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serenadeonacanoe · 3 years ago

Text

Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. (Namjoon x OFC)

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess... more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

Summary:

"Wow. Is that that grumpy artist behind you? Jesus. He really looks like a bit of a dick. And you are right. He really is hot..." Oh no. Speakerphone. Namjoon was standing behind me and was staring at me. Then at my phone. He let out a little laugh, then raised his hand to wave at Tae and Yoongi outside who were now also staring at him as if frozen, before turning around in unison. As if that would help. As if he couldn't see them. Or better even... couldn't hear them.

[...]

Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that new and upcoming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

CHAPTER 1

Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the top of the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn't need much today to blow my fuze that had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week consisting of being belittled by old white men and endless hours of unpaid overtime I about had it. Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are horrible and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art and you have good organisational skills, you are resilient, charming when it counts and tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn't. It's too late to turn around now.

"That is why I don't use an agenda or notebook. If something is important enough for me to attend I simply won't forget. I know you youngsters are all about the bullet journaling and expressing yourself by mapping out your life but it really is just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work." For a second I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer's face, but that probably wouldn't have helped my CV and the new job I would have to look for starting tomorrow. At least I should have screamed at him a little. Mainly, that I didn't care, that I was on my period and my shitty shower in the shitty flat i shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning and that god damn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I had organized if I couldn't write it down somewhere. Instead, I smiled. Died a little on the inside and complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he would like another cup of coffee.

"What a dick." Samantha murmured, more to herself than me, after the guy had finally left, which made me snort under my breath. She usually didn't say much but when she did it was usually pure gold. In the end, it didn't matter that he was. Didn't matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he had bought from us over the last couple of months had neither been smart nor impressive purchases. Mainly expensive. And flashy.

"Doesn't matter now." I said in a sigh after a quick glance at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday I had taken two days off, about the longest break I had had this year and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be. In silence we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers that would come in over the weekend wouldn't have to suspect anyone was actually working here. - A white desk. A huge Imac on it. That was all they needed to see, folders and pens and apparently especially agendas to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight I threw on my coat and Samantha just gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me, just exhausted. "Have fun then? Don't get too wasted?" "Oh..." I said with a huge smug grin on my lips. "You have no idea... gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of 90s Euro Trash." I couldn't help it, apparently, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way that I'd probably would not have if it hadn't been for a bit with an audience of a single person. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me and I quickly turned around, slowly lowering my arms, Sam biting her lower lip at the sight of me standing there like an idiot in front of HIM of all people.

Men didn't have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were the ones that pissed me off most usually, but no one had managed to do so as much as Kim Namjoon recently. And now he was standing there, looking me up and down and stopping at my hair. The crazy too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke-hair. "Nice." He just commented and then looked over at Sam. "I'd like to take a last look before Sunday's opening if that is okay?" I stood there, my shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

"Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I will have to be home before that." Samantha replied and I was impressed by how calm she stayed. "Of course." Namjoon said and gave her a slight smile. "Anyone else still around? Chris maybe?" Of course Chris hadn't been in today. It was Friday and unless important guests had announced themselves the owner of the gallery wasn't around on Fridays... "I am afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?" Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans." Namjoon replied before I could say a word. His voice once more dropping to a hushed, deep disapproval and his hands buried in the pockets of his rather expensive looking coat. Silence for a few moments and then he just walked off towards the room his exhibition had been set up all week. Showing without a further word that I would have to stay anyways if he wanted it that way.

"Well thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it." "I am so sorry. But I was serious, I can't lose this babysitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. VEGETABLES!" Samantha suddenly seemed in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse and showering me in promises she would make it up to me. Even though we both knew that wouldn't happen and wasn't necessary. Suddenly having to stay longer was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and I stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would have followed the artist, asking if I could somehow help, but nahhh... my ego was bruised up enough now, especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes. Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite. I had thought he was cool for about five minutes when he had come in the first time. We had heard about him for quite a few months before, I think I had even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to him in real life. He came in all cheekbones and sharp chin and an all grey outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He had also completely ignored me.

That's how it had started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot. Having studied art and its management and now feeling like a better secretary at times, when my colleagues and I were doing all the behind the scenes work while Chris worked very little hours and ended up with all the money and recognition. I was aware this wasn't the only field of work where this was the case, but it still frustrated me... I had imagined my life in the last years of my 20s to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending my Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to leave so I could lock up.

But what I perhaps hated most about him... was that I admired him. - Purely for his art. Really. Even the fact that he kept acting as if I wasn't around every time he came in didn't mean I couldn't admit that. At least to myself. The stories behind his huge colleagues were clever and thought through, but even without context, the pure aesthetics were mesmerizing. It was the kind of art that touched something deep inside of you and standing in front of it I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece I was the first one to sneak a peek in the back rooms before it was hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He is just... quiet. I think he might even be shy... stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks back. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Comments like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which probably would have been perceived as even more sensitive, but when had insensitivity become something to strive for? I had only kept quiet because I liked Sam and I knew what she had tried to say. At least I thought so. That I might have given less of a shit if I hadn't been rather attracted to Namjoon. Even though I had never mentioned it, she just knew. She knew if I didn't care about something I didn't waste my time on it. But if something made me angry or upset there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. But he was still a dick and I still wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour I walked up to him, a little speech prepared in my head about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around he just raised a hand between us to keep me from interrupting and turned away again. I hadn't seen that he was on the phone. "No, it's nothing, just one of the gallery employees." I heard him say and okay... if I wasn't about to explode before I was now. I stood there for a minute, fuming, and then simply walked back to the office area, my hand shaking when I started turning off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped but still felt good. Two minutes later the only lights still on were the one above my head and the one in front of the door. I would at least give him a clear direction where to head, he seemed to need it.

When Namjoon appeared out of one of the dark corners he looked even more annoyed than usual. Looking my direction through squinting eyes and his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he yelled my way and almost walked into one of the little flyer shelves. Wasn't the first time I had seen that happen to him though so maybe that had nothing to do with the light.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had put on my coat and turned off the remaining lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had almost found his way, standing in the open door, still on his phone. A little groan from my side when he didn't even notice that I was standing behind me went by unnoticed. Or simply ignored. But instead of the appropriate clearing of the throat or the maybe less polite squeezing past him, I just put my hands on his back and gently pushed him forward a bit, until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. Dropping his hand with the phone in it, for a second he looked like he wanted to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse. His eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I simply replied and stared at him for a second, then turned around and locked the two locks on the door before stepping over to the alarm system. I couldn't help feeling smug because apparently, he knew my name. I imagined him staring at the back of my head because he was flustered, but couldn't be sure. All I knew was that when I turned around again a minute later he was still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together forming a straight line and watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work around people who could get you into trouble?" He was right, he could get me into trouble. But I was too fired up now, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don't like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with those words he had turned around, coat flying open in the wind, unfortunately making him look really cool as he walked away and I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I kept my mouth shut and just walked off in the other direction, realizing minutes later that my car was parked the other way, but I kept walking for a while before I finally turned around. It took a while to calm down and only cuddling up to my cat on the couch to trash tv finally did the job. But by then I had realized something I wasn't sure I liked too much. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah I should have just played it cool. Would have been much smarted in many regards. But I also had somewhat enjoyed myself in the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense posture as he was towering over me... man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

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#namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #artist!namjoon

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

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Honeysuckle

Summary: The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

Tags: whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Spencer had initially been wary of Penelope’s invitation to picnic in Meridian Hill Park one beautiful summer afternoon — he burned way too easily and didn’t like exposing himself to insects more than absolutely necessary — but as soon as she’d mentioned Derek was going, he’d given in. He wasn’t about to turn down an afternoon spent in the sun with his best friends and boyfriend. It was a rare day off for the team: one not even spent hanging by their phone expecting to be called in any minute, so they were all insistent on making the most of it.

He’s the last one to arrive, spotting the others sat in the shade of an oak tree, already laughing as they get stuck into their first drinks of the afternoon. Despite his initial hesitations, as soon as he feels the sun on his face and sees his friends he’s immediately glad he turned up and he hurries over to join the rest of the team, his own contributions to the picnic in hand.

“Pretty boy!” Derek shouts, grinning widely as he jumps up from his lazy position on the blanket to wrap Spencer in a hug, before pulling back slightly to kiss him. He can already tell he’s a little tipsy, and although Spencer doesn’t drink he has nothing against everyone else letting their hair down and having fun; God knows they deserve it.

His relationship with Derek is only a few months old, and he still relishes every moment he gets to spend wrapped up in his arms.

“Hey guys.” His words are muffled slightly by Derek’s shoulder as his boyfriend is reluctant to let him go, but as soon as he’s released, he turns to match everyone’s wide grins.

“Did you bring the strawberries?” Emily asks, levelling him with a faux-stern look that she can’t maintain for long, melting back into her relaxed smile soon enough.

“Of course.” He takes a seat on the picnic blanket only to be immediately wrapped into a side hug by Penelope. He hugs back before beginning to unpack his bag.

“What about the icing sugar?” she asks, and her stern glare isn’t fake at all: Spencer knows how seriously Penelope takes a) organisation, and b) sweet treats.

“Who do you take me for?” he laughs, retrieving the fruit and sugar from his bag and taking a swig of the cool lemonade he’d packed in his thermos.

Sometimes he wishes he could go back in time and show lonely, teenage Spencer pictures of days like these. One day, he’ll be twenty six, working at his dream job, and spending his days off in the warmth of the East Coast sun one Sunday afternoon surrounded by his best friends, kissed by his boyfriend at every opportunity. They’ve never asked him to be anything other than exactly who he is, inviting them into their group and doting on him relentlessly, loving him just as much as he loves them.

It’s a luxury you only appreciate when you’ve known the loneliness of summer: when the hum of the AC is the only sound in your stuffy, humid dorm room, and you’re researching the effects of methane on winter weather patterns as you long for cold weather again, because then at least then you don’t have to listen to the excited shouts of friends outside anymore, then it’s acceptable to isolate yourself inside with only yourself and books for company.

He shakes himself out of his miserable recollections and reminds himself to be in the present. Emily has her head in Penelope’s lap as they discuss which incarnation of Doctor Who is the best while JJ and Derek discuss the new jogging park opening up across the border in Virginia. He knows which conversation is more suited to his interests and immediately goes up to bat for the Seventh Doctor, which manages to engage him in a spirited debate with both women.

Soon, though, they find themselves all discussing their workplace embarrassments and recalling the funniest moments from over the last few years, and Spencer loses himself in the heat of the afternoon and the warmth of his friendships. He’s gorged himself on all the strawberries and sandwiches he could stomach, and as the afternoon stretches longer and evening approaches he lies down on the blanket and rests his head in Derek’s lap, mirroring Penelope and Emily. His eyes flutter closed as his full belly and heat of the sun tire him out, and Derek’s fingers thread themselves through Spencer’s long hair, a light and welcome touch.

The haze of his friends still chatting around him as he dozes comfortably is interrupted, however, when he feels a sharp pinch on his wrist and seconds later, he’s fighting for breath. He launches upright, wheezing as he claws at his chest, trying desperately to fill his lungs with enough air.

“Spencer? Oh my God, Spencer, what’s wrong?” Penelope cries, immediately by his side as she looks him over frantically, not knowing what’s happening.

“Derek, call an ambulance,” JJ directs, taking charge as she rushes to Spencer’s side as well. “He’s in anaphylactic shock. Spencer, listen to me, do you have your epi-pen with you?”

Her words manage to get through the panicked haze and light-headedness as he can’t get enough oxygen. He can feel his face swelling and his heart racing, but he’s still coherent enough to point to his bag.

“He didn’t eat anything, though,” Emily says, panicked and confused as she watches her friend have a medical crisis while she’s powerless to help.

“He’s allergic to bees,” JJ says, keeping calm as she prepares the epi-pen and administers it to Spencer’s thigh. “One must have stung him for some reason.”

“There!” Penelope points to the bee sting on Spencer’s wrist and JJ lunges for her bag, rummaging until she finds her credit card which she uses to carefully slide under the stinger and remove it, preventing any more venom from flowing into Spencer’s system.

It’s clear after a few minutes that the epi-pen hasn’t worked: Spencer still feels like he can’t catch his breath and the world is fading slowly as his heart beats out of control and his organs can’t get enough oxygen.

He feels himself be moved gently by various hands as JJ directs the others until he’s leaning up as comfortably as possible against Derek’s chest as Penelope elevates his legs to keep blood flowing to his vital organs.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” JJ says loudly, right in front of his face. It’s blurry and out of focus and he can feel himself losing consciousness fast. “The ambulance is on its way.”

It’s the last thing he hears before he collapses completely as he passes out.

⭐️

It’s dark outside when Spencer finally wakes up. His bed is warm and comfortable and he lets himself listen to the somewhat comfortable steady beeps of the heart monitor and movement of staff and patients around the ward before finally opening his eyes to scan his room.

Derek’s sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair right next to his bed, sketching what Spencer can only guess are plans for the property he’s just taken on, an empty jello cup balancing on the armrest of his chair.

“Sandwiches and strawberries not fill you up?” he asks, voice croaky as he cracks an eye open. He can’t help but smile, too. He has the best boyfriend and the best friends anyone could ever hope for.

Derek’s head snaps up as he hears Spencer’s voice, setting his notebook and jello aside to grab for Spencer’s hand. “You are something else,” he chuckles. “Your first thought when coming round from a medical disaster is an observation of my eating patterns.” He shakes his head fondly. “ But you know I can’t pass up a tub of jello.”

“That’s true. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you say no when it’s offered.”

“You’re one to talk, pretty boy.”

They lapse into short silence, accompanied only by the quiet beeps of the machines. “Sorry I scared you,” he whispers eventually, feeling guilt wrap itself around his stomach.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your fault.” Derek looks sincere as he holds Spencer’s hand tighter, careful of the IV in his wrist. “The doctors… they said it was a severe attack, which is probably why the first epi-pen didn’t work. They’re monitoring you overnight to make sure there was no damage to your kidneys, I think. I’ll go find a doctor to tell them you’re awake.”

He moves to get out of his seat, but Spencer pulls him back down, as well as he can when he’s still feeling weak. “No, just… don’t leave,” he asks, his voice coming out a little too pleading for his liking. “Stay.”

The idea of being alone right now twists his stomach; the idea of being without Derek so desperately scary.

“Okay, okay, baby,” Derek relents, sitting back down and running a soothing hand through his tangled hair, Spencer’s eyes fluttering closed at the contact. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to.” Instead, he presses the button for the nurse.

“Where are the others?” Spencer dares to ask after a few seconds of quiet.

“The nurses weren’t too happy with four people in here,” Derek chuckles. “I’ve been updating them by text; I’ll tell them you’re awake in a minute. JJ saved your life, you know. None of us had any clue what was happening but she was the only one who kept calm and the only one who got us through those awful minutes waiting for the ambulance to show up.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I told her I was allergic to bee stings years ago. It was just an off-hand comment, it never feels like that big a deal… this is only the third time this has ever happened. I guess I don’t feel the need to bring it up.”

“Well that off-hand comment saved your life, pretty boy.” Derek squeezes his eyes closed for a second, and when he opens them the emotion written on his face is heart-wrenching. “God, I can’t believe I could’ve lost you. There were a good few minutes there when I didn’t think you were gonna make it and after… Tobias… I was just so scared.”

Spencer’s stomach clenches at that, imagining the roles reversed is terrifying just as a hypothetical. He can’t even begin to imagine how Derek felt. He reaches a hand out to touch Derek’s face gently, squeezing his hand with the other. “But you didn’t lose me,” he murmurs. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

“Yeah.” His voice is barely a whisper as his eyes close again. “Is it bad that I kind of want bees to go extinct now?” he asks with a wet chuckle a few moments later.

“Derek!” Spencer laughs weakly, acting scandalised. “Bees are fundamental to the global ecosystem. Civilisation would effectively collapse if bees went extinct, it’s definitely not worth eradicating bees for the sake of me avoiding the rarity of anaphylactic shock, not according to the laws of proportionality. It’s actually frightening how fast the bee population is depleting though… did you know that there are only about 2.5 million honey-producing hives left in the US? That’s down from 4.5 million in 1980 and the loss has largely been attributed to colony collapse disorder—”

“Ah, Doctor Reid, you’re awake.” A smiling nurse bustles through the door and comes to check his vitals, fiddling with one of his IVs before taking a step back. “How’s your breathing? Is the nasal cannula okay or would you prefer a full mask?”

“The cannula’s good,” he says, smiling politely. Really, he just wants to get back to telling Derek all the bee facts he can recall. He has some really good ones itching to be let out. “I’m breathing fine, just feel a little weak still.”

“Good. Your vitals all look stable, so a doctor will be round in the morning to talk you through your treatment and medication. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine, thank you,” Spencer nods, and she gives them one last smile before leaving the room and sliding the door shut quietly behind her.

“I should bring her back in,” Derek chuckles as the nurse leaves the room. “She missed out on your bee lecture. Fascinating stuff.”

“Shut up,” Spencer huffs, sinking back against the pillows. “You don’t deserve to hear my bee facts.”

“No,” Derek protests, grinning widely. “I’m joking, baby, carry on. You were telling me about colony collapse disorder.”

Spencer knows that, of course — he does have an eidetic memory after all — but it makes him smile that Derek remembers exactly where he was in his spiel. Maybe Penelope’s onto something when she says that Derek is “whipped” for him. (It had taken at least fifteen minutes for Spencer to fully understand what she meant by that, mostly because he kept asking about the etymology, history, and statistical usage of the word and she kept rolling her eyes, which he would then insist was not an answer.)

“Colony collapse disorder is depressing,” Spencer sighs, feeling quite tired all of a sudden. “I don’t feel like explaining it.”

“It doesn’t sound great.” Derek goes back to threading his fingers through Spencer’s hair. “Why don’t you tell me your favourite three bee facts, and then you can go back to sleep”

Spencer hums, giving it a bit of thought before replying. “Scientists trained bees to score goals in bee soccer in return for a sugary treat, which is especially interesting because they have brains the size of a poppy seed. They communicate with one another by wiggling their butts. It’s like their own language, they tell their nestmates where to go to get the best food. Bees also live in loads of different places, not just in the countryside. My favourite place they live is in marshes and wetlands, because I love insects that live in watery areas.”

“I’d pay to watch bees play soccer,” Derek laughs quietly. “You’re so smart, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer sighs happily. “Love you,” he murmurs, eyes closing against the exhaustion.

“I love you more.”

Spencer isn’t awake long enough to argue with him.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith

#my writing #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid whump #spencer reid angst #moreid whump #moreid angst #moreid fluff #hurt spencer reid

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

The Widow 🖤

Warnings: nonconsent (fingering and intercourse)

This is dark!(mob)Buckyand explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: It’s the 1920s and everyone’s having a roaring time but you.

Note: What is this? A one shot? Possible series? I’m posting this at 930 pm and I don’t even know anymore. But anyway, hope you enjoy.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You thought yourself fortunate not to have worn black for Billy during the war, but the day had come regardless. You clutched his dog tags as the rain poured over your hat and soaked through your wool coat. Painfully ironic to think he evaded a thousand bullets in France just to catch one at home.

An unfortunate ending followed by an even more tragic send-off. No one but you and the priest. None of the corpsmen could make it to the funeral and his family hadn’t spoken to him since well before the war. It was better they stayed on their farm and tended their fields. They always said Billy would die in the city.

Would they be smug to know they were right or sorry for it?

You stared at the casket as the wet dirt was piled atop it. Each landed with a duller thump than the last. The police officer told you they found him in an alley. You supposed it was better than a bloated corpse at the bottom of a river. At least you knew he was gone. You could move on… but to what?

When there was nothing left to mark Billy but a flat headstone and a low mound of dirt, the priest left. He offered you a ride but you refused. You needed to be alone. You had to get used to that.

You didn’t move until you heard the thunder. You glanced up at the howling sky and felt the cold metal on your finger. Billy bought the ring after he came home; you’d spent the war with a loop of twine as its placeholder.

His job at the banker saw him well in those first months after but he was always a man who wanted more. You warned him against the thoughts you saw twinkling in his eyes. One night a week he went down to the speakeasy and gambled; never enough to see you out of more than a loaf of bread or two. He liked the thrill, though surely the danger lured him more.

You overheard him on the phone. He was helping the men down at the drinking hole case the bank. A one time hit wasn’t going to keep him so long as his teller position. You argued as he tried to wiggle out of a thin lie; you misheard him. It ended with him promising you nothing would happen.

Maybe he had been honest. Maybe he tried to back out and got the bullet as his penance. You couldn’t know for sure but what you did was that it was those men at the speakeasy who did this to him. They had paid him with a coffin; not a very nice one as you couldn’t afford more than pine.

You trudged away, your heeled boots wet from toe to ankle. You tore your veil from your hat and let the rain run down your face. You still hadn’t cried. Why?

You neared the brick building and let yourself in. You climbed up to the small apartment you and Billy shared. Had shared. You shoved the key in and your numbness disappeared all at once. It was unlocked. Through the muffled thunder and constant patter, you could hear movement within. It was too late to turn back as the door opened from the other side.

The man who greeted you wore a finely tailored suit;grey lined with blue. He stared back at you, his mouth a firm line framed by his square jaw. You swung without thinking, the chain that held Billy’s tags still around your fingers. The stranger caught your hand just before it could hit him and one of the metal tags bounced off his chin.

“Hey,” He grabbed your other arm and wrestled with you. “What are you doing?”

“Get off,” You struggled as his arms slipped around you and crushed you against his chest. Your arms were trapped between your bodies as he grunted. “Help me! Someone--”

“No one’s gonna help ya, doll,” He sneered. “Even if they do hear ya.”

“Stop!” You tried to wriggle free. “Please, I don’t know what you want but--”

“I want you to be still. You won’t like it if I have to make you.” He squeezed until the air was forced from your lungs. He was terribly strong. “And you seem like a lady’s who faced enough pain today.”

“What do you want?” You gasped as you tried to stomp his foot blindly.

“Not gonna tell you until you calm down.” He insisted.

You bared your teeth and reluctantly stilled. You glared at him and huffed. “Just take whatever it is you’re looking for. Please. I just buried my husband… maybe you’ll do me the favour of digging me in next to him.”

The tension in his jaw relented just as little as he looked at you. He pulled you through the door and turned around so that he was between you and the hallway. He let you go and kicked the door shut. You gripped the chain tighter.

“Now don’t you go trying that shit again,” He scowled as his hand settled on his hip just above a pistol. “I really don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

“That’s not my name,” You bristled. “Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

You turned your head as you heard shuffling from the other room. He was silent as he listened too.

“You’re Billy’s wife?” He asked.

“Widow,” You corrected. “Though I suspect you knew that already. Now tell me--”

“What’s your name then, doll?”

You reluctantly told him and he gave you his; Bucky, as his men knew him.

“Come, sit,” He gestured you further in. “I said calm down.”

You pursed your lips and slowly turned around. You entered the front room and frowned. The sofa was the only piece of furniture not overturned. You crossed your arms and as you neared it.

“You should take that coat off,” He intoned. “You’ll get a cold sitting in that.”

You didn’t respond, merely unbuttoned the wool jacket and slung it over the arm of the sofa. You slipped the tags in your pocketbook and set it atop the coat. You sat and looked to him as he tucked his hands in his pockets. He strode around the room as the noise of intrusion continued from the other room.

“How long were you married to good old Billy?” He asked.

“Does it matter?” You said.

“Judging by the photos,” He neared the corner and lifted a cracked frame, “I’d say you’ve been with him since before the war. That’s a long time. At least eight years together, wed or not.”

“What are you looking for?” You asked.

“Something that if you knew, you’d not tell me anyway,” He considered the picture as he neared. “And poor Billy took to his grave. My condolences.”

You scoffed and unpinned your hat. You tossed it onto the floor with the rest of the mess.

“I don’t want them,” You hissed. “So better get on with your search and leave me alone. Not taking any of this mess with me, anyway.”

“Taking it with you?” He repeated. “And where would you be going?”

“Don’t see how that’s of concern to you,” You countered.

He chuckled and looked around. He grabbed the armchair and righted it before dragging it over. He sat before you and leaned forward.

“Billy definitely learned a lot from that bank. If you must know, he lifted some money off my organisation and with the amount left outstanding, you’d have quite the life.” He said. “So you leaving all sudden is suspicious, isn’t it?”

“My husband is dead. I haven’t a job and I can’t pay the rent with grief.” You replied. “I’d say it’s practical.”

He smiled and leaned back as he crossed his legs. He bit his thumb as he watched you. Your possessions crashed and shattered in the other room. You looked at the clock then the window. The sky was grey and foreboding.

“So, if you got no money, where would you be going?” He asked at last.

“Again, I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” You uttered.

He tapped his bottom lip with his fingertips. He nodded and reached into his jacket. He checked the time and stood.

“Stay.” He jabbed his finger towards you. “You won’t make it far.”

You sighed and looked at your lap. His footsteps walked down the hall and his voice followed.

“It’s not here, Steve.” He said. “He was foolish but not stupid. He wouldn’t hide it under his pillow.”

There was an answer but you didn’t listen. Billy stole money and in return he got a bullet. Just another small town boy dead in the city. And he hadn’t even told you. You were all alone, penniless, and soon to be homeless.

“Head back to house, have the men scour the city. Worse comes to worse, we visit that fancy little bank,” The voices grew louder and you looked up as another man appeared from the hallway.

His dark blonde hair was slicked back and his blue eyes twinkled in contrast to his black suit. He peeked over at you then back to the other man. He lifted a brow but shrugged.

“Alright, boss,” He said. “See ya there?”

“Shortly,” The other assured and followed him to the door.

When the second man left, the first closed the door and turned the lock. He returned to you and pulled the chair aside. He began to pace again as he thought. You stood and he turned to you abruptly. He raised a hand.

“Where are you going?”

“You going to be here all day?” You wondered.

“Bit of patience,” He coaxed. “I was only trying to think of a way to help a poor widow such as yourself.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“But you need it.” He smirked.

You stared at him. The curve of his lips made your stomach curdle.

“The way I see it, your man’s gone. Got himself killed for being a thief.” He neared you slowly, “Most men of my stature would go so far as you see you in the ground next to him… but I am not any man.”

You watched him uneasily as he stopped before you.

“Well, now you’re gonna need one of two things. A job,” He held up a finger, “Or a man. And I can see that you get neither in this city without my say so.” He flicked up a second finger then suddenly turned his hand. He cupped your face in his palm as his thumb rubbed along your lip. “I’m not hiring though so I suppose I can offer the latter.”

You shoved him away and stumbled back. “You killed my husband. Why would I--”

“He got himself killed and while I bid the trigger pulled, I didn’t do it myself,” He argued. “Hard snake to catch, that Billy.”

“Get out of my apartment.” You demanded. “What you want isn’t here so go!”

“Oh but what I want is here,” He trailed you as you stormed to the door. “Because if I can’t have what Billy took from me, I’ll have what’s left of his in this world.”

You unlocked the door and opened it just an inch before he slammed it shut with his hand. You turned to slap him but your hand froze as the barrel of a gun gaped back at you. You dropped your arm and leaned against the door. He slowly lowered the pistol and dragged the muzzle along your neck and chest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya better than he did.” He slithered. “Place like this? Nothing to what I can give ya.”

“Please, go--”

“You know, I was hoping to be out of here before you got back. I hate dealing with widows, but you, oh, I see what Billy saw… and more,” He carefully sheathed his pistol at his belt. “I can see why he wanted to give you more. Give you everything.”

His arm rested against the door beside your head as he got even closer. You could taste his breath on your lips.

“I’m gonna give you everything and then some.” He growled.

He bent suddenly and scooped you up. He forced himself between your legs as he pushed you against the door. You beat on his shoulders as he pressed his lips to yours. You grunted helplessly as his hand crawled beneath your skirt and past your stocking. He played with your garter as his tongue poked between your lips.

You bit down but he was quick. He pulled away before you could catch his tongue and he sneered.

“You make me bleed, I’ll have to make you bleed,” He pinched your thigh. “And you don’t want that.”

His hand crept up your pelvis and he gripped the top of your underwear. He tore them easily as his other hand kept your right leg propped up against his hip. You grasped at his suit and begged as the heat pricked at your flesh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” He purred as he bent and nipped at your throat. “Better than he did.”

You grunted between your teeth, unable to free yourself from between him and the door. His fingers slid down your folds and pushed deeper as he drew them back up. He twirled them around your bud and you shuddered. You closed your eyes in shame as your body spasmed.

“Woman like you can’t be alone,” He cooed. “And I can tell you don’t wanna be.”

He flicked his fingers back and forth until you were writhing, your nails embedded in his blazer as you bit down on your lip. He rescinded his hand and fumbled with the front of his trousers. His buckle clinked loudly and stoked another wave of panic in you.

He was quick to line himself up with your entrance. You brought your hand up to claw at his face and he just as swiftly batted it away before he gripped his cock once more. He pushed inside as his other hand released your thigh and went to your throat. Your leg remained hooked over his hip as he sank to his limit.

You whined and he thrust sharply. You threw your head back against the door and scratched at his shoulders. He kept his pace slow and steady, as if to tease, knowingly drawing the pleasure from you as the friction filled you with a terrible fullness.

He choked you harder as he sped up little by little. You could barely rasp past his clutch but your strangled moans escaped nonetheless. You closed your eyes and tried not to think of how thin the walls were; how clearly any in the hall could hear if they happened to pass by.

You couldn’t bear it anymore as your core began to pulse. You slapped his shoulders as you came and the tension snapped in a whirlwind. You drowned in the waves of ecstasy as he fucked you harder and harder. Your pitiful mewls only seemed to feed his lust and your shame.

The door shook as he fucked you against it, his head beside yours as he trapped you between him and the wood. His groans were wild and loud. He nibbled at your ear as his hand slid down to your chest and cupped your tit through your black dress.

His other hand hit the door in a fist as he cried out and your eyes sprang open. His body quaked as he spilled inside of you. His body twitched as he slowed and he threw his head back as he panted. He swallowed his hand grazed along your stomach lazily.

He eased out of you and let your leg fall. Your legs threatened to collapse beneath you as you clung to the door. Your skirt slowly slipped back into place as your underwear sat disposed between your feet. He did up his pants and cleared his throat. He took out his watch again.

“Get your coat, doll,” He said. “No time to waste.”

🖤🖤🖤

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob au #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #mafia au #marvel #mcu #captain america #one shot #?

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ephemeralstark · 4 years ago

Text

An Intern’s Ordeal

Summary: Peter gets invited to the Annual Stark Charity Gala, only he thinks he's attending as an intern and panics because he doesn't even know how to make coffee so how can he manage an actual event. Throw in a stab wound, some fractured ribs, a healthy dose of self-deprecation and a case of mistaken identity, and Tony realises that Peter really doesn't understand how much he means to him.

Rated T | Irondad | Completed | 10k

AN: i hope you all enjoy, i’ll add the link to read on ao3 in a reblog if you guys prefer that!! tw for injuries and blood, stay safe my lovelies and the tag list is at the end!

“You know,” Peter commented idly as he set down the wrench Mr. Stark had handed him on the table, “when you said you wanted me to come over and help out in the workshop, this wasn't exactly what I thought you’d have planned.”

“No?” Mr. Stark wondered as he held out a hand for the weird caps Peter was still tightly gripping after being warned not to lose them, “what did you think we were going to do?”

“I don’t know, really,” Peter shrugged dismissively, “but I kinda thought it would be something to do with Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark spoke as though he had forgotten who Spider-Man was, as though he wasn't sitting in the same room as him, before cursing slightly under his breath and dropping one of the caps.

“Yeah, you know? The red and blue guy who swings over the city on webs that he made himself because he’s so totally cool and smart.”

“I know who Spider-Man is, kid,” Mr. Stark said rolling his eyes at Peter, “can you grab that wrench again? Then get down here, it’s your turn to do a bit of work.”

“Well, I’m just saying you sounded a bit confused,” Peter said as he jumped off his stool and crouched by the engine on the floor, the smell of motor oil and grease making his head spin a little, he blamed his enhanced sense of smell for that as he other man didn't seem to be affected by it.

“Not about Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark corrected him, before frowning and giving Peter a serious look, “Pete, do you think I only keep you around because of your abilities?”

“Uh,” Peter faltered, unable to find the words to explain how he did think that but not in a way that made Mr. Stark seem like a bad guy, just in a way that proved Peter wasn't any more special than the next intern who passed through the halls of Stark Industries.

A look of understanding seemed to cross Mr. Stark’s face and before Peter could even open his mouth he continued to speak, “hey, actually, how would you feel about coming to this charity Gala on Saturday?”

“Wh- wait, what?”

That… had been the last thing Peter expected Mr. Stark to say, why would he invite him to a Gala? Didn't he realise that Peter was probably the last person in the world who should be invited to a fancy event - in fact, he wasn't entirely sure he owned a suit, would that be an issue? Maybe he could borrow that one of Ben’s he wore to Homecoming.

“Charity Gala,” Mr. Stark repeated, “it's a big event with suits, ties, dresses, and champagne; lots and lots of champagne, not that you’re allowed to drink that, but as Stark Industries is the organiser of the even then I can make sure we have plenty of soda. So, what’s your favourite: Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Sprite, Fanta…”

“Uh, I don't- I don't know,” Peter stammered, “just whatever you want is fine with me.”

“Come on, Kiddo, I want to make this enjoyable for my favourite intern, so what’s your drink of choice?”

“Uh, Dr Pepper, maybe?” Peter said unsurely.

“You got it,” Mr. Stark said, “now come on, get your head in the game, we need to rebuild this engine.”

“Why are we doing this?” Peter wondered, still feeling slightly confused by the conversation that had just occurred, he felt like there was a deeper meaning to it.

“By the time I was your age, I’d lost count of the number of engines I’d rebuilt, this is a young genius’ rite of passage.”

I’m not a genius, Peter thought to himself but instead of voicing the thought aloud, he focused his attention on the task at hand. Or, he tried to, at least, the truth was that he was slightly caught up on Mr. Stark’s comment about wanting his favourite intern at the Charity Gala.

Was that his way of saying that he wasn't keeping Peter around because of his Spider-Man abilities, but rather because of his status as a Stark Industries intern? But that couldn't be right, Peter wasn't even a good intern - he usually just fiddled around in the workshop and tried to improve his Spider-Man equipment before attempting to eat Mr. Stark out of house and home. So, why wouldn't he take a better intern to the Gala? And what exactly would be expected of Peter on Saturday?

“Kid?” Mr. Stark poked Peter’s arm making him jump in shock and his head snapped to the side to see his mentor staring at him with a slightly concerned expression, “you good? You’re off in your own world tonight, I’m starting to get a little worried and you know me; I don’t like to be worried, I like to be blase in most situations.”

“I’m yeah, I’m good, don’t worry,” Peter lied, “I was just thinking about this US History project I’ve got to hand in soon.”

“History?” Mr. Stark muttered, screwing up his nose in disgust, “you go to a STEM school, right? Shouldn't they be focusing on the sciences more than history?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Peter muttered with a shrug, “those who are ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it, and I suppose they have to give us a rounded education.”

Mr. Stark cast him a dubious glance, “you sure that’s the saying, Bud?”

“Well, it’s close, I think,” Peter mumbled, “anyways, I like history, I don't think it’s something I’ll pursue as a career but the class is interesting enough.”

“A career?” Mr. Stark asked jerking back in shock, “in history?”

“Not for me,” Peter repeated, “I don’t know, I’ll probably go into research or scientific development or something, I haven't thought about it in too much detail, to be honest.”

“You haven't- Kid, what? You should absolutely be thinking about this,” Mr. Stark said, “I know I’ve mentioned this before but I do have some pull at MIT. In fact, I have some pull at almost every college out there, you name it and I could probably get you in. What can I say? People love me.”

“I just don't want to make a life-changing decision at fifteen,” Peter muttered, “I know I’m going to have to soon, but do you know how much people change and grow? I asked May and she said she’s nothing like the person she was as a teenager, so if that’s going to be the same for me, how do I know that I’ll choose the right career at this point in my life, I’d rather take the time and make that decision.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said, “as much as I’d love to put you through college and have you working full time at Stark Industries, I can understand why you feel that way and it’s quite a mature observation - even though I hate it.”

“You’d want me working here?” Peter asked with wide eyes.

“Of course, you’re my favourite intern after all,” Mr. Stark said with what Peter was sure was meant to be a teasing grin, but all he could think about was the swooping in his stomach as those words were repeated. ‘Favorite intern’ was that Mr. Stark’s way of saying he was going to have to act like an intern at the Charity Gala?

He instantly began to feel nauseous, Mr. Stark was dropping hints about the intern thing which meant that he was absolutely expecting Peter to be on the ball at the Gala and he was only used to messing around in the lab. In fact, Peter was fairly sure that he’d never done anything intern-like; Mr. Stark had once asked Peter to turn on the coffee machine and Peter had merely shrugged, shoved a handful of sour patch kids in his mouth, and admitted that he had no idea how to make coffee.

So really, Peter had never done an intern’s job, he was going into this completely blind.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark prompted, “are you alright? Was that too much?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, as he lurched to his feet, “I just really gotta go and… work on that project.”

Peter stumbled over the toolbox on the floor, a testament to his distraction as his Spidey-Sense would have usually warned him of such obstructions, and grabbed his backpack off the ground.

“Peter, wait-”

But Peter didn't wait, or even hang around outside the door to the workshop to listen to the end of Mr. Stark’s sentence, he ran. Like a coward, his mind supplied.

He wasn't a coward, he was just… scared that Mr. Stark was going to expect more of him than he was able to give, he didn't know how to be an intern, so really, was it any surprise that no one at school believed him? Ned probably would have eventually lost his trust in Peter after a while if it wasn't for the discovery that he was Spider-Man.

Peter made his way upwards to the roof, instead of towards the main exit, slipping his web-shooters on over his wrists in preparation to swing home.

“Peter, Boss has requested that I ask you to stay, at least for ten minutes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, which of course shouldn't have been a surprise considering she was everywhere in the building - except the bathrooms.

“I can’t,” Peter said, guilt gnawing at his stomach as he spoke, “tell him that I’m sorry for rushing out, and it wasn't anything he said-” that was a lie but Mr. Stark didn't need to feel guilty about expecting Peter to do his job “-and maybe just say I’ll see him on Saturday, although if wants to he could text me the details?”

“I’ll pass that along,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said gently, or as gently as a robotic voice could sound, “take care Peter, don't forget your mask and swing safely.”

“Thanks, F.R.I.,” he mumbled as the doors to the roof slid open and Peter breathed in the cool NYC evening air.

Taking note of her advice, he pulled his Spider-Man mask out of his backpack and pulled it over his head, he didn't bother changing fully into his suit, he was only going home - he had no plans to stop and fight any crimes.

“Good evening, Peter, I heard from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that you were distressed, how are you now?” Karen greeted him instantly.

“Of course you did,” Peter muttered, “I’m fine, don't worry, but can I ask you something?”

“You just did, but of course I am your A.I. system therefore you can ask me as many questions as you’d like,” Karen told him.

“Alright,” Peter mumbled, rolling his eyes behind the mask as he wondered whether she had been programmed to respond with that whenever he asked if he could ask a question, “uh, so theoretically if I asked you some questions would you have to tell Mr. Stark what I asked you?”

“No, he only has override codes in case of an emergency, but I was designed to be yours alone and that must come with some degree of trust.”

“Right,” Peter said, trying to process her words as he launched himself off the side of Stark Tower and felt the cold wind make his clothes flap in the breeze, his stomach swooped with the familiar, intoxicating fear of falling and he felt himself immediately perk up with the adrenaline rush.

He waited until he could make out the shocked expressions of the people on the street before he shot a web, feeling the familiar tug on his arms as his fall was broken and he swung in an upwards arc - it felt like he was on a rollercoaster and he couldn't deny that he loved every moment of it.

He had almost lost himself in the comforting thwips of web-slinging and the soothing breeze when Karen spoke up once more and reminded him of his concerns.

“Did you want to ask me anything else?” she prompted.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled, “what would an intern typically wear to a Stark Industries Charity Gala?”

“Mr. Stark doesn't typically take interns to his Galas,” Karen informed him, “however, I know that you’re asking this because you were invited this Saturday, therefore why don't you just wear formal attire.”

“How did you know that?” Peter asked in a moment of paranoia.

“I am connected to Tony Stark’s personal server which is the same server as F.R.I.D.A.Y. and she has the finalised guest list for the Gala which includes your name.”

“Is there anything else there about me?” Peter wondered, “besides my name, that is?”

“Unlimited access.”

“Unlimited because I’m an intern, right?” Peter asked, “I have to be able to do what Mr. Stark needs during the Gala?”

“I don't follow your line of questioning,” Karen said.

“Yeah, no,” Peter mumbled, “I didn't really follow that either. How about this: what does an intern typically do?”

“I need more context,” Karen said, “the job role of an intern depends on who they intern for.”

“Alright, what does an S.I. intern do?” Peter corrected.

“In which department?”

“Mr. Stark’s personal intern, what would be expected of that person?”

“The only person to ever fill that role is yourself, therefore I’m afraid that’s only a question you can answer as it was never an official post therefore I can’t source any information from a job application.”

“So,” Peter said slowly as he swung, “you’re telling me that only I know the answer to the thing I don't know?”

“Exactly.”

“Great,” Peter mumbled, shaking his head to himself.

So basically he was the only person who had ever interned for Mr. Stark, which made sense, after all, Mr. Stark had always had Miss. Potts with him, she had been his assistant before she had taken over everything, therefore why would he need interns? If anything, Miss. Potts was probably the one who had interns, so what if Peter asked her?

No.

That wouldn't work, she and him hadn't seen each other a ton and if he went up to her and started asking weird questions she would either assume that he was looking for money or she’d grow suspicious and tell Mr. Stark about him questioning her.

So, he was essentially lost. There didn't seem to be any clear answer about how to be a good intern for Mr. Stark or what would be expected of him on Saturday. To be fair he should have expected this to be harder than expected, his mentor wasn't one to play by the rules and why should this situation be any different?

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, “you’re acting strange tonight, your behaviour is sparking concern.”

“I’m fine,” Peter lied, “just worried about this project thing I have to prepare for school next week.”

“You know, I am connected to a great deal of information, if you need help with a project, you can always ask me,” Karen reminded him.

“Yeah, K, I know,” Peter murmured, “I just need to think, alright? I’m fine, I just need some time to myself.”

“Noted.”

And with that, she fell silent, finally, and Peter was left to his thoughts and worries. Which he had absolutely planned to do, except a piercing scream breaking through the night distracted him from himself.

“No, no, please, my husband’s medication is in that bag!” A woman shouted, sounding panicked, “please, no, he has seizures and if you take his meds he will be in danger and my money is in there too, I can’t buy more pills.”

Peter immediately changed his trajectory, so much for not getting involved in anything, I probably should have put the whole Spidey-Suit on, he thought to himself as his hearing honed in on the desperate sobs coming from an alleyway.

The scene that met Peter in the alleyway made his blood boil and he felt himself gritting his teeth without meaning to; a lady who looked to be in her late seventies was clutching at her handbag as though her life depended on it, although judging by what Peter had previously heard, her husband’s did. The thief was tugging sharply and slashing the air between them with a sharp blade, he didn't seem to be trying to stab her, but he wasn't exactly being careful.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, successfully distracting the thief who seemed to jump out of his skin and let go of the lady’s handbag on impulse.

“Spidey?” the man asked, looking over Peter’s clothes with a confused frown which reminded Peter that he was wearing an incredibly dorky science T-Shirt with an amazing science pun on it, he would probably have to bin the shirt now, or at the very least retire it for a year or so.

“Stealing a lady’s handbag?” Peter asked, not needing to put much effort into proving that he was disappointed in the guy, “really man? That’s low, especially when she’s told you her husband’s very important medications are in there.”

“No one asked you, beat it!”

“I can’t do that,” Peter said, “I’m going to have to insist that you walk away, maybe if you go in the opposite direction I won’t knock you out and call the police.”

Alright, so maybe that was a lie and Peter was planning to web the guy up and call the cops no matter what he decided.

“Oh, fuck off,” the man muttered.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, “language!”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the thief snapped, forgetting about the lady and her handbag in order to focus his attention on Peter.

He made a quick hand motion to the lady to run, and thankfully she didn't need to be told twice as she instantly broke into a hasty trot away, her heels clicking on the concrete but the thief didn't seem to care, his attention was solely on Peter and the blade in his hands was no longer being held loosely, now it was poised to attack.

“Woah, dude!” Peter muttered, holding his hands up as he backed off a few steps, “I take it back, you can use whatever language you want.”

“Why couldn't you just keep swinging?” the man asked as he took a couple of calculated steps forward, “I had this all under control, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to get involved?”

“You were stealing that lady’s handbag,” Peter said, “and her husband’s medication, there’s nothing about that situation that is controlled.”

“It was for me, alright?” the man screamed.

Uh oh, Peter thought, from experience he had realised that when people were overly emotional, they became unpredictable. This man was armed and seemed desperate.

That was something that Peter occasionally struggled with; he was out almost every night as Spider-Man and often he stopped people who weren't truly bad but they were just in a difficult situation. Did that make him a bad person? Some of those ‘criminals’ were potentially only trying to scrounge money to feed their families.

He couldn't think like that though because if he started excusing some people’s bad actions and condemning others’, where did he draw the line? Spider-Man was the person who looked out for the little guy, he stopped crime, he didn't take statements and decide who was guilty or whose actions were justified. If someone did something wrong then he would stop them and that was that.

“Look, I get you think you have your reasons for this, but it's wrong,” Peter said, “why don't you put the knife away, and maybe we can sort this out without anyone getting hurt?”

“You-” the man broke off, seemingly too angry to form a coherent sentence, instead he lunged forward, knife in hand.

Peter hadn't been expecting that reaction, he had hoped the man would have been willing to compromise. In a desperate attempt to avoid being impaled on the guy’s blade, Peter forced himself through the air and he hit the ground with a thud, feeling as though something in the side of his chest had cracked.

“Ouch,” Peter muttered, trying to ignore the whine he could hear in his own voice, he was meant to be the tough hero who fended for those who couldn't fend for themselves, “hey, man, that was seriously not cool.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The man lunged at him again, still holding the knife, and Peter skittered backward like a crab until his back came up against a hard, metal surface: oh, the dumpster. He desperately needed to get back up on his feet, he was at a serious disadvantage.

His Spidey-Sense thrummed in alarm and he whirled around just in time to see the moonlight glint off the blade that was flying towards his face - this guy was aiming to kill! In a last-minute, desperate attempt, he pushed himself downwards so that the guy stabbed into the dumpster instead of Peter’s face, the blade cutting through the metal as though it were butter.

“Dude, what the hell?” Peter gasped out from his place, flat on his back on the damp alleyway ground.

“Stop moving,” the man grunted as he swung again.

“What?” Peter asked, “no!”

Why would he do the one thing that would mean certain death? Sure, he put on a spandex suit on a nightly basis and swung around the city at dizzying heights, but he didn't have a death wish. Besides, his suit had a certain degree of shock absorption ability, and it was cut-proof, which didn't always prevent Peter from getting hurt, but it definitely took away the brunt of his injuries.

Except he wasn't wearing his suit currently…

He was very much just Peter Parker in a mask, although he did have his web-shooters. His web-shooters! Just as the guy lifted the blade, with two hands, looking as though he was ready to perform a sacrifice, Peter shot a web upwards and pulled himself out from certain death.

As he flew upwards he felt the man strike one last time, and in his desperation, he succeeded. Pain radiated through Peter as the blade embedded in his thigh and was dragged downwards as Peter’s body moved up.

“Ah!” Peter called out in agony, the man below in the alley laughed in victory.

“Got the little bastard!” The man cheered as he started to run.

Peter wanted to chase after him, web him up and make sure that he would never hurt another person ever, but he was smart enough to know that with the current state of his leg, he wasn't going to be chasing anyone.

“Karen? You there?” Peter asked, despite knowing that she never went anywhere.

“I’m here,” she confirmed, “I know you needed time to think, but I would seriously recommend seeking medical attention, you have a large laceration down your right thigh.”

“I’m aware,” Peter said dryly, or tried to, his humour was shadowed by the pain that was coursing through him.

“I can contact Mr. Stark if you would like?” she offered, and normally Peter would have said yes, he would have felt relief at the thought of his mentor coming to pick him up from the cold rooftop and taking him back to the tower where he would receive decent pain relief and have his wound cared for immediately.

But, he couldn't say yes, because he had run out in such a strange way that the next time he saw Mr. Stark the man would undoubtedly have more questions than Peter was ready to answer.

“No,” he said slowly, “but thanks, Karen, actually though… could you just alert the police to that guy, I don't care what you tell them, just make sure he can't hurt anyone else, please?”

“Consider it done,” she said.

Peter let out a breath of relief that he hadn't even realised he’d been holding. It was going to be alright, the cops would pick up the guy before he hurt anyone else, that lady would probably be at home with her husband by now and he could go home and patch himself up before he started to research further into interning at a fancy Gala.

Or, that had been the plan.

By the time he made it home, the sun was beginning to reappear in the sky and he could hear the sounds of the city waking up for another day.

It's a good thing May was on the nightshift, Peter thought to himself as his apartment block finally came into view.

His jeans were no longer blue, but rather a strange brownish red with the effect of a mixture of dried and still flowing blood. His blood. It wasn't often he ended up covered in his own blood, but these things happened he supposed.

Taking advantage of the last hour or so of dim light, he carefully crawled up the side of the building, doing his best to make sure there wasn't a blood trail leading up to his window - he wouldn't be able to explain that one away easily.

“You have a text from Mr. Stark,” Karen informed him.

“Oh…” Peter mumbled and he painfully crawled through his bedroom window and let his body fall to the carpet with a thump, “what does it say?”

“One message from Tony Stark, sent two minutes ago: hey Kiddo! I’m not really sure what happened back there, maybe I overstepped by bringing up colleges and working with me, or maybe you’re more interested in Oscorp - although I don't know why didn't you hear about their animal experimentation scandal? Probably not a good time for jokes, but let me know you’re alright, ok? I saw that Karen has been active all night, so try and get some sleep and just know that I’m not mad at all… I’m just a little confused, but there's no pressure here for you to explain what was up. “

“Do you think I upset him?” Peter asked his A.I. carefully as he lay on his bedroom floor, probably creating a mess of blood that he would be forced to scrub at later.

“I like to think he was honest in the message, I believe he is just confused.”

“It’s stupid,” Peter mumbled, “like, I shouldn't have freaked out, it was so dumb of me.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Karen offered.

“Uh, maybe?” Peter said, “I could keep the mask on while I clean this leg up.”

“Sounds good,” and if Peter wasn't mistaken, her voice sounded gentle and reassuring, he was lucky that she was a computer program and didn't tire of him, or need to sleep.

So, Peter carefully pulled himself back to his feet, crying out in agony as soon as he put weight on his bad leg. If the thought of trying to stand once more didn't fill him with dread, he would have crumbled instantly.

“Shit,” he muttered, he wasn't one for regularly cursing but all things considered he felt the situation called for it, and there was no one around to hear, except Karen.

He made his way slowly to the bathroom, dragging his leg rather than stepping to try and reduce the amount of muscle movement, not that it mattered, the blood still oozed out and the tearing sensation still made him feel nauseated.

“I’m going to have so much blood to clean up before May comes home,” Peter whined to Karen as he pushed open the bathroom door, leaving a red smear behind.

“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark for you? He can hire a cleaning company,” Karen offered.

“A… cleaning company?” Peter asked, feeling ill at the thought, and not just from the pain he was in, “no, no that’s fine, thanks though.”

He and May weren't poor per se, but they didn't often have an abundance of money to spare, and the thought of paying someone to come and clean their little apartment, when that money could have been used for gas or food, made Peter feel ill. He already caused their food bill to skyrocket thanks to his enhanced metabolism.

Peter sat down heavily on the side of the bathtub, letting the bright lights hurt his eyes momentarily.

“Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I didn't run out on Mr. Stark because I was upset that he had brought up college or offered me a position at Stark Industries,” Peter admitted, “I mean, it was a bit of a shock, and I know I’m going to have to decide what I want to do with my life soon enough because I can’t live in limbo until I know for sure, but yeah, working with Mr. Stark is the dream.”

“So why did you leave?” Karen asked.

“He asked me to go to the Charity Gala,” Peter said.

“That’s a bad thing?”

“No, no, no, not for a normal intern,” Peter admitted, “but for me, yeah, I’ve never actually done anything intern-y in my life, I don't even know how to make coffee because I don't drink it and that one time I tried to make it for May she made me promise to never put her through that again.”

“So?”

“So interns get coffee,” Peter said as he inched out of his jeans, the dried blood creating a kind of glue between the fabric and his skin.

“You have never gotten coffee,” Karen informed him as though that wasn't partially what he was freaking out about.

“Exactly,” Peter muttered, gently easing his clothing off was causing him too much pain, so he tore the jeans away from the wound in a sharp motion that made stars blink in and out of existence in his line of vision as darkness threatened at the edges.

He didn't remember slipping off the side of the tub, but just as he thought he was going to lose the fight to stay awake, the fuzziness disappeared from his vision and he was blinking tiredly on the bathroom floor with his leg oozing fresh blood.

“Peter? Peter!”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “s’ok, ‘m fine.”

“I really think it’s about time we sought more professional help,” Karen suggested.

“No, no, it’s all good,” Peter said as he started to feel less dizzy from the agony, “besides, I was telling you stuff, remember?”

“Indeed, would you like to continue?”

“Yeah, uh, so, the coffee thing,” Peter mumbled as he gently nudged his jeans off properly, trying to avoid looking too closely at the blood on his leg as he did so, “well, it’s just that I’ve never done one of the most simple things an intern does, and Mr. Stark was dropping hints about me being an intern, so obviously I need to fill that role at the Charity Gala, but how can I when I don't know what’s expected of me?”

“Maybe you’re meant to just go and have a good time?” Karen suggested.

“No, no it’s not that,” Peter was sure, “he mentioned interning a few times, it was very clear that he’s wanting me to step up and actually fill that role.”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“What? No way!” Peter said quickly, “I absolutely can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn't get it,” Peter muttered and ripped the mask off in one smooth action, feeling slightly guilty about cutting off his closest confidant so ruthlessly.

He tried to ignore the turmoil in his mind and instead focused his attention on the gash on his leg. He carefully pulled himself back up onto the side of the tub and swung around so that he could clean the wound off in the bath. He used the showerhead and rinsed it on the gentlest pressure setting, rubbing at the skin around the laceration to clear it of the dried and congealing blood.

“What the-”

For some reason he had expected a long swipe, maybe from upper thigh to his knee, he had not expected the sight he was met with. The wound was the length of his pointer finger, and it was wide. It was almost like someone had cut an oval into his flesh rather than swiping him with a knife.

It needed stitches.

It probably needed a professional, but Peter was an amateur with a complex against disturbing others and a strong need to avoid Mr. Stark until the Gala, so he was going to have to deal with it himself. How much blood had he lost? How long did he have until this wound became life-threatening? He needed to get his shit together and sort it out.

Once he had finished rinsing the laceration, he wrapped one of May’s nice yellow towels around it tightly, to try and stem the flow of the blood - a large part of him felt guilty, he was going to have to throw it away and listen to her confused rambles as she wondered what had happened to it.

“Come on, Peter,” he muttered to himself, “you can do this.”

He forced himself to stand, ignoring how that simple, painful movement made a sudden red appear on the otherwise pristine towel.

“Gotta close it up,” he muttered as he opened the mirrored cabinet and began to rake through for the first aid kit he knew was hidden in there, various things fell as he searched and clattered into the sink making him glad that he was home alone.

When he opened the first aid kit, he rummaged until he found the thing he had been looking for; a pack of Steri-Strips. He opened them and read through the information leaflet.

Only use on shallow, clean, uninfected wounds. Do not use where bleeding is unmanageable or significant. Do not use on hairy, oily areas, joints, the face. Seek medical attention if the wound was a human or animal bite.

Well, that was a lot of situations in which they were unsuitable and Peter was fairly sure his wound wasn't shallow and he would have said the bleeding was erring on the unmanageable side, but what else could he do? He didn't have any other option, he would have to try.

So he did, he carefully unwound the towel and looked at the nauseating wound on his thigh. He needed to align the edges and hold them in place with the Steri-Strips. It sounded simple… but it was going to hurt. Gritting his teeth, he started to get to work. Small whimpers and whines of pain would escape every now and then as he struggled not to lose himself to the lightheaded feeling that kept coming with the pain.

The Steri-Strips didn't work as well as Peter had hoped, the edges of the wound weren't exactly lining up and there were parts of the sticky side that were attached to the open part of the wound, which he was sure wasn't meant to happen. But, it was an improvement, and that was all he could ask for.

He stuck one of the sterile dressings over the top and used the first aid scissors to cut a strip off the towel - he was going to bin it anyways - which he then tied tightly around the affected area to create enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

“Now to clean up,” he muttered with a slightly delirious laugh that he was putting down to the blood loss.

Sitting there, with his leg wound cared for - to his best ability - and his throbbing ribs, Peter realised just how tired he was. He still needed to clean up the mess he’d created and research what Mr. Stark would be expecting of him at the Gala.

He pulled on his mask tiredly, “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, what can I do for you?”

“Can you text Mr. Stark for me and say: sorry for running off like that, don't worry I’ll be at the Gala tomorrow, and I’ll be fully prepared.”

“Message sent.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter said and laid his head back, fighting the urge to fall into a deep, comforting sleep. He still had so much to do…

----

By the time Saturday evening arrived, Peter was so nervous he was almost crawling about on the ceiling.

“Oh, Honey, relax would you,” May said with a fond eye roll as she rewatched the tie tutorial that she’d saved after they’d both been mystified by the snakelike fabric on the night of Homecoming.

“Relax?” Peter asked, his voice a few octaves too high, “May, I can’t just relax, this is the Stark Charity Gala and I am a Stark Intern.”

“So?” May asked, motioning for him to come closer so she could do up the tie after her third run through of the video.

“So, I need to be the best intern that has ever been to one of these things, if it gets out that I’m Mr. Stark’s personal intern and I don’t do a good enough job, then my actions will impact negatively on Mr. Stark and I can’t have that!”

“You need to calm down, Pete,” May said with a laugh, “you’re getting too in your head about this, why don't you just try to have a good time? And maybe go fix your hair.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled running a hand through his curls, “hair. I can do that.”

“Just don't use as much gel as you did last time, alright?” May said, “the curls suit you, the greasy look does not.”

“Oh ha ha,” Peter mumbled as he made his way out of the living room, pain echoing in every step, but May couldn't know.

She couldn't know about the thirty dressings he had gone through in the last two days as his leg refused to heal properly, despite his normally impressive healing abilities. She couldn't know about the weird yellowish-green discharge that was escaping constantly or the strange smell he had begun to notice. She couldn't even know about the smattering of dark bruises that spanned across half his ribs and made breathing difficult.

“Don’t take too long, Peter,” May called after him, “Happy will be here soon and I want to take some pictures of you before you leave.”

Peter looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his ghostly pallor and the bags beneath his eyes, how had he avoided causing May suspicion? He looked terrible, or maybe that was his enhanced sight picking up on things normal people couldn't see.

He coated his fingers in a light amount of gel and ran them through his hair, enough to style it but not so much that it looked greasy, as May would say.

“Alright, I’m ready!” Peter declared, walking back into the room to be met with the flash of a camera, “woah! May!”

“You look so cute!” she said in response.

“I am not cute!” Peter insisted, “I- I’m- I am the most-”

“Face it, you’re the cutest,” May said pinching his cheeks gently, before pulling him into a hug that squeezed his ribs painfully, “alright, now, have a good night, alright?”

“You sure you don't want to come?” Peter asked.

“Oh no,” May said with a laugh, “I have a bottle of red and a handful of romcoms with my name on them.”

“Alright,” Peter said, “have a good night.”

“You too, and if you’re staying at the tower, send me a text, ok?” May asked, “I don't want to spend the night worrying about where you are.”

“You got it!” Peter said with false cheer, he doubted that Mr. Stark would want him to stay over, especially as he hadn't replied to the man since that message while he’d been cleaning his wound up.

Peter made his way downstairs to see the familiar sleek black car parked by the curb, without hesitating he wandered over to the back door and slipped inside.

“Hey, Happy!”

Happy grunted in greeting and fixed Peter with a piercing stare through the rearview mirror.

“Is uh, is everything ok?” Peter wondered nervously.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Happy said, “Tony says you’ve been avoiding his messages.”

“My phone died,” Peter lied.

“You couldn't charge it?”

“My charger is broken.”

“You couldn't get a new one?”

“We’re not all billionaires,” Peter mumbled.

“You could have asked Tony, he would have replaced it in a heartbeat.”

“How?” Peter asked, “my phone was dead.”

“Alright, fine, keep your secrets,” Happy grumbled, “just… be careful alright, Kid? Tony is really worried about you and I thought he was maybe overreacting because I know how he can be sometimes, but now I’m beginning to think something might be wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Happy asked, ignoring Peter’s lie.

“Uh actually, can we go to a Drive-Thru Starbucks on the way?”

“You… want coffee?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled.

“Alright, sure,” Happy said, “the first time you’ve actually asked for something so I’m not going to say no.”

Was it really?

The server manning the Drive-Thru window looked very confused when Happy pulled up and requested an Americano and a Hot Chocolate, Peter could see her glancing between the two of them, obviously wondering who Peter was and why he was being chauffeured around.

Maybe she would make up a story for her friends to laugh about, or maybe she was tired and nearing the end of her shift and didn't really care. Either way, Peter slunk back into the seat and looked the other way until Happy handed him the two drinks he had requested.

“So, what’s with the drinks Kid?” Happy asked.

“I don't know how to make coffee,” Peter admitted as though that was an appropriate answer.

“Alright,” Happy said and he sighed deeply, “do you… do you normally drink coffee?”

“What? No, this stuff could kill me,” Peter said, “ever since becoming Spider-Man, I have bad reactions to caffeine.”

“Bad reactions?” Happy asked, his eyes narrowing at Peter through the mirror.

“Oh yeah, you know; palpitations, heart arrhythmias, rashes, jitters, headaches, projectile vomiting, occasional hallucinations, collapsing episodes, cra-”

“So it’s bad?” Happy interrupted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Peter agreed.

“So…” Happy trailed off, looking seconds away from pulling over so that he could tear the coffee from Peter’s hands and throw it, “why exactly did we get you a coffee?”

“Oh, this isn't for me.”

“Peter, Kid, come on, you’ve got to give a little here,” Happy muttered, “why did we get a coffee if it’s not for you and you can't even drink the damn stuff?”

“It’s for Mr. Stark,” Peter said as though that should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

“And pray tell, why are you getting a coffee for Mr. Stark before the Charity Gala?”

“Because I’m an intern.”

“Of course,” Happy muttered, looking about ready to drive them off the bridge they were currently crossing, “why did I even need to ask?”

The divider slowly raised between them as Happy muttered his statements of disbelief under his breath.

-----

“There he is!” Mr. Stark said cheerfully as Peter walked into the room, Americano in hand, “I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up.”

“I promised I would,” Peter said, despite Mr. Stark’s words he could see the worry in the older man’s eyes, “oh uh, here, I brought you coffee.”

“Coffee?” Mr. Stark asked, taking the drink from Peter and looking at it in confusion, “you brought me a coffee?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I hope it’s alright.”

The worry only seemed to intensify rather than lessening, was Mr. Stark that concerned about Peter messing up in public? If so, why should he invite him?

“Thanks, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, taking a polite sip from the cup, “anyway, why don't I introduce you to some people.”

“Sounds good, but maybe I could go to the toilet first?” Peter asked, “it was a long drive and I may have had a hot chocolate.”

“Great, a sugar hyped kid,” Mr. Stark joked, “go on then, scram, you don't need my permission.”

Things seemed to be going smoothly enough until Peter walked out of the bathroom to find his Spidey-Sense thrumming away with a sense of urgency. Just as he started to look for the source of danger, a hand fisted into the fabric at the back of his neck and he was tugged to the side harshly.

“Where have you been?” a man asked angrily, “and what are you doing out here without even a tray of drinks?”

“I uh-”

“Shut up!” the man snapped, “I don't know who your daddy is or whose ass he had to kiss to get you this job but if you’re going to work tonight I need professionalism.”

“I’m not-”

“I said ‘shut up’!” the man shouted once more, giving Peter a little shake to further drive his demand home. Peter was surprised to find himself slightly afraid, and the shake had hurt his ribs and pushed a little too much pressure down his sore leg.

“Please, Sir,” Peter begged, “I’m not working.”

“Oh you absolutely are,” the man snapped, “you think you can sneak through here and meet Iron Man?”

“I didn't-”

“I have half a mind to kick you out into the gutter,” the man continued, “you are a disappointment to all of us in the service industry, you are meant to remain professional at all times, which doesn't mean fishing around for secrets and autographs.”

“I wasn't!”

“Liar!”

The man tightened his grip and started marching Peter forward as though he was a disobedient child.

“Sir, listen, please,” Peter pleaded, “Mr. Stark is waiting for me.”

The man froze, his grip tightening momentarily, and Peter’s Spidey-Sense blared louder.

“You disturbed Tony Stark?”

“No! No, no, no!” Peter insisted, “I came here with him, I’m his intern.”

“That’s a lie,” the man said, “Stark Industries never brings interns to these events, now come with me or I’m going to end up kicking you out on your ass and blacklisting you from ever working an event in New York ever again.”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Peter grumbled, trying to twist out of the man’s hold but being restricted by the pain in his leg and side, he wasn't going to be able to free himself, “you have to let me go?”

“Or what?” the man asked with a sneer in his voice, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Him? Probably nothing, he’s far too polite for his own good, but me? That’s another story entirely,” Peter felt the grip loosen in a second and he almost crashed to the floor from the relief of it, only for Happy to grab his elbow and stabilise him.

“Thanks, Happy,” Peter whispered, knowing the man would hear him.

“You’re Tony Stark’s security,” the man who had grabbed Peter stated with a dumb expression on his face.

“Yes, and you were manhandling one of the people I am here to protect,” Happy said seriously, Peter had often wondered how Happy - with his tendency to get overstressed and his annoyance at most living things - had become the Head of Security at Stark Industries, but now, looking at him confronting the man, he had no doubts that Happy deserved that title.

“I wasn't- manhandling?” the guy asked, “that’s a bit… harsh, wouldn't you say?”

“I call it as it is,” Happy said, “care to explain?”

“I thought the kid was one of my waiters.”

“Did you recognise him?” Happy asked.

“Well, no, but there are a lot of them, it’s difficult to know them all,” the man said.

“That’s dangerous,” Happy said, “it’s fortunate for you that I personally run background checks on everyone working this function, but if you’re not even able to recognise a stranger among your employees then I feel like you won’t have a future organising events for Stark Industries.”

“Wait, no, you can't do that!” the man insisted, “this is my biggest job of the year.”

“It’s a shame you care so little about it then, imagine not caring enough to learn your employees’ names?”

“It was a misunderstanding!”

“Peter, did you try to tell this man you weren't a waiter”? Happy asked patiently.

“I uh said that I’m an intern and that Mr. Stark was waiting for me,” Peter admitted, feeling a little guilty for the ashen look that came over the man’s face when he realised that Peter had been telling the truth, after all, how else would the head of security know Peter’s name?

“Mr. Stark is in fact waiting for you,” a familiar voice broke in, “and he’s not a patient man, what is going on here?”

The man now looked positively grey as he tried to look anywhere but at the confused and impatient billionaire before him, Peter however noticed the way Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowed in on the crumpled fabric by Peter’s neck and the sheen of panicked sweat on his forehead.

His mentor looked questioningly at Happy, “well?”

“This is Bernard Kyting,” Happy said, and Peter was sure in that moment that Happy knew absolutely everyone in the room’s name and face, “he is the owner of the company that organised this Gala, he is also the man that just manhandled Peter and attempted to kidnap him.”

“Kidnapping? What no!”

“Uh, Happy, he wasn't going to kidnap me,” Peter said hesitantly.

“Are you sure?” Happy asked seriously, “because we should operate on the worst-case scenario and him trying to force you to go somewhere against your will without listening to you say you’re an intern and that Tony was waiting for you sounds bad to me.”

“It would probably sound bad to the police too,” Mr. Stark agreed thoughtfully.

“You’re not serious!” Bernard gasped.

“I’m deadly serious when it comes to Peter’s safety,” Mr. Stark said.

“Mr. Stark, I really don't think-”

“Hush Peter, we’re handling this,” Mr. Stark said, “actually, don’t hush, Happy will handle this and I am going to show you off to all the stuffy businessmen here, let’s make them all insecure as a twelve-year-old shows them up.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m fifteen,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly, now come on.”

Maybe it was the anxiety that had been festering in his stomach since he’d been invited to the Gala, or maybe it was the stress of almost being roped into working as a waiter for a high-end Gala, or maybe it was even the blood loss he’d recently suffered… maybe the reason didn't matter, because it was kind of irrelevant.

The important thing was that Peter suddenly found himself falling forward.

He felt hands grab at him to try and stop him from crashing against the ground, but they caught him exactly where his ribs were sore and Peter screamed and everything flashed a brilliant, agonising white before the darkness suddenly crept in.

------

When Peter woke up he was partially surprised that he had actually passed out and partially relieved that he had passed out. He had managed to completely avoid the stress of pretending to know how to act as an intern.

He tried to sit up, only to gasp and fall back against the pillows as his ribs announced their displeasure at the sudden movement, “oh,” he murmured under his breath as he tried to catch what little of it was left thanks to the pain.

“I wouldn't recommend that,” a smooth voice said from beside him, Peter turned his head to see Mr. Stark sitting there, looking over his tablet at him.

“Hey,” Peter mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

“You have three fractured ribs,” Mr. Stark informed him casually, “which wouldn't normally concern me too much because I get it, it kinda comes with the job, no matter how good you are, you usually end up a little banged up.”

Peter nodded solemnly, not wanting to speak up because he got the impression that Mr. Stark was nowhere near finished.

“However, imagine my surprise when I lift your unconscious body up off the floor and find myself with a patch of blood on my new grey suit,” Peter winced, yeah, there it was, “so of course, there’s complete pandemonium, we think there’s an assassin in the Gala, we lock the place down and organise S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medics to attend. The highest of all security is on alert and preparing to raid the building, only for us to find that you have a stab wound, that looks to be a few days old on your leg.”

“Oh, that,” Peter mumbled.

“Oh that, yes that,” Mr. Stark snapped, “what the hell were you thinking not telling me about that?”

“It happened after I left the other day,” Peter admitted, “and I thought I’d managed to deal with it myself.”

“You thought-” Mr. Stark broke off and sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “do you realise how irresponsible that was?”

“It was fine,” Peter mumbled.

“Fine?” Mr. Stark questioned, his voice rising an octave from the shock of hearing such a thing.

“I have healing powers,” Peter said.

“Kid, you’re still human, you still need appropriate medical care and time to recuperate after getting hurt,” Mr. Stark said gently, “you’re not a machine, no one expects you to be able to keep going without looking after yourself.”

“I guess,” Peter whispered.

“And you had no idea what you were doing, did you?” Mr. Stark asked although it seemed like he already knew, “those Steri-Strips were totally inappropriate for that wound.”

“I know,” Peter said, looking down, “I just didn't have anything else.”

“You had your phone.”

Peter cast him a confused look, “my phone? They don't like blood or moisture that much.”

“To… call me,” Mr. Stark said slowly, looking at Peter with a strange mix of disappointment and amusement, “you’re a smart kid, but would you really think to put your phone on a bloody wound before using it to call me.”

“Uh, not usually,” Peter said, “but this kinda happened after I left yours the other day.”

“Ah,” Mr. Stark murmured, seemingly understanding something that Peter hadn't yet explained.

“What?” Peter asked, feeling unnerved by the older man’s sudden understanding.

“I freaked you out with all that talk of colleges and coming to work for Stark Industries,” Mr. Stark said quietly.

“What? No!” Peter almost shouted, jerking upright in the bed despite the pain in his ribs that threatened his ability to breathe, “Mr. Stark, that’s not at all what happened.”

“No?” Mr. Stark asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

“No, of course not,” Peter mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I wasn't ready to think about that sort of thing, but it would be an honour to work for you in the future, but Mr. Stark, I realised that I’m a really bad intern.”

“What- Kid, no,” Mr. Stark said quickly.

“I am!” Peter argued, “I don’t know how to make coffee, I don't know how to sort paperwork, I don't know what else interns actually do! There’s no way you can say I’m good at it when I don't even understand my own job description. You invited me to the Charity Gala as your intern and I freaked out because I didn't want to embarrass you, I wanted to make a good impression.”

“Kid, I invited you to the Gala as you,” Mr. Stark said, “we both know the internship is a fake formality to keep your alter ego a secret and give you a boost in your college applications.”

“So, you’re not mad that I don't know how to make coffee?”

“I never was,” Mr. Stark said, “wait… is this why you brought me an Americano earlier?”

Peter nodded guiltily, “yeah…”

“Kid, you absolutely did not have to do that, although I must admit since I’m staying away from all the fun stuff now, it was rather nice to have,” Mr. Stark said, “I wanted you there so you could have a good time and so that I could brag about how amazing you are.”

Peter couldn't stop the warmth that spread over his cheeks and he ducked his head.

“I just didn't want to be a disappointment,” Peter mumbled.

“Kiddo, you could never,” Mr. Stark sounded as though he had never been more sure about anything, “I’m slightly upset that you didn't come to me about this wound, but I get that your teenage brain works in mysterious mystery ways.”

“I tried my best with it,” Peter mumbled.

“It’s infected.”

“I didn't say my best was good,” Peter continued, he pulled the blankets to the side to look at the wound on his leg only to find that the bloody, yellowing dressing he had last seen was gone and had been replaced by a bright white one with only a tiny amount od seepage. “You fixed it.”

“Well, my doctor did,” Mr. Stark corrected, “I called him in and we gave you some of Cap’s meds to keep you a little out of it while we cleaned it up and you’re now the proud owner of some stitches.”

“Oh cool,” Peter mumbled.

“Stitches are cool?” Mr. Stark asked with a raised brow, perhaps he was questioning Peter’s sanity.

“No, I got Captain America’s drugs!” Peter said with a smirk, “he always tells us not to do drugs in those PSAs so this is a wonderful twist of medicated irony.”

“Yeah, I think they’re still in your system a little,” Mr. Stark muttered, “so since you’re still a little dopey, I think now would be a good time to remind you that you have three fractured ribs and you’re not allowed to go out as Spider-Man until they’re fully mended.”

“Wait… what?” Peter protested, “why?”

“Swinging will put a strain on them and cause you pain meaning you could flinch and fall, or you could receive another blow and worsen the damage,” Mr. Stark said, “come on, Underoos, you were just bragging about your healing powers, it won’t be forever.”

“But…” Peter hesitated.

“But what?”

“If I can’t be Spider-Man will I still be allowed to come to the workshop?” Peter asked and he focused his attention on fiddling with the sheets rather than facing the look he knew Mr. Stark would cast towards him.

He wasn't ready for the ‘why would you come to the workshop if you’re not needing upgrades?’ response, the one that he knew in his head he was about to receive.

“Kid, what?” Mr. Stark responded instead, “look at me, Peter.”

Peter blinked back the tears that were building in his eyes, trying his best not to appear childish and weak before the man who had been his hero since he was a child.

“Pete, c’mon Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently, and Peter found himself unable to avoid him any longer, “I don’t know why you have this idea that I only care about Spider-Man, because you are always going to be my number one priority.”

“But-”

“Uh uh,” Mr. Stark cut him off, “no, you need to listen to this. I’m Tony Stark, do you really think I would have a fifteen-year-old kid running around my home if I didn't want him there? Do you think I’d be texting his Aunt and arranging transport for him when she’s at work? Would I have a ridiculous amount of food and sweet things in my kitchen? Would I brag about him to my colleagues and competitors?”

“But we spend so much time designing stuff for Spider-Man?”

“Because you are Spider-Man and no matter how much I wish you had a safer hobby, I know that you won’t quit helping people just to stop the greying of my hair and the wrinkles that are forming. So instead of sitting here panicking about you getting brutally killed, I help you develop things that will ensure your safety - which you then bypass by trying to teat that wound by yourself.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, how had he gotten it so wrong? “I’m sorry.”

“Kid, don't apologise,” Mr. stark said, “listen, I’m the one who’s sorry for making you think that I only cared about Spidey, I know I’m as Pepper would say “emotionally constipated” but I really do care about you and your dorky interests.”

Peter couldn't help but smile, “well, in that case, I’m sorry for freaking out about the intern thing, and for hiding my injuries from you.”

“Those are apologies I can accept,” Mr. Stark said with a smile, “although, I wouldn't be opposed to you turning up with coffee more, especially when we both know Happy’s the one paying for it, just… not Starbucks, ok? Try some smaller places, support local businesses and all that jazz.”

“MJ would love that you said that,” Peter mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, come on then,” Mr. Stark said, his knees cracking as he stood and stretched.

“Come on?” Peter repeated, “where are we going?”

“Someone has to explain all of this to your aunt and I’m not taking the blow on my own,” Mr.Stark said.

“You can’t throw me under the bus,” Peter protested, “I’m injured.”

“Yeah, and I will be too if you’re not there to soften the blow.”

Peter grumbled under his breath as he clambered out of the comfortable bed, May was going to be so pissed at him, in fact, he’d be lucky if he lived to see his Spidey-Suit ever again. Maybe he should write a will, did he had time for that?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Mr. Stark moving to his side to support his weight so that he didn't step too heavily on his sore leg.

“You don’t have to help me,” Peter said, “I’ve been walking on it since I hurt it.”

“Yeah and look how that ended up,” Mr. Stark muttered, “anyways, this is as much for me as it is for you. May won’t kill me if she thinks I’m holding you up.”

“You’re using me!” Peter protested.

“Now he gets it.”

Tag List: @joyful-soul-collector @thatavengersbitch @clover-roseee @thespydersargon @iron-loyalty @ormbunkar @justme--emily @pookiethefrickinbunn @pillowspace @dumbofassbi @kiki44430

lemme know if you want to join/leave the tag list :D

#spider-man #Iron Man #tony stark #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #mcu

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crazyfreckledginger · 4 years ago

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Ikemen Sengoku x Reader - “Wrong Move” [Part 1]

Under unfortunately ironic circumstances, you get taken hostage by the the very person that made the truce between the Oda forces and Takeda-Uesugi alliance happen. However, angering these warlords and using the person that brought all of them together in a heartbeat was probably the worst strategy anyone could come up with.

Requested by @djanowski15 : “I have no idea how bisy you are, I’m guessing it’s pretty busy since I’m a college student in quarantine too, but I was wondering, if you have time, if you could do a fic for the sengoku warlords having a meeting about a new oc enemy after their truce signing only to learn that this new enemy somehow ended up kidnapping mc and threatening to kill her and all of the warlords decide to finally stomp this guy down into his rightful place with a fluffy reunion with everyone afterwards?”

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I kind of went overboard with this because I loved the idea so much, it comes in two parts, I’ll post them in succession and I’m sorry if the ending isn’t as developed as you wanted, it would have gone on for too long otherwise T-T.

Dusting her hands off on her cloth, she walked back from Masamune’s manor towards the castle. It stood tall for tonight’s ‘celebratory truce dinner’ -- although it was clear it wasn’t a celebration for any of them, but it was compulsory. Despite the thorough organisation that went through with this, it was an in-between warlords event so only two or three vassals per side were going to be present, for protection purposes.

Switching hands, her fingers curled around the bag of vegetables that the One-Eyed Dragon needed. Finally arriving at the entrance, she wobbled down the corridor, having to stop every now and again as her palms burned. This wasn’t the best fabric to carry heavy things with, but then again, what is?

“Whoever ordered my beautiful angel to carry such a heavy load and injure her precious hands is on his way to hell.” (Y/N) recognised the honey-dipped voice with a stern tone. Turning around, she faced the tall man. Elegantly, he took it out of her grasp and carried it, making it look effortless.

“Thank you Shingen,” she smiled, massaging herself as she walked alongside him.

“Although you shouldn’t curse Masamune to hell, I volunteered to go to his manor to get these supplies.” She defended.

“Would you mind showing me his manor?” he grinned widely as they both turned into another hallway. Giving him a you-are-all-my-friends-and-I-wouldn’t-help-either-side-try-to-go-against-each-other look. It would also be a little indecent to collect information on a newly formed ally.

“Oh, it’s you.” the familiar grumpy voice made the man’s smile fall immediately.

The spikey blond hair came into view as he exited the kitchen.

“Look my darling, we’re all getting along.” Shingen chuckled sarcastically, sliding an arm around her shoulders as he dropped the bag on the floor.

“We might be on a truce but not all of us take kindly to other men being so touchy with Nobunaga’s lucky charm.” a stray kitsune passed by the hallway.

“And by ‘not all of us’ you mean you.” Yukimura, who was following being, chimed in.

“Too many people in the kitchen, everyone except the lass leaves!” The Tiger ordered.

****

“He did that to have her all by himself.” Ieyasu grumbled at Mitsunari's innocence.

Because (Y/N) is the most reasonable when it comes to cooking out of the rest. Pff, my ass.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe it could be true but everyone knew that wasn’t the reason behind it. Well, everyone except Mitsunari of course.

Nobunaga glanced at the door when Hideyoshi wasn’t looking.

“I’ll just go see if (Y/N) and Masamune are nearly finished.” started to stand up, Hideyoshi interrupted.

“I took the candy away, it's not in the kitchen.” Pouting, he sat back down.

“Candy?” Shingen straightened his posture from his bored one.

“Dinner.” (Y/N) announced as the door was slid open for her, followed by Masamune and two maids, who were also carrying plates of food.

Plopping down beside Nobunaga -- as required, he leaned over to her giving her a knowing look. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she slipped the tiny satchel from inside her sleeve and sneakily handed it to him.

“I’ll take you wherever you wish as payment for this, I’m eternally grateful to you for saving my life.” He thanked me. Shingen kept his attention on the bag.

“Don’t be so dramatic, now hide it before I get scolded by Hideyoshi!”

****

Looking around in the kitchen, she waved the lantern around, searching for the spice that the maids forgot to take for dessert. (Y/N) was the only one in the room, it was dark and not necessary to add more light since she was passing by. On her way here, she crossed paths with the occasional guard on for obvious reasons, they were the only ones in the castle tonight.

“Oh!” she jumped.

Speak of the devil.

“What are you doing here?” the woman breathed out as the man bowed.

“I apologise, my lady, I heard some suspicious noises and thought it was best to investigate.”

“Oh, I was just getting some seasoning.” the (H/C) haired chuckled in embarrassment, he was too sweet and she didn’t want to waste his time further “and I think I found it.” turning away to reach the small jar that was on one of the shelves.

Right after, footsteps grew louder and she felt him right behind her.

“Hey, what are you-MMH!!” she wriggled as something was placed against her mouth and nose and then pulled against his chest. Her muffled sounds grew more and more silent, muscles limping as she drifted off into unconsciousness.

****

“The desserts are getting colder by the minute. What is taking her so long?” Masamune frowned.

“This talk is becoming dull.” Yukimura huffed.

“The whole point of this truce is to discuss how we’re going to deal with him.” Ieyasu mumbled.

“You weren’t the one travelling all those days on horseback porcupine head.” the vassal retorted.

“P-porcupine?!” the blond’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Hideyoshi made eye contact with Nobunaga, for once, ignoring the pointless banter. Something was definitely up. The leader of the Oda forces understood immediately, nodding to his vassal. The latter stood up, walking towards the door.

“I need to make sure she’s alright.”

“I’ll come with.” Sasuke volunteered.

*****

“She’s gone??” Ieyasu’s eyes widened.

“The search party hasn’t come back with anything yet.” Mitsuhide expressed with a scowl.

“My lords!” One of the guards rushed in, bowing deeply.

“What is it?” Mitsuhide turned around.

“It’s a letter.” he handed it to him before scurrying outside like he was supposed to.

Nobody moved but the kitsune could tell all their eyes were on him as he unfolded the letter to read. However, his heart dropped as his eyes fixated something else that was included: hair of a familiar colour, tied in a ribbon. His fingertips pulled it out and he inspected it.

Kenshin felt his hand grip his sword tightly, it was unbearably frustrating finding out that (Y/N) was kidnapped and on top of that not knowing who did it, he needed to know and he knew he wasn’t the only one thinking the same.

No one spoke but the tension grew thick in an instant.

Unfolding the piece of paper, he began to read it for himself before doing it out loud for all to hear when Nobunaga accepted it.

When he finished reading the letter, his eyes darted across the rooms, seeing the anger among everything despite maintaining their composure.

“Emergency meeting.” The look he gave implied that their new allies were not going to attend.

“We want in!” Yukimura frowned.

“No.” Ieyasu’s tone was stern.

“We’ve signed a truce, and there is no point in keeping us out of this because of our own motives when we cherish (Y/N) as much as you do. We need to put our differences aside, as she would say.” Shingen chipped in.

“Fine.” Nobunaga’s eyes narrowed.

They sat formally as they would at any meeting before.

Comments, votes and feedback improve motivation, writing and publishing, so it is in your best interest to leave some! :)

Want to be tagged? Let me know in whichever way you are the most comfortable with!

Tagging: @lumifuer @ijustwantmyshipstobehappy @plethora-of-things @xlatinaaxx @lostnliterature @batette @schweeeppess @gearsinice @mizmahlia @alex--awesome--22 @disa @caswinchester2000 @vespeshadowmoon @datemasamunemaiwaifu @mitsuhidethesnek @swordsmanofsweets @jadaninerowena @izra-k @cailannuesugi @towa-no-yume @tinylittlehell @ikemencrossedmyth @ozziegrl71 @fo-love @thesirenwashere @nad-zeta

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severetimetravelnerd · 4 years ago

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Hatred and Love (ft. G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 14

Jiyong realises something very important.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast

@kwonnansi

@aarfyie

@suhappysuho

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Now, things are coming to a close. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot. This chapter has a lot of Suho. It also has a good amount of Xiumin:))

This is the last part of the series and I’m so sorry it took me so long to upload it :(((( I know it’s been ages, but after all of this, I just blanked out when it came to the ending. Thanks for supporting me and following the story :)) I’m going to miss this one :))

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language.

————————————————————————–

You had no idea what to expect. You turned to Jiyong, eyebrows raised, wondering what Joonmyeon could possibly want, but Jiyong looked just as stumped as you. He was also way angrier. His eyes immediately became cold and hard.

“What does that fucker want now?”

You gently took his hand, trying to calm him down.

“Let’s go into this with an open mind? Maybe he wants to come up with some sort of agreement?”

Jiyong tried to conceal his anger but that didn’t work very well. His jaw was absolutely taut when he spoke.

“Y/N, he wants to fuck things up somehow. Why else would he want you there? You’re the one person I’m scared of disappointing.”

You planted a light kiss on his cheek, instantly making him relax.

“Then maybe that’s a good thing. You won’t do anything that would disappoint me.”

He sighed, but he kissed you back.

“You’re right, Y/N. You’re the only person I can stay calm for.”

The two of you walked into Jongin’s room, that had been turned into a makeshift conference room. Joonmyeon was there in a wheelchair. Yixing and Sehun were also there with their hands bound, both flanked by Hanbin and Mino, making sure neither of them try something funny. Jiyong took his place at the head of the table, prepared to let Joonmyeon start, but Joonmyeon looked up straight at you. Still looking at you, he said,

“No Jiyong. That seat isn’t for you. That seat is for her. Your side of the table is over there.”

Jiyong stretched his neck, unable to believe what Joonmyeon just told him. You were also in complete shock. Why would he want you at the head of the table? Before you could overthink it, Joonmyeon said,

“I want Y/N to be the head and mediator of this meeting. She can guide us towards a merger.”

His eyes were thrown at you, as though daring you to take up the challenge, daring you to mess up. Jiyong eyes turned dark with pure, unadulterated rage and he was about to step in when you met Joonmyeon’s gaze. This guy had messed with you one too many times. You had had enough.

“Okay Joonmyeon. I will.”

Every single head in the room whipped towards you, wondering what you were playing at. Jiyong, still in shock, quietly got up and went to his seat. You sat down, slowly crossing your legs. Your eyes were so determined, they were nearly piercing through Joonmyeon. No one there had ever seen you that way before. Not even when they first abducted you. Staring straight at him, you began.

“Well, Joonmyeon, what did you want to discuss?”

Your gaze was hostile, openly challenging him to try and mess with you. Joonmyeon hated it. He hated that he felt so guilty about harming you and Jongin. He hated that he owed you his life. He hated that he couldn’t completely hate you. This was just his way of trying to find reasons to hate you. But none of this struggle showed on the outside. Eyes cold and calculating, he said,

“If we’re doing a merger, only I have control over my men.”

Even before he finished the sentence, you could feel the anger and the protests from the rest of the room, including EXO, but you silenced them all with a glare. Joonmyeon just wanted to make things messy and you wouldn’t let him. Jiyong snarled when he heard that, but he calmed down when he looked at you there, his grip on his gun slowly loosening. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke.

“Joonmyeon, I don’t think you understand your position. You asked for a merger. Not a partnership. With a merger, you become part of an organisation and work the same way the organisation had worked. So, no. You won’t be the only person to have control over your troops. You will be at the level assigned to you. And you will have to report to Jiyong.”

Joonmyeon already knew all of that, but he just wanted to get a rise out of you. Nonchalantly stretching, he said,

“Okay, but I’m second in command.”

That was too much for Jiyong to bear and he scoffed. He threw his head back to laugh and then he slammed the table. His voice was dangerously detached when he did speak.

“Joonmyeon, is this a joke to you?”

You saw the glint in Joonmyeon’s eyes. He was happy he succeeded in getting a rise out of Jiyong. He felt that it somehow validated his behaviour and his deep-rooted hatred for them, although he knew they weren’t that bad. You had saved his life. Jiyong saved his men. He was just clutching at straws to justify his behaviour. You were determined to not give him those straws. You would make him realise that there wasn’t any justification for his behaviour. He would take accountability and realise where he went wrong, so that he could go back to being himself, instead of being obsessed with taking Jiyong down. Your hand quietly wrapped around Jiyong’s hand, silently urging him to not say anything. Jiyong eyes flashed, and he glared at you, annoyed that you were telling him to not react, but he kept quiet anyway. You tried to look at Joonmyeon, but he was refusing to look at you. He didn’t want to make eye contact. He could only put up the act as long as someone didn’t see through him. You tried to get him to peacefully meet your gaze, but when he absolutely refused to, you resorted to desperate measures. Standing up, you grabbed his chin and forced him to look straight at you. Your voice was still calm when you said,

“Joonmyeon, you and I both know that’s not going to happen. You might not even get a commanding post for a while, because you, Yixing and Sehun have to prove your loyalties first. How are we supposed to trust you after everything that happened? You turned on Jongin. Why wouldn’t you do that again?”

Joonmyeon could feel this crushing pain when you said that. He didn’t want to accept that he did that, but there was no other way to it. Joonmyeon lost all fight when you said that. You had seen through him. He quietly slipped out of your grasp and turned to Jongin, bowing deeply before saying,

“Jongin, I’m sorry.”

Jongin sat there, on his bed, in complete and utter shock. Joonmyeon hyung never apologised, especially not in front of other people. He was too in shock to say anything. Heart sinking even further, Joonmyeon turned to you, bowed and apologised. He then looked up and for the first time, his eyes were genuine.

“Thank you for saving my life Y/N.”

Everyone other than Minseok was in shock. Minseok had the slightest smile on his face.

“Maybe we will get out Joonmyeon back after all.”

Sehun and Yixing were both furious, and they were about to protest it, and Hanbin and Mino were ready to supress it, but you beat them to it. Voice cool, you said,

“To prove their loyalty, Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun will work directly under Minseok and Youngbae for the next three months to start with. They’ll work on the Hongdae area.”

Joonmyeon’s head shot up when he heard you. You were giving them control over Hongdae? The area that they’d been fighting for? Joonmyeon’s eyes teared up a little. He would finally get to take care of his sister’s grave. Joonmyeon immediately bowed before you. Yixing and Sehun were too shocked to do anything except stare at you in disbelief.

“Thank you, Y/N. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

You had the slightest smile on your face when you replied,

“You’re welcome Joonmyeon.”

Jiyong sat there watching all the events unfold, feeling detached. He didn’t mind that you were making decisions for him. he knew the others wouldn’t mind either. He knew it was only because of you that they managed to resolve things with Joonmyeon. But he was more worried about the other things. The slight tremble in your hands from dealing with this. Your pale and tired face. Your tendency to flinch slightly when people make sudden movements. The near imperceptible tremor in your voice. You weren’t used to this, and it scared you. He felt awful. You didn’t deserve this. You had been through so much. You needed a break. And he would make sure you got one. For the first time in his life, Jiyong decided he would take a break with you. It wasn’t because he wanted to take a break, but more because you needed him around. As weird as it was, although Jiyong was the one drawing you into this world, your only way to feel better about everything was around him. And also, for the simple reason that he missed you, and couldn’t stand being away from you any longer. He was staring at you, making up his mind about exactly what to do when you turned to him.

“Jiyong, that’s okay right?”

He didn’t hear you. He had zoned you out, wondering how he got so lucky as to have you in his life. He would protect that at all costs. He would protect you at all costs. He would protect your happiness at all costs. You raised your eyebrows, wondering why he didn’t reply. You mentally scolded yourself for shooting your mouth off like that without talking to him first. You turned to Jiyong, much more nervous.

“Jiyong? All okay, Love?”

The vibe of the meeting had changed. Everything was much more relaxed. Sehun was trying hard not to cry, Yixing was apologising to everyone, Jongin was playfully guilt-tripping a very apologetic Joonmyeon about his injuries. But when you said that, everyone turned to Jiyong, a little nervous. He had a rather…intimidating reputation. Youngbae was the only one who was sure Jiyong would be okay with it. He was more interested in watching the drama between you and Jiyong unfold. Jiyong just stared at you, looking at him nervously. There was one thing that was different about you. No matter how nervous you were at that moment, there was no fear in your eyes. You looked at him trustingly, knowing fully well that no matter how dangerous a man he is, he would never hurt you. Ever. Jiyong didn’t bother answering your question. Jiyong just stood up, leaned over the table, grabbed your face and kissed you. A deep, hungry kiss. All his longing, all his fears, all his worries were in that. He deepened the kiss because as he felt your soft hands gently caress his bruised knuckles and kiss him back, he realised that there was something he needed to do. He needed to meet his grandmother.

You were very surprised when you were pulled up from your seat and kissed like there was no tomorrow, but you kissed him back equally longingly. You had missed him. You had never stopped worrying about him. You were right. You didn’t know whether there was going to be a tomorrow. You kissed him until you felt like you had the feel of his lips committed to memory. Cheers erupted all around you, although the two of you were quite oblivious to it. Hanbin rolled his eyes, laughing at the two of you while Jongin whistled. Hanbin leaned over and muttered to Jongin.

“Thank god the two of them are back together. I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re more annoying on their own.”

Jongin scoffed.

“Hanbin, I can see that you’re tearing up.”

Jiyong pulled away first, both of you gasping for breath. You blushed at all the hooting boys around you, some newer than others, but all equally determined to embarrass you. Jiyong didn’t even bother to acknowledge the hooting. He just turned to Youngbae and whispered something in his ear, making you look at him quizzically. He turned to give you a quick, reassuring smile before speaking.

“Okay. Now that the merger is done, I have an announcement. I’m going to be away for a month. Youngbae is second in command. Don’t try to reach me unless it’s absolutely urgent.”

Your heart fell. He was going to be away for a month. After everything. When you had just gotten back together. You had missed him so much. But you tried your best to not let your face fall, sticking a weak smile on your face. If he was leaving, it had to be important. You would talk to him about it in private. Everyone nodded except Hanbin. Hanbin was pouting when he said,

“Who’s after Youngbae hyung?”

Jiyong froze for a second, staring at Hanbin before sighing and answering.

“Seunghyun hyung.”

“After him?”

“Daesung.”

“After him?”

“Minseok.”

Minseok looked surprised while Hanbin’s pout deepened.

“Hanbin, are you really going to make me list this out in order?”

“Yes.”

Jiyong glared at him and answered.

“Then it’s Mino. Then it’s Jongdae. Then it’s Baekhyun. Then Chanyeol. Then it’s you. Then it’s Jongin. Then it’s Kyungsoo. Then it’s Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun. In that order.”

While the others laughed at Hanbin arguing with Jiyong, you struggled to keep that smile on your face. Jiyong playfully glared at the rest of the room before grabbing your hand and walking out of the room. Your heart sank even more. He was going to say bye. He was going to leave again. You were staring at the floor, letting yourself get lost in your thoughts when he tilted your head up and beamed at you, the smile leaving quickly when he saw that you weren’t smiling.

“What’s wrong love?”

You bit down on your trembling lips and looked away, not wanting to make him feel worse. He gently cupped your face and made you look at him.

“Talk to me Y/N. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You took a deep breath.

“I’m just going to miss you Jiyong.”

He looked terrified.

“Why? Why’re you going to miss me? Are you leaving me?”

You stared at him confused.

“No. You’re going somewhere, remember?”

Jiyong’s brows knitted together in confusion before he laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“Sweetheart, if you think I’m going anywhere without you after not having seen you for the past month, you’re in for a surprise.”

It took a while for it to hit you, but when you finally realised he wasn’t leaving, you hugged him tight, burying your face in his chest. You looked up at him, confused.

“You mean I’m coming with you on work?”

He leaned in and nibbled on your ear, pressing a light kiss against your neck before saying,

“No. I mean we’re going on a holiday.”

Two weeks later, you lay down on the plush bed in Jiyong’s hidden away holiday home, buried under the blankets and wearing his hoodie, so utterly happy with how everything just felt right. You closed your eyes and buried deeper into the bed, enjoying the warmth of it. You felt the bed dip as you heard Jiyong’s sleepy morning voice.

“Good morning love. I got you your tea.”

He sat and was about to sip his tea when you crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, snuggling into him. Amused, he asked,

“Do you not plan on letting me drink my tea?”

You took in a deep breath, letting Jiyong’s familiar scent wash over you.

“Nope.’’

“Do you plan on moving from here?”

Pressing a light kiss against his smile, you said,

“Nope.”

You stared out of the balcony. It was 3 am on your last night there, and you were lost in thought while you stared at the stars. That one month was magical. You had Jiyong all to yourself, and both of you sat and worked through the problems in your relationship. You knew you loved him. You knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You knew you weren’t scared of him. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t realise how windy it was until he walked out behind you, wrapping a blanket around you. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck.

“Love, you have to be careful. You can’t stand out here in just my t shirt.”

You turned around to face him, wrapping the blanket around the both of you.

“Jiyong, you came out here in just your boxers. I don’t think you should be lecturing me.”

He had this blissful smile as he kissed your forehead.

“I couldn’t help it Y/N. I just needed to be out here with you.”

You had the same blissful smile as you kissed him, letting yourself get lost in the kiss. He pulled away, suddenly looking nervous.

“Y/N, I know we’re going back tomorrow, and I know I’ll get busy, but like we discussed, I promise I will always make time for you.”

He paused to take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm down that rising feeling of nervousness in him.

“I know you can do way better than me, and you deserve way better, but I promise I will always respect you, and I will do anything to make you happy. I’ve realised I can’t live without you, and I know this might be too sudden, and I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but you’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with and start a family with. So, Y/N L/N, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

You stared at him in shock for a minute, unable to comprehend what was going on before a single tear slipped down your face, and you burst into the largest smile you had in you. You nodded vigorously.

“Yes, Kwon Jiyong, I would love to marry you.”

Jiyong felt all the nervousness leave his body only to be replaced with an overwhelming, indescribable feeling of joy. There are no words for how he felt in that moment. And as he slipped on the beautiful ring his grandmother had given him to give you, he lifted you up and kissed you, knowing that everything finally felt right.

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silvia7272 · 5 years ago

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5 ~ One More New Amigo

So, after a long thought, I think Rosina meeting some other people could be good, plus I might bring some pictures I’ve drawn as well. Also, as a quick note, I hope you know I don’t actually hate any of the characters but writing Spite/Salt Fics are so fun and I love it. Alya is, in fact, my favourite character for personal reasons.

My biggest inspiration for Rosina is Goku from Dragon Ball Z, Sonia Nevermind from Danganronpa 2 and a bit of Ziva David from NCIS, although I watched that when I was a lot younger so I may not remember her that well.

Word Count: 3221

Tags: @queenmj10, @fangirl39, @animegirlweeb, @northernbluetongue, @daminett4life, @raisuke06, @indecisive-mess-named-me, if you wish to be tagged all you have to do is say.

I can’t remember but now Marinette’s place has a café in their bakery and that’s final, can’t be bothered to check.

***

It had been a week since the dubbed Ice Queens had become friends as everyone had put it. They must’ve been friends since they were little, they reasoned with themselves, there was no way anyone could become friends with Chloé in an evening.

No way.

Marinette had lied to them.

But they just had to get Rosina out of that toxic environment, she really was sweet and oblivious to those girls.

So, they were always scheming new ways to let Rosina see just what the really were like.

But it always made them become closer.

That field trip to Le Jardín Du Luxembourg? They became friends with Chloé.

Leaving them stranded there? They came back on a flying skateboard! Alya was devastated she couldn’t record in time, and whenever they asked Rosina if they could see it, they were denied & pushed away by the Ice Queen’s.

It sooo wasn’t fair, they were only trying to help Rosina. They just wanted to help and pull her away from the evilness the two radiated. But they were the bad guys?

No way.

But what broke their heart the most was seeing Lila’s painstakingly sad face every time their plan failed. Because it was if they had failed her, their best friend, their Class President.

So, they were determined to save their friend.

But that couldn’t take up their whole day, if it did, they would become obsessed and that wouldn't be healthy either.

So, they continued with activities and classes, until Mlle Bustier made an announcement.

***

“Now class I have an announcement, since two of our students so kindly suggested and even organised this little event themselves, so if you’d like to explain what it is to the class?” She pointed to the two people in her front row.

“I hope you all listen to their wonderful event they provided for them, now I’ll be off since it is lunch so you all best behave.” That last sentence was aimed towards the two girls at the back. Chloé had rudely announced she would be sitting with the other girls at the back, there was a reason there were only *two people per desks.

‘How irresponsible’ The blue-haired girl thought.

Adrien and Lila walked up to the teacher's desk as the others waited in suspense.

“Monsieur D’Argencourt said we were going to have a beginners fencing lesson for the whole school, and everyone from our Team is going to help out”

“I was the one to suggest and organise everything, Adrien was far too busy and asked for the best help he could get. We wanted this to be a surprise, I hope you’ll enjoy it” The whole class erupted in glee, Adrien didn’t care about the little lie she had made up, after all, he was taking the high road.

Although a certain redhead from the back couldn’t contain her excitement.

“You mean you’ve been on a fencing Team all this time and didn’t tell me, oh Sir I challenge you to a duel.” A glove flew across the room landing on Adrien’s cheek, everyone was speechless aside from a blonde who was on the floor laughing too much from what she just bare witnessed to.

Surprisingly Adrien was the first one to recover.

“Maybe you could warn me before you challenge me Rosina, but I accept”

“Adrien are you ok, oh my, your cheeks are red” Chloé was still laughing, but Adrien didn’t care.

“I’m fine, it’s a tradition in for duels anyway.”

Kim couldn’t help the smile as he thought of a suggestion.

“I’ve got an idea for a bet” They all groaned.

“Kim, I thought we said no more bets?”

“Hey! This one's good, and besides its not me who would do it” They all fell silent, waiting for him to explain.

“If Adrien wins then Rosina should stay with us. And then you can see just how bad they are and realise we are right Rosina” The others smirked, this was brilliant, Adrien was the best fencer here, and no offence to Rosina, but she didn’t seem that talented in that activity.

Before Rosina could add to that challenge Chloé spoke for her.

“We accept those terms, but when she wins you all have to back off and leave our friend alone” Adrien only wanted to have a friendly duel, not a gambling match.

“I-I don’t know guys; I don’t think that’s fa-” But he was cut off.

“Adrien how could you say that! You’re the only one who can do this, you wouldn’t want to let your friends down? Would you?” He paled, that thought terrified him. He took in the rest of the classes faces, they held disappointment, so much disappointment.

“Fine I’ll do it”

“Hooray, I can’t wait to see you in action Adrien” She kissed his cheek as they all left for lunch.

Adrien lingered for a second before catching up with them.

“Chloé what the hell you can’t just decide for her” Marinette was angry, that wasn’t fair to their red-haired friend. But more than being angry…

She was afraid.

“Its fine Marinette, she’s Crisono Tassa after all. Besides, it's not as if this bet could mean anything, you’ll stay with us right Rosina?” Rosina smiled at that.

“Of course I will Chloé, I love you two so much, I would never leave my besties. Which is why I won’t lose, I promise”

“You better, please.” Marinette looked sad, she didn’t want to lose a friend.

“Don’t worry Marinette, I’m the best fencer around here, so no need to worry, now let’s eat”

‘…I hope Kagami doesn’t hear that’

***

“I am the fencing Master Monsieur D’Argencourt, and with great pleasure, I’m here today to announce our fencing practice commences immediately” Everyone was split into groups since there were more classmates than fencers.

Marinette glanced and waved when she saw Kagami. She was about to walk over to her.

“Marinette, where’s Rosina?” Sadly, Alya interrupted her.

“She went home, considering she needed to get her own blade and armour, since she only uses her own”

“Tsk tsk Marinette it's actually called a Sabre, maybe you should fact check next time?” A jab was sent here way by the liar.

“Actually, depending which on weapon, there are three names Foil, Épée and Sabre, next time you should get your facts straight.” Kagami. Her glare was so intimidating it stopped Alya from commenting.

“I’m baaaaaaaaaack, hey guys, oh hi there, wow your cold icy stare is so cool and your freckles compliment you so much.” Kagami stood confused. Did- did this random girl compliment her out of nowhere?

“Kagami this is Rosina, Rosina this is Kagami my friend” Kagami cleared her throat to stick her hand out but it wasn’t needed when she felt arms wrap around her.

“Wow, it's so nice to meet another of Marinette’s friends, oh I’m sorry I hope I didn’t overstep a boundary, my Aunt told me about social boundaries beforehand. I’m so sorry”

“It's fine, your personality seems honest, creative, out-going, stubborn and overly eager which typically matches-”

“Ok that’s enough Kagami, can you help me put the equipment on?” Kagami was brutal enough with words already, Marinette didn’t want Rosina to be scared off as well.

“Wow, you got all of that from me, that’s so impressive, what’s my **Blood Type? And yours? If I had to make a guess ermmmm Type O?”

She blinked.

And again.

“I’ve only known Rosina for five minutes but if anything were to happen to her I would kill everyone here and then myself”

‘Where have I heard of that?’

“Erm Kagami, don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty?” She turned to Marinette with an intense stare.

“…Everyone.”

Dear Lord, she was serious.

“What is going on here? ***Thou are meant to be fencing not talking. Vitesse!” A familiar blond-haired boy came over.

“Ready Rosina?” He greeted her.

“Ready as I’ll ever be Adrian” She responded. They all sat in the stands, Alya recording and cheering for Adrien with the majority of the class. Marinette, Chloé and Kagami cheering, or internally thinking, for Rosina.

D’Argencourt was told to officiate beforehand and was eager to see if she was worthy to fight his best student, Adrien.

“En-Garde” They stood in the stance.

“Pret! Allez!”

Whoosh.

Not even a second went by before Adrien was down with a Sabre on his stomach.

“That was so fun, we should do that again Adrian” She offered her hand out to him, oblivious to everyone's faces.

“How- what- I- what just happened girl?” The first to get out of her state of shock was Alya.

“Hmm? I said I liked fencing, didn’t I?”

“But you were like inhuman out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were a pro? Keeping those secrets from us, would you like to tell us?” She lightly jabbed her elbow at the girl while she was still confused.

“You never ask-”

“Ahem, I believe we had a deal Césaire, you and the rest of the class have to back off like we promised” Alya was irritated.

“That’s not fair, we didn’t know she was a pro!”

“That doesn’t matter, you still agreed to it and since Adrien did lose you lose too, now get lost” She waved her hand in a dismissive motion before taking Rosina away.

“Rosina is her own person and should have a right to choose where she goes, are you trying to suggest she’s property?” A smug look entered Lila’s face.

“You can’t be serious right?” This time it was Marinette who stepped in.

“And just what do you mean by that?” Alix asks. She was disappointed with how much Marinette had changed.

“If Adrien had won you lot wouldn’t have had a problem with forcing her to be away from us, wouldn’t that sound as if she were property to you?” She loved being able to turn words against Lila, remembering each and every word that liar and the rest of her class had said was easy, too easy sometimes.

“It's only because we know how much of a bad influence you two can be on her, she’s so happy and I would love nothing more than for her to continue being like that around some much more politer people.” Lila had a remark to everything, one step ahead? No Marinette wouldn’t think that. No, that requires having to plan ahead in case something happened.

“Then why don’t we just ask her who she wants to hang out with?”

“Fine we will, just don’t be disappointed when your Trio becomes Dos”

“Keep telling yourself that loser” Their glaring contest ended as they turned to where Rosina was meant to be.

“Rosina you wouldn’t leave your best friends for these utterly useless people, right? Wait, where is she?” They looked around to find she was gone.

“Abstain!” They turned to see two fencers in front of D’Argencourt.

“Rosina and Kagami? When did they get there?” Bewildered, they watched when Rosina flipped through the air to dodge the touch.

“They left after you all argued, Kagami challenged her and she accepted, Monsieur D’Argencourt was eager to referee” Adrien explained, seeing the female fencers clash against each other truly was a sight to see.

‘She’s never fought me like that? I wonder why?’

“HAAAH!” Kagami lunged towards Rosina but was able to block it.

“Impressive Knave” Kagami then had to obstruct an incoming attack.

“I’ve been practising since I could walk”

“Oh really, then how about we get serious here?” Exchanging blows stopped and they jumped back and stood in their own stance.

“What are they doing? Why’d they stop?” A confused Kim asked.

“They are biding their time, waiting for the other to strike first, because this isn’t a timed match theoretically, they’ll have all the time in the world,” Max answered for everyone else.

All was still around the two, nothing else mattered but winning.

The blue-haired girl lunged first. And it almost looked like she was about to land a hit.

Almost.

“Attack, push point” The point had belonged to the silver-eyed girl.

“Wow that sure was a great workout” She stretched before doing some acrobatics across the mat.

All the while Kagami was still gaining her breath back, that match certainly took a toll on her, and yet Rosina was still as energetic as she had been, where did that leave her?

She had been the best wherever she went, she had to honour her families name, she had won all of her battles, the first one with Adrien was a tie.

So why did she lose?

“Hey Kagami, that was amazing, I’ve never seen anyone be able to compete with me before. Can we please please please fence some more, that was sooo much fun?” Kagami tried to see if there were any fictitious motives hidden in her eyes, if the minute she let her guard down she would be ridiculed by her. But there was nothing, just a happy gleam in her eyes as she continued asking questions while holding out her hand.

“Of course, I look forward to testing your skills.” They would’ve continued their talk, but they heard someone call out to them.

“That was amazing, your skills for your age are truly fantastique, you must tell me who your last Master was?” D’Argencourt was in awe of the girl’s skill.

“Oh, really thanks so much mister, my Aunty tells me I still have a lot to improve.”

“A lot to improve? Well, I’m sure we could help you with that. This was meant to be an event to show my pupils off, however, for the first time, I’m offering you Rosina…?”

“Scoats”

“Rosina Scoats, a place on my fencing Team, do you accept?” If you couldn’t tell she was happy, then clearly you were blind.

She was ecstatic.

“Yes, yes yes, of course, I want to spend more time with Kagami. Oh, Aunty will be so glad I have a club to attend. I’ve read so much about after school clubs.”

“Great, lessons are after school, every Monday, Tuesday and Friday for an hour. You’ll be given a uniform unless you want to use your own like Kagami here. But for now, lessons are over, I hope everyone had an exceptional time here.”

“Really? Great, then I’ll continue wearing this outfit, my Aunty made it specially.”

“You’re Aunt makes clothes?” That fact reminded her of the bluenette.

“Yep just like Mari. Ohhhhh~ maybe they could design together?”

“I doubt that” Marinette muttered under her breath still remembering her first meeting with her.

“Kagami would you like to go out for cakes, we can visit the bakery I live at, it's really close by?” Kagami grew perplexed.

“You live with Marinette?” She rubbed the back of her head.

“It’s a long story, I can tell you on the way if you want?” Kagami nodded, she wouldn’t be too far away from her Mother, if anything they could sit on the stairs of Dupont if her Mother wanted to.

“Oh wait, I have to get my other friends” For whatever reason the class held a smug look on their faces, mainly Alya and Lila.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you Rosi-” She walked straight past them.

“Mari, Chlo, wanna come too?” They nodded, and as they left Chloé looked back making a face.

“Told you, next time you want to lie, don’t do it about Rosina” Marinette gently nudged the blonde before they all left.

Overall to Rosina it was a great experience.

She got to see everything again through the Ladyblog after all.

***

“Really, but you’re so nice to each other. I can’t believe you didn’t like each other before” Rosina exclaimed while chewing on her croissant. They were able to stay in the bakery to their relief, but they were on a time limit.

“Believe it or not but we were all Adrien crazy, somehow that blond held a special place in my heart before ehem, you know who joined,” Marinette replied, drinking some juice, she could eat as many pastries as she could, what was the rush?

“And I can’t believe you’re still friends with him? Aren’t you angry at what he’s done to us, to Marinette?” Chloé remarked. The blue-haired girls gave her a stare while Rosina tried to steal a macaroon from Marinette’s plate.

She was caught.

“I had been friends with Adrien long before Marinette, just because I’ve changed my target doesn’t mean I still don’t care for him. Besides, I don’t exactly want to leave him alone with a Father like his” They all, minus the redhead, shivered.

“Ok, that might be understandable, I may not like him but even I wouldn’t wish anyone that kind of life” It didn’t matter which of the girls said it, they both thought it.

“Who?”

“Oh right, you’ve never had the pleasure of knowing Gabriel Agreste”

“Who?”

“He’s Adrien’s Dad and a famous fashion designer. He never lets him out of the house except for school, photoshoots and fencing lessons. He doesn’t even allow his friends to come over and visit” Chloé listed everything she could remember about that man and paused to see Rosina take an excruciating long slip of her drink before setting it down.

“Wh-”

“If you say who again I will take your sweets!” Marinette was annoyed at her repetitive singular question before she sent a sheepish smile her way.

“Duly noted”

“He’s all alone in that house, I don’t want to him to be alone outside” Rosina’s eyes sparkled with glee.

“Wow, you’re so nice Kagami. And I don’t think its that bad, he hasn’t exactly done anything to you, I mean I know we’re all friends, but I guess we can’t force someone to stop their friendship with someone else right? I mean I don’t really know but I-”

“We get it, Rosina, you can stop you’re rambling it's getting annoying”

“Chloé!” Marinette had a long way to go before Chloé would be deemed ‘nice’

“Its fine Mari, sometimes I tend to keep talking until someone stops me or Aunty hits me on the head” She laughed to try and ease the tension, but it didn’t appear to work.

She was about to say something else, maybe they could plan to do something over the weekend, or maybe finally have a sleepover, she’s always wanted to do one of them.

But they heard the door open, and since Rosina and Kagami weren’t facing the door they were puzzled as to why they were stunned.

“Rosina Scoats” At her name being called out she immediately turned around. She saw a woman with blue hair with a slight twinge of red with glasses in a suit standing behind her, and she was holding something.

A tablet with a man who held a stern face, it almost made Rosina become nervous.

But she didn’t know what that word meant.

“Yes? That’s me, how can I help you?” She chirpily asked, she felt a kick to her leg but her smile never faltered.

“I would like to propose an idea, I would like to discuss it further at the Agreste household, if we may?” They both awaited her answer.

She didn’t think she’d meet the man they were just talking about so soon.

***

That’s it, are you happy with it? I thought it would be good to get Gabriel and Nathalie in there, is there anything else you want me to add? Or any outfits you want me to draw. I might draw her in her fencing gear if you want, but I’m not sure how to change it so it feels a bit unique? I have a few ideas, but feel free to suggest anything, I’m always free to ideas.

Why do you think Gabriel wants to talk to her?

Let’s hope it's not anything bad.

Are there any prompts you want me to write with or without Rosina? Please let me know.

Hope you like it and have a nice Day/Night.

*Dupont Seating Plan ~ I always had beef with this because my desks at school were tiny so only 2 people could sit there, but on this show, it makes me think they can only have two students there because of course there's no room. Our school would’ve made 4 people sit there at least.

**Blood Types ~ All the sources keep telling me different things, but I think she has either A or B.

***D’Argencourt ~ Might need some help writing him in character, very unsure about him.

239 notes · View notes

rpd-rookie · 4 years ago

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Under Her Extra-Large Umbrella - Chris Redfield x Reader (PART 1)

Summary: Chris Redfield has always been an honourable man but the things he's seen at Spencer Mansion leave him no choice. He must infiltrate Umbrella's French laboratory, whatever it takes, even if it means manipulating you. But how far he is ready to go?

Author’s Note: This fanfic involves a Post RE1 / Pre-Code Veronica version of Chris Redfield since it focuses on his trip to Europe that is mentioned in RE2. You will probably notice that I used the letter Chris wrote to his S.T.A.R.S. friends. It is actually what inspired this fan fiction in the first place. Gotta be honest with you, this fanfic made me shed blood, sweat and tears. I guess I rewrote it twice before coming to a rather satisfying version and I must have tear my hair out quite a few times when I was struggling with grammar. (BTW, tell me if you see some terrible grammatical mistakes so that I can correct them) Anyway, as usual, I hope you will like it. Please don’t forget to like/reblog and tell me what you think of it in the comment section.

Tags: Romance, Fluff, SMUT, Explicit Language, Manipulation and Treachery. Angst is come ;-)

Also available on AO3

“Better failing with honour than winning by cheating, son”. Chris could perfectly remember his father telling him those words. It was in 1990. Chris was a seventeen years old teenager finishing his Junior year, and they were driving back home from driving school right after learning he had failed his theory test contrary to that asshole Colin Monroe who had aced it thanks to a crib cheat hidden in his sock. He could also remember that his father’s wisdom had barely consoled him on that day - despite what he had let him believe - and that it had taken him quite some time to swallow the bitter pill and even more time to admit that his father was indeed right and that he should live by this motto. Months actually. Plus a tombstone with his parents’ names on it. Chris never regretted listening to his father. He never regretted promising him that he would do his best to become the man he would have wished him to be. That promise had made him the man he was today. A man who would never stray from the right path however tempting treachery could be. Someone loyal, upright and honourable. Someone his parents would be proud of.

And yet here he was, eight years later, a twenty-five years old cop, breaking the promise he had made his father and doing something so deceitful and selfish it would certainly make him roll over in his grave or wish he were still here to give his son a earful. But today, it was not something as silly as his driving licence that was at stake. It was the justice he owned to his fellow S.T.A.R.S. members, those he had lost at Spencer Mansion and those waiting for him in Raccoon City. It was the security of god knows how many people. This time, Chris had a burden on his shoulders that was way too heavy for him to accept a possible failure. And as terrible as it sounded, he was ready to do something bad for the greater good, whatever the cost, whatever his dead father may think of him from beyond the grave.

“To my bestest S.T.A.R.S. buds,

How are you all doing in that drab, old station? Hanging in there against old Irons? Me? I just got back from a date with a hot chick. Bet you can guess what we got up to under her extra-large umbrella. Europe is amazing. One month is in no way enough to even scratch the surface. Maybe I’ll extend my vacation for another six months. Barry, don’t even think of coming join me. Wouldn’t want to make all the cute girls cry, yeah? So you just leave the babes to me. Jill, if Claire tries to contact you, please let her know I’m OK.”

Chris put down the pen on his nightstand and took a look at his letter one more time with a proud amused smile. He knew that his friends, contrary to Irons, would get the hidden message behind that lame womanizer persona that was so unlike him. And hopefully, maybe the police chief would tell his friends at Umbrella his S.T.A.R.S. poster boy was nothing to worry about and just currently cruising for pussies in Europe.

“Writing to your friends again?” Chris looked up to see you standing in the doorway to his bedroom. You looked very tired, exhausted even, judging by the dark circles under your beautiful eyes, your loosened bun and the way you were leaning against the framework. “Yeah, to give them a small update on my vacation.” Chris folded the letter and put it in the drawer of his nightstand; not very keen on letting you read it. “Tough day?” “You have no idea.” You dropped your bag at the entrance of Chris’ room and went to fall down on his bed, your head on his crossed legs. “Wanna talk about it?” Chris asked as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t say much. Professional confidentiality and all. ” “I didn’t know working for Umbrella was like working for the CIA.” Chris joked, trying to tone down the disgust he was feeling each time he had to pronounce the word Umbrella. You smiled, too tired to laugh and glanced at Chris who was staring at you.

God, why did you have to be so beautiful and so sweet and yet so not good for him? Why did you have to work for Umbrella? And how did he allow things to be that way between the two of you?

Chris could remember the day he had first seen you, the day he had chosen not be moral and honourable for once in his life. It was almost a month ago. He had been in Paris for a couple days, trying to find a way to infiltrate Umbrella’s French laboratory, which was even more impenetrable than Zone 51, the lab being a real fortress (with automatic secured doors, CCTVs, guards and a severe ‘no visitor allowed’ policy) only accessible if you were the lucky owner of a white and red badge. And you had happened to be one. Leaving the lab for lunch break, happy to finally feel the warm sun on your face, it hadn’t been your beautiful [h/c] hair loosely tied back in a high ponytail or your twinkly [e/c] eyes that had caught Chris’ attention (even though yeah he had noticed). No it had been that badge, that stupid badge carelessly hanging from the front pocket of your lab coat. And it had also been that badge that, unfortunately for you, had made him organise a plan to trick you and get his hands on it, that badge that had made you the victim of his very first treachery.

Your meeting was – unbeknownst to you – the most unnatural meeting ever. Chris had calculated everything. When? Lunch break. Where? The nearby boulangerie where you used to be eating. What to say? “Désolé. Bonjour. Puis-je m’assoir avec vous?” which meant “Sorry. Hi. May I sit with you?” in French of course, because Chris had figured that playing the part of the poor American tourist with a terrible French accent trying to adapt in the city of love would be much more appropriate for the situation. And it had worked. He had sit at your table, had exchanged a few words with you and had found you surprisingly friendly and adorable for an Umbrella employee. But of course, as the majority of Chris’ plans, the meeting hadn’t ended up the way he had imagined (meaning him discreetly stealing your badge) simply because of a tiny detail he hadn’t thought of; you had forgotten your badge at the lab, leaving him no choice but to improvise and organise a second meeting that he had dared called a rendez-vous.

And here he was, weeks later, sharing your apartment and occasionally your bed and definitely bogged in a way bigger deceit that the one he had originally planned, one he knew he would not be able to get out easily. And to answer the question, did Chris manage to get his hands on your badge? Well, yes and it was now safely hidden in his room to be used at the proper moment. If only he could shut his guilt away as well. Things would be much easier.

“What did you do today? Sebastien told me he barely saw you.” Sebastien was your other roommate. A nice redhead guy as well as a curious unstoppable chatterbox. “Oh, nothing interesting. I woke up early to jog at the Bois de Boulogne then I spent the rest of day wandering in the city.” That was half a lie. Yes, he had gone for a run at the Bois de Boulogne but he hadn’t spent the afternoon visiting Paris. No, he had spent his afternoon trying to reach the FBI from a phone booth in order to know if they had some news concerning Irons or the Mansion Incident. Unsuccessfully. “If you want, we can spend this Saturday together. I’m sure I can show you few places you haven’t seen yet.” “Aren’t you working this Saturday?” You were always working on Saturdays. “I need a day off to clear my mind a bit.” That didn’t sound like you. You were too much of a workaholic to prefer spending your Saturday playing guide to your American roommate. “Now, consider me worried. What’s up at work?” Chris asked, concerned not only because he knew something terrible could be happening at Umbrella but also because he couldn’t help but caring about you, Umbrella worker or not. “Those last days have been a bit tough that’s all.” You wouldn’t tell him more. You couldn’t. For so many reasons. “Well in that case, what do you think about me running you a nice hot bath?” You glanced up at Chris. He had drawn your attention in a very interesting way. “That depends. Will you be with me in that bath?” You asked cheekily. “Do you want me too?” He smirked and you put your hand on his neck to pull him closer to your face. You pressed your lips softly against his; sighing in this kiss you had been dreaming about all day, as Chris brought you against his broad chest, his strong arms now holding you tight against him. You felt so safe in his embrace and that’s what you needed right now.

Chris pecked you a couple times before laying one last kiss on your forehead with a tenderness that made you melt in his arms. “I’m gonna go run you that bath, okay?” You nodded. “Join me in ten minutes.” Needless to say that those ten minutes were the longest you had ever experienced. Probably because they gave you plenty of time to dwell on the things you had experienced today at the lab, the things you had seen, the things you wanted to forget and yet couldn’t. You got up and grabbed the bag you had left by the door to search for a small notebook that you opened with a desperate sigh. Then, you took the pen on Chris’ nightstand and started scribbling notes and drawings in it. A habit you had taken a few months ago and that somehow helped you from not cracking up.

You guessed you took more than ten minutes when you heard Chris clear his throat by the door, only wearing a small towel around his wait. Goodness, what a sight. You quickly closed the notebook as soon as you spotted him and put it back in your bag while he pretended not to notice. “Haven’t you forgotten something, mademoiselle?” He smirked and you giggled. “Have I?” “Yes. I think there is a naked man waiting for you in the bathroom.” He joked and you approached him with a amused yet cheeky smile. You put your hands on his chest, feeling his muscles against your palm, as you looked up at his face with a mischievous look. “Is he hot?” “Right now, he is very hot.” He confessed, absolutely in the mood to play with you. “Better not keep him waiting, then.” You purred and you put your hand on one of the straps of your summer dress to gently make it slide along your shoulder. That small sight of your naked skin made Chris hiss and unable to resist the urge to lay a trail of soft warm kisses from your neck down to your shoulder. You could tell the smoothness and the perfume of your skin were driving him crazy as his mouth soon started devouring you and muffled growls began vibrating in his throat. His calloused hands roamed down your back, making you instinctively move your hips closer to his crotch, and he unzipped your dress. It dropped at your feet revealing your body that Chris gazed at with his brown eyes darkened by desire. They lingered on your breasts and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to touch them. He loved them too much for that. And so, his hands cupped them and his thumbs brushed your hard nipples. “Gosh, Y/N.” He breathing in, trying to calm his heart pounding in his chest “I can’t wait any longer.” Chris suddenly grabbed you and hoisted you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, which made you yelp. Nevertheless, you instinctively wrapped your legs around him, making his towel fall to the floor. “Oops. That was not voluntary.” You giggled. So did he. “Right.” And he rushed towards the bathroom, with you in his arms, his lips devouring yours in a hasty burning kiss on the way.

He set you up on the double washstand and quickly locked the door behind him, giving you a brief view of his divine firm behind, though you liked the front as much if not more right now. “What are you looking at like that?” He smirked. Well, his chiselled chest, his carved abs and that big hard cock. What a silly question! But you couldn’t say that and so instead you urged Chris to come closer to you, spreading your legs to welcome him between them. He obeyed but instead of giving you that lustful hug and passionate kiss you were expecting, he crouched in between your legs and remove your panties, kissing your smooth legs, from thighs to feet, as he did. You clearly knew where that would eventually lead but you moaned anyway when you felt Chris put your legs on his shoulders and burry his face in between your thighs. “I told you I’d help you relax.” “What about the hot bath?” You tilted your head towards the bubble bath he had run for you few minutes ago. “Oh don’t worry, we’re getting there. But first you know how much I like licking your pussy.” He winked and his tongue lapped your slit up to your clit without waiting another second. A loud moan escaped your mouth as Chris sucked your bud loudly, pulling it between his lips, and he looked up at you with a proud smirk before focusing his attention back on your pussy. He was good, very good even, way better than any other men you had ever been with. He knew exactly how to please you. He knew where the tip of tongue had to swirl to make you shiver, knew the right spot to suck to make you moan and when to add his fingers to make you cry out his name - which was right now by the way. “Oh my god, Chris!” You mewled loudly as you felt one of his fingers entering you, his mouth still eating your pussy up. Your legs instinctively clenched around your lover’s head while one of your hand found its way in his short hair. Then you heard Chris hum in between your thighs as he kept on licking you and fucking you with his finger, adding one more in the process. You pulled his hair back, forcing him to look at you. “Fuck me, please. Fuck me now.” Chris complied and, after his tongue slid one last time in between your lips, he stood up to catch your lips in a new passionate kiss, making you taste your juices on his expert tongue. You could feel his cock against you, hard and slightly throbbing already, showing how impatient and aroused he was. “Enter that bath, quick.” He ordered with a deep voice that made you shake against his body.

You obeyed and gladly let your burning body sink in the bubbly water, the lukewarm water cooling you off a bit (which wasn’t a bad thing). You were soon followed by Chris who entered the bath with a brutal eagerness that made the water waved a bit too much around both your bodies. “Don’t flood the apartment.” You giggled as you spread your legs to make him a place in the tub. “I can’t promise you that.” He confessed amused, as he grabbed his length in his hand to jerk it off a bit and guide it towards your begging entrance waiting for him under the water. He tickled your swollen clit with his tip before entire you almost smoothly making you draw a sharp breath. “Damn, you’re so tight.” Chris growled as he took hold of the edge of the bathtub above your head to push himself deeper inside of you, enjoying your wet walls around his cock. “You’re fucking big, you mean.” You said with a painful hiss that brutally calmed his ardour and made him consider immediately pulling out of you. “Sorry. Am I hurting you?” He worried, aware his girth needed get some getting used to and afraid that he hadn’t given you enough. “No, no. It’s okay. Just give me sec.” You cleared your throat and adjusted yourself underneath Chris, spreading your lips with your fingers to welcome him the way you both desired. Hard, big and rough. “Okay. Good now.” “You sure?” He asked, definitely not willing to hurt you. You nodded and pressed your lips against him to show him how much you wanted him right now. He got the message and started moving inside of you, slowly yet deeply for now.

You dug your nails in his biceps and started moaning; taking delight in feeling him going in and out of you. It was just the most divine sensation in the world. He filled you so perfectly. “Chris. Please. Faster.” You begged. He complied and started pounding you more quickly, hands still on the edge of the tub, towering you with his muscular body to assert his dominance over you the way you liked it. But it wasn’t enough for you and so you wrapped your legs around him forcing him to go balls deep inside of you. Chris smirked, loving your initiative. “You like it deep and rough, baby?” You cried out. “I didn’t hear you” “Yeeess.” You whimpered with small tears in your eyes. He hammered you harder, spilling water on the bathroom floor, and you clenched your walls around him. “Oh god!” You yelled, out of breath.

He was relentless, so strong, so fast, so deep you could hear his body slam against your skin and echo the splashes of the waves in the tub. “Come here.” He lay on his back and urged you to come and straddle him. And so you climbed on top of him, admiring how handsome he was underneath you. “Guide me into you.” You did as he said and directed his throbbing cock to your wanting pussy, welcoming him again inside your wetness, Hands pressed against his pectorals, you immediately started undulating on top of him, feeling the pleasure coming back in your lower stomach. “That’s it. Keep going.” He whispered, gazing at you.

Chris’ hands crawled up your body to reach your breasts and play with them a bit, delicately pinching your pointy nipples, as you kept riding him. You knew he loved groping them and you also knew how much he loved them in his mouth as well. Therefore you decided to bent over him a bit, just enough for his face to reach your chest, holding on to the wall in front of you with one hand to keep your balance. Chris smiled, understanding perfectly your little game, and pulled one of your tits to his mouth to catch one nipple between his lips and suck it greedily. It was apparently very pleasurable for him (even maybe more than it was for you, and it was a lot) since he started humming and growling loudly. You enjoyed hearing and seeing him like this very much, so much you stopped riding him to focus on this spectacle.

It didn’t last long though as you soon felt you lover’s strong hands gripping your ass to make you bounce on his cock again. “I so want to cum, baby. Please make us both cum.” His words made you shiver of excitement and you locked your lips with his as you started rolling your hips onto him again. But it was certainly not enough for Chris since after few seconds he suddenly grabbed your hips to slam deep in your pussy and relentlessly pound you from underneath. You screamed his name and hold on tight to him. He was very rough, so rough you could barely breathe, but you didn’t mind at all. Soon, you felt your face become so red and your bundle of nerves become atrociously sensitive. You knew you were ready to explode. “Chris. I’m gonna cum.” He put his hand on your clit to stimulate it and help you reach your release, his cock hammering you even harder than before. You clenched your pussy around his throbbing cock, making him groan because of how tighter you suddenly were. “Tell me I can cum in you, baby.” He asked, panting. He was very close too. “Yes, cum in me.” You didn’t need to say it twice as Chris immediately growled in your ear, slowed his pace, and spread his cum in your pussy with a last animalistic grunt as you came undone on top of him, yelling his name, your powerful orgasm almost knocking you out.

You collapsed on him, incapable of remaining straight. “Wow. That was something.” He chuckled, exhausted and out of breath, and so did you. “You’re okay?” You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows. What a ridiculous question. “No, I’m being serious, Y/N. Wasn’t I a bit too rough?” He asked. “You were perfect.” You admitted before kissing him tenderly. “AND SO FUCKING LOUD!!!” You heard shouting from behind the wall. You both looked in the direction of the noise, understanding that your roommate had probably heard everything but despite the embarrassment you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Poor Sebastien. “Why don’t we get out of that bath and cuddle a bit in bed? The water is getting cold.” Chris offered. “I’d like that very much.” You smiled and managed to leave the tub, using the little energy you had left in your sore body.

As you dried yourself, you saw Chris head towards the door with a towel draped around his waist. “Where are you going?” You asked. “Taking some briefs in my room. See you in your room in a minute?” He smiled and you nodded, impatient to spend the night in his arms. “Can you bring me back my clothes and my bag while you’re at it?” “Sure.”

Chris closed the door behind him and headed towards his room where he put on some clean underwear and picked up your stuff as you had asked. But the moment he grabbed your bag and caught a glimpse of the black notebook he had previously seen you inside, he knew he would probably not join you as soon as he had told you. He watched it first, hesitant, knowing perfectly well that what he had in mind right now was very bad. It was one thing to steal a badge, but spying on you, that was going too far. “No, Chris. No.” He whispered to himself. And yet, he grasped the notebook and opened it. It was a diary of some sort judging by the numerous dates he noticed as he quickly leafed through it. And if it was a diary then it was indeed very private, intimate even, certainly not his to read. He thought about putting it back in your bag for a second, but what if something valuable to his investigation was inside that notebook? “Argh, fuck.” He cursed as he went to the first page.

“May, 14th 1998

Today made me regret the time I was just the intern bringing Professor Rochois his morning espresso. Umbrella is asking more and more of me, and the pressure they put on us workers is driving me insane. But what’s worse is that I’ve got the impression they are not telling us everything, especially concerning the experience the seasoned scientists are conducting in the north wing. But I guess I’ll soon have answers to my questions since Professor Rochois said that he was genuinely impressed by my devotion and was thinking of promoting me.”

Chris frowned, apprehension knotting his stomach. That didn’t sound good at all. He needed to learn more about that even if the moment was far from convenient. You could show up anytime and catch him red-handed. He turned a few more pages, rapidly skimming through some notes he would definitely read another day, until he spotted a weird drawing of some octopus-like creature. What the hell was that thing?

“June, 7th 1998

The NE-a parasite. A parasitic species indented to retain intelligence. It has been developed by Umbrella Europe for years. At first I thought it was just a revolutionary way to cure brain damage. After all, that’s how it had been advertised to me. But the more I study it, the more I believe Umbrella may be up to something else other than treating brain injuries or Alzheimer. I don’t know what and I’m not even sure I want to know.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His body was shaking and he could feel fear eating him up and he started imagining terrible things. What if you were involved in the Spencer Mansion incident? No, no. You couldn’t be. And yet, Chris decided to have a look had the entries you wrote in July. He needed to reassure himself. One immediately drew his attention.

“July, 28th 1998

My superiors have been quite on edge lately, something to do with an incident that happened with the American branch of Umbrella from what I overheard. I don’t know what it is though, but I’m sure it must be pretty big because they doubled down security in the lab. The team and I have the impression we are living in a 1984 remake. The CCTVs are always recording and I sometimes have the strange sensation I’m being permanently spied on, even in the locker room. Maybe they have doubts about me because of the many questions I often ask about Project Nemesis.”

Project Nemesis? Y/N, what the hell were you working on in that lab?

#chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #resident evil #fanfic #under her large umbrella #re2 remake inspired fan fiction

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