nails on a chalk board, "Online, boss."

"Friday, can you locate our avatars in the Framework?" Sam asked.

"Searching," Friday responded.

The first of three bolts had been cut through, sparks halting momentarily before the saw blades were replaced and the motor of the welding machine was restarted.

"Come on, come on," Bucky tapped the tabled impatiently.

"Two avatars located. One James Buchanan Barnes and one Sam Wilson. The avatar of one, Wanda Maximoff died year 2015 during the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of a Hydra intelligence android gone rogue. Designation, the Crimson Cowl. Survived by known terrorist and fugitive, Pietro Maximoff."

Wanda gasped in shock as her lips trembled out her brother’s name, "Pietro is alive?"

"Alive is a relative term," Friday corrected. "But he has an active string of code within the Framework. To everyone plugged in, he is as real as they are."

Wanda slumped against a machine as she tried to process this information.

"Friday, if we go into the Framework, will we still have our memories?" Bucky asked as he took off his jacket, walking with purpose towards an empty tank.

"I can over-ride the base program's code and allow you to take over your avatar's body within the Framework, but I cannot change where you end up. You will wake up in a foreign world with your own memories and no backup," Friday informed him.

Bucky tapped on several buttons as he tried to activate the tank, "What about Y/N?"

Friday's voice whined several times before the PA system cleared up as much as it could, "The program automatically severs ties between the avatar and the brain once synchronisation is complete. The higher the synchronisation, the more her personality is overtaken by the one encoded for in the Framework. Chances are, she won't recognise you."

"What happens if our avatars die in there?" Sam asked as he placed his machine guns on the table and walked over to the adjoining tank.

"I'm afraid your mind will not be able to distinguish the real from the simulated. The Framework is programmed to feel real, so for all intents and purposes, if you die in there, you die out here," Friday informed them.

"You can't come with me Sam, I won't ask you too," Bucky tried to talk Sam out of coming with.

Sam placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder, "You never have to ask, Tin-can. We're all we've got." Sam looked at Y/N's submerged body in the tank to the left. "We're all she's got."

"I'm expendable," Bucky kept pushing. "You're the team’s leader. Steve chose you."

"No one's expendable," Wanda finally stood on her own two feet, trust in her eyes. "Two is better than one. I'm stronger, I'll hold them off when they breach the doors, you just make sure you make it out of there… all three of you."

The second bolt was welded through. The whirring halted and then started up again. Sparks flying like confetti.

Bucky nodded like the soldier he was and with little patience, he jumped into the tank and fixed the wires and breathing apparatus onto his body.

"Maybe you should be the leader," Sam pondered aloud.

Wanda smiled sadly, "There's more to being a good leader than just raw power. After all, I was trained by a man who uses a bow and arrow." She reminded him.

"Friday, how long do we have until Y/N reaches full synchronisation?" Sam asked as he turned his tank on.

"Calculating," Friday ran the numbers over the computer monitor. "Less than 14 hours real time. Time moves faster in the Framework, in there it will be just under 72 hours. When you rescue her, look for a signal, that’s where the exit will be programmed."

"Got it," Sam replied as he put one foot in the tank.

"Sam, I feel I should warn you about your avatar--"

"Times awastin'," Sam said with a cocky attitude as he placed the breathing apparatus over his face and fully submerged into the tank.

"Boss, you need to give the all clear to administer the sedatives," Friday informed Wanda.

She walked over and pressed the enter key. A long needle popped out of the tanks walls and pumped Bucky and Sam full sedatives. Their vitals read steady as they drifted off.

Wanda cracked her neck as she took up defensive stances, the room all but glowing the same shade of red as her eyes.

Friday began a countdown, "The avatars will be fully loaded in 3, 2, 1..."

~Hydra Headquarters.

You were hunkered over the toilet bowl as your stomach kept forcing bile up your throat. It had been a mistake to come into work after you and Clint had dived into several bottles of whiskey at McCredie's for a weekend-long binge. Steve had all but confined you the couch, still angry from your fight. Deciding his brooding glares and awkward silences were too much for you, you had chosen to sleep on Clint’s couch.

After throwing up your breakfast, you wiped your mouth with some tissue and dabbed at your watery eyes that bled mascara.

"Ughhh, that's the last time I drink with that smug bastard," you groaned to yourself as you flushed the toilet and struggled to get up off the floor.

After washing your hands and fixing a pair of big, dark-tinted glasses over your sensitive eyes, you made your way out of the Men's room -which you had mistaken for the Women's room- and headed for your desk.

You blocked one ear with your hand as you squinted from the few rays of light that slipped through the cracks, feet dragging against the carpeted floor.

Out of nowhere, a panicked junior agent ran up to you.

"Agent Y/N!"

"Fuck, don't shout, I'm literally less than five feet from you," you whined as your head recoiled from the agents loudly pitched voice.

"I'm sorry agent, but our border patrols caught a man trying to sneak past a checkpoint earlier," He handed you a file.

You tucked it under your arm without glancing at it, "Why should I care about a fence hopper?"

"Because, Ma'am, he demanded to speak to you."

"I was on television last night, any insane whack job can throw my name around and sound important," you started moving away from the conversation.

"He had a metal arm with a Shield emblem on it," he shouted after you.

A few other agents stopped what they were doing and glanced your way suspiciously.

The mention of Shield caught your attention, you spun around to face the scrawny junior agent, "Five seconds, impress me or I walk."

"He said his name is Bucky Barnes."

You waved your hands in frustration when he didn't elaborate further, "Who the fuck is Bucky Barnes?"

PART FOUR: TWO HALVES...

AFWHI tags: @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @sleepingspacedragon @500daysofbecky @reidreader  

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees

tags: @ladybugsfanfics @ninaminaromina

[ukthxbye]

The Art of Replacing

on ao3

The metal thin, delicate, and rose-tinted gripping a diamond yellow as pine and specifically cut rested near weightless in his palm. His eyes near shut as he lifted his hand to their level, tracing the engraved lines in his mind. Every letter attached to voice and breath in memory. He spied his reflection in the stone mirroring it from the plate cumbersome in his pocket.

His hand closed around the ring as the first tooth in her key moved the chambers in the lock, tucking it away in his pocket before the door opened with a click and swooshed closed.

The rifling of mail set out for her, an envelope torn open filled the air sharp. He closed his eyes imagining her doing that same thing a year ago. But no, she'd already wandered in and around her home for a bit. A day off. But she didn’t enjoy the day he remembered. Menial errands and seeing Tom at Tesco made it feel wasted she’d told him. He’d insisted to know why it was a bad day and she relented to the questioning even if the answers were vague to her as well.  And that yes even seeing an ex you don’t love still sucked, apparently. Expectations of what life was supposed to be and what it was not he told her in his best attempt of relating. And she nodded then because he was right in most ways, even if he didn’t have the sentiment down yet.

Her footsteps entered the sitting room, a sigh escaping as she shuffled through mail in her hands. His eyes closed, but he sensed her stop in front of him to access his state. A hello darling' crawled inside his forethought but his mouth remained closed and she moved on to the kitchen. The kettle on with care and he surmised she thought him in his mind palace. She picked up the kettle before it beeped, and poured gradually, the noise faint. He told her when he moved in that she needn't be so quiet, he could tune out most extraneous noise but she remained steadfast in her deference. If she only comprehended its paralysing effect.

The tinkling of the spoon against the bone china soaked into his ears, matching actions to images boiled in his mind. Silent in black and white now in full colour overwhelming. A different cup altogether, vintage,  pink and wrapped in flowers and gold. A Christmas present from his mother. She told him it was exorbitant though she could only manage a shocked 'thank you' as her mother-in-law kissed her head with a grin. It was one of too many gifts but his parents so delighted to have a future daughter-in-law at the time to spoil he allowed it.  They received the rest of the set after the wedding. But unlike some who would hide such a fragile piece away in a cupboard or behind plate glass to admire as it collected dust, she made it her evening tea cup. "It's rude to not use it really" she smirked at him when he raised an eyebrow.  His lips curled up at the corners at the new memory crowding out the old one and the soothing sound her lips sipping her tea slow to avoid a burnt tongue.

The images from that day trickle in like a faucet set to drip, and he opened his eyes to a slant to avoid their full influence. Today 365 days ago. The video feed cold and her voice so warm he heard every breath, counted like a beat with the clock. Her jumper still gaudy now, but not striped. One day folding laundry a distracting chore turned into a trigger to his failures mapped like tree rings in the coloured lines. He buried that jumper deep in the wardrobe. She never asked where it went.

Her hair down around her shoulders today, chestnut silk spun around his fingers many nights, framing her face. Her soft eyes prominent with heavier eyeliner she tried on a whim while scrolling around YouTube this morning drinking her tea. Like she is now. He pondered if she drank her tea after that call, or if it was too much to swallow.

He shifted as a tiny sigh escaped from her before the soft clink of the cup on the saucer compelled a blink in his stare.

"It's weird when you stare when you’re in there."

Sherlock's lips fell to a frown as she scraped her bottom lip under her teeth nervous like and he opened his mouth but her words won the race.

"Is it all right if I talk?"

"Hmm?"

"I just... if you were off in your mind didn't want to disturb... but..."

"Molly, I've said it many times. You can always speak, it's your house and I'm your husband. Don't be silly." he laughed, but it stayed heavy in his throat

HIs gaze followed her padding around the counter and her direction aimed him. He braced as she picked up speed, slid her knee into the sofa cushion and crashed her head against his chest, arms wrapped tight. His arms surrounded her, cradling her close enough to feel her heart pressing against her ribs. They stayed this way for several breaths and he buried his face in soaking up the scent of St. Barts and her shampoo in one deep huff.

"It was a bad day,"  he whispered as he lifted his face away, pushing a stray strand from her face as she turned her head to speak, licking lips that went dry.

"Yeah it was," she sighed with an upturned lip.

The quiet spaces they allowed between words and thoughts a developed skill.

"Was it just today... or—"

"I don't know if you…" she stammered and stopped, leaning back sliding a hand to his chest, her eyes set at his sternum where her fingertips pressed.

His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb guiding her chin up and his eyes sought hers. He read the uncertainty. Every emotion in her eyes detailed, named and catalogued in his mind like ash. His chest ached and his brow telegraphed the pang.  

Her mouth opened to speak, but he started first.

"We talked about it many times at this point."

She shrugged one shoulder up, and he stared at her lip crooked as she spoke. "Yes but today... well it was today. And today, actual today was rough but also--"

He murmured "I know."

Her shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry."

"What? No, Molly. Nothing for you to be sorry for. Ever," he smiled, soft, and it grew when she joined him.

She shifted, but he held her tight and she frowned, and he watched her seeking to read his thoughts as her fingers absently stroked his shirt at the buttons.

He ran his thumb in circles at her temple and down her cheek. "I need to tell you something about today."

She squinted as he spied her thoughts travel across every line in her face. In a whispered breath she said, "But you told me every..."

He shook his head slow pursing his lips, and her eyes shut tight. He sensed in fear, but her face softened quick as it tensed her gaze opening to meet his.

"Small detail I left out," he sighed.

She swallowed hard as he continued.

"When we entered the room, there was a coffin. Simple pine and new. Of course my initial fear was someone was in it but my sister let me know the parameters of the game soon enough. I looked at the plaque... and it said the phrase."

She cocked her head,  "What phra--"

"I love you."

Her jaw fell slack before she spoke. "That where Mycroft and John made their assumptions from."

"And one correct deduction," he nodded.

"I was supposed to be in it." She said it so matter of factual that he blinked as his mind processed her reasoning. One he deduced and feared if he lifted the lid she'd be in some state he didn't want to face at the time.

He blinked again his mouth drying with the memory flooding in,  and he managed to stammer out, "I don't… know... I don't want to know."

Molly's hands, chilled fingertips but toasty palm cupped his face, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock"

He pulled his face from her grasp reluctantly. "No… it fine... Um, yes. Well. you know most of the rest after." He waved his hand and shrugged.

"Worst love confession ever."

He frowned to her smirk.

"Matter of opinion but yes," he sniffed.

A breath of silence

" That isn't all is it?" she murmured.

He took a deep breath, "No… so... I told you what my sister said."

"Yes... she was right as much as it was torture to say so to you."

He sought her eyes and whispered, "I tore the coffin to pieces after she said it."

Her turn to frown.

"What?'

He blew out hard, "Smashed it to splinters with my fists."

She gasped not in shock but in realisation he noted. "Oh God... Sherlock... that explains your knuckles.

He half smiled at her ability to add everything up so quickly.

"I just... I wondered about the injury when you took the bandages off a few days later." A slight smile as she found and lifted his hand up with hers, studying for small lined scars and her finger traced the only one he knew existed. She pulled his hand to her lips, kissing the scar.

He reached in his pocket, reliving his hip of the pressure of the plaque and ignored the water at the edge of his eyes as he placed it in her hand.

She heaved a breath eyes staring down, her face reflected now as he watched her trace the lettering with her eyes.  

With his other hand he retrieved the ring from his pocket, clenching it in a fist.

He swallowed a growing lump and spoke what words came to him unhindered. "Molly, every remembrance of that day distressing but I'm striving desperately to replace them on my own accord. Memories were erased before and substituted without my own agency. But I want to forget that fear, though I feel myself fail every moment.'

"We all do and you've done amazing considering," she whispered as she laid her hand over the plaque and his.

He opened his other palm showing her the ring. "Take it. A different promise than what the bands on our fingers say."

She stared for a moment, her eyes tracing the coffin shaped diamond as he measured her reaction.

"What more could you promise Sherlock..." she croaked, her eyes shining now.

"Something better than today."

Their eyes met, both wet and a bit tired he thought. But always hopeful now. Words no longer a barrier nor a detriment.

With a smile and sigh he said it again, low and earnest. "I love you" Her whisper shuttered in reply. "I love you."

With it all said, the final piece placed he took her lips with his and relished the change. Soft and aching gliding into something well practised and resolute.

She pulled back and stared at the ring, now sitting on her right hand where he slipped it as they kissed. She smirked and chuckled. "It's beautiful... and morbid even for us."

He joined her chuckle, eyebrows raised, "And?"

She lifted her eyes and grinned wide, "Makes it perfect." She shifted out of his arms to settle next to him.

"Death do us part?"

"The most morbid part of vows in truth."

She shrugged, snuggling her head more in his chest as his arm settled behind her shoulders. His fingers reached to her wedding band and fidgeted with it.

"So you want to talk about today? The actual day?" he asked as he leaned to kiss the top of her head.

"No, I think a cuddle, bad tv and delivery. Not in the mood to cook."

He squinted," Are you ever?"

Her hand popped him in the chest. "Oi! Pot meet kettle.  I made you chicken parm last week did I not?" She wiggled out of the snuggle and stood hands on hips.

He groaned, "That's practically baking the way--"

"You never complain." She cocked her eyebrow and dared him to continue with a look. "You order then, I'm gonna get into something more comfy."

"Oh?" he teased with a shifted look of interest.

She rolled her eyes at his look but he noticed the gulp, nonetheless.

"Really. Actually comfortable."

He nodded "Good. That jumper is hurting my eyes."

She tutted, tongue clicking slow, and he felt his mouth go dry as she leaned over, obvious in her attempt as she aimed his view to be down the neckline gaped open.

"You like the jumpers... admit it," she said low. Her eyes darkened, and he knew his matched as she slid her hands up his chest and on his shoulders.  

He let his eyes travel lazily down and back to her face before thinking of a response as he leaned in to whisper with a cocked eyebrow, "I like them best off you."

His shoulders grew cold as her hands lifted off. He missed the warmth and his hands shot to rest on the sides of her thighs. She held his gaze and reached down pulling off the jumper over her head. She kept on the shirt underneath but his eyes found exposed skin as she lifted her arms. He noted to kiss that exact place later. She stepped backward out of his grasp and turned on her heels headed to their bedroom. He growled, "Tease."

The jumper landed covering his face, grateful it was lightweight, and she was gone when he pulled it off.

And with that he ordered the food on his phone in the silence. He looked to the kitchen, and the images faded, more indistinct. New memories in technicolour blending over the old at his will. One day he hoped to remember this day. A better day than most.

kudos on ao3

[lays-krisps]

locked out of hell | mafia!au PART▪1

🍒 word count : 1558

💋 genre : exo ot9 mafia!au

⚠️ warnings : some violence , mature themes , daddy kink 

🌠 author’s note : hi guys ! this is my first imagine on tumblr and hopefully you will like it ! if you want to make any suggestions for future fanfic then just send them in . hope you enjoy !

oh my god . my brain wreaked of lustful thoughts . at the moment we are out , fighting crime and being the violent bunch of gangsters we are . but my brain couldn’t cope with the tight fitted suits and shiny dress shoes . they all wore the expensive suits with such class , that my body couldn’t take it any more .

as for now , i am stuck chasing a rival gang in the dingy streets of seoul . chanyeol , sehun and beakhyun are at my back . guns locked and ready for any one to jump out on us and attack . whilst they are wearing their expensive suits that made them look oh-so-edible , i am wearing black leather jeans and a black long sleeved t-shirt . and just to be safe i am wearing a coal black bulletproof vest over it . the boys wouldn’t let me leave our complex in the city without one . they never did .

“ y/n , do you know where we are going ? “ chanyeol sighed behind me as i stopped at a clearing in the backstreets of seoul .

“ of course i do yeolie “ i smirked . “ they went down the ally that we passed , but they don’t know that they will end up running right into us . seeing as the route they took takes them in a massive circle “ i point my hand above my head and make circular motions in the air .

that was the great thing about growing up in seoul with parents that were constantly out and about breaking the law .  being the leaders of a gang that is . they never gave a shit to look after me and left me at home with a door key . meaning that i would slip out the house when they weren’t there to care . they never really cared about me when they were at home either to be honest . all they did for me as a child and a young teen was provide my with meals and clothes , as well as shit tonnes of money . with the money , well , i never really spent it . i asked our butler to put it into an enclosed account with i wouldn’t be able to open until my 19th birthday . but now i am 21 years old , even though i earn a lot of money , i never really touch it . which is weird considering .  

i crouch on the floor behind a dust cart and wait for the men to proceed in front of us . awaiting their fate to be shot .

then I heard it . the pitter patter of feet hitting the rough concrete . i ready my gun and aim at the person’s feet . i hear the three boys behind me do the same . as the men from the rival gang came into view , i pressed down on the trigger of the gun and let the bullet fly from the barrel . the piercing shriek of a male wreaked havoc after that . men frantically looking up and down , searching for where the bullet came from . we sit leaning on the dust cart , trying our best not to laugh at how pathetic the men looked . the man i shot was on the floor cradling his leg , rocking back and forth on his back . pathetic wimp can’t even take a bullet to his muscle . i thought .

“ what a pussy “ i heard chanyeol snicker . making sehun and baekhyun snicker too .

“ now come on boys , lets not be harsh “ i smirk , playing around .

baekhyun eyed me and licked his lips . he just can’t contain himself sometimes . i mentally role my eyes .

“ right , lets go break up these filthy bunch of men “ i giggle ; i get up and hold me gun close .

the three boys get up behind me and walk with me .

“ yo ! you pathetic sons’ of bitches ! “ i holler over their unmanly cries .

they all turn around to face me and point their guns at me . yelling that they will shoot me if i step closer . i’m not afraid though . i take a few steps toward the men and lower my gun . 

“ alright boys , would you really wanna shoot a woman . how low is that , ay ?” i begin to talk smart , hoping i would get somewhere with them . in a way which would mean we win this fight .

 i swing my hips as i walk closer to a particular man . he had ; light brown hair that went a ginger colour when it was in the right light , luscious plump lips that looked so fucking kissable , i don’t even want to mention how bloody muscular he was . he had me thinking unladylike thoughts just by looking at him . he wore an all-black suit , with a silver chain around his neck and one diamond stud in his right earlobe . he also had two chains hanging from his belt , he looked so gorgeous . but i had to maintain my professionalism and do what i came here to do . to take down this gang .

“ what’s your name sweetheart ?” i ask , lust dripping from my mouth . i run my finger down his chest . i heard him gulp . wow , the effect i leave on these men shock  me .

“ my name is shownu “ he replies , acting coy .

“ shownu ! what are you doing ? you’re giving her private information “ one of the men yell at him .

“ shut it ! if he wants to tell me his name , he can “ i change my tone from harsh to subtle . i then hear his group tut and sigh at his choice of action .“ well then shownu , what are you doing here , around these parts of seoul at this time of night ?” i begin to flirt . i cup his cheeks in my hands and tilt his head to the left , bearing the tanned skin he bore on his neck . and may i add , the muscles on his neck are even finer than the ones that are so incredibly visible through his black suit jacket . i bring my lips to the skin and suck lightly , leaving bruises for later on , pulling at the smooth skin through my teeth . he fidgets under my grip and sucks in a deep breath .

“ we were going to sneak in exo’s head office and collect vital information of their data base “ he spills out his secrets and plans . i can mentally picture chanyeol , sehun and baekhyun shaking their heads at shownu’s confession . what a shame that such a handsome man had to go to waste . i pull my lips away from his neck and sigh , disappointed . shownu whined at the presence of my lips leaving his skin .

“ tch , what a shame . i would have loved to have gotten to know you more shownu , but seeming as you were about to break into my facilities and take my information , it seems to me that i’m gonna have to say … bu-bye “ i lift the gun up to his chest , still chest to chest with him , and pull the trigger . the gun-shot ricocheted off of the walls of nearby buildings . i then hear six more gun-shots and look to my right . accompanied by chanyeol , sehun and baekhyun , were yixing , jongin and jongdae . as my eyes pull away from the men , i look back and see the rest of the gang on the floor . dead . i smile devilishly at the scene and at our work .

“ well boys , our work here is done , lets gets back to the complex “ i mutter , but still audible to the ear .i hear wood based shoes click on the concrete floor as one of the boys walks to me from behind . a hand comes from behind my back and caresses my neck .

“ well-done baby girl , you did good today “ a voice spoke . their lips brush past my neck and leaves a chaste kiss on my neck . i turn my body to face the voice that is behind me . it was chanyeol . i put my hands on his broad shoulders and bring him closer to me . my chest is against his .

“ thank you daddy “ i whisper in his ear . i then give chanyeol a hug . his arms are around my waist . i place my chin on his shoulder and look at the boys behind us . they are all biting their lips and look extremely bothersome . 

we then begin to head home . back to our complex in the city of seoul .