#filed under: first world problem but a problem nonetheless | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonlit-trolls · 3 years ago

Text

Tis The Season

Characters: Ripley, Pietas from @nihoniums-fantrolls and a few NPCS

[ Tried my hand at writing a bit of romance! not too amazing at it but i think this bit is pretty sweet! Docs for your Sake ]

Perhaps in another world, maybe in another time this could’ve worked, but not this time, and not for Ripley. What happened probably was for the best, is what she thought to herself, what would she even do. yeah it was another fuchsia and maybe she could leave and have just a simple life with a simple job or something. But, she knew that no matter what she would be unhappy, she had the reason for being brought back against her will. They both would’ve ended up unhappy if she had not tricked him in the end, pretending a break up might break their heart but, at the very least they’re not dead by underground fleet operatives.

The bright Daylight created this Haze in the filtering windows. It felt horrible but at least it was something to look at while Ripley filed legal papers. In between filing the last legal paper for assault with a deadly weapon, She put her hand under the beam of sunlight. It wouldn’t hurt her, not with the several layers of Dampening that the window had, but it still felt hot, Uncomfortable, but in a strangely good way. As her hand danced under the soft light making shades on the desk below, the door leading to her office room had its handle turned, Damn lack of oil made it creak until it finally opened to reveal Pietas behind it.

That got a groan from Ripley, as she sat back down to look at the troll basically invading her law office… that was technically inside a fleet facility.

— What do you want? — she said, with poison on her tongue — Can’t you see i’m clearing the messes the clients you brought in, got me into. —

All of it was performative of course. Staring at pietas even at the nine feet distance they were from each other within the office was one of her favorite things to happen. They barely spoke to each other lest it be to discuss a client, pietas bringing one in, or On the rare times when you had coffee at the same table. But as your subordinate, she answered.

— Well… First off: Wanna go to the office party? i know you skip happy hour because “Jermin’s voice gives you a headache” but since he retired you still haven’t come. — Of course ripley wouldn’t go. Too many people — But i’m going ‘gainst corp tonight! We have the night off. And they told me to not invite you because you’re kind of a Siphon of happiness… Their words not mine! —

— Subtle pietas… Really subtle — Ripley said, normally she’d be still working while speaking, but maybe it is the feelings of just having left a near-sweep long relationship that makes her feel like just listening.

— Well. I wanted to know if you’d come! — pietas’ voice echoed the office as ripley got up

— Yeah… Sure why not. — Without even giving pets the chance of giving the puppy dog eyes.

Nonetheless pietas closed the door softly, as a — Nice!!! — could be heard from the other side, Small bits of commemoration in the given moment. as she was far from the view of anyone ripley did what there were bets in the corporation if she was even able to. She Smiled and sat back down

Well just out of a relationship, maybe thinking about rebounding wouldn’t be the best idea. but too bad she already began, the only problem is that she doesn’t want this to be a fling, she doesn’t want this to be a one night off, The other problem is that the only ever good relationship she had just ended a day or two ago. What do normal trolls do when they’re matesprits… — Coffee? Maybe pizza, Movies… Making out, ice cream and anything else? — she said with no louder sound than a whisper.

As she got encased in her own thoughts she laid her head down on the desk – What if she says no? I mean it would very well be understandable. look at the bags under my eyes, look at the breath of coffee i have every single morning… What the fuck is going on with me – letting time pass without work was unadvisable but she did it any way. She did it because it would be best to think of better things than to work on the legal fees of a fuchsia who was charged with DIU.

Time, Like the sun on her window felt hazy after it had set, the moonlight draped the streets outside. cold, with the threat of light snowing, and the noise blared from the atrium of the company floor. Ripley shook the bad feelings away, with a heavy cough to fix her voice. She opened the door, and walked out. the noise blared louder, party music n° 37 or something, as if she ever listened to anything that wasn’t on her playlist since she was a teen.

The rails were well polished, the floor felt like glue to keep her in place as her heart started beating faster. Ripley is not used to social interactions, and this was by far one of the largest she ever faced. “Everything is different there. people expect you to talk, there are no turns, no one seems to be wanting to trick you and it’s hard to understand if they’re being genuine.” are the thoughts rushing through her mind, but to walk is to push them away, and with the rails as her handle on reality she walked towards the party in the hallway from her office to the atrium.

Down the stairs, one step at a time. Ripley didn’t stumble as she got into the fray, no battle was being had outside of the one telling that she should simply ditch and go home. But she decided against that a while ago.

Small talk wasn’t her best strength but, it worked, with a hi hello and how are you she was actually speaking with some people until someone grabbed her shoulders from behind

— FUCK what HUH?! — she shouted looking behind at a now startled pietas — He-Hey! Relax ripley! Just me! — Pietas was with the untucked office shirt and suspenders she wore daily. with the addition of little Reindeer Ears and Horns in a headband in front of her actual horns

— God DAMN it you KNOW i don’t like being touched — Ripley said accusatorily

— I know! i know sorry just, party got a bit to me you know — pietas responded with her voice weaker

With a hand through the hair to straighten everything out, Ripley sighed and looked back at the teal — No No. i Get it it’s not every day i come to these things —

Between small talk and little conversation nothing went anywhere, it was an office party afterall, not that she had been to any, legitimately without a clue of anything she drank the punch like it was water, maybe some courage potion could fix her, but it only had her looking worse when trolls started to leave for their hives. she and pietas remained talking

—What. Do you mean you can lift a hundred and eighty pounds?! — ripley looked shocked by the information

— Oh that’s just on a bench press, if we’re talking deadlift I can go to Two Fifty — Pietas said like it was nothing as ripley’s jaw dropped.

— YOU COULD LIFT ME UP WHAT THE FUCK — the pinkblood said loudly, and both drunken minds took it as an invitation. as pietas lifted ripley up with her hands under ripley’s shoulders like it was nothing — Like a couple of' grapes — Thank the messiahs the pink on ripley’s face could be said to be due to the alcohol

After more talking they were left to close and leave. both alcoholized enough to not be able to drive, ripley blurted out the best/worst idea she ever had. — Let’s go to my hive! ‘s closer than yours and we save on the fare! — and. Ripley instantly smacked her own face after that one, she couldn’t make more obvious what she was thinking as Pietas nodded and called their cab. Locking the building up was easy, just the front door the janitors had gotten to everything else. with a cup of punch in her hand standing outside in the soft sheet of white that covered the ground. Ripley chugged the last bit of her drink. The alcohol from all the other cups she drank over the night had basically accumulated at the bottom and it tasted like a kiss from a fireplace. Hot and uncomfortable, but it gave her a bit of courage to think up a plan.

The cab arrived and they went in. windows closed looking at the frost taking over the glass, pietas was smiling as she always was and ripley couldn’t stop staring, her eyes looked like pools that she wouldn’t mind drowning in. her lips were slightly teal because of the cold, as were her cheeks. And nothing could make this better of a night.

As some time passed they stopped in front of Ripley’s hive, an opulent display of the wealth that she had simply for being a fuchsia-blood, The gates had her initials in them which had pietas staring. She opened them and started the walk. The way was frosty but not slippery, clutching her own arms to deal with the cold. Ripley's teeth were chattering while Pietas was just fine, with her sleeves rolled up even. Only to mess with Ripley's head on how amazing the other was.

Fumbling with the keys the door eventually got open as she went in and pulled pietas with. The hive was warmer than the outside, Ripley grabbed the controller for the hive’s temperature and cranked it higher. As she walked deeper towards the kitchen taking her blazer off, pietas followed looking, it was a feeling both shared in thinking the other was the epitome of beauty in the moments they stood together for longer than the passing conversation

— I don’t have anything too good, but there’s wine in the fridge if you want some — Ripley said, lighting the kitchen lights with a clap and getting some water to drink. as pietas got from one of the decorations from the last sweep a santa hat

—Didn’t know you were the festive type! — these words came out alongside a chuckle from both of them — C’mon that’s from the last sweep! — Ripley responded smiling until she looked somber —My ex helped me put that stuff up. — she said, kind of dampening the whole mood as pietas took the chance to lift stuff up — Well I’ll help you put the new ones in and you can forget about that dirtbag! — she said with a smile

Ripley would take a while to forget about that stupid guy who had her heart in clutches and. Feelings were still had but the sentiment was good, leaving someone behind for the good of both is better than nursing a relationship that will never get better. and she knew that, but she could feel sad for what she lost. In either way, at the thought of putting up decorations alongside pietas brought a smile to her face

— Yeah sure. Just don’t let me fall when you’re holding the stairs like when we were putting up the picture frame on my office — she said with another chuckle from both of them

— Well… No time better than now! or, when we’re both less drunk — pietas chimed in before opening the fridge up and taking out leftover pizza — OH HEY, we could Totally eat this and watch a movie. Leftover pizza is better than the one you get on the same day I know that right? — Pietas said again while ripley was drinking her water to hide her face fuck she has a sweet smile, and those reindeer ears don’t make it any less adorable.

Within the hour Ripley had gotten everything together as Pietas was trying to figure out how to use the microwave that the hive had. the buttons weren’t making any sense, the thing didn’t turn on properly everything was so weird.

As the pink-blood came back to the kitchen. snapping her fingers and issuing the voice controlled microwave to heat the pizza for a minute — C’mon you can’t be THAT slow to not have figured it out — Ripley said handing over a pair of lighter clothes to pietas. —Now go change. I already deal with far too much work. I don't need to see you looking like you’re about to give me five clients — Her voice was commanding as she herself was already wearing sweatpants and a looser shirt. With the movement of a light run to the other room, Ripley stared at pietas all the way before putting a cup of coffee for herself. might make the pizza taste funny but she genuinely doesn’t care. as pietas comes back she looks down — Uh… What does the D.J. Stand for, in this? — she pulls Ripley ex’s initials sewn into the shirt. —Don’t, Worry about it! just a random thing that was in when i bought it — she lies before sipping more coffee.

Before they slept on the couch. Ripley mentioned in tired words

— You’re a real ray of sunshine y’know that pietas —

The rest of the night is spent watching a random movie from Ripley's extensive horror movie collection. eating leftover heated pizza, and drinking some more of Ripley's booze. Maybe this wasn’t what she thought it’d be, there’s no heat, no passion, nothing spicy occurring. but it remains somehow better than that.

#Ripley #Testing Scales #<- temporary Ship Name

7 notes · View notes

angel-anoetic · 4 years ago

Note

What if you rewrote your last post, but this time it didn’t work, which leads to Skeppy and Bad fighting because Bad still tries to go back to the egg?

Alright, alright, I was not too sure where to start from this, so the last conversation between reader and Bad will be added, but with the alternate ending. Thanks so much for your request!!

SkepHalo x gn!Reader - Let Me Go

Genre: /rom, angst

Warnings: Injury, fighting

original ending

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

The Red Banquet. Of course, it had to happen tonight. You had done your absolute best to keep everyone away. But you could only do so much. It was the only way. Now you were trying to convince Bad to spend just a few more hours with you. Your final hours.

"C'mon just a quick walk. I promise we'll be back before the Banquet starts."

"Fine."

Yes, finally. Skeppy had been missing for the last few days so you took full advantage of Bad and your alone time, making sure to spend as much as time with him, whether it was a conversation over coffee or a late-night walk around the SMP.

You took his hand, making sure to walk a little slower today, pointing out things you had never really noticed before, and soaking in the sun.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" You looked to him.

He smiled. "Of course I do silly. Me and Skeppy were out mining that day. Somehow, we ended up in the nether and found you casually walking around in the lava, playing with a strider. I think that was the moment we both knew we had to be your friend at the least. I don't think we really thought we would be here though."

As you walked up the path to your home Bad stopped and turned to you, grabbing your hands gently in his.

"Y/N...I want you to know, I really am sorry for the way things have been. I never meant for things to go this far and I really wanted this for us. The three of us. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me, and we'll be able to pretend like this never happened."

He smiled to you, and you to him.

"I know. Trust me, this will be all over soon." He looked at you a bit puzzled but shrugged it off as you entered.

Once you were both set, ready, and dressed up you were off. Puffy knew what was meant to happen tonight. She swore up and down she would do her best to help the good prevail, regardless of whatever was to happen.

The dinner began, with you sitting, anxious but ready. Puffy kept side-eyeing you, her nerves just as evident.

"The Egg requires a sacrifice. One that will suffice its hunger for a time. Thankfully we have a room of guests."

Now. It had to happen now.

You looked at Puffy, giving her the signal. She motioned to Sam and Foolish.

You stood up, to Bad's surprise.

"Me. I want to be the sacrifice." His face changed. The color came back to him as he came to.

"What? No-no. This wasn't for you my love. We're going to rule together-"

Sam and Foolish grabbed Bad, holding him as tight as they could. He looked around as it dawned on him what was happening. The Egg would fall today.

You walked over, the fire slowly becoming more vibrant. You reached out to him, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

"This is for the best my love. Until we meet again. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me."

You turned, the tears not even having time to leave your eyes. You ignored the pleas of Bad, begging for Foolish and Sam to let him go and his calls to you, to turn around, to reconsider.

You blocked it out, letting the heat flow from within you out. You gathered what you could, and then some. Would this hurt? You weren't sure. Would this even work? The chances were 50/50. But if there was even a slim chance, you needed to take it.

You thought of the bad, the worst memories you could pull. You focused on the emotions, the feelings of what the Egg had put you through, what it had put those you loved the most through. That was your motivation. That was the reason your power, the fire, grew until you could feel your skin burning.

You stood on the top of the Egg, then waited. Waited until the fire was too much for even yourself. The Egg began cracking under you, screeching as everything around it caught on fire.

"We have to go. Now!" Puffy screamed. Everyone began filing out of the room. Foolish and Sam struggled as Bad fought against their restraint.

"Bad," Puffy crouched in front of him "this is not your fault. They wanted to do this themselves. They wouldn't want you here to see this."

He sobbed as he continued to fight. He was too late. They dragged him out of the room as the walls surrounding them began to topple down.

You had long lost feeling, only letting the fire consume everything around you. You fell to your knees, unrelenting.

Goodbye, my love.

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

Your eyes tried to open, but even that was too much effort for you. You could hardly feel your skin. Your mind refused to feel anything.

"I don't know...could be a while."

Sam?

"Please just tell me they'll be okay. Please."

Skeppy.

You let out a small groan. Your eyes finally began to push open.

"Y/N!" Skeppy nearly grabbed at your hand before remembering the aches and pain Sam told him you might experience. "H-hey, how are you feeling?"

"Crappy." You both laughed.

"Language." You heard the small mutter from the doorway. Skeppy and you turned to see Bad, tears staining his face, silently holding himself.

"Bad..." You patted the bed next to you, an invitation he accepted gladly.

He looked at you, the pain and regret visible in his eyes.

"Y/N, I am...I'm so sorry." He let out a small sob, covering his face, "I never, I never would have let you do that if you had told me-" You grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"It's okay. I'm here now. That's all that matters. But please, tell me, did it work? Is it gone?" Skeppy shook his head, gently taking your hand.

"I'm sorry Y/N, you did some pretty decent damage, but it's still here."

You looked at the ceiling. Damn it. All that mattered right now was that both of your boys were here with you, regardless of how you had ended up here.

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

The first few days had been great. Skeppy and Bad refused to let you do anything on your own, despite your protests. You finally drew the line when they offered to sleep on the floor so you could have the bed to yourself. Bad got up every morning to make you breakfast and took care of you during the day. Sometimes Skeppy would stay home and you would all enjoy a movie.

Until about two weeks ago. You weren't sure if it had been you or Skeppy who noticed first, but nonetheless Bad's absence in the late hours of the nice. He would be back in bed by the morning, but soon he would leave earlier and earlier in the evening.

You were laying in bed, trying to stop a headache from taking over when you heard the door open quietly. Skeppy stood up from where he was standing and crossed his arms.

"Where were you?" He asked a disheveled-looking Bad.

"Nowhere important. How are they?"

Skeppy scoffed, "Just admit it. I already know. But I want to hear you say it. They're doing just fine actually, just a slight headache."

"Skeppy, I don't know what you could possibly mean. I was just enjoying the server for once."

"Stop lying to me. Just say it so I don't have to push it out of you."

Bad groaned and made his way to the kitchen, Skeppy followed, leaving you on the couch.

"I can't believe you sometimes. Y/N is still on bed rest because of what they did for you, for us, and you have the audacity to go back to the Egg!"

Bad stopped and looked to Skeppy. "How-It doesn't matter. Because I'm still my own person Skeppy, I can make my own decisions."

"Oh yeah, my bad, I forgot the world just revolves around you. What about me? What about them?!"

The fight was starting to get to you, pushing your headache to a worse state.

"Skeppy, it's not like that. You know it's not like that. This wouldn't even be a problem if you didn't make it one. Stop being so dramatic."

"I'm being dramatic? Y/N almost died trying to destroy that thing so that we could be free, even if it was without them. And you're here, turning into the same person you were months ago. Do you even listen to yourself?"

"Leave me alone! Let me live. I know what they did, but I also know what the Egg could do for us. The three of us!"

"Skeppy..." You called out softly.

He quickly rushed to you, feeling your forehead, grabbing a wet towel from before. "It's okay, you're okay, I'm sorry for all the screaming darling."

Skeppy waited until you closed your eyes, falling into a light sleep. He refused to look at Bad, studying your face.

"You won't do this to us again. I won't let you. I think I can trust you enough to make the right choice because I know that the Bad that I and Y/N fell in love with is still in there."

Bad stayed silent for a moment.

"I'm going to go before I say something I'll regret."

Bad slammed the door and was off. Skeppy could feel the tears welling in his eyes, but held them back, stroking your face softly.

#skephalo x reader #skephalo angst #dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #rewrite #skephalo imagine

188 notes · View notes

heavenbarnes · 5 years ago

Text

what’s your poison?

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: a cheating ex boyfriend, alcohol, unprotected sex (please use protection), oral sex (female receiving), handjob, dirty talk, swearing, joking during sex cause i’m fun, pulling out onto stomach, bucky has a dog, new zealand english cause i wrote the start on my phone

Word Count: 5.5k

if you try and tell me you’ve never fallen in love with your bartender before, i hope you know you’re a liar! anyways, this is fun and it doesn’t mean anything so enjoy (so i guess this is technically an au, but could also not be cause there is references to in-canon shit) x

You wouldn’t say you were proud of finding solace in a bar, especially not one with those tacky red neons and a floor sticky enough to have you frozen in place.

But here you are, perched up on that high stool by the window, notebook spread open in front of you with a pen resting on your lower lip.

Funny thing about heartbreak, the world doesn’t stop moving around you, even when you wish it did. So when you come home to your roommate fucking your boyfriend, you still have to live in that house cause finding rentals is near impossible.

And when living in that house feels damn suffocating, you have to sit in the bar down the street doing the work that is kicking your ass, because people don’t stop filing reports when your heart gets broken.

Wasn’t the first time the world made it blaringly obvious that it didn’t revolve around you, but sometimes the ignorance is bliss.

Scribbling out yet another data set, you knew your life wasn’t about to get any easier, but even you had to admire your own perseverance. So did Astrid, the sweet waitress that was swapping your empty glass with a full one.

You smiled at her, picking up the drink and giving it a sniff, screwing your nose up slightly. “You’re very kind but this smells strong and I’m still working.”

“It wasn’t me, I’m just the messenger,” She returned your smile as she cleaned the little drops of soda from your last drink. “Bucky figured you needed it by the look on your face.”

Casting a glance over Astrid’s shoulder you caught eyes with the bartender, the one who’d already been looking at you but turned away once you caught his eye. You lent him a smile nonetheless, just in case he was looking.

Stirring the drink with your paper straw, you came in to take a sip, immediately feeling the flavours flood over your tongue. Bucky was onto something, you definitely needed this and about 17 others after it.

“Tell him I say thank you.” You gave her a sheepish little grin as you took another sip of his creation.

The thing about Bucky was, he didn’t say a hell of a lot but he was a god with his hands. Not like that, like when he was shaking cocktails. But you were sure he was probably good in that way too.

Six foot three and broad in just about every way, long hair and that brooding kind of look on his face. He might’ve been the reason you picked this bar out of the ten or so others littering the stretch.

He’d quietly mix your drinks with those large hands (even his prosthetic hand was big, dark metal glinting under the neon lights), always making you exactly what you needed. Sometimes, if you timed it right, you could see him watching you out of the corner of your eye.

That should’ve been weird, quiet guy that won’t even introduce himself to you watches you from across a bar. But Bucky made it different, something in you liked the way he stared.

Astrid had been the only one you told about your now ex-boyfriend, but from your hospitality experience, word spreads quick behind a bar. You didn’t mind, it got you free drinks and kindness from the other waitresses as they swirled around you.

Beanie, who was studying business on the side, would sit with you as you worked out your spreadsheets. She asked you mountains of questions that never got annoying, felt nice to be valued around here.

Every day that you left work, you’d sneak back to your apartment, avoiding your roommate by timing it with when you knew she’d be at the gym. Quickly changing your clothes, you slipped back out into the city and headed for the bar.

You kept it quiet with where you spent your evenings, not wanting your boss to think you had a problem with all your time spent there. But you knew that it was very seldom there was actually alcohol in your drinks, mainly just new mocktails Bucky was trialing and testing on you.

That’s how the two of you communicated, he’d make a drink, a waitress would bring it over, you’d sample it and she’d feed the feedback back to him. A rather outdated system that could be solved by you both picking up your nuts and speaking to one another.

But that’d mean hearing each other’s voice, incredibly intimate when you’ve drawn it out this long. You’d have to have something to talk about, be alone in each other’s presence, admit that there was-

Now what was there?

Every night of every week you were there until closing, walking with Astrid to her car, Bucky trailing a few steps behind the both of you. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was making sure you both made it safely. As soon as you both got in, he climbed on his motorcycle and wouldn’t see him again until the next evening.

The moment Astrid dropped you at your apartment, you’d sneak inside, thanking the gods that your roommate was asleep so you didn’t have any awkward hallway interactions. Instead, you lay in the centre of your bed and strangely enough, you thought of your bartender without a voice to even put to the man.

The next evening you were there, you found your mind straying from the work in front of you and heading into the conversation of the waitresses floating around you.

“No, but she’s like gorgeous,” Beanie groaned, putting her notepad in the pocket of her apron. “Bucky is so lucky, she’s just a dream.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of his name being dropped, and without being able to control it, you found yourself travelling to a million different realities. Of course he had a girlfriend, a man that looks like that and makes a Singapore Sling that good cannot be single.

There was truly no reason to be sad right now, he wasn’t yours and never was. But maybe you enjoyed him paying special attention to you, especially after what the last guy did to you. Astrid did tell you that Bucky was a bit stone cold sometimes, he never used this special treatment on anyone else.

So here you were thinking you were special, and here was the universe pulling you into line again, reminding you in no uncertain terms that the world didn’t revolve around you.

You drank Bucky’s mew mocktails, but they didn’t taste as fun when you knew they weren’t genuine. Sure maybe the care was genuine, but there wasn’t anything behind it. You screwed up your face when you heard your own thoughts, you sounded like an actual fuckboy right now.

Gone are the days of alarmingly handsome men being able to gift a Moscow Mule in peace, no sex attached. You just had to go and set the women’s rights movement back a few years.

You scolded yourself silently, taking another sip of the drink and enjoying Bucky’s talents. You weren’t even in the headspace for a new man at the moment, so where were you getting off hoping the guy was single?

Lifting your head towards the bar, you found those blue eyes back on you. He stuttered for a moment, realising he’d been caught staring, so he lifted his eyebrow almost to say “what do you think?”

A smile formed on your face of its own accord, lifting your hand into a thumbs up you mouthed back “pretty damn good.”

And for the first time since you’d been coming here, you saw it. You saw the corners of Bucky’s pretty lips turn up into a smile as he nodded, looking awful proud of himself.

God damn it, your brain knew you weren’t ready but your heart didn’t seem to give a fuck.

Another night at the bar and as you came inside, your eyes went to your normal seat, only to find somebody already sitting in it. After a long day at work, you couldn’t help the childish groan drift out of your lips.

“I know,” Astrid caught you mid grumble as she started walking you over. “But there is a seat right here at the bar.”

Putting you in a stool, she wiped down the surface in front of you so you could lay out your papers to keep working. She gave your shoulders a squeeze and happened to hit the right spot, maybe it was her girlfriend you needed to be jealous of.

As she went to leave you be, you heard her call over her shoulder. “Bucky, she’s here.”

Your head snapped up, heat rising in your cheeks as Astrid scurried away to serve her tables. From the service door, a large frame took all of it up as Bucky appeared before you.

Watching the way his eyes scanned the room, they fixed on the spot you usually sat at before his brow furrowed in confusion. It wasn’t until his gaze drifted down and caught you at the bar, he nearly jumped in fright.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Astrid tells him when you arrive every night, like it’s something he looks forward to. You gave him a smile and a pathetic little wave as you tried to calm yourself down. The man has a girlfriend, he isn’t waiting for you.

Bucky smiled back, seemingly looking just as nervous as you felt. He quickly raised one finger, as if asking you to wait, before he spun around and started grabbing different bottles from the back shelf.

As you watched him work, you smelt a breeze of perfume drift past you, one that had become familiar. You reached out and grabbed Beanie by the wrist, deciding now was the best time to put yourself out of your misery.

“Bucky’s girlfriend must be the luckiest person on earth, with a man who makes drinks like that.”

Beanie scrunched up her nose in confusion, looking between the two of you.

“Girlfriend? You know something I don’t?”

You studied her gaze, matching that look of lacking in understanding.

“He must have a girlfriend, right?”

“Oh, the only woman in Bucky’s life is his dog, Daybreak,” She laughed, turning on her heel to leave. “You should see her, she’s gorgeous.”

A dog, a fucking dog. You’ve been stewing every night for about a week over a fucking dog. A curt laugh slipped past your lips and you didn’t even try to stop it, top tier stupidity and you actually deserved it.

Bucky turned to look over his shoulder, caught off guard by your chuckle as he’d missed the whole conversation over the noise of the bar. He just smiled, stirring the glass in front of him before sliding it across to you.

Sniffing it first, like you always did, it smelt heavenly like winter mint. Taking the first sip, it went down ridiculously well and you nodded in content before flashing Bucky a thumbs up. He placed his right hand over his heart nodding back to you. Your silent communication always said enough.

Bucky made you two more of those minty little things as you kept studying your spreadsheets. The bar patrons moved around you as the hours ticked on and you were so enveloped in your work it made you jump when you heard your name.

That and the voice that the word floated off of.

Turning in your stool, your ex boyfriend stood before you with his hands clasped together. Shaking your head, you went to spin back around but he stepped forward, hand reaching for your upper arm.

“I know you don’t want to see me but please let me explain.”

“Normally I’d say ‘fuck off’, but I’d love to hear an explanation for how you ended up fucking my roommate.”

He grimaced at the sound of you throwing his mistake back in his face. But truthfully, if he didn’t like the sound of it, maybe he shouldn’t have cheated.

“I know I fucked up, it was so stupid but it didn’t mean anything.”

“When did it stop meaning something? The third time? Maybe the 15th time? Please, enlighten me.”

A part of him seemed shocked, that you weren’t folding like a hand of cards and letting him take you home. Stupid boy should’ve realised you were a whole person before he met you, you’d go on without him.

“Alright, I know I deserve all this but I just want my baby back.”

You almost responded, your mouth opened to say something- anything, but someone else cut you to the chase.

“Your baby back? This isn’t Ruby-fucking-Tuesday’s, but you’re more than welcome to get the hell out of my bar.”

Turning behind you, you saw large hands gripping the wooden legs, squared up and unafraid. It didn’t register with you that this was the first time you’d heard Bucky’s voice until it was too late. A shiver shifted down your spine as you watched the way he stared the other man down.

“And who the hell are you?” Your ex had always been stupid, never knew when to stop running his mouth and keep it away from other girls.

“I’m the one that’s been keeping ‘your baby’ company each night since you fucked up so bad.”

Not to set the women’s rights movement back another few years, but there was something quite lovely about being fought over. Picking your drink back up, you sipped it slowly as you watched Bucky refuse to back down.

“You don’t know the first thing about her.”

“I know she’s far too smart to be wasting her time with you, so I won’t say it again, get the hell out of my bar.”

Your ex looked to you, stupidly thinking he’d find reprieve with you. Shrugging your shoulders and turning your gaze to Bucky you finally spoke. “This is delicious, you really are gifted.”

And with his tail tucked between his legs, you watched your ex trudge out of the bar, silently hoping that would be the last time you saw his sorry ass.

The only thing about him leaving was the silence that now sat between yourself and Bucky, having to come to terms with the fact your quiet little knowings have now become incredibly loud.

Still sipping away at your drink, thankfully Bucky found the notion to speak first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get involved-“

Thinking he was finished you spoke up. “Please don’t apologise, I loved it.” As you were speaking, he finished with, “I really care about you.”

That shut the both of you up, back to quiet as you looked at each other across the bar. Patrons kept milling about around you but the world seemed to stop for you. In your own head, you asked for a sign, a sign that you should risk it all.

Bucky’s tongue came out to run across his lower lip and you swore you saw stars.

That wouldn’t normally stand as a sign but you were fine with a reach, you’d already decided he could’ve sneezed and that would work.

“You know, uh,” You cleared your throat, placing down your now empty glass. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to be on a motorcycle.”

Bucky nodded slowly in understanding, pulling the rag off his shoulder and placing it against the counter. “I’ve always wanted to show you what it’s like.”

“What time do you clock off?”

“Now, now’s good.”

The sound of your stool scraping against the wood floor drew Astrid’s gaze up as she moved through the crowd between the tables. Stopping beside your usual spot, she stood beside the man who’d taken your seat that night.

“Thank you, Albert,” She passed him the twenty dollar note. “It was about time they got moving.”

There was something incredibly intimate about being within close proximity of Bucky, let alone having him sat between your legs as your arms closed even tighter around his waist. You swore he zipped in and out of traffic on that bike just so you’d get even closer, and you were reasonably thankful for it.

Going from only hearing his voice moments before to being so close to him you could smell the Calvin Klein aftershave? There was a lot going on and it was enough to make your head spin. So you chose to relax into him, as much as you could with the helmet locked around your head.

You were nearly going to pout when you arrived at his house, but the moment he stretched his hand out to take yours and walk you in, he wasn’t leaving you with much to feel sorry about.

Now, there are many dangers about walking into a single man’s apartment, mainly the state it could be in. Bucky’s was beautiful, dark furniture and well looked after, everything was tidy and it actually smelt nice. You’d think he was straight out of the 40′s with manners and charm like this.

As you gazed around in awe of the first male apartment you’d been in without a fist-sized hole in the wall, you felt something brush against your legs. Looking down, you found a husky nearly at your hip height, bright blue eyes like her dad’s.

“Daybreak, go easy on her.” Bucky sounded from the kitchen, he’d already made his way in and started fishing around.

“That’s okay, you’re even more beautiful than I was told.” You cooed, your voice immediately catering just for her as you scratched around her ears.

“They told you about her?” Bucky chuckled as he worked, two highball glasses in front of him and a dark liquor starting to pour.

Your cheeks glowed hot as you thought about whether or not you should tell him of your monumental fuck up from earlier. Maybe he’d laugh? Or maybe he’d think you were a sociopath? Better to get it out now you supposed.

“I heard them talking, and I thought they were referring to your girlfriend, so they just cleared that up for me.” You caught Daybreak’s eye, busying yourself with her so you couldn’t see the gorgeous man stood a metre away and laughing at you.

“Yes, my incredibly fluffy girlfriend with disgusting breath and a habit of standing on my back when I sleep.” He shook his head, squeezing lime into the glass along with what you thought might’ve been bitters.

“Hey, whatever you’re into, I’m not going to judge!” You put your hands up in defense before going back to fluffing Daybreak’s coat.

Bucky stirred the drinks before sliding one across the counter top to you. Raising back up, you gratefully accepted it as he began to speak again. “You weren’t jealous were you?”

Your eyes widened, thinking on it for a moment with as much expression as possible. Avoiding the question entirely, you took a sip, feeling the warm ginger taste roll through you.

“What do you call this one?”

“Answer my question and I’ll tell you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you bit the bullet. “I might’ve been a little jealous.”

“This one is called a ‘howling commando’, why were you jealous?”

“Raunchy name, I love it! What was the other minty one called?”

Bucky’s grin widened as he knew exactly what game you were playing, he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to a little tussle.

“Answer my question and I’ll tell you, those are the rules.”

You scrunched up your nose before giving in, he was hot and he had rules, there was simply no denying this man. “Maybe because you make me want to do very bad things to you.”

Bucky’s jaw went slack, but the corners of his mouth tweaked up into a smile as he thought carefully on his next move.

“The minty one is called a ‘winter soldier’, can you tell me what those very bad things are?”

Wrapping your lips around your paper straw, you kept your eyes closely fixed on his as you shrugged your shoulders. You drew back, letting the straw rest in the centre of your tongue as he followed your movements with intrigue.

“Or maybe I could just show you?”

With a swift movement, Bucky cleared the table with one hand and the other snaked around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. You felt his lips glide across yours, as soft as you’d imagined and that bite of alcohol resting just past them.

Your hands came up to fist at his shirt, tugging him down so you could slip your tongue in and against his. He brought his other hand down to rest just behind your knee, picking you up in a swift motion and placing you against his kitchen counter.

Legs locking around him, you pulled him in as you gripped at his flannel over shirt to push it off his shoulders. Bucky took the hint, stripping the shirt off before getting onto his t-shirt. He stood before you bare-chested and beautiful, so much so that your breath caught in your throat.

A hint of a smirk started on his face but you shook your head, not prepared to let him have the joy of catching you off guard. You took his jaw in your hands and brought him back to your lips, reveling in the feeling of him on you.

Feeling his hands go for your waistband, you lifted your hips to let him get rid of your bottoms, the cold of kitchen tile against the backs of your thighs.

“You are so fucking beautiful, been thinking of you since the day you walked into my bar.”

Giggling into his mouth, you ran your hands down his neck and into the hair at the nape, tugging slightly. “I could say the same about you, pretty boy.”

You could’ve sworn Bucky growled, but you weren’t given enough time to dwell on it as he began to ease you back until you lay against the counter. His fingers went to the band of your underwear, slowly easing those down your legs.

Here you were, spread out in this mans kitchen like dinner and he was going to eat his share. A shiver ran through you that you could pinpoint to excitement as you felt his breath gently ghost over you.

His hands ran from your thighs all the way up to the hem of your shirt, sliding it up your body and underneath to palm at your chest. You knew he had big hands, it was one of the first things you noticed, but you weren’t prepared for how good they’d feel when he held you.

The moment you felt his mouth come down against your pussy, your whole back arched off the bench. You gripped at his forearms, nails digging in slightly as you rolled your lower half into his mouth. His tongue came out, running along your slit and moving against your clit.

You’d definitely been swindled into a shit deal with your ex, it never felt anything like this and Bucky had only just started. His name fell out of your throat as his tongue sped up, moving back down to your entrance and making your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

Bucky pulled back one of his hands for only a moment so he could hook your legs over his shoulders, before he grabbed back at your breasts. The contrast between the rough skin of his fingers tweaking at your nipple, and the smooth metal on the other was driving you wild.

“How are you so good at this, what the fuck?” You babbled, back going up against as he flicked the tip of his tongue at your clit.

He chuckled into you, the sounds vibrating off of where you were most sensitive and hitting you straight in the core. You’d never had a man pay this much attention to you, know exactly where to go and what to do. It was damn near overwhelming and this was the bare minimum, god you’d been missing out.

Bringing one hand down, he pressed two fingers to your clit as his tongue moved back down. The pressure of his skilled digits against you and the speed of his tongue, you were doing your best to cry out his name but it wasn’t coming out right. Your brain couldn’t keep up with everything else.

Pressing your foot into his shoulder, you slipped your hand into his hair, locking into the roots and tugging tight against them. A moan fell out of Bucky and straight against you, rocking your pussy up against his lips. You had to forget everything you thought you knew about men.

This was a man and he was going to change your life.

He swapped his fingers, slowly sliding them into you as his tongue moved back to your clit. The minute he bent those metal digits up, still pumping his wrist and working his mouth, it was all over.

You clenched down around him, his name flew high into the air as you shook against him, your wetness covering his chin as he moved to lap it up. Like a good boy, he let you get your breath, pulling back and cleaning off his fingers with his tongue.

“Don’t do that in front of me, you’ll make my heart stop.” You joked, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Bucky chuckled, taking a knee in each hand where you’d clamped your thighs together, slowly easing them apart. He tugged you along the bench until your legs were wrapped around him again.

“I can’t believe I just came, and that hard.” You admitted, finally able to cope with it all.

“That’s kind of the point, pretty baby.”

“Yeah but you haven’t even?”

The soft little patterns Bucky was tracing on your thigh came to a halt, almost making you whinge. He looked down at you with an expression of pure confusion before speaking up.

“Wait, did your ex never make you come during foreplay?”

“Are you kidding?” You snorted, propping yourself up on elbows. “He barely made me come during sex.”

Bucky shook his head, looking physically wounded by what you were telling him. “Oh baby, this isn’t even for pleasure anymore, this is an act of service.”

You snorted at him, gripping his arms so you could pull yourself up to sitting. He tugged you even further until you were flush against him. His face was so close to yours, every part of him was so close.

“You’re being goofy, you’re lucky I think you’re hot.”

It was his turn to laugh, before he slipped his hand down, undoing his belt with a little of your assistance. As he shuffled his jeans and briefs down, you brought your hand to wrap around his length, and it nearly put you back on your ass.

So soft and remarkably beautiful for a dick, it was heavy as all hell as you wrapped your fingers around. So thick and built for two hands to stroke it, you knew that no matter what happened from here on out, you wouldn’t be forgetting about him soon.

“I knew you had a big dick, I could tell from the way you walked,” You said, spitting into your hand so you could stroke him. “But this is just fucking unreal.”

Bucky tried to laugh but you twisted your wrist at just the right time, it filtered off into a moan as his head dipped into the crook of your neck. “And you say I’m the goofy one.”

“Is baby getting all shy, can’t handle the fact he’s hung like a fucking horse?” You teased, running your fingers over his head.

Sucking in a breath, his hands came to grip your hips as you kept jerking him, simply enjoying the way he felt in your hands. “It is far too early for me to be telling you that if you keep talking like that, it will make me come.”

Dropping your mouth open, you turned towards him but ended up nuzzling your nose in his hair. His shampoo smelt incredible, not like a 3-in-1 but like an actual shampoo.

“Bucky, you are a fucking freak, I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Pulling back from your neck, he gave you the toothiest grin before tipping his head back with a heady moan that made your pussy clench. He looked so beautiful moaning for you, completely at your will with his cock in your hand.

There was something so refreshing about this, your ex never let you have fun during sex, it was always so boring and so incredibly serious. You’d never laughed so much, played so much, and still come so hard your vision whited out.

Bucky took your hand off his dick, wrapping his own it as you tipped your hips back slightly. He lined up, laying his head against your entrance where you needed him most. He slowly slid in as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and gripped tight.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he moved in, the stretch and burn something you hadn’t felt in a wee while, it took over you as he did his best to be gentle. You were starting to understand the meaning of “rearranging guts” as he got to the hilt.

You paused for a moment, breathing through as Bucky strained with all his might to not move. He’d never felt something so fucking tight and so fucking warm, he would lay money on it that you were made for him and he was always meant to find you.

Finally, you tapped on his shoulder and signaled him to move. He rolled his hips into you, the first few thrusts to find his rhythm before he really picked up. Your ankles crossed over above his ass, keeping him as close to you as you could as his speed increasingly picked up.

“God, this pussy feel so fucking good.” He groaned, hands coming down to lift your shirt back up.

You pulled it over your head, throwing it behind you with your bra as his hands immediately gripped back onto them. Lowering slightly, he brought his mouth to one of your nipples, lips wrapping around and sucking gently as his hips never let up.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you thought about those incredible noises he’d made moments before. Tugging gently, you earnt yourself another moan that rippled through you as you rolled your hips back into his.

“Bucky, faster,” Panting out your words, you gripped him tighter. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Bucky’s eyes cast up to you, locking with yours and in an instant he changed. One hand gripped your hip and the other braced against the counter as he surged forward into you. A rippling cry travelled out of your chest and broke in your throat, a pathetic moan replacing it.

“You calling me nasty but I think you’re just as bad as I am, hmm?”

You smiled up at him, leaning back slightly so he could watch the way your tits bounced for him as he fucked you. “I never said I wasn’t, I was the one who wanted to do the bad things.”

Bucky lent down, nose to nose with you and lips nearly touching. “You weren’t the only one who was thinking like that.”

His lips caught yours again as his tongue moved straight into your mouth. He pulled you back onto him and made your whole body tense up on him, a ridiculously good rhythm that was making your legs shake.

Slipping a hand in between you, his fingers worked quick against your clit as you tried to match his movements. Everything was becoming increasingly difficult as you could feel your second orgasm working its way through you.

“You’re so good, you make incredible drinks and you’re really good at this too.” You cried, gripping onto his forearm as your back arched up.

Hearing him chuckle through his staggered breaths, his fingers only picked up against where you were most sensitive. “You make spreadsheets look sexy, holy fuck.”

You would’ve laughed, it was a pretty good one, but the orgasm that tore straight through you only allowed you to cry his name. Pussy locked tight around him you nearly left the table as everything broke inside you. The tension that’d he’d created was cut and you came with a near scream.

Bucky coaxed you through it, telling you how pretty you were, how good you looked. All you could do was whimper for him, aftershocks moving through you as he worked closer to his own end.

You opened your eyes to see him in front of you, fisting his cock above you as he panted your name. You’d never heard or seen something quite as good as this, he was something else entirely.

He came with a cry, painting across your stomach as he fell against the bench top. The both of you frozen in time, collecting yourselves and letting your brains set back to normal. Propping yourself back up, you looked at the gorgeous man lent over the sink.

“I know you’ve just put in the hard work,” You reasoned gesturing to your state. “But I could really do with another drink.”

#it's a sleepover #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes headcanon #marvel smut

549 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

Not Necessarily a Virtue

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Practical Magic AU

There hadn’t been a plan when Obi picked up the phone.

All it had taken was one rogue text-- another case assigned to his social worker, one that was enough of an emergency that it his behavioral issues seem tame in comparison. Her chair rattles when she stans, its plastic back hitting the filing cabinets with a metallic tang, but her hands tremble more.

“This will be just a minute,” she says, smile plastered tight to her face. And then she leaves him there alone, his file open on her desk, flaws left out for the world to see.

It doesn’t bothered him. There’s no point, not when he already knows: he’s trouble with a capital-T, each failed family drawing him closer and closer to being unplaceable. Some people have a face only a mother could love, but Obi-- Obi has that for his personality. Though considering how each of his six almost-moms signed him away with a sigh of relief, walking out the plate glass doors without even a glance back, maybe he has the sort of personality that makes people reconsider whether they could be a mother.

So here he is again, freshly abandoned, back in the sterile halls of social services for the seventh time without a place to call home. He’s not even twelve.

Not that these people aren’t trying to change that-- he’s not some cat left at the shelter, free to a good home. Unless Kerry or Janine or the girl at the desk he didn’t get to read the name tag of wanted to sleep on their couch, they have to find someone to take him for the night. And he knows from experience, there’s always a family that believes they can change him. A young couple who thought all problem children needed was just a little extra love. By the time Kerry came back, there’d be good news waiting, a miracle crafted by three people who didn’t want to miss the Masked Singer finale. They’d pack him into the back of a car and ship him off to a new place to fail. Because no matter how many homes they tried to make for him, it’d never change how he felt.

Obi had tried, at first. He was just a little kid, wanting to be loved, but every home he went to itched like hives in his head, a constant buzz that set his teeth on edge and made him do anything, try anything to leave. He belonged somewhere else, somewhere not here, and he knew it like he knew Kerry’s other case had overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills in his foster mother’s cabinet-- with an inexplicable certainty.

He waits thirty seconds after she leaves before he slides off the the plastic seat she’d put him in. They love these things, oddly shaped and in primary colors that make the little kids giddy, but Obi hates them. He’s undersized, and putting him in these kiddie rooms always makes people treat him like he’s eight instead of eleven, asking him about Blue’s Clues.

But that’s not why he gets up, not entirely. There’s a buzzing in the back of his brain, a knowing, and it makes him stand, his hand straying to the glass door. He can’t see anything outside, at least not anything besides more kiddie chairs and offices, but he steps out nonetheless. He steps out and, unerringly, turns to face the girl waiting for him down the hall.

“It’s you.” Her tawny hair stresses the elastic she’s trapped it in, too thick. It’s not one of those hair ones either, but one of those thick rubber bands they use on the produce in grocery store. It hurts; he knows because it’s common sense, but also because he just...Knows. Their eyes meet, and even though he doesn’t her name, they’ve known each other forever.

His mouth is dry when he asks, “Do you know me?”

“I saw you in a dream.” She takes a step toward him, her sneakers scuffed and worn, just like his. “You’re Obi. I’m Torou.”

He doesn’t know this girl. There’s a hundred ways she could get his name; one of them is sitting on a desk behind him right now. But when she looks up at him with eyes he’s only ever seen in the mirror, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

His heart pounds with each mincing squeak of her sneakers on the tile. She’s taking too long and she’s coming too fast; each terrible second convinces him he’s making a mistake at the same time he’s doing what he was always meant to do. By the time she slips her hand into his, he’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter because they both are and this--

This is right. And he knows exactly what to do.

It’s holding her hand that he picks up the phone. He fucks it up the first time-- he gets that gross digital buzz before he notices the sticker beneath the speaker, informing him 9 dials out-- but the second one his fingers guide him, releasing the number he has no reason to know. A number he has no reason to believe will work, that could have just come from the weird recesses of his mind but--

But he’s not surprised when a man picks up. “Who is this? Do you know what time--?”

“We’re here,” Obi says, and it shouldn’t be enough, but it is. “Come pick us up.”

A specter arrives on the front walk at noon.

Obi knows by the hush in the office. Or really the weight of it-- it’s been quiet like this since last night, since he and Torou sat down on the big bean bag couch in the waiting room, and Obi announced they wouldn’t be letting go. His case worker had crouched in front of them, that sweet smile plastered to her lips, and told him that they’d only have to be separated for a night. But he’d known-- the way he always did-- that every word was a lie. His fingers tightened in her grip, narrowing his eyes until the woman shivered, and that was that.

Kerry stayed with them, of course; she’d slept in her office, under a blanket it’s clear she’s never used and had only just discovered wasn’t comfortable no matter how many Sesame Street characters were on it. They’d been tucked under another by a younger girl with trembling hands, her eyes darting between them as she smoothed out its edges. He’d heard them through the walls this morning while the rest of the office filtered in-- government buildings like this were always cutting corners, leaving things like this paper thin, stuff that would go up like tissue in a fire.

Do you think they’re twins? one asked. Trembling hands, he guesses, since her voice does as well, like a chihuahua in a sweater. I’ve heard about this happening with twins. They look and just know.

Can’t be, we have their birth certificates, says another. Kerry, probably; she might be a liar, but she’s one of the only people in this place that has her head screwed on right, too. Two different sets of parents.

And the man they called last night? This one is stern; their manager maybe. He’s not really sure how this all works; he’s not even twelve, and he can only just know so much. Who is he?

There’s a heavy pause. I...I don’t know.

So when he arrives, dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella beneath the bright New Mexico sky, the whole place goes quiet. When he walks it’s stiff, like it took a hundred volts to get him up off the table and he’s only just gotten used to the idea. Obi casts a look down at Torou, at where her hand is white knuckled in his, and thinks about how he knows things, and wonders just what she might be able to do.

The man enters, umbrella folding in a single neat motion, before he says. “I am Lata Forenzo. I believe you have my...niblings.”

Niblings, Obi learns, is like siblings, only sideways.

“It was a simplification,” Lata says, his voice a deep, hesitant gravel. He casts a speculative look at the taxi driver, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Niece and nephew is an unwieldy phrase, and time, after all, is of the essence.”

“Is it?” Torou’s eyes are wide, and for the first time since last night, her hand leaves his, gripping on to the cloth at Lata’s knee. “Is there something after us? Those bugs, they’re not--”

“No.” Obi’s known his uncle for barely more than a half hour, but he knows he isn’t a tactile person. Even still, Lata looks down at Torou, his not-gold eyes somehow softer, and puts two fingers over the bones at the back of her hand. “But it is time to bring you home.”

Home is an island. It takes the whole night to fly in, and when they land the sun is just barely scratching the sky. Even still, there’s no stopping; Lata bundles them straight into a cab, shushing them before they can make much more than a peep.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, and the next time he wakes them, salt stings Obi’s nose, and he’s being carried over a threshold.

“Are we here?” he slurs. The house is weird-- angular, really, with a hall so narrow he could kick out a leg and stop them up like a cork. He nearly does, just to be cussed, but he catches Torou still wrapped up in her blanket, lolling on the couch, and says instead, “Can you let me down?”

Lata hesitates, fingers stiff where they wrap around his knees and shoulders, but he nods.

Obi’s feet-- just wearing socks now, somehow-- press on the floor, and he knows: he’s home.

“Oh,” he breathes, hands flying out to steady himself. “Oh.”

When he looks up, Torou’s eyes meet his, round and wide. “I felt that.”

Her own feet swing down-- bare-- and the moment she touches the wide old planks--

“Oh.” Lata braces himself against the wall, the sound bitter on his lips. “So it’s true. There will always be two.”

They aren’t his words, Obi knows, but they’re important. They’ve got that feel, the same as when Torou said she dreamed of him. The sort that are going to be life-changing, one way or another.

But Obi’s had enough of that today. Enough of it for a lifetime. He glances over at Torou, and she nods. “Can we go outside?”

Lata blinks, eyes pulling from the wallpaper to fix on him. After a long moment, he says, “You know where the door is.”

Obi does, somehow, and when he opens it--

It’s paradise.

Home has rules too, loads of them. It’s quiet time from nine to eight, though Lata doesn’t much care if they’re sleeping, so long as they’re in bed. Teeth have to be brushed twice a day-- he’d glowered when Obi said he had good teeth and only needed the once, standing over him for a week morning and night to see the rule stuck. There’s only one dessert after dinner; Obi balked at that one, until he’d learned that a limit on quantity wasn’t the same thing as size. He and Torou find three old sundae dishes in the cabinet and pile them high with ice cream and every topping they can find, and when they slap Lata’s down in front of him, cheeks bulging with their own towers of sweets, all he’d does is give them that small, reluctant twitch of a smile and dig in.

They have to make their beds and pick up after themselves-- this house has treated us well, Lata tells them, it’s only right we take care of it in return-- and they have to tell him if they plan to play in the yard; but in return their sheets are always clean, and dinner’s promptly at six. When they come back in, sweaty and exhausted from the summer heat, there’s always a bowl of fruit waiting for them and cold drinks.

He’d known, in the way he always does, that this couldn’t last. So when summer’s heat began to cool, he’s not surprised to see Lata waiting on for them on the veranda, mouth pulled into an even grimmer line.

“It’s time,” he says, “for a Family Meeting.”

“School,” Lata says with the sort of relish and derision only a professor like him can summon up, “is starting. Which means there are new rules.”

Fingers brush at Obi’s, and when he reaches out, Torou’s fingers knit in his. He knows what rules these will be-- his parents had them to, the only ones they’d ever made. His mother had gotten down on her knees the night before kindergarten, nails digging into his shoulders, and used a voice so dark, so unlike her, he’d dreamed of button eyes staring into his for a week. His father had tossed out their Coraline DVD after that.

“Forenzos,” Lata starts, already sounding weary, “look after each other. So you’ll walk together, both ways, and if one of you gets into trouble--” he fixes them both with a stern look-- “I expect both of you to run.”

Obi stares. “What?”

“You’ll come back right after school, unless we have previously discussed plans,” Lata continues. “You’re far too young for...cellular phones, so I expect that if you make plans with friends, you will discuss them with me the night previous, or you will come home first and ask permission. Not,” he murmurs, just barely audible, “that I expect you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“Is that...” Obi’s jaw works. “Is that all?”

“I expect you to keep up your grades.” Lata’s brow furrows, taking them in, as if he’d never once questioned whether or not they would be stellar students. As if most people don’t look at the both of them and see future high school flunk outs. “If they are slipping, I’m afraid I’ll have to limit your free time until we are able to bring them back to an acceptable level. Homework is to be done at the table, and once you are done, your time is yours until dinner.”

Torou’s hand squeezes his. “We?”

Lata blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘we.’“ She clear her throat, eyelashes fluttering with nerves. “If our grades are bad, you said we would, uh, fix them.”

“Of course.” His mouth pulls at the corners, annoyed. “How could I possibly ask you to rectify such a thing on your own? You’re already doing the best you can, if you still struggle, then it’s clearly something we both-- oh my,” he murmurs mildly, “she’s leaking.”

“Sorry,” she sobs, pink burning on her cheeks, the way it never did on his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Lata flails out, yanking a tissue from the box, shoving it into her hand. “I just...hope that you find this all fair. I was always quite good at school, but my sisters--” he glances at them, wary-- “varied. I hope I can only...encourage you to your best.”

“But what about...” Obi snaps his teeth around the words. If he doesn’t ask, then it won’t become a rule, and his uncle can’t be disappointed when he breaks it.

The pictures on the wall prove that they’re family, that Lata truly is his mom’s brother, even if they don’t share much more than a hair color. But Obi’s never seen it, the way he does in pictures of Torou’s mom, where there’s a flick of the hand or a cock of a hip that says they spent their childhood together, inextricably intertwined forever in ways they would never understand.

But Lata raises a brow now, and he sees it, that small thread that ties him to his mom, that says brother. “About...?”

“The other stuff,” Torou blurts out, coughing down a sniff. “He wants to know what we...”

Her words peter out too, like she can’t figure out what to do with them. He can’t stop knowing, and she can’t stop dreaming, and the thought of having to pretend they can is...tiring this time, in a way it never was in the system.

His mouth wraps around the words with a curious sort of wonder. “Other stuff?”

“You know,” she mutters, so small. “The weird stuff.”

Lata jolts in his chair, spine as straight as a poker. His hands press flat against his knees, and when he looks at them, the gray in his eyes in thunderous.

“This is the most important rule,” he tells them, voice oddly resonant, “you must follow it. Promise me.”

Obi’s heart sinks into his stomach, but he nods, fingers squeezing Torou’s tighter.

Lata’s hand presses heavy on his shoulder, leather flexing over cotton. “Don’t ever hide yourselves. Not for anything. Not for anyone.” Obi dares to look up, and Lata’s gaze is waiting to catch him. “Being...normal is not necessarily a virtue. There is no shame in being who you are, none at all.”

Or what you are, he doesn’t say, but his eyes do, loud and clear. He doesn’t say what that is either, but--

Obi knows. Just like he always does.

And if he didn’t, well-- he would have found out soon enough.

It’s a small island; small enough that K-12 are all squeezed into one school, though Lata tells them that by the time they go to senior high, they might have built another. It’s still not small enough for Torou and him to be in the same class, so he drops her off at the door with promises to find her at lunch and moseys down to his own. It puts him a little behind schedule, the school bell ringing on his heels, and when he steps in--

The room goes silent. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at him, round and wide, not a single person daring to do much more than breathe.

“Forenzo,” the teacher says, faint. “You must be...the Forenzo boy.”

“Yeah.” He grips at his shoulder. “Obi.”

“You can take your seat...at the back,” she says, before hurrying to the board, eager to put her back to him.

“I thought my mom said all the Forenzos died,” a boy whispers as he passes. “Except the old man, of course.”

“No, they just left,” says the one next to them. “Chased out. Because they’re, you know...”

Obi does; he always had, even before he had a word for it.

“I don’t think a boy can be a witch,” a girl says, thoughtless and thoughtful at the same time. “They’re wizards, or something.”

“Warlocks,” scoffs another. “Don’t you know anything? And they do blood magic with little girls--”

Obi grits his teeth, eyes forward. There’s two empty chairs in the back, one in the corner by the window, and the other next to it, and he steers toward that one-- window seats always get him in trouble--

And the boy next to it scoots away, fear bright in his eyes. Obi looks back at the teacher, but she’s writing her name on the board real slow, like she’s hoping this might solve itself.

Fine, he can take a hint. He takes the window, sliding in behind the desk. The girl in front of him scoots forward too, making sure her chair doesn’t touch his desktop, and he sighs. At least they’re all getting this out of the way first.

A bag drops, right next to his seat.

“Ms Kino!” There’s a girl there, smaller than everyone else, though her voice makes her twice as tall. In the morning sun, her hair burns bright like the horizon. “Can I change my seat?”

“Shirayuki?” The teacher blinks back at them, and Obi could swear she breaks into a cold sweat. “Shirayuki, I’m not sure that’s--”

“I can’t see the board from over there,” she says, every syllable digging in its heels. “There’s glare. Because I’m so small.”

Ms Kino squints back at her, and really-- there’s no denying how small she is, at least a head below Obi and he’s nothing to write home about either. “If you’re sure...”

“Great.” She drops into her seat with a thump as loud as thunder, setting out her notebook and pencil with the sort of purposeful efficiency that says there’s no doubt she’s here to stay.

Obi slips his out of his backpack too, so quiet so the other kids will stop looking at him like he’s going to set the place on fire, but he hears, “You’re new, right?”

He looks down, and there’s the girl, smiling across the aisle. “Yeah. I’m--”

“Obi, I heard.” She leans toward him. “I’m--”

“Shirayuki.” His mouth twitches. “I also heard.”

Her smile stretches towards a grin. “You know, Ms Kino likes group projects.”

He blinks. “Does she?”

She nods. “Would you like a partner?”

“She hasn’t assigned one yet,” he says, a little lost.

“She will,” this Shirayuki says, confident. The way he is, when he knows.

He nods, slow. “All right, so for the next one.”

“To start.” She fixes him with a look he can’t get out from under. “Are you eating lunch with someone?”

“Ah, yeah.” He feels guilty about it now, for some reason. “My um. Cousin.”

She brightens. “Great. I’ll show you guys the best place to sit.”

He’s been adopted, he realizes, like the way the cats around the house aren’t. And this girl means to keep him.

For once in his very short life, Obi doesn’t mind knowing. Just like he always does.

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #practical magic au #ans #there is so much to be written for this fic and i desperately want to write all of it #like honestly consider this a teaser for a fic i COULD write #one that would involve shirayuki obi and torou being childhood friends #and obi casting a spell of forgetting #and later shirayuki finding obi and torou again #after they have possibly murdered the resurrected then killed again torou's ex #and obi trying to hide that secret at the same time he's trying to keep shirayuki from remembering #while also desperately wanting her to remember because sure this Zen guy seems rich and nice but ALSO MAYBE YOU COULD LOVE ME???#like the notes i have for this potential multichap are CRAZY i wish to UNLEASH them #also LATA/GARRACK #and also Lata ruminating on love and loss and the complicatedness of inherited trauma #but uhhhhh with magic you know how it be

27 notes · View notes

phidippuss · 4 years ago

Text

Awkward meetings (GN!reader)

Request: "Awkward first meeting for all the boys" and "Awkward first meeting and You lost something very important to you and they’re helping you look for it with Frankie Morales" for @luminescentlily

(Boys included are: Din, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, Frankie Morales, Max Phillips, Marcus P, and Marcus M.

Warnings: None?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to write. I had to leave a few boys out due to writer's block (Ezra, Tovar, and Zach Wellison), and I wanted to get this posted rather than continuing to stare at the screen in hopes of my brain miraculously functioning. To make up for my lack of inspiration at least a little bit, I added Marcus Moreno. Hope that's ok :)

Din Djarin

You feel a tug at your pant leg. Looking down, you are greeted by a pair of large watery eyes and big green ears. “Well hello there,” you smile, crouching down to be closer to the small child. “Where’s your family?”

He simply responds by lifting his arms towards you. You take that to mean he’d like to be lifted up. Scanning through over the crowded marketplace, you search for someone who the kid might belong to. You really have no idea what you’re looking for, having never seen anything like him, but you search nonetheless.

“Hey!” an angry voice calls out behind you. You whirl around, and before you know what’s happening, the child has been torn from your grasp and there’s a blaster to your head.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him I swear, I was just trying to find his family,” you blurt out, raising your hands in surrender.

The figure in front of you doesn’t respond at first, keeping his blaster pointed at you while he inspects the child for injury.

“Why did you have him?” The voice from under the helmet demands.

“I just found him by himself and I wanted to make sure he found his family,” you explain, voice shaking. “Are you his… Does he belong to you?”

“… yes.” He cautiously returns his blaster to its holster.

“I’m sorry,” you relax. “I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s just so… small. I didn’t want him to stay lost.”

The Mandalorian clutches the kid close to his chest as if he’s afraid they’ll be separated again. “Thank you.” He nods his head just enough for you to see the motion.

Javier Peña

“Shit, I’m going to be so fucking late,” you mutter to yourself, walking as fast as you can without sending the tall stack of papers in your arms flying.

On your way down the hall, you start going down your mental checklist.

‘Closed the window so the cat doesn’t escape? Check.’

‘Turned off the lights? Check.’

‘Locked the front door? Fuck.’

You stop in your tracks. How could you forget to lock your front door? You spin on your heel and run back towards your apartment, your one free hand switching between searching for your keys and adjusting the unstable tower balanced on your other arm.

In your haste to get your apartment locked so you can get to work on time, you fail to watch where you’re going.

Your body smacks into another. You fall backwards, losing your grip on the meticulously organised files. They scatter across the floor, completely losing the order you’d spent all night putting them in. The wind is knocked out of you for just long enough to hear the man you ran into grumping about how you should watch where you’re going.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m running late, I should’ve been paying more attention.” You pull yourself to your knees and start gathering your work off the floor. You’d normally stand and make sure the man you ran into is okay, but things at work are tense as it is, and being even later than you already are isn’t going to reflect well on you. Especially now that all of last night’s hard work needs to be done over.

You expect him to get up and walk past you. After his reaction to being practically tackled, you wouldn’t expect him to give you more than a second thought. But then a stack of papers lands on top of the one you’re already holding.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his. “You okay? You hit the ground kind of hard there,” Your neighbour asks.

You swallow thickly. “y-yeah, I’m fine,” you give a shaky smile. “How about you?”

“I’m all right, just running a bit late,” He offers a hasty smile before helping you to your feet. “I gotta get to work, but um, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, momentarily forgetting how late you are.

Agent Whiskey

‘Ugh I really needed this day off,’ you type underneath the photo before pressing send.

You place your phone on the edge of the tub before relaxing back into the warm water.

It isn’t long before your phone buzzes. Your eyes widen in horror at the response:

‘I think you’ve got the wrong number, darlin’.’ It’s paired with a photo of a man you’ve never met.

He is kinda cute though. You’d never think the whole “unironically cowboy” thing could ever work but… No. No. You can’t be thinking that kind of stuff. You just texted a stranger a photo of you in the bath for fuck’s sakes, you can’t be attracted to him after that!

You frantically scroll up to examine the photo you sent, breathing a sigh of relief when you confirm that the photo you sent didn’t have anything too revealing in it; between the angle of the camera and the bubbles in your bath, nothing too embarrassing is visible.

‘Shit, I’m so sorry, that was meant for a friend ’

You pick up the shred of paper your best friend scribbled their new number on while you were at lunch with them yesterday, to figure out what happened.

‘not a problem, It’s a nice distraction from this god awful meeting I’m stuck in’

You frown. ‘You’re in a meeting and you’re texting a total stranger?’

You return your gaze to the phone number in your hand. “what in the fuck,” you say aloud to yourself. The second to last digit. It’s supposed to be a 4. Not a 9.

A shaky photo appears on your phone. It’s obviously taken from peeking just the camera of his phone over the edge of the table.

‘Damn, that looks like a serious meeting, shouldn’t you be paying attention?’ If you were texting at work, especially in a meeting, you’d have your ass handed to you unless someone was dying (and even then, it would depend on what kind of mood your boss is in that day). And this guy is just casually texting you, a stranger, during a meeting with people who look like they make more money weekly than what your whole car is worth.

‘I’m a bit more concerned that I don’t even know the name of the person who texted me such a lovely photo 😉’

‘It’s Y/N.’ you send. ‘And please delete that picture, that’s kinda private’ you ask, crossing your fingers that he respects that.

‘Already done. Mine’s Jack, since you obviously weren’t going to ask 🤠’

A soft smile appears on your face. Maybe it is kind of okay that you accidentally typed in the wrong number. Or… it will be after you (lovingly) cuss out your friend for having such bad handwriting.

Frankie Morales

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself, searching through your pockets. “shitshitshitshitshitshitshit” You swear you just had them. Or… maybe you left them on the counter back at the library?

You turn around to run back, rifling through your bag. You only make it a few steps before you’re knocked backwards to the ground.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you blurt the moment you catch your breath again. Barely sparing a glance towards the man you ran into, you start gathering your books.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” the man insists. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He helps to gather your books.

“You okay?” he finally asks.

You look up at him and freeze. He’s really cute. In the ‘I give the best hugs in the world’ kind of way.

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. “I just think I lost my car keys at the library, and I’m running late for lunch with a friend.” You mentally kick yourself. You just ran over the only attractive man you’ve seen since moving here, and then the first thing you do is overshare?

“Oh, did you want some help looking?” he immediately offers.

“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs. “I’ve got lunch plans I’m desperately trying to find an excuse to get out of, so you’re helping me, really.”

“Okay, um… sure,” you nod. “an extra set of eyes looking wouldn’t hurt.”

“Cool. I’m Frankie.”

You introduce yourself and shake his outstretched hand.

The two of you make your way back towards the library.

“so…” you break the uncomfortable silence. “Lousy lunch plans, huh?”

“…yeah,” Frankie falls silent for a moment. “A couple of guys I used to serve with invited me out and I didn’t really have an excuse to say no.”

“Don’t get along with them?”

“We used to be friends, but I’m kind of rethinking that lately.”

“Oh,” you debate asking more questions. But then again, he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to, right? “Did… did something happen?”

“Convinced me to go to South America a while back, which would’ve been fine, except we kind of got stuck there, and my wife was left alone with the baby.”

Your stomach dropped at this. You’re not even sure why; you just met the guy, you really have no reason to be disappointed he’s taken.

“Was she at least understanding?” You ask.

“huh?”

“Your wife.”

“Oh,” Frankie chew his lip for a moment. “no. When I got back, she was… possessive. Searching my phone, never letting me go out with friends, that kind of stuff. Separated a few months later.”

“Oh,” you try to ignore the fact that your heart skipped a beat; you can’t be excited—that’s insensitive. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, actually. I was helping you find your keys, and here I am ranting about my whole tragic backstory as if you actually cared.”

“I don’t mind.” You actually like listening to him. But you keep that to yourself.

“You shouldn’t have to listen to all that though—”

“Shit!” you interrupt him. “I’m such an idiot.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Frankie looks like he’s assuming the worst.

“…I didn’t lose my car keys. I walked here. And lunch with my friend is next week.” You chuckle bitterly. “I was so lost in my head I completely forgot she rescheduled. Sorry I wasted your time.”

“It’s okay,” Frankie laughs. You can’t help but smile at his lopsided dimple. “Hey, since you don’t have lunch plans and I want to get out of mine… Can I take you out? You can tell me your life’s story since you already know mine?”

“Sure,” you smile, though half of you is screaming to just leave the country to escape the embarrassment.

Max Phillips

“Ew, no.” you scrunch your nose.

“Hey, you��re the one that lost the bet.” Eva insists.

“I am not kissing a random stranger.” You sweep your gaze across the crowded café.

“It was your idea.” Eva sips her tea.

“That was because I thought I was going to win.” You cross your arms across your chest.

“You don’t get to opt out just because you’re a sore loser.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know them, what if they have a disease or something? Gross.” Your stomach turns at the idea.

“Okay, fine.” Eva sighs. And, for a fleeting moment, you have hope that she’s given in. “Kiss that guy then,” she points.

You turn. “Oh my god, Eva. No.”

“What? He doesn’t look like he has a disease,” Eva shrugs.

“He looks like a frat boy.”

“He’s cute though.” Eva leans in a not-at-all-subtle way to get a clearer view of him.

“I hate you.” You stand up. “And when I’m done, you’re buying me an entire bottle of vodka to wash my mouth with.”

“Yes!” Eva cheers triumphantly. A few people shoot her expressions of annoyance at the outburst.

You storm over to the man and pull him in by the collar. His lips barely brush against yours before you’re stomping back to your friend. Though, for a moment, you actually consider staying to talk to him. Eva was right, he definitely isn’t hard on the eyes.

You push the thought from your mind and collapse back into your seat, scowling at your friend.

“You’re literally the worst human being on the planet,” you huff.

“You’re just being dramatic,” Eva laughs.

“Am not.” Okay… maybe you are, but Eva can’t know that.

“Fine. We’ll go get you a drink once I’m back from the bathroom.” Eva skips off, still laughing about your reaction.

She’s barely out of sight before her seat is filled by the stranger you just kissed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I lost a bet,” you don’t look up at him, instead choosing the glare at a stain on the wooden table.

“I figured as much.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I also figured I have the right to at least know the name of the person who just kissed me.”

You reluctantly introduce yourself, still refusing to make eye contact with the man.

“I’m Max. And, if you want to apologise for kissing me without my consent,” he throws a napkin with a phone number scribbled in red sharpie onto the table in front of you, “You can call me.”

Marcus Pike

You hum quietly to yourself, unable to stop smiling. It’s been so long since you’ve gone on a real date. You turn on your shower, but instead of water coming from the showerhead, it starts leaking from the base of the hose.

That can’t be good. You turn off the water and fiddle with the shower. Maybe it just came loose.

You reach for the handle to try the water again. But before your hand can even touch the cool metal, the entire shower head disconnects from the wall and clatters to the shower floor.

Letting out an exasperated groan, you start gathering your clothes into a bag. You really don’t have time for this today. Crossing your fingers your neighbour is home, you head next door.

You’ve never actually talked to him, but you figure he’s probably a safer bet than the crazy old neighbour on your other side; the way he looks at you whenever you run into him gives you the jitters. And not the “he’s a creep” kind of feeling you get when anyone else stares for too long. More like the “he’s probably got a taxidermy cat in his living room and a human body in his closet” kind of feeling. So the neighbour you’ve never even introduced yourself to will have to do.

Your knock echoes through the quiet air. Shifting from foot to foot, you wait impatiently for an answer.

The door clicks open, leaving you face-to-face with your neighbour, who is way cuter up close than you expected him to be.

“…hi,” He greets you as if he’s startled by your presence.

“…hi…” you bite your lip and tear your gaze away from his face to examine your shoe. “I… Well, I live next door, and well—”

“I know,” he interrupts.

“I-What?”

“I’ve seen you… around. We get home from work at the same time, so…”

“Oh.” You chew on your lip for a moment. “Look, my shower broke, and I have a date I have to get to, and well…” you drift off. Are you really asking your irresistibly adorable neighbour who you’ve never met if you can use his shower?

“Oh. Okay, did you want to use mine then?” You pretend not to notice how pink his face has turned.

“Would you mind? I just—I’m running late and I don’t have time to figure out what’s wrong with mine before I leave and still have time to get ready to go.”

“Sure, Come on in,” He shuffles out of the way to allow you space to enter. “Down the hall, second door to the right.”

“Thank you so much,” you smile awkwardly. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You walk as quickly as you can without breaking into a run to get to the bathroom, leaving Marcus frozen in the doorway.

This is not how he imagined meeting you. Not that he imagined that at all. And he definitely hadn’t spent hours trying to figure out how to ask you out. Because that would be weird.

And he just let you use his shower to go on a date with someone else.

Fuck.

Marcus Moreno

“Excuse me,” a voice speaks up from behind you, just barely audible over your music. You turn around to find that the voice belongs to a young girl.

“Hello,” you greet taking out your headphones.

“Do you see that guy over there?” she asks, pointing across the cluttered bookstore to a man struggling to balance a tower of books while skimming the shelves for more.

“The one in the glasses?” you confirm.

“That’s my dad,” the girl nods. “He thinks you’re cute, but he’s too afraid to talk to you.”

“Oh,” you say, unsure whether you should be flattered or amused.

“He says it’s ‘cause he doesn’t want to weird you out,” she elaborates, “but I think he’s scared you won’t like him back.”

The man glances up, and, upon seeing his daughter talking to you, rushes over. He pauses only briefly when he trips over a box of books placed in the middle of the walkway.

“Oh, here he comes, act natural,” the girl whisper-yells just before her father arrives. “Oh, hey dad,” she greets him nonchalantly.

“Missy, what did we just talk about?” he scolds.

“I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t go up to strangers and tell them my dad thinks they’re cute even when he totally does.”

Missy’s dad freezes, a look of horrified embarrassment washing over his face. “You… You told them what?”

“I’m going to shop some more,” she walks away, winking at you.

“Hey, you get back here, young lady,” he calls after her, struggling not to raise his voice above a murmur in the middle of the peaceful book shop. His daughter ignores him.

He groans under his breath. “I’m sorry about her,” he turns back to you.

“It’s okay,” you laugh. “I’m Y/N,”

“Marcus.” He looks down at his armful of books. “I’d uh… I’d offer a handshake but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile. Marcus smiles back. You allow a moment of uncomfortable silence before speaking up again. “So… you think I’m cute?”

“What? No! I mean, Yes. I mean…” Marcus’ face scrunches up in embarrassment. “Yes? But not… not in a weird way. I wasn’t like… admiring you or anything. That’d be… weird.” Marcus hangs his head with an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll just shut up now.”

You smile again at the flustered man in front of you. After a moment, you pull a pen from your sweatshirt pocket.

“Well, here’s my number,” you say, writing as clearly as you can across his forearm. “You can text me if you decide you do think I’m cute… In a weird way.”

You walk to the counter to pay for your books, sincerely hoping he decides to text.

---

Taglist:

@pascalisthepunkest @trashbin2 @anatanotegami @beesting77 @northernpunk @pumpkin-stars

#Din djarin #Javier Peña #Agent Whiskey #Frankie Morales #Max Phillips #marcus pike #marcus moreno #gender neutral reader #gn reader #pedro pascal

24 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton (Part 6)

<- Part 5

Frederick Chilton x Reader | The Good Place crossover

Final chapter! Warning: The Good Place spoilers, and a timeline that makes perfect sense because Jeremy Bearimy, baby.

2,800 words

“No way. It’s too dangerous!”

“I thought you said we were in this together?” Chilton quirked a brow, eliciting a petulant grumble. You crossed your arms.

“Or maybe you think I’m expendable, so you’re willing to take risks with my life. Afterlife. Whatever.”

Frederick Chilton, who was not, as originally advertised, your soulmate, nonetheless clasped your hand with gentle tenderness. I would never do anything to hurt you is what a normal person would say in that moment, and perhaps his eyes said it, somewhere deep in their searching pools of green. But Dr. Chilton had a repressed way about him, tending toward overly clinical just stating the facts (or the sarcasm). Anything but genuine, vulnerable, sentimentality.

He guided you by your hand to sit down beside him on the baroque loveseat in one of his many living rooms, studies, and salons. After you settled yourself on the velvet cushion, he leaned his shoulder against yours in that quiet way he showed affection.

“After reviewing the town records,” he said, “I believe we may be the only two humans in the neighborhood. Some of the residents are far too dull—Chidi Anagonye, the moral philosophy professor who spent his life writing a single manuscript, Jianyu the silent monk—while others are too perfect—Glen, that one who is constantly volunteering, Tahani, the philanthropist. Real people have flaws, secrets, hobbies. I can only be certain of myself and you.”

“How’d you figure out I’m real?”

“I didn’t. I simply refuse to accept the alternative,” he said with a sad smile, and you began to think Dr. Chilton was sentimental after all.

***

Their voices were muffled even with your ear pressed to the door of Michael’s office—not that it mattered much what they were talking about. You were just waiting for the signal, and at that moment, it came. Their footsteps and voices grew louder as Frederick and Michael approached, and the door handle clicked.

“—which is why cannibalism loses more good-person points than defenestration but fewer than chewing loudly on a crowded bus.”

“Fascinating. I never thought about it that way,” said Chilton, looking genuinely disturbed.

You flattened yourself against the wall next to the door, thinking thin thoughts as the pair exited the office. A tall houseplant barely disguised your presence, and if Michael had any kind of peripheral vision, he would see you standing there plain as day.

But Dr. Chilton spoke animatedly, fixing him with a challenging laser-stare as he asked a probing follow-up question. Locked in Chilton’s eyes, Michael failed to notice the movement just behind his left shoulder as you slipped through the closing door before it could latch shut.

Safe.

Michael’s office was quiet and filled you with serenity in much the same way a teddy bear is filled with stuffing: forcefully and by no will of your own. Like the welcome room with its happy green plants and happy green words on the wall assuring you everything is fine, the office peeled your defenses away. Cream-colored walls yawned out around the perimeter, punctuated with bright windows, a portrait of Doug Forcett (a stoner from the 1970s who guessed, on a mushroom trip, how the afterlife really worked), and various artifacts of humanity enshrined like museum pieces, despite seeming perfectly mundane.

At the top of the room was a large mahogany desk.

Yesterday, Chilton watched Michael put away files in the desk that he wouldn’t let him look at. Chilton was certain they were the key to unraveling the mystery, so he suggested working together—he would distract Michael while you sneaked in to find the files. It was risky, but it might have been your only chance of discovering what was going on, and if there was a way to escape.

You began poking through the desk and found stacks of papers in an unreadable alphabet. The only thing you could read were lyrics to a genuinely terrible song Michael was writing titled “Love Train to the Cosmos.”

The last drawer wouldn’t budge.

Yanking the handle didn’t work. Banging on the side with your fist failed to unstick it. It was locked. Locked drawers were suspicious. The answers had to be in there.

You eyed a mountain of paperclips lovingly displayed on a pedestal labeled “Human Things.” Snatching two off the top, you unbent and re-bent the stiff metal wire, and inserted it into the lock. Faint clicks sounded as you turned and finessed the paperclip, feeling each pin in the tumbler slide into place. Then you gently turned it, and—pop. The drawer opened.

A single manila folder stamped TOP SECRET in threatening red letters rested inside, as if waiting to be found. You picked it up and opened it, and your breath caught. They were reports on “The Good Place.” The Good Place in quotation marks. Reports about you.

A pleasant bing sounded.

Janet materialized in front of the desk. For once, she was not wearing a cheery smile.

***

Frederick Chilton had always been a selfish man. Any opportunity that could advance his career and put him in the spotlight, he would take it no matter who it hurt. “Unorthodox therapy,” he called it in his private chats with Dr. Lecter. They bonded over their shared interest in unorthodox research before he learned Dr. Lecter was a cannibal. That would have been a clue to anybody else that it was time to change his ways, but Dr. Chilton spent the rest of his years just as selfish and petty—more so, even, as his disfiguring injuries gave him more reason for spite.

He could never accept himself as he was.

By the time he died, Chilton was an intolerable asshole who paid back the world’s cruelty with his chronic foul moods and acerbic sarcasm. He kept everyone at a distance.

And yet, here, in death, he found himself worrying over someone else.

The sun was shining in the ever-blue sky, dappled by lush green foliage before reaching the two men as they strolled the neighborhood below. Michael was built like a sapling with longer legs than he knew what to do with, making Chilton nearly jog to keep pace. He had a warm smile and an outgoing demeanor—always flattering Chilton’s ego and asking for his guidance. But something malignant hid behind those smiling eyes, and Chilton’s mind kept rushing back to you, hoping you were OK.

He hoped that you were safe. Not that the plan was going smoothly. That you were safe.

There was a difference, and Dr. Chilton noticed right away that his twitchy nervousness was not wrought of self-preservation. It was a new type of panic—worse than fear for himself, which he never thought possible considering the amount of terror he had experienced on his own behalf.

To distract himself, Chilton threw himself into the role of Michael’s assistant, focusing on his task of supposedly identifying psychological issues causing problems with the neighborhood.

“Our interviews should go in alphabetical order, under the pretense of a survey—a sort of afterlife census—to avoid suspicion. It should be feasible, with only three hundred residents—”

“We know,” Michael said coolly. His voice dropped from the usual friendly, flattering demeanor, slipping off like a mask.

“You know how you are going to handle the interviews? It is imperative the subjects do not suspect they are being studied.” Chilton swallowed, knowing full well that he was talking to the real Michael for the first time.

“Don’t play dumb.” Michael smiled an entirely different type of smile, twisted and clever with no warmth in it. “We’ve been watching you, Dr. Chilton. We knew you would figure it out eventually. It was only a matter of time before you saw through a psychiatric study.”

Chilton’s interest piqued at the same time his blood went cold. He wet his lips. “Is that what all this is, then?”

The pair came to a stone bridge that arched gracefully over a reflection pool. Michael stopped midway across, leaned one of his long, pointed elbows on the railing, and cocked his head at Chilton.

“You haven’t figured it all out yet? That’s disappointing. You humans really are so dense.” His tone was so mean that Chilton took an unconscious step back. Michael only laughed and told him there was no point in running away. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to offer,” he promised.

Most of what you had been told about the afterlife was true, Michael explained. There was a real good place, and there was a real bad place where bad people were tortured for all eternity. But the bad place had a problem: it was boring! Humans get used to physical pain after the first few centuries, no matter how creative the punishment.

“Once you’ve flattened a thousand penises, you’ve flattened them all. I’m trying to do something new here. Innovate!” said Michael with an energetic swoop of his hand. “Emotional torture can cause the same level of discomfort, but in a more sustainable and (more importantly) entertaining way. That’s what this neighborhood is for—to study you humans and find out what makes you miserable.”

And then he offered Dr. Chilton something that grabbed his attention. The opportunity to design bad place neighborhoods.

“You are asking me to help implement psychological torture?” Chilton turned over each word cautiously.

“Oh,” Michael scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the ethics? Doctor, I’ve read your file.”

Chilton winced. He had done truly amoral things in the name of discovery—things it made him sick to be reminded of. Strange, though. In the past, he would have been proud to be treated as a peer by a psychopath. Not ashamed.

“Think of it, the glory, the prestige. You would be designing the afterlife for billions of souls. You will be remembered throughout eternity as the man who reformed the bad place!”

“And my soulmate?”

Chilton blurted it without thinking. It sounded so childish and naive, and sure enough, Michael shook his head and had a long chuckle at his expense.

“There’s no such thing! I thought you knew,” Michael slapped his knee. “I made it up so you would torture each other! But once again, I underestimated the human libido. You people all think with your genitals, it’s—it’s gross. Humans are gross.” He made a face. “That’s why I need your help to design a better system. With your understanding of the human mind, we can make condemned souls miserable for thousands of years.”

Chilton couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for this plan, and Michael frowned.

“If it makes you feel any better, consider this the humane option. The alternative is going back to scooping eyeballs out with melon ballers and replacing them with live bees. What do you say, doctor? Join my team.” Michael extended a hand, and Chilton eyeballed it.

“Can my soulmate—”

“Not a soulmate.”

“—come with me?”

“This offer is only open to you.”

“So they will be tortured? Alone? For eternity? In a system I help design?”

“Nothing you can do will change that. They are going to be tortured—the only person you can save is yourself, if you decide to help me.”

Frederick’s brow knit together. He thought about refusing. He really did. Abandoning you seemed unthinkable, especially after your promise to each other to stick together. But he was a selfish creature, and choosing to be punished wouldn’t protect you. If he was lucky, by teaming up with Michael, he could design a more comfortable torture for you one day.

“Maybe this will help make up your mind,” Michael said. “Hannibal Lecter.”

“Lecter?”

“He’s here. In the bad place. So far, he has been especially resistant to traditional torture. I thought you might have a personal interest in taking a crack at him?”

***

On a floating, room-sized projection screen, Frederick Chilton shook Michael’s hand. Your head fell forward, shoulders slumping. The screen flicked off and dissipated into the office air.

“This is the 764th time he has failed,” said Janet, giving a sympathetic simulation of a sigh. “We were sure he was going to make the right decision this time.”

You shook your head. “Fame and glory? Revenge? He’ll never refuse those. Trust me—he died because of them and still never learned his lesson.”

“That is what we’re afraid of. Some people never pass their tests. Fun fact!” she perked up, “Hannibal Lecter’s test is working at a Burger King where he can only cook Impossible Whoppers, and his 19-year-old manager calls him pee-paw. He gets reset every time he eats a customer. His longest record is twelve hours.”

When Janet found you snooping in Michael’s desk, you expected to be dragged away, never to see Frederick again. Instead, she explained everything to you—the truth.

A long time ago, the bad place was exactly how Michael described it—a place where souls were sent to have their orifices filled with spiders for eternity. Then he decided to try something new. Originally, he paired you with Dr. Chilton hoping you would drive each other crazy. But no matter what happened, you kept falling in love. You kept supporting each other, and taking care of each other. The same happened with his other human test subjects—they kept improving and becoming better people than they were on Earth. Eventually, Michael changed, too.

He redesigned the bad place to be a test—a chance for human souls to earn their way into the good place. At the end of each test, you either pass and go to the good place, or your memories are erased and you start over again.

“So, what happens to me now?”

“You passed. You can go to the good place now, and spend the rest of eternity in paradise. The real one.”

“And Frederick? He’ll be alone?”

Janet nodded.

“Put me back in. Reset me, and make me his soulmate again.”

“Are you sure?” Janet asked.

“I’m not going without him.”

“He would leave you behind. You just saw that.”

“That wasn’t fair. Anyone would accept that deal. I would accept that deal!”

“No. You wouldn’t,” Janet said. “You passed your test a long time ago.”

For a while, a heavy silence fell between you as you processed this. Finally, you thought of the only question worth asking. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“762.”

“Well then,” you said. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I do. But you retain a vague sense of your memories from previous tests. At a subconscious level, you might realize you’re tired of this.”

You smiled. A big, genuine one that balled your cheeks and creased the corners of your eyes. “That’s not how I feel at all. I think I love him more every time.”

Janet nodded, but gave one last warning before erasing your memories again. “If he never passes, you could be stuck here forever.”

“Stuck falling in love with that insecure jerk over and over again for thousands of years? Sounds like heaven to me.”

“I thought you might say that.”

***

The first day, you really wanted to punch his pretentious snobby face for thinking he was so much better than you.

The first time you laid eyes on Dr. Frederick Chilton, he was waiting behind a mahogany desk with an ancient hardcover book in his hands. Not reading it—waiting, posed deliberately to be discovered that way, and give the impression of intellectualism.

“This is your soulmate,” said Michael, introducing you.

Chilton took a step back after shaking your hand and looked you up and down critically, as if he were appraising livestock. And right away, you knew there had been a terrible mistake. Who the fork did he think he—

Fork. Fork! Why couldn’t you say fork?!

***

Bright light streamed in through the open bedroom window. The weather was always perfect here, except when some glitch made it rain caviar and jelly beans. Or that time Frederick had a vivid nightmare, and organs began falling from the sky. Every day, something horrible seemed to go wrong in the good place. Things that challenged you and pushed your soulmate to his limits.

But most mornings were like this. Quiet. A time just for the two of you.

Your fingers lightly stroked his chest, delving into the soft hairs that rose and fell with his steady breathing. You pressed a soft kiss to his skin, then another, tracing a line of them lower, over a jagged, raised line down his abdomen. His scars let you know he was waking up. This was the good place—he didn’t have to let them show. Usually, he chose to appear as a younger version of himself, before all the indelible trauma. But on peaceful mornings like this, he would let them show just so you could soothe them. He never thought he would be that comfortable with anyone. That he could trust anyone so much.

Every day, you both knew you could overcome anything, so long as you were together.

#Frederick Chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #The Good Place crossover #my writing

60 notes · View notes

mcu-fan-fics-blog · 4 years ago

Text

The Helping Hand

Summary: Y/N Krast Illegitimate Daughter of Tony Stark. Product of an unwanted teen pregnancy. What would Howard Stark be capable of doing to assure his sons future? What will happen when Tony meets our Beautiful, young, genius, rich philanthropist.

Word Count: 3000 approx

A/N: Sorry for the wait I've been a little busy the last couple of weeks. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Next chapter will be Civil war I hope to upload again soon. In the mean time if you have some ideas or thoughts send them my way.

Tw: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug use, Drug addiction, Teen Pregnancy. (If there are any I missed please tell me.)

Ch.7

Chapter 8: Time and Irony Walk Hand in Hand

Ch.9

"Well this is nice…" You say as Natasha drags you along. You see currently you and Natasha are quote on quote shaking a tail. Whatever that means… "Shut up and keep moving." You stop moving and pull your arm away. "Stop Nat we've gone far enough. It was probably just a coincidence we didn't really get that far from the food truck." Finally taking the time to catch your breath. "I think we should get back to the compound. Tony and Bruce must be waiting for me." You say looking around for a cab lucky for you one stopped right before you and you got in.

The ride back to the Compound was quiet. When she's about to make her way in, you stop her. "Nat… I know that didn't go the way either of us wanted it to go but I still had fun. And again what I'm trying to say is that I would like to do things your way, candlelit, waiters, and wine. If you want to of course." You fidget with your fingers waiting for her response. "Y/n I would love to… but I like the way you do things. You're not the Wine and Dine type... I like that." She mentions as she walks back in. You quickly follow suit after she makes a comment about your blatant staring.

Once you stop on the elevator FRIDAY greets you. Telling you that Tony and Bruce are waiting for you in the lab. "Well Nat this is goodbye for now, see you around." You say stepping off of the elevator. Suddenly this weight comes crashing down on you. Remembering what Bruce told you the worry in his eyes. Dread fills your body when you're walking towards the lab. "Guys I'm back… anything good for me?" You state casually trying your hardest not to sound hopeful. "Well yes and no…" Tony states putting the tablet down. "I'm going to be honest with you… your heart is trashed, absolute garbage."

"Way to make a girl feel special." You say with a dry laugh. "But I think we can build something. And with my arc reactor technology we can make it work." He states tapping at his chest. This is where Bruce jumps in "with the help of Dr. Cho we could try and make a new cradle… and use it for its intended purpose this time around. Making a heart powered by the arc reactor." You nod taking all the information in. "Well this is good right? How long would this take." This is where both Tony and Bruce go quiet. "Y/n the process is relatively easy, what's difficult is getting our hands on the Vibranium."

"Which is basically a non existent problem at this point… Bruce is just paranoid, my contact will pan out you'll see." Tony jumps back in clearly annoyed that Bruce was disclosing such trivial issues. "Even if we do get the Vibranium Y/n there's something we don't know… If you'll even survive the transplant." Your eyes meet his and he elaborates. "Your body might not be strong enough to handle it." Suddenly the inevitability of the situation dawns upon you. "Well I'm still doing it… I'm dying anyways. What difference does it make if it's a month from now or five. I'm doing it."

"Well, let not be hasty alright. We can still look for other alternatives." Bruce tries to argue. "Look, this is Y/n's decision. She's old enough to make her own decisions. Plus the more we work on this the higher survival chances are." Tony argues. You clear your throat when you notice some visitors standing by the door. "How long have they been there?" You ask, trying to mask your anger. Pietro and Steve both give you sheepish smiles that don't quite reach their eyes. "Look Y/n we just wanted to make sure you were okay… and by the looks of it you're not."

You stand making your way to stand in front of Steve who had just taken a defensive stance. "Well you're right I'm not okay. Now what are you going to do about it Cap… Other than feeling pity every time you look at me." You say pushing your finger on his chest. "This does not leave this room you understand?" You say looking at both Steve and Pietro. "But, My sister…" You nod "Figure it out pretty boy. Now if you could leave the adults have to talk." They both sigh but take their leave. You turn and notice Tony and Bruce staring, not saying anything. You can only laugh at the sight.

As much as you did want to be mad you couldn't. You were starting to come to terms with the fact that your business was now becoming their business. "I just wanted to watch them squirm." You clarify making Tony laugh. "Well I'd say you achieved that." Bruce mentions. "I'll give them til the end of the day. What do you think?" You say looking at Tony. "How much are you willing to bet, Billionaire to Billionaire?" He asks, challenging you. "50 million dollars." He scoffs. "Don't be a prude, make it Euros." You nod. "Best money there is." You say agreeing with him. "I'll hold you to that Y/n." He says as you leave the lab.

Two days later you were busy. You'd been in contact with Bruce and Pepper. Currently you were looking for someone to mentor. Someone you could leave your legacy with. Logan was an obvious choice but you knew he wouldn't take it. "You wanna give it a break Y/n you're not going to find the perfect candidate in so little time." Logan mentions. When suddenly your secretary enters with more forms. "Ms. Krast these are the applications from Midtown Science High. There's only four. Liz Allan, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, and uhh Peter Parker." You sigh with a smile forming on your lips. "They've got to be here my mentee. These kids are geniuses."

You say as you look through the applications. Slowly crossing off the first two, that Flash kid and Liz. Ned and Peter it was a tough choice until you saw some of yourself in Peter's eyes. "It's him." You say under your breath catching Logan's attention. "Peter Parker… I want him, he will be the future of our company. Make arrangements. I want him to feel welcomed." You say as you start to gather your things. "Send out the acceptance letter today." You say to Logan on your way out. "Will do Boss." He says with a smile growing on his face as he reads the file. Peter didn't have it easy on the contrary he lived through a lot but he still managed to be him.

The next week went by in a blur. Your will and testament were drafted and certified. You were set on that end and now on the other front. You were currently parked outside Midtown High waiting for the bell to ring. When it does a couple of minutes pass when a fresh faced kid is knocking on your window. "Y/n Krast nice to meet you kid." You say rolling down the window. He seems a little nervous. "Come on in Peter. We're going to get to know each other a little before we begin working with the internship." He nods enthusiastically, a small smile forming on his lips. "Tell me about your Peter, I mean outside of what I already know."

"Well I'm what most people would call a nerd. My aunt may always say that's not true but it is." You hum in agreement pulling out of the school parking lot. "Well being popular is overrated anyways." You jump in. "And Ned, my best friend, we're huge fans of you and your work." He says his speed increases as he starts to ramble about how he followed your trajectory as soon as he found out who you were. "Well I'm glad you like what I do Peter but in my eyes were equals. I will teach you my ways and hopefully you'll take over once I'm dead. Keeping my legacy alive long after I'm dead." You say seriously making him settle and quiet down.

"Ms. Krast you can't be serious." He says giving you an incredulous look. "I was an orphan… I was given a chance. Someone believed in me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you remind me of me… and I would like to give you that same chance that I was given." You say sincerely. "Y/n that's too generous… Plus I don't think that I'm what you're looking for. I'm clumsy and…" You stop the car making him look at you. "You may not be ready now or tomorrow but if you let me teach you, you will be." You say reassuringly. "Plus I don't plan on dying anytime soon." You say playfully at the end causing Peter to laugh successfully lightening the mood. "Also another plus for you after this year's audit we'll be working hand in hand with Tony Stark."

At the mention of Tony's name he lit up ten times more than you thought possible. It made you laugh a little but you understood him. "That's amazing. Me working for Y/n Krast and Tony Stark, a literal dream come true." You nod at his statement. The day went by incredibly fast. He was a nice kid, respectful and smart, a little naïve but overall sensible. You went to his favorite pizza place and talked, went to Krast Industries and introduced him to Logan. Showed him his dedicated work space. "So here's your badge, don't lose it. Umm… you'll be here every other day after school, and if you have some special dates tell Margaret the secretary and she'll make a schedule around it." You say as you're walking towards the elevator.

Peter stops abruptly turning to face you. "Thank you really." He then proceeds to rather hastily pull you into a hug. You're shocked initially but hug him back nonetheless. "Don't sweat it kid." You say patting his back. "I'll have one of my drivers give you a lift home alright." He nods. Just before you press the button for the elevator the doors open. Revealing Pepper Potts and Tony Stark. It makes you laugh internally knowing that the young boy beside you just had his world rocked. "Ms. Krast this is real right?" He asks in a high pitched voice. You nod.

"Pepper Tony, I would like you to meet my new mentee Peter Parker." You say nudging him forward. "Hi, you're Tony Stark." He says in a daze. "Yes kid I am Tony stark and you are?" Tony could literally not care less. Until you gave Pepper a look and she nudged Tony. "Alright kid it was nice meeting you." He says overly enthusiastically. Peter takes the compliment either way. "Alright Peter go over to Margaret she'll take you to the driver. We have some urgent business to attend." He nods and waves goodbye shyly and takes his leave. "Right what do you guys need." Pepper clears her throat "Well actually Tony and I wanted to invite you out to lunch."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get going." You say walking off with Pepper. "You'll be pleased to know that you won our wager. They know..." Tony mentions at the restaurant. You laugh. "Told you!" Pepper gives you a look. "They're worried about you." You sigh. "Pepper, believe me I'm worried too." Tony quickly steps in. "Which you don't need to worry about too much, everything is in place. Everything panned out Dr. Cho was more than willing to help us. So whenever you want." He says again not meeting your gaze. "I was… ummm. Actually thinking we should hold off on that."

"What… why?" They both ask almost immediately. "I'm okay right now." Tony scoffs. "So you rather wait till you have another episode to undergo the procedure." You hum. "Precisely see you get it." Watching their confusion you continue. "I've got things I have to leave ready. Time that I can't take for granted." Before they could argue with you said. "I need time… I-i drafted my will a couple of days ago." You say burying your head into your hands. "It's funny really… how you get things you're willing to live for. And life just comes along and takes it from you." Your mind drifts off to Viv and David. You wipe your tears and excuse yourself. Just as you're about to leave you remember.

"Put the money in a college fund for the kid." You grab Peppers shoulder and nod. "We'll keep in touch." You say leaving the restaurant.

Three weeks later

Pretty early on you noticed Peter's jumpy behavior. It wasn't long till you found out his little secret. Again smart kid heart of gold even, but too naïve for his own good. You'd had one of your AI robots track him after he'd shown up a little dinged up. Telling him you knew took some time. You didn't know the extent of his capabilities, but you'd seen the kid walk on walls and kick some ass.

As cute as he looked in that makeshift costume you had a better one in mind. "Peter I would like to show you something." You call out from your workstation in the lab. "Ward pull up spider schematics please." You call out. "What do you think?" You say as Peter glances at his new suit. "I-i um… It's awesome but who is at for?" He said quickly. You almost burst out in laughter right then and there but you played along. "Well I was in Queens the other day and there was this mugging and some hero came out of nowhere and stopped the mugging." You say as you deconstruct the specks of the suit. Watching as peter gawks at the hologram.

"When I noticed his suit wasn't really a suit, I made him one. You think he'll like it?" Peter nods eagerly, you hum in response. "Alright then try it on, see how it fits spider boy." Peter stands there with his mouth hanging open and you could swear saliva came out. "You aren't that good at keeping secrets kid." You say handing him the suit. "I expect you to be careful, kid." Peter starts to ramble trying to explain himself and begs you to not fire him. You physically had to stop him from pacing. "No ones firing anyone. I'm proud of your kid again, just be careful." Emphasizing the last part. "I will" after all that's out of the way you and Peter spent the day testing out the specks in his new suit. Web slingers and all. Yo I didn't leave until he got the hang of it. It took a while but it was well with the wait.

The next day you wake up to the news seeing a familiar twin on the news. Not good Lagos had gone wrong, the building collapsed and Wanda was to 'blame'. You hurriedly made your way through your morning routine and raced to the compound. As soon as you make it to the common room you can tell something's off. "How is everybody?" You asked Steve who was the first you saw. "I'm assuming you heard about the incident." You don't have the heart to say yes so you just nod. "We're all a little down on morale. Nothing we can't fix." You say, giving you a small smile. You hate that he is down playing this because of your current dilemma. "It wasn't your fault." You say. As you walk off towards Pietro.

"Are you okay?" You ask this time actually worried Pietro doesn't seem like his usual self. "No...It's Wanda. She hasn't talked to anyone she hasn't eaten she hasn't left her room." He says all in one breath. He finally stopped stirring and slid down to the floor and sat. "Its my fault. I-i could've moved faster, I could've saved them." He says defeatedly. "Maybe… Maybe not" You say bluntly sitting in front of him. "You can't go back now. And I know it's a sour experience. You made the right decision." You sigh. "You made the choice that saved the most lives." He nods letting out a deep breath. "I know… I know but Wanda. If I had saved those people Wanda wouldn't be feeling like this right now." You shake your head. "You fail to realize that if you had done that you would've died along with the other victims. Wanda will come around and let me talk to her." He only nods. "She's in her room."

You knock on her door a couple of times… no answer. So you make yourself comfortable and prepare yourself. Your knock every minute or two and you're constantly yelling in your head. Half an hour goes by and nothing. You go back to mentally yelling, when suddenly you're being dragged by the collar of your shirt into the room with the doors shutting behind you. "You're stubborn like a mule." She says not sparring you a look. "Yeah well I'm dying what are you gonna do about it." You quipped smiling at her. She chuckles. Suddenly the light leaves her face. "I killed people… I put people in danger, I put my own brother I'm danger." You nod. "You also saved hundreds of people. God only knows what that gas would have done. So thank you Wanda. You're my hero." You say sending her a smile.

Right when she's about to say something a certain red friend phases through the wall. "You will never cease to amaze me Vision." You say while looking between him and the wall. "You have very good taste in clothes." You mention as you eye him. He smiles. "Vision. We talked about this, there's a door for a reason." Wanda states. "Yes, well the door was open so I assumed…" He says, explaining himself. "What did you need Vision?" Wanda asks cutting him off. "Well Mr. Stark asked me to come and get both you there is a team meeting. With secretary Ross."

#avengers #marvel #natasha x y/n #pietro maximoff #wanda x reader #tony stark #natasha romanoff #reader x avengers #wanda maximoff #fanfic #mcufam #stark reader #captain america #civil war

34 notes · View notes

internationalrealestatenews · 2 years ago

Text

[ad_1] In at the moment's fast-paced world, it is no shock that many people wrestle to maintain our properties organized. Muddle appears to build up like a endless cycle, and discovering a method to obtain picture-perfect dwelling group may be an ongoing battle. Nonetheless, there's a secret weapon that may allow you to conquer this problem – skilled organizers. These consultants have honed their expertise and techniques over time, and they're right here to share their secrets and techniques with you. One of many first secrets and techniques skilled organizers swear by is decluttering. Earlier than you may obtain an organized dwelling, it's essential to eliminate the surplus. Begin by going via each room and figuring out gadgets you not want or use. Ask your self if every merchandise brings you pleasure or serves a function. If the reply is not any, it is time to let go. Donate, promote, or discard these things to create extra space and a calmer residing atmosphere. As soon as the muddle is cleared, it is time to create purposeful storage options. Skilled organizers emphasize the significance of getting designated storage areas for various classes of things. This not solely makes it simpler to seek out issues but additionally ensures you may put them again of their rightful place after use. Spend money on storage containers, baskets, and organizers that suit your wants and the aesthetic of your own home. Get inventive with space-saving options like under-bed storage, over-the-door hooks, and floating cabinets. One other secret skilled organizers swear by is sustaining a labeling system. Labels are the important thing to preserving your organized dwelling so as. Whether or not it is labeling containers in your pantry, file folders in your workplace, or bins in your closet, clear and visual labels make it straightforward to establish and return gadgets to their designated spots. It additionally saves you time and frustration trying to find issues when wanted. Skilled organizers additionally prioritize establishing routines and habits. Common upkeep is essential to making sure your own home stays in pristine situation. Put aside devoted time every day or week to tidy up and return gadgets to their designated locations. Make it a household affair and contain everybody within the family. Educate your youngsters the significance of group and make it a enjoyable exercise fairly than a chore. When everyone seems to be concerned, the organized system turns into ingrained in your loved ones's routines. One secret that units skilled organizers aside is their capacity to evaluate particular person wants and customise options accordingly. Each family is exclusive, and what works for one might not work for one more. Skilled organizers take the time to know your way of life, preferences, and challenges. They then tailor their recommendation to supply sensible and sustainable group options that suit your particular scenario. Lastly, a secret that many professional organizers dwell by is the ability of simplicity. Retaining your own home organized does not imply filling each nook and cranny with storage options. Quite the opposite, professionals emphasize the necessity for open area and uncluttered surfaces. Embrace minimalist rules and be selective about what you convey into your own home. Take a second to judge whether or not every merchandise you buy or maintain aligns along with your values and helps a clutter-free residing atmosphere. Reaching picture-perfect dwelling group isn't an unattainable dream. By implementing these secrets and techniques of professional organizers – decluttering, creating storage options, labeling, establishing routines, customizing methods, and embracing simplicity – you may rework your residing area right into a serene and arranged haven. So, roll up your sleeves, and prepare to benefit from the rewards of a well-organized dwelling. [ad_2]

0 notes

pollylynn · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Ataraxy WC: 900 Episode: Boom! (2 x 18)

She is not, she has decided, jealous of Jordan Shaw. This is an internal memo, for her eyes only. No one can know that she has decided this. No one can know that she has even entertained the possibility. But she files it away nonetheless. She stamps it confidential and places it under fireproof lock and key: Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD, is not jealous of Special Agent Jordan Shaw, FBI.

It’s a well-informed decision. At some point that might have been the day before yesterday—or int may have been seven hundred billion hours ago—she had demanded that he tell her everything he knew about Jordan Shaw, and out of the gate, it had looked as though the top secret memo might have gone the other way. Her resume is impressive. The pace at which she made her mark on high-profile cases is nothing short of astonishing.

And there’s a child she shares with an apparently devoted husband and father. If she were one to image stalk on the web, Kate has no doubt that the daughter’s adorability quotient and the husband’s dashing good looks would provide plenty of tasty snacks for the green-eyed monster. And she can’t say that the green-eyed monster went hungry through some portion of the case. But, at the end of the day—at the end of what might be a stretch of seven hundred billion hours—she is not jealous of Jordan Shaw for her accomplishments, for her home life, for much of anything.

She was telling the truth when she told the woman that she’d learned a lot from her, though it’s the kind of truth passed down through her matriline, from her grandmother to her mother to here. It’s the slightly biting kind of truth that’s meant to throw some amount of shade. She has learned a lot from Jordan Shaw and some—not all of it, but some—is what not to do, how not to be.

The turning point, she thinks—the ah ha! moment—had been the call from Avery. There she had been, safely if somewhat awkwardly ensconced in the home of a man who’d first rushed into a burning building to save her life, then taken her in without hesitation or question. There she had been, awkward, yes, but comfortable enough to bang around in his kitchen cabinets—to root around in fridge and pantry before either he or his family were up yet. And there was Jordan, missing for going on twelve hours at that point, and yet . . . not quite missed.

It might be wrong-headed. It’s blaming the victim, after all, to cluck her tongue and shake her head about the time the woman must spend off-grid and unreachable if that much time could easily elapse without anyone sounding the alarm. It’s tearing down a fellow woman in one of the toughest jobs in the world, but that’s not what Kate is doing. In the clear-eyed, honest assessment of herself that she’s done when it comes to Jordan Shaw, she thinks she can honestly say it’s more complicated than that.

It’s Avery, really. Avery is the real turning point for her. That’s my partner up there, the man had snapped in the back of the surveillance van outside of Dunn’s hide, and the word had honestly landed like a kick to the shins. She would never have, until that moment, thought of the working relationship between the two of them in that way. She would never have, until that moment, used the word relationship with their two names anywhere near it.

She’s since sifted through what she can recall of Jordan Shaw’s not-so-quotable quotes. She hears the woman’s voice saying people—my people, in fact—over and over again. She hears specific unit callouts—evidence, strike, canvas and so on. She’s a take no shit leader, and in her case, that calls for a certain amount of distance between her and the undifferentiated mass of her people. She—Kate—is not sure she knows the name of a single agent other than Avery, and she’d be hard-pressed to come up with the man’s first name.

It’s not the be all, end all, how anyone relates to anyone else or doesn’t. Jordan Shaw has bigger problems than Kate Beckett does. The two of them have different problems when it comes to the job. But she thinks of Ryan and Esposito showing up to functionally irritate her out of her fear after Dunn left a body literally on her doorstep. She thinks of the Captain and Castle ganging up on her to force the issue of rest, of security, of taking the damned threat seriously.

She sees her tight-knit, oddball team through the lens of Jordan Shaw’s war room, her people, her various well-equipped, highly skilled teams. She sees Castle through that lens, and most important, she sees their partnership—the real deal—through the eyes of Jordan Shaw, who even in the end, can only purse her lips and call what they have unorthodox as she tries to parse and profile what they are, what they will be.

She sees all of that with new clarity and a wide-open mind and heart. She has a new bar to gauge her own life by, and she’s not the least bit jealous of Jordan Shaw.

A/N: Jordan Shaw—Lacking in Total Life Morphousness.

images via kissthemgoodbye.net

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 2 #Castle: Boom!#Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Javier Esposito #Kevin Ryan #Roy Montgomery #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Tell Me More

17 notes · View notes

poketin · 5 years ago

Text

An Exercise in Observation

(can also be found on ao3 under poketin)!

Kanamori Sayaka has a sharp eye.

She’s known for it. The label on her favorite milk and what to look out for when someone’s trying to cheap out of her cashing in their favor for some of the good stuff. The way the fresher money tree leaves jut out rather than the slight sag they acquire as time passes. The guilty hunch of Mizusaki’s shoulders as she spends too long trying to make a shot perfect instead of getting things done on time.

It’s why when Asakusa fiddles and squirms in ways different than usual (and yes of course Kanamori has her comrade’s mannerisms filed away, you never know what information may come in handy for your own purposes), Kanamori notices.

Asakusa squirming is nothing new, fiddling with pencils, chewing on her rabbit, coiling in her chair then springing up when her energy needs to go somewhere, “BA-BWAA!” as she helpfully explained. Kanamori knows it helps her concentrate, lays the tracks in front of her mind’s train as it barrels ahead with anecdotes, tangents, and ideas, trying to wrangle its path before it derails and overwhelms her senses.

But Asakusa is twitching in a way that suggests she’s trying to curb her movement, only lurching slightly on the same side each time, not alternating like the blur of her swinging legs or crisscrossing ankles as she taps on the floor, but a movement devoid of silence save for a hiss between her teeth.

Irritation seizes Kanamori’s body, overriding any possibility of worry or patience as she spins herself in her chair and slams her feet on the ground, one leg draped over the other.

“What are you doing.”

It comes out as a statement because Kanamori hates pointless questions, preferring an acknowledgment that “Yes, I know something’s wrong and no amount of unconvincing jabber is going to prove otherwise, so spit it out already,” but in fewer words that can save both of them time.

Despite this, the course of action Asakusa takes is of no surprise to anyone as she tries to withhold her shock, her hat hopping off her head for the briefest moment. She turns to Kanamori with GUILT practically written on her forehead in thick, black lines. She’s either brave or stupid enough to look her in the eyes, nonetheless. Mizusaki smells danger, and hightails it out of the clubroom with the excuse that she’s going to buy them all drinks.

“W-whatever could you mean, Kanamori-kun?”

Her uniform looks fine, a smudge of dirt here and there, a grass stain peaking out behind the sleeve of her blazer, maybe even a twig in her hair if her adventure was recent enough.

Her hands are unmarred, curling and clasping at each other as they are, no bandaids, no bruising, no scabs.

Her hat’s as worn as ever, no new holes or tears, no irreversible bleach stains from a traumatic laundry mishap.

Kanamori’s gaze combs over Asakusa’s body but she doesn’t twist or turn in her chair at all. The telltale signs of Asakusa’s nervousness are what the unimaginative often call “normal.” She curls in on herself slightly, her eyes straight ahead rather than bouncing around the room finding the foundations of a fighter plane or a laser cannon in every cranny of ruffled steel, her legs hang like dead weights, hands steady in their twisting instead of squeezing love into her rabbit or bunching up in her clothes. It’s her usual self-expression that’s labeled “suspicious,” confirming for Kanamori once more that the ignorance of people has no stopping point.

Then there’s that pinched expression on her face that Kanamori doesn’t like at all.

“Did a teacher tell you off again?”

There’s been problems, Kanamori’s opinion of faculty falling somehow even lower every time a teacher snaps at Asakusa to pay attention as she doodles (as if she doesn’t get above-average marks in many subjects) or tells her to stand in the hallway if she can’t stop being a distraction.

“No, it’s been awhile since that’s happened,” Asakusa says, shaking her head. Inwardly, Kanamori notes with satisfaction that her anonymous letters about being “unable to receive proper education under teachers that see fit to constantly single out one student” have achieved their goal faster than she predicted.

Outwardly, she raises a single eyebrow.

Asakusa sighs, and before Kanamori has a chance to stop her, stands up and rolls her skirt up partway. Luckily, Kanamori’s brain hasn’t caught up quickly enough to fry itself and send heat blasting into her cheeks, so she notices the problem rather quickly.

“Mosquito bites.”

There’s an angry, swelling bump right above her right knee, with two more on her outer left thigh. With the way she leans down to tug at her socks, there may very well be more on her lower legs.

Deciding on whether to take a break and get medical help or ignore her discomfort to keep working on backgrounds seems to have been an easy choice for their director.

Kanamori stands up and makes her way over, without a sound.

“Sometimes you need to feel the grass between your toes…” Asakusa mumbles, as if that makes her case more reasonable or sympathetic.

But Kanamori is not one to pity.

She stands in front of Asakusa, who only wilts now that Kanamori is directly in front of her, and lets her fist fall onto Asakusa’s head, a common gesture of her disdain.

“And where was the bug spray in your pack?”

Asakusa jolts up, her arms crossed over her body protectively.

“To bring chemical warfare into their natural territory is a war crime, Kanamori-kun!”

Her eyes shine with such righteous indignation that Kanamori has to clamp her teeth down on the rush of fondness that floods through her. Of course the girl who once let a cockroach ride on top of her hat so it could “experience the world in an entirely new way” would never kill a mosquito that didn’t first invade her home base.

“Will it hamper your productivity?”

“Well…”

Kanamori sighs and cinches her arms around Asakusa’s neck, pulling her along.

“W-wait, Kanamori-kun! The power of my will won’t be defeated by mere itchiness—!”

Her voice becomes a muffled squeak as Kanamori tosses her onto the couch and flips open her bag. She points at the couch without looking up.

“Sit. And no scratching.”

She pulls herself into a seated position as Kanamori digs around in her backpack.

Asakusa immediately swings one of her legs, letting out a strangled note of distress as one of her larger bites brushes against the fabric.

Kanamori, now in front of her, grabs the leg in midair.

“K-kanamori-kun?!”

She could focus on the way Asakusa scrunches her mouth in bafflement or the way her brown eyes flicker between Kanamori’s own eyes and clasped hand. She could think about how soft the skin of Asakusa’s leg seems right above where she’s holding her socked ankle. She could read into the way Asakusa doesn’t jerk away from her, how she seems to trust her completely and is ready to follow her lead.

Instead Kanamori drops her leg and tries to make her voice less hoarse as she says, “Don’t move.”

She kneels down and pops the cap off the anti-swelling pain relief gel. More tenderly than she’d ever admit, she squeezes some onto her finger and rubs it on the bite near her knee. Asakusa sighs as the cool gel soothes the burning area.

Kanamori never hesitates, but she’s not sure how to approach the bites in more…intimate areas. She and Asakusa have always been on the same wavelength though, and wordlessly Asakusa leans over to roll her socks down, nose nearly brushing Kanamori’s as she straightens back up to adjust her skirt once more.

There’s only a couple bumps on her lower legs, and Kanamori gets through them faster than she wants to, what with the last few targets waiting for her.

“Asakusa-shi.”

“Kanamori-kun.”

Of all times, it’s now that Asakusa’s voice is clearest, firmest. There’s a hint of challenge in her eyes and her face is enviably clear of any blush.

Kanamori has never been one to stall on what she wants.

She squeezes out more gel, sliding her other hand up Asakusa’ leg, just barely grazing it until she reaches the spot where the final bites are. Once there, she gently grips onto Asakusa’s leg, her thumb trailing her flesh, urging her to turn so the welt is in clearer view. Asakusa obliges.

Kanamori has a good poker face even on the worst of days. Still, as she slathers gel on Asakusa’s soft skin, its coldness contrasts rather pointedly with the heat coming off her own traitorous face.

The door opens just as Kanamori is finishing up. To their credit, neither of them jump at Mizusaki’s return. Instead, Kanamori screws and unscrews the cap of the gel, cursing design flaws as she struggles to get it back on, while Asakusa hops off the couch. She smooths out her skirt and gives Kanamori a brilliant smile without a hint of their previous tension.

“Thanks, Kanamori-kun!”

She grabs a can of peach tea from Mizusaki and dashes to her desk, throwing herself once more into the spirals of far-off mountains and billowing clouds that hide them away.

Kanamori ignores the grin Mizusaki gives her as she hands off the cool bottle of milk, but what she doesn’t miss is Mizusaki whispering, “You so owe me,” as she straightens back up. They both know she’s not talking about the milk, and Mizusaki skips to her workstation before Kanamori can so much as scowl in her direction.

Never mind the fact that she’s smiling instead.

#knas #kanamori x asakusa #sayaka kanamori #asakusa midori #kanamori sayaka x asakusa midori #eizouken #keep your hands off eizouken!#Eizouken ni wa Te wo Dasu na!#kanakusa #asamori #keep your hands off eizouken #poketin fics

133 notes · View notes

openheart12 · 4 years ago

Text

A New Beginning

Summary: Tony and Michelle are once again thrown back into the chaos that is CTU. The same place that tore their family apart, is the same place where they get their second chance at a life.

WC: 4,441

Michelle never thought she would be standing in front of him in the same place that tore them apart, but here they were. She hadn’t seen him in six months and even though this is the hardest thing she’s had to endure, it was better this way.

Especially since he was the one who asked her to leave.

Her heart ached at the memory she tried to bury deep within her but it always found a way to bubble up to the surface.

They locked eyes and she noticed how much different he looked compared to six months ago, hope fluttered in her chest that maybe he finally cleaned himself up.

If not for her, then for Avery. She deserved to have her father in her life.

Michelle had found out she was pregnant just less than a year after they had gotten married. Both of them were beyond ecstatic although nervous.

Tony had ensured that Michelle stayed out of the field and he only went as a last resort. When they found out they were having a baby girl, a mini Michelle, Tony had been adamant on her name much to Michelle’s dismay.

But when Avery Michelle Almeida made her entrance into the world, during a national security crisis nonetheless, she was deemed perfect and healthy. At six pounds and seven ounces, and nineteen inches long, she already had her parents wrapped around her little finger.

Michelle recalled the moment, remembering how Chapelle was pissed that he had to come in as their replacements, but neither of them had cared in that moment. She remembered all the congratulations they received from their friends, how happy everyone was for them.

CTU had played a big part in the course of their relationship. It was where they met, where they shared their first kiss, where he actually ended up proposing, where they had to come in the middle of their honeymoon, and now the place where their baby was born.

And it was going to be the place where they reunited, unbeknownst to them.

Almost everyone knew of their history so they were inclined to see how the day would go. The people they worked with before knew about their daughter, but the newest employees had no idea. Most of them knew that this was the first time they’ve seen each other in a while since the divorce.

Almost all eyes were on them when she made her way through the bullpen and into the center next to Secretary Heller.

Secretary Heller asked Tony to bring her up to speed and he told her of the events at McLennan-Forrester and Jack and Paul. After he finished, he started to walk away as she called after him.

“Tony, I need the access codes for CTU and Division.”

He nodded and handed them to her, their fingers brushed against each other for a brief second. She thanked him and as she turned around to go, he asked her, “what do you want me to do?”

“Division’s sending over a supplemental list of terrorists who supposedly had contacts with Habib Marwan. Check any names that have been flagged by other agencies, including overseas.”

“Given what’s happening right now, it doesn’t seem like the best use of my time.”

“It has to be done and I’d like you to do it.” She started to walk away when he reached out and gently grabbed her arm.

“Michelle, Jack and Paul have information that could be vital to ending this crisis. I should be helping us find them, Michelle!”

“The last time I saw you, you couldn’t stay sober long enough to keep a job.”

“That was six months ago.”

“This is what I need you to do. If you don’t like it, you can resign.”

He let out a sigh, scratching the side of his cheek. “I’m gonna need a security clearance,” he relented.

“I’ll make sure you get a level three.”

“Level three?” He scoffed. “I used to have a six.”

“Right now, all you need is three,” she turned on her heel and walked into the situation room where a woman was sitting. She was looking through the files in front of her when the woman started speaking to her.

“Is there a problem with Agent Almeida?”

“Not at all.”

“It’s just that Secretary Heller is very sensitive to personal conflicts on the job. I know your history. I know that you guys were married and that he sacrificed his career to save your life, but if this is gonna be a problem-”

Who the hell was this woman, parading around like she knew anything about her and Tony’s relationship. “His being here will not affect my work. I won’t let it. Now, if Secretary Heller wants to speak to me about it, I’ll be more than glad to,” she said, signaling the end of this conversation.

With Sarah gone and Chloe back in play, the two of them found a way to put their personal problems aside and work as a team again. Michelle regretted not listening to Tony’s insight about Jack, knowing that he knew Jack and his tactics better than she did. But she couldn’t tell if she did it out of spite or not and that bothered her because she never let anything interfere with her work.

She tried apologizing, saying that she valued his input, which she did, but the damage had been done and the worst of it was yet to come.

Bill Buchanan strode through CTU and Michelle quickly introduced him to everyone else there. Her and Tony were standing close together talking after their failed attempt at capturing Marwan when Bill walked up next to them.

“Did you secure Marwan yet?”

“No, he must’ve slipped through the perimeter,” Michele explained.

“How the hell could you let that happen?” Bill accused, taking Michelle by surprise.

“It doesn't matter how it happened,” Tony defended. “What matters is that he’s gone and we’re doing everything we can to find him.” He and Michelle might not be together anymore, but he’d be damned if he let anyone talk to her like that, especially since it was a situation out of her control.

“What exactly are you doing to find him?” Bill asked, turning his attention to Michelle.

“We widened the perimeter, set up a search grid, state police and LAPD are conducting a sweep,” she answered as they were interrupted.

A few minutes later, Bill walked up to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, um, I’m sorry if I snapped.”

“It’s okay, we’re all under a lot of pressure.”

“You holding up?” He asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she smiled, hoping to convince him and herself of that.

Michelle wasn’t aware that Tony had seen their interaction. Tony knew something had probably transpired between the two and wanted to know the extent of it so he made his way towards Chloe.

“How long has Buchanan been at Division?” He asked her.

“Well, it took awhile to fill Chapelle’s position… six months.”

That’s how long ago she left, he thought. That wasn’t fair and he knew it since he told her to leave. “Where was he before that?”

“Seattle, I think.”

“Seattle?”

“Yeah, that’s where Michelle was posted while you were in jail, right?” Chloe asked, piecing it together. She was one of the few who didn’t know what had happened between Michelle and Tony, it wasn’t her business so she stayed out of it.

“Yeah… thanks.”

Tony had debated on confronting her about it or not and his curiosity ended up getting the better of him. “Michelle,” he called to get her attention, “when were you planning on telling me?”

“About what?”

“About you and Buchanan.”

She immediately became defensive, already knowing she wasn’t going to like where this conversation was headed. “Never because it’s none of your business.”

“Michelle, before you worked with him at Division, you worked with him at Homeland Security restructuring, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We were still married then.”

“Legally… yes.”

“Did you sleep with him while we were married?”

She stared at him in disbelief. “No, I didn’t.”

“But you are now?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business. You know, it’s not like I have time to do anything between work and raising my daughter,” she retorted.

That jab took him by surprise and he hung his head low and walked away. She felt guilty, but he accused her of cheating on him while they were still married. She couldn’t even look at another man, even now, she was still completely and utterly in love with Tony.

Hours had passed by since their encounter and he wanted to clear the air between them, the tension was at an all time high.

“Michelle,” he began, “I was out of line a couple hours ago about you and Bill. It’s your life and I’ve got no right to judge you.”

“I appreciate that,” she said sincerely.

“And whatever tension there is between us, I would like to apologize for my part in it. I’d like it if we could just let it go so we can do our jobs. Leave the past in the past,” he finished. “And if it would be okay with you, I’d like to be in Avery’s life and I know I don’t deserve it, but she’s all I have left,” he added, sadness lacing his words.

“That sounds good,” she lied with a smile. “I know Ave would love to see you. She misses her daddy.” I miss him too, she thought to herself. Not to mention that she wasn’t ready to let go of their past just yet, she may never be ready to.

“We can talk about it later,” he said before going back to work and she did the same thing.

Both of them seemed to be working together better after their conversation, just like they used to. They became one again, putting their time and effort into the crisis at hand.

“Anything new?”

“Yeah, White House just authorized adding Iowa army reserve units to the ground search.”

“Have they widened the perimeter?”

“Yeah, they locked down a 60-mile radius around the area where the warhead was stolen, but I’m concerned Marwan’s people might’ve managed to sneak it outside that perimeter.”

“Well, we closed all major roads and air traffic immediately, but there is a chance they got it through.”

“Homeland Security’s faxing over casualty projections based on that possibility,” he said just as the fax started to ring.

“That’s probably them right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.”

Another phone started to ring and she answered it, “CTU.”

“I’m calling for Tony Almeida. Who’s this?”

“This is Michelle Dessler, a colleague of his. May I ask who’s calling?”

“The woman he happens to be living with. Is he there?”

She felt as if she had just gotten kicked in the stomach. “Yeah, hold on. It’s for you,” she said, handing him the phone.

“Who is it?”

“The woman you’re living with.” She answered, hurt was evident in her eyes.

“Jen,” he answered with a sigh.

“I’ve been calling everyone we know going crazy looking for you. Then finally I thought maybe Jack Bauer took you back there. God, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I should’ve called earlier. I’ve been very busy.”

“Really busy with Michelle Dessler?”

“I’m working, Jen.”

“Oh, for CTU?”

“On a provisional basis, yeah.”

“I thought you hated that place.”

“Things have changed a little.”

“Yeah, I guess they have.”

“Look, Jen, we can talk about this later. Right now, I gotta go. All right?”

“Tony, what’s your ex-wife doing there?”

“Jen, I’m sorry, but I gotta go,” he said before hanging up. He rubbed his face, knowing how big of a jackass he had been earlier. “Michelle, um, I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”

“It’s really none of my business.”

“Yeah, it is,” he countered. She started to walk away and he followed after her. “I should’ve told you I was living with someone else.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

“Yeah, well, I do. Listen to me,” he gently grabbed her arm, turned her around, and backed her into the wall. “When you left, everything fell apart. Jen happened to be there for me.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for your relationship.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m just telling you how it is.”

“Do you love her?” She asked, afraid of his answer.

He didn’t hesitate before answering. “No.”

“Ms. Dessler, the new protocols from DOD just came in. Should I send them to your screen?” Edgar told him, quite aware that he was interrupting something.

“Send them to station sixteen,” she answered and with one last look at him, she walked past him.

She didn’t know how much time had passed since Jen called and she hadn’t talked to Tony since and truth be told, she had been avoiding him to try to sort out her feelings.

Her phone started to ring and she answered automatically, “Dessler?”

“Hey, Michelle, it’s Allison.”

Allison was Avery’s babysitter and panic immediately started to set in after seeing what time it was. “Is Avery okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. She just misses you and wants to talk to you. I tried to tell her you were at work, but you know how stubborn she is.”

Michelle smiled for the first real time today, leave it to her daughter to be the reason. “Let me talk to her, I have a few minutes.”

“Momma?” She heard her daughter's tinge voice say.

“Hey, sweetheart. What are you still doing up?”

“I miss you a bunch. When are you coming home?”

“Not for another couple hours, but what if I told you I have a surprise for you when I get home?”

“Ooohhh, what is it?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” She laughed at her excitement. “But you have to go to sleep to get it.”

“Okay, okay. I love you, momma.”

“I love you too, baby. I’ll see you soon.” She reluctantly hung up. She swore she had to have the easiest five year old who actually listened to her.

“Everything okay?” She turned around to see Tony’s worried expression.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. That was Avery.”

“Is she okay?” He asked as worry started to set in.

“Yeah, she just wanted to talk.”

“Leave it to our kid to be awake way past her bedtime,” he joked.

“I wonder who she gets that from,” she teased back with an easy smile.

“Hey, my sleeping habits have gotten a lot better,” he defended himself with a laugh. “At least I don’t take up half of the bed when I sleep.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Almeida,” she shot back. They were treading into dangerous territory by bringing up the past but before either of them could say anything, Michelle was called away and she gave him an apologetic smile.

After the news of the attack on the Chinese Consulate circulated through CTU, it only made finding the warhead a bigger priority and it didn’t help that Cheng Zhi demanded to come to CTU to get some answers.

Michelle was just getting off the phone when Tony walked into her office. “This situation with the Consulate is dragging us down. We shouldn’t be diverting resources away from finding that warhead.”

She was amazed at how they were thinking the same thing. “Well, hopefully this is just a formality and we can get rid of him quickly. If we don’t get information from Lee, Audrey’s husband would’ve died for nothing,” she said, leaning against her desk.

“What is she still doing here?” Tony asked, staring down at her through the glass panel.

“I think she wants to stay busy so she doesn’t have to think about it,” she answered softly. She was familiar with the concept herself.

“It’s funny, when I met Audrey this afternoon, it seemed she and Jack were totally together… a few hours later and everything has changed.” Just like it had with them. He turned to look at her before speaking again. “Michelle, I hate being without you,” he said softly.

“I never wanted it to be this way,” she answered honestly. “And Avery… she deserves to have her dad around.”

The phone rang telling them that Chang had arrived and just like that, they were back in work mode.

Later, they were up in her office once again. “Tactical is at Richard’s house, they’re going through his things right now.”

“What about Jack?” Tony asked.

“Jack and Curtis are on their way back right now.”

“Someone has to tell Audrey that Jack is going to be interrogating her brother.”

“Audrey’s not going to want Jack near her brother,” Tony pointed out.

“Can’t be helped… I mean if Richard knows something about that missile…” she trailed off.

“It’s funny, this morning Jack and Audrey were planning their future, now he’s responsible for her husband's death and he may have to torture her brother.”

“Yet, every move he’s made has been the right one.” She went over and sat down on the couch.

“Not if he wanted to be with her.” He took a seat beside her. “Look, Michelle, everything that’s happened today, it’s been hard going through it with you again.”

“It’s been hard for me too.”

“I look at what this job does to people in our positions and I realize,” he met her eyes, “I want us to be together again, but it’s gotta be away from all this. We shouldn’t have to put our country over our family.”

Getting back together didn’t come as a surprise to her, she had been expecting it, but leaving the job completely took her off guard.

“You want us to leave our jobs?” He nodded. “We’ve spent the last twelve years of our lives doing this. Where would we go? What would we do?”

“I don’t care… Look, people start over every day if it’s important to them and you are important to me and so is Avery. I want my family back, Michelle.”

“You’re asking me to leave the only thing I’ve ever done?”

“Yes, I am,” he answered. She turned her head away from him, her thoughts scrambling all over the place.

He went to walk out her door when she stopped him. “Why did you want me to leave?”

“I thought it was for the best and plus, Ave didn’t need to see me like that. I wasn’t the husband or father that I needed to be and I was humiliated and ashamed of myself. I thought I was helping you and that you would eventually figure out that you deserved so much more than I could offer you. Prison was the worst time of my life and I just, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me like I was of myself.”

“Do you ever regret it,” she asked hesitantly. “Saving me, I mean.”

“Michelle, I never once regretted my decision to save you. If I had to, I would do it again because I love you. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would’ve had the best three years of my life. Our girl wouldn’t be here either if it wasn’t for you. The only thing I regret is telling you to leave, thinking that it would help both of us when it only made things worse.”

“But look where we are now because of me.”

“Exactly, Michelle, Avery has both of her parents. I’m willing to fix us, if you are. I love you more than my life itself and I love our little girl. Nothing is ever going to change that fact. This job isn’t worth it anymore, it’s not more important than you or Avery.”

“Okay,” she smiled, tears in her eyes.

“Okay?” He mirrored her smile.

“I’m ready to leave here. I’m ready to go with you.”

He swiftly walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Are you sure? Because I’m not letting go of you again.”

“I can’t spend another day without you,” she confirmed and that was all he needed to seal his lips over hers. It had been six months since he saw her, six months since he last touched her and even longer since he last kissed her. The kiss spoke more than words could ever say.

After a minute, he pulled back, both of them breathless with huge grins on their faces. Stupid love drunk grins.

“I love you from now until forever,” he told her.

“I will love you always,” she choked out. He knew repeating part of their vows would make her emotional, but he wanted her to know that he was serious about trying again.

This is forever.

“Come on, let’s get back to work so we can go home.”

Home. It sounded too good to be true, but nonetheless, she was ready to start fresh. A new beginning was exactly what they needed.

Hours passed by, Marwan was dead, the missile had been destroyed, and they had just helped Jack fake his death with the help of Chloe and President Palmer.

Dropping Jack off for the last time was hard for both of them, but Michelle could see the toll it took on Tony. They were friends for years and had come to trust each other like brothers.

She covered his hand with hers and he intertwined their fingers together.

“Let’s go home.”

“Let’s go home,” she repeated with a smile. She gave him the directions to her apartment and they arrived twenty minutes later. Looking over at him, she could tell he was nervous. “Come on,” she nudged him slightly.

The afternoon sun bathed the building in a golden glow with white clouds drifting lazily in the breeze. It was a beautiful day in California.

They got out of the SUV and Michelle led him up the stairs to her front door. “It’ll be okay,” she reassured him.

The keys turned the lock, a soft click was heard before she opened the door. A woman who Tony didn’t recognize was seated in the kitchen.

She nodded in acknowledgment before turning her attention to Michelle.

“Avery’s in her room playing and we did all of her homework, she hasn’t eaten lunch yet because she wanted to wait to eat with you,” she laughed softly. “Are you going to need me tomorrow?” She asked, looking between her and Tony.

“Probably not, but I’ll give you a call if that changes. We’re supposed to have a couple days off,” Michelle explained. “Thank you, Allison.” They bid their goodbyes and Tony wandered over to the living room, where the pictures of Avery caught his eye.

“I can’t believe I let things get this bad,” he said, choking back tears.

“Oh, Tony.” Michelle strided over towards him, wrapping her arms around him as he clung to her.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating.

“Shh,” she soothed him gently, rubbing small circles across his back.

“Momma?” A tiny voice asked and she felt Tony tense in her arms.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she greeted, turning around to face her daughter. Her little eyes were trained on the person behind her who was now trying to stifle his sobs.

“Daddy’s home?” She asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

“Daddy’s home,” Michelle smiled as her eyes filled with tears.

Avery tentatively walked up behind him and placed her arms around his legs. Tony stood there for a few seconds, soaking in the feeling of being home before squatting down to her level.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he greeted with a smile, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“I missed you,” she cried out, throwing her small arms around his neck.

“I missed you so much.” He told her.

Michelle watched the two of them, her heart swelling with joy. Her family was together again, her perfect little family.

“Can we watch The Little Mermaid?” She asked after a few minutes, making her parents laugh.

“I see not that much has changed,” he teased, referencing Avery’s favorite movie since she was a year old. Avery led Tony over to the couch where they plopped down on it together, her talking animatedly about anything and everything that came to her mind and Tony listened intently.

These were the moments she missed the most, just the three of them together. She watched them for a few more minutes until she headed towards the kitchen to make some popcorn.

She didn’t even know Tony was in there until she felt his arms wrap around her and his chin resting on her shoulder. “Are you already tired of me? It’s only been a day, Michelle.”

“What?”

“You’re making popcorn… ya know, it requires using the microwave, right? Are you trying to kill me already?” He teased her.

“I think I can handle a microwave.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I recall a time where you almost set our house on fire when you heated up that Chinese food without taking it out the box.”

“Shut up!” She laughed, turning around in his arms. “I’ve gotten better since then because-” she stopped, her smile faltering. She learned how to cook, to the best of her ability, after leaving Tony so that her and Avery wouldn’t have to survive off of takeout for three meals a day.

“I know,” was all he said.

“We have to be able to talk about it instead of just pushing it aside. Not like what we did last time.”

“And we will, but now, we have a movie to watch. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay,” she relented with an easy smile, her cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling she had done within the past couple of hours.

They heard Avery come back to the living room, calling for Tony and the two of them together grabbed the popcorn and snacks and sat down on the couch with Avery between them. She was dressed in her The Little Mermaid pajamas to match the movie.

As the movie started, Michelle stole one last glance at them and smiled yet again. This is what their life was going to start looking like from now on once they left CTU, the place where this all became possible, but the same place that could take it all away in a split second.

This was their second chance, their new beginning, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

#tony x michelle #tony almeida #24 fanfiction #24 the show #24 #tony almeida x michelle dessler #michelle dessler

8 notes · View notes

fairylightsandchai · 6 years ago

Text

The Internship - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I know I usually don’t post fanfiction to this blog, but I really wanted to participate in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you follow me and you’re not interested.

Pairing: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and in later parts it will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

And then the Battle of New York had happened.

You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life.

You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers.

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

And now you were about to walk into his class.

Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you had arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

“Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

“U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

He’s just a person, you lectured yourself internally. A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s- “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

“Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

“You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

“Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

“Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have as long as they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

“Any questions?”

There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

“Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

“That is a great example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

____________

Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably had done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim you.

The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face.

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink. “So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but singing; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

“This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

“(Y/N), is that you?”

…Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

“Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

“Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

“The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

“Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

“It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

“Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

“Thanks, doll.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

“N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

“I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

“Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

“Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

“No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

“Steve?”

He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

“It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

“Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

“I’m just joking,” you assured him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

“You ok over there, doll?”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

“Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

“Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

“Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

“Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

“No problem, hon.”

You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt safer in his presence.

When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

“Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

“Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

“Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

“Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

“So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

“For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I can say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

“If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

“…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, someone.

Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very heavy bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

“Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am so sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

“Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

“Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

“A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

“It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

“It would give way too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.”

Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

“Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

“Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it really made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

“Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

“…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

“Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

“I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

______

You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word.

When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking winked, at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

“I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

Dear (Y/N),

Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212.

Sincerely,

Steve Rogers

You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

“…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

“I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

“How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

“I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

“U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

“It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

“It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

“So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

“Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

“Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

“Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

“A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

“That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

“I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

“Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

��Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

“No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

“Whatya say?”

You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

“I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

“It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

“I’ll do it.”

_______

Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.

#precodechallenge #steve rogers #captain america imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #professor!steve #professor!steve rogers #non-con #stalking #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine

1K notes · View notes

timextoxhajima · 5 years ago

Text

HOSTIS, Chapter XIX: Rosa, Rose

Previous Chapter (XVIII: Renuntiatio)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): drama, FLUFF fucking finally and light smut

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

“you’ve been trying to get rid of me for 10 years... and look where that got us?”

the crack that you could’ve imagined splitting the sky into pieces was short-lived, but it stirred you in your sleep, nonetheless.

bright, white light flashes through your opening lids but your body takes too long to prepare itself for the loud, vehement clap.

it sounded like someone had just thrown a bomb into the clouds.

you cower in fear at the call of mother nature, hands flying up to your ears as you push your head further into the pillow. there was some hint of sunlight spilling into the room, but that was the least of your concerns when the sky was trying to kill you.

a gentle, but firm force on your hips nearly warrants a harsh whack behind you if your hands weren’t preoccupied with covering your ears.

“stop being such a wuss,” barely opened eyes stirred under his lids, a left arm circling your waist as he pulls you closer to his chest. warmth was radiating off him as if the blanket you were nearly fully covered by wasn’t already keeping you safe from the outside world. “nothing’s going to happen to you, not while you’re here, at least.”

“ew, gro--”

clap

mother nature literally screams at you to shut up, forcing you to ball up further into his skin. his hold around you tightens, and he pulls your right leg up over his hip, palm resting flat and soft on your thigh.

“as much as i love to see you scared shitless, it sucks to know that i don’t ever want to see you scared like this alone.”

the words run through your hair and you now notice your hands were balled up into fists against his chest, his light breathing brushing against the little strands that fell over your forehead like little curtains.

“so be like this only with me, and you won’t have to be scared anymore.”

the skies refuse to let up and zeus hurls another lightning bolt down to earth, yet the orchestral accompaniment doesn’t faze you that much anymore, not after what he said.

not when it’s completely reduced your hatred for him into nothing but ashes. ashes and dust that fly away in the gentle wind.

what were the ten years for, if both areses were going to tread on it like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing to do?

what did the ten years of fighting do, if zeus meant for the two gods of war to round a circle in the ring of fire, only to put down their swords and admit defeat?

not to the fear of death, not to the lack of fight left in them.

but to surrender to one another.

where there were once thorns and daggers and poison now bloomed pansies, flowers that grow in winter; in harsh environments.

have you seen pansies in winter?

white on purple draws a striking, degrading memory in the little crooks and crannies of your mind.

for ten years, you’ve avoided drinking poison, or going anywhere near it, in fact. in the process, becoming poison yourself. it would’ve been like two pythons in a death match to see who could bite the other first.

yet, all of that was now of no value to you.

sure, you’ve lost ten years trying to fight a losing war; the entire duration worried that you would lose to he who would triumph had you chosen to take a step back.

but the very fact that nobody lost wears through you like tires on asphalt.

the notion that both sides took turns destroying each other only to fall in love, becomes the very cure for the tumor in your heart.

why did it take so long for you to realise that you hurt when you couldn’t read him? when he stayed so far away from you, breath on your skin but never touching you. eyes always glued to you, yet never soulful enough for your stomach to churn.

the very sight of him being away from you made you physically unwell.

so this was it.

he has claimed you and he has given himself to you.

zeus has failed in his plan to make the two of you fight to your deaths, but he smiles with pride and glory when he decides that ares’ happiness was more important than spilling blood and ripping flesh off bones.

but that was zeus, and you are ares.

ares is brutal.

and you would’ve not hesitated to rip her flesh off HER bones if you weren’t in a white coat and a doctor’s ID card was hanging around your neck like a dog tag.

“no, you’re joking!”

choi minhee was bright, pretty, cream-colored, and had a disgustingly white set of teeth looking like headlights on a fucking truck.

you?

you were poison, daggers, the thorns on roses.

of all doctors to be assigned to her father, it just had to be hyunjae?

mrs kang was rather entertained with the conversation that was happening in the other corner of the ward, and she must’ve known your blood pressure was skyrocketing through the roof because she shoots you a look of slight mischief, almost a glance of knowing.

“i should’ve known it was you,” the airy sigh that exits her parted lips calls for your attention over the clipboard.

“mr choi, you look too good for your age, honestly. this little injury will heal pretty good on its own as long as you take care of yourself while you’re staying here.”

“aw, no. you’re too kind.”

“he’s right, daddy. you’ll take care of my dad, won’t you?”

a wince exhibits itself on your face despite your pen flying across the report, mrs kang’s current condition coming out in ink though you weren’t even consciously writing every alphabet down.

“get anymore jealous and you’re going to be the one who needs your blood pressure taken, doctor l/n.”

mrs kang had her eyes focused on you in the corner of her eye sockets. slight embarrassment lights your soul on fire, but not as much as the irritation that was making your insides itch and squirm with despise.

“you should come over for dinner some time soon, do you remember the stew that you liked?

“ah, the one that mrs choi makes? of course, how could i forget?”

stew?

STEW?

“when daddy gets discharged, you have to visit sometime. mummy would be so happy to see you again!”

“would she?”

“of course! my wife loved you!”

so her parents don’t know he cheated on her.

doesn’t matter.

i’m gonna fucking kill him anyway.

“you should’ve seen him last week, child.”

the clipboard gets slid back into the slot at the end of the bed, and your neck cranes to look at mrs kang sitting up in her bed.

“the boy was in a mess.”

“you look very well, hyunjae. it’s really been a long time.”

“had you seen him and heard what he told me, you’d be in a mess too.”

“nah, four years don’t do much.”

“doctor l/n, are you listening to me?”

“you took four years to look like this! doesn’t he look great, daddy?”

“you flatter me too much, minhee.”

the mere trill of someone else’s name rolling off his tongue pushes you over an edge, an edge too close for comfort.

mrs kang reads your furrowed brows with ease and watches with a knowing smirk on her lips as you grab your patient files off the little cabinet next to the ward bed.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning, mrs kang.”

she sees right through your painful, forced smile, and she breaks out into a small chuckle.

the light hanging above her bed brightens the whites in her eyes, in contrast to the darkening sky right outside the window where choi minhee’s father was warded due to a small, almost unnoticeable stroke.

it tickles you to see mrs kang happy, but the voices coming from behind you were holding your heart in its hands, every word aggravating its merciless grip around you.

you turn on your heels and head out of the ward, trying your best to block out the voices that sounded like demons inside your head.

how you wished you could whack your patient files across that smug, pretty face.

how dare she talk to him like he didn’t cheat on her? how dare he talk to her like that despite that whole dramatic confession last week? just how dare he--

someone’s shoulder runs into your arm and your patient files clutter to the floor.

“oh, i’m-- y/n!”

he bends down to pick up your patient files before you could even process who you ran into.

“eric!” the surprised tone made your voice so much higher, you were sure it would’ve caught hyunjae’s attention if the clatter of the files hitting the floor didn’t. “what are you doing in the wards wing?”

“running off to find the patient file archive office... doctor min wants me to help him finish one more thing before i’m done for the day.”

he hands you the patient files, and your hands brush across each other. he doesn’t look at you with an ounce of awkwardness or distaste, and frankly, you missed his smile. you missed how enthusiastic he was.

you were lucky you were still friends with him.

“are you alright? you don’t look too--” rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes travel from your face to movement behind you that you could see in your peripheral vision.

“i’ll be right back!” hyunjae gestures into the room while he reverses out, and his patient files brush across your back.

eric’s eyes light up like bulbs and it stuns you to see how easily eric gets through it. “hyung!”

“eric! my boy!” he pushes past you like you were a road block and wraps his arms around the intern. “how are you? i haven’t seen you in so long-- the research department hasn’t called for me since last week.”

“yeah, i know. i’ve only been seeing y/n around in the research department. you must have more patients to care for.”

your eyeballs roll so hard in your head, you force a polite smile for eric while your feet turn to leave this party. “i’m gonna go--”

“whoa, whoa, where are you going? it’s dinner time--”

“you can find your dinner elsewhere, maybe have some stew at it if you like,” eric takes note of the disgust and disdain in your face before you pry the intern away from hyunjae so you could hug him instead. “i missed you so much. we have to catch up some other time, okay?”

“no problem! just drop me a text.”

the grin he presents you feels like soda on a hot day, and you walk off without bothering to turn to look at hyunjae.

the orange and blue sky outside your office window greets you like a flag, navy blue clouds cutting the skies into half across the horizon.

“‘you should come over for dinner soon’,” items get swept into your briefcase instead of being placed in it.

“‘doesn’t he look great, daddy?’ who even calls their father ‘daddy’ at 23? fluttering her eyes like she had something in her fucking eyes... smiling so hard that her eyes were literally missing from her fucking fac--”

the office door clicks open, and you see hyunjae walking in through your door in the reflection of the window.

the sharp sound of the zipper shutting the briefcase rings in the air like tearing a sheet of paper, and you shut off the main switch under your desk.

“y/n.”

a pen rolls off when you pick up your briefcase, coercing a frustrated groan out through your throat as you bend down to retrieve it.

“y/n, we said we’d have dinner together.”

“oh!” the sarcasm was dripping off your tongue, so when you turn to see his face, you know that he sees right through you.

but when has he not been able to?

“me? no! you have to get some of that mrs-choi-stew, don’t you?” steps were trying to take you away from him in the direction of the door, but you’ve barely made it past him when he grabs your upper arm without budging from his stance.

“kitten, wait.”

“don’t call me that and don’t tou--”

“kitten, are you jealous?”

“no, i’m not,” effort to writhe out of his hold becomes useless, but you struggle anyway. “let me go. i want to go home and--”

“so i’ll send you home and we can order takeaway.”

“no, i don’t need you to send me home--”

“i didn’t ask kitten. i’m telling you i will send you home and we will have takeaway.”

“ugh,” you vehemently yank your arm out of his grasp and glare at him. “do whatever you want, mr ‘my-wife-loved-you’.”

by the time you were in the car, hyunjae was very obviously finding some kind of fun and enjoyment watching you attempt to control how much your blood was boiling. he doesn’t say anything the whole ride to your place, and you try to convince yourself that you were only letting him drive you back because you didn’t want to pay for a cab or public transport.

but you remember that you love him now, and every little thing he does will end up crawling across the surface of your bones like ants on skin.

once in your apartment, you throw your keys into the basket atop the shoe rack by the door. your heels get kicked off and you dump your briefcase noisily on the kitchen island.

the front door clicks shut and you pull yourself onto the high-chair, occupying yourself with your phone and a menu you would rather have fill your guts than the thought of hyunjae flirting with his ex-girlfriend.

“kitten,” his feet shuffles against the floor and he places his briefcase in the hallway where it led to the front door.

oooh, sushi.

“kitten.”

maybe korean?

“kitten, look at me.”

“do you want sushi or--”

the device slides out of your hands and drops to the table with a soft thud, your high-chair being whirled around so suddenly before stopping abruptly.

the edge of the kitchen island etches itself against your spine as you lean back, one arm leaning on the surface while his fingers grip onto the edge of your seat.

“look me in the eye and tell me what’s wrong, kitten.”

is this man for real?

“for a smart man, you are really dense.”

“who said i didn’t know what’s wrong?”

what--

“i just wanted to hear you say it, that’s all.”

the skin on his cheek suddenly looked so plump and fitting for your palm to kiss.

“say it, kitten.”

“there’s nothing to say--”

“no, tell me you’re jealous, and that you never want me to let choi minhee flirt with me again.”

“i really wish i could stab you and get away with it.”

“you won’t even if you could, because you love me and that’s why you’re jealous.”

the smile on his face was so sweet, it makes you want to shove an insulin jab into your eye. he was so satisfied with the way you reacted, it was absolutely unbelievable that he was getting so much out of you.

his torso was rocking back and forth so slightly, his face leaning forward into yours. his flirtatious eyes locks with yours that were fuelled with anger and jealousy.

“i don’t think you deserve to hear anything because of what you let her d--”

you were interrupted in the form of a sudden kiss with his hands lining your jaw, eyes instinctively shutting upon the contact and your arms moving downwards to hold onto the edge of the chair.

unwillingly, you melt into the kiss like marshmallow over a bonfire between crackers.

it was gentle, like clouds in the sky and cotton candy on lips. he tasted sweet, with his lips buried between yours and his warmth seeping through his hands into your cheeks.

the anger and jealousy trickles into him with every passing second, and you marvel at his ability to have such immense control over your feelings. he didn’t even need to do much for you to become his kitten.

the kiss feels like eternity until he pulls away, lids slowly opening to reveal his slightly lustful eyes now.

he knows you’re starting to feel the same.

“say it, kitten, and we’ll forget about takeaway.”

a harsh exhale hits the top of his lip from your nose, and some tiny bit of anger and jealousy inside you surfaces.

“what if i don’t want to?”

he chuckles and tucks your hair behind your ear.

“why is it so hard for you to admit that you want me to yourself and the thought of having another woman in the picture kills you? you think i didn’t see how you wanted to use eric to piss me off just now?”

literally nothing you do gets past this man, it’s annoying.

you try to turn your head but he holds your chin and brings it back to him,

“don’t avoid me, kitten. you’ve been trying to get rid of me for 10 years... but look where that got us?”

his attention switches from your eyes to your neck, soft skin being littered with light kisses softens you even more.

“i’m waiting, kitten.”

a sigh that must’ve sounded like music to him rings in the air while his arms wrap themselves around your waist. your rear nearly gets lifted off the seat, so your left hand rests on his shoulder blade and the other finds his hair to tangle your fingers in.

“i hate you, do you know that?”

he smiles into your skin, and for a moment, it feels like pure bliss.

“but if you let anybody flirt with you like that and you flirt back, i’ll cut off your dick and make you watch it burn.”

one harsh suck evicts a gasp from you as you cringe under him. his strength channels through your spine as he lifts you off the seat and carries you to the sofa.

“that’s my girl.”

the rough texture of your sofa greets the back of your neck when he shoves his lips between yours once again, this time more desperate.

neither of you were trying to hide how much you were feeling for one another; all you wanted to do was to kiss him all night long and have his hands roam your body like he didn’t already know everything about it.

the kisses were desperate but slow and sensual, and the only piece of clothing that’s come off was his shirt.

so you could run your hands all over his torso, drawing circles and caressing the muscles on his back atop the soft squelch of your tongues and lips pressing together every second.

his forearms were resting on the sofa on either sides of your ears, biceps perching his torso up so he wasn’t crushing you under his weight.

your legs were apart on both sides of his hips and you could feel him fiddling with the button on your pants while he takes his time to press his bulge against your clothed core.

soft moans escape into his mouth, and you start to feel a heat gather in your underwear.

knock knock

hyunjae pulls away so fast, you register the emptiness on your lips before you process the sound.

knock knock

“y/n! are you at home? i thought i saw the backyard lights on!”

“oh, shit.”

of all times to come, your parents had to come now?!

you push hyunjae off you while removing yourself from under him, grabbing his shirt from the ground and recklessly hurling it into his face.

“put on your fucking shirt--”

“y/n, we can hear you inside! are you okay?”

“yes, i’m fine! give me a moment!” you run to the glass door of your backyard and fix your hair.

hyunjae barely gets his t-shirt on when you run over to the front door, opening it with a tiny gap to reduce the chances of your parents walking in on your sworn enemy being in your apartment.

“hi mom... dad...”

both of them look at you weird, but the scent of fried chicken garners your attention.

“you’re still in office attire-- have you eaten?”

“i--”

“i knew it. come on, we bought fried chicken to share,” your mother takes a step forward and tries to push the door open.

“ahH--”

she stops dead in her tracks, and your father shoots you a confused look.

“i-- well--”

“spit it out. the chicken’s gonna get cold if you don’t speak any faster.”

“i have a visitor with me right now--”

“a visitor? oh, goodie! we can all share, i’m pretty sure we got more than enough--”

“it’s not really a good time, mom--”

“nonsense! i can’t believe you invite others over and not your own parents!”

“well, this was impromt--”

clang

“ow!”

an awkward silence befalls between you and your parents. confused looks swamp their eyes and you struggle to contain your panic.

“is that--”

“that sounds strangely familiar...”

oh, god.

“we’ve heard this voice before, haven’t we, darling?” your mother turns around to look at your father, and your face distorts into an ugly mess of emotions when a second clang rings through the house, followed by a low curse that you were pretty sure your parents could hear too.

“we’ve definitely heard that before-- oh!” a light bulb appears above your father’s face, and you beg with your eyes not to say it--

“it’s that guy from your high school and college!”

your mother gasps, and she covers her mouth in shock.

“lee hyunjae?!”

“he--”

“LEE HYUNJAE! ARE YOU IN THERE?!”

“mom--”

“LEE HYUNJAE, WE HAVE CHICKEN!!! YOU WANT SOME?!”

oh, good god.

this is going to be a long night.

your parents were sitting across you at the table, with hyunjae sitting by your side.

the air between the party was heavy, awkward, dense.

your father was confused but cheerful.

your mother was shocked but she just couldn’t wipe that smug smile off her face whenever she gave hyunjae a piece of chicken.

“so... what brings you here?”

hyunjae looks like he was a deer caught in headlights when your mother takes a sip of soda after asking the question.

“i-- we... have a research project to work on.”

under the table, a familiar situation occurs to when you first had lunch with both eric and hyunjae.

his right hand finds your left thigh and he provides you a light squeeze, forcing you to clench down into the chicken you had in your mouth.

“oh,” your mother places the cup down. “y/n never told us she’s in the research department.”

“it’s a side job, apart from working with patients.”

heat starts to pool under you, and a chill involuntarily runs up your spine. his fingers were digging into your flesh on your inner thigh, and its only making you think horrible thoughts even with your parents before you.

“i see. must be real busy then? we haven’t seen her in like... what, eight weeks? since she started working at the hospital? the other day we wanted to drop by, but she said she was still working. it was a sunday, if i’m not wrong...”

“sunday? two weeks ago?” hyunjae side-eyes you when both your parents were looking at each other for confirmation.

your father pulls out his phone, nodding. “i believe it was sunday, i remember seeing the date when i texted her.”

“right, yeah. i saw her having takeaway in the pantry after dealing with a patient.”

great. now he knows i blew my parents off for him.

your thigh gets massaged over again, and it takes an immense amount of effort to swallow the moan that was already halfway up your neck. your heart was thumping so fast, you weren’t too sure why.

but your father finishes the last piece of chicken he has on his plate, and your mother gets up to wash some of the cutlery and utensils.

hyunjae’s palm finally leaves your thigh alone and you sigh with relief, watching your father peel little pieces of meat off the bones.

you watch in the glass panels of your backyard beyond your living room as hyunjae offers to help your mother wash the plates and cups, forgetting for a moment that your father was sitting right infront of you.

“what are you staring at?”

the white shirt hyunjae was wearing in the reflection loses your attention when your father catches your eyes wandering off axis.

“uh-- nothing!”

he turns around and looks at the glass panels.

“i thought i saw something in the backyard, that’s all.”

“oh,” he responds emptily, turning around. “i thought my hair was in a mess or something.”

my life is going to shorten by like 50 years.

your parents offer hyunjae a ride home (without knowing his car was sitting right outside your residence), and you butt in by telling them that he has to stay because he’s not done with his part of the project.

luckily, they miss his little grope on your rear when you escort them to the front door.

“it was such a nice surprise to see you again after all these years, hyunjae.”

hyunjae gives your mother a sheepish smile, leaning against the door frame with your shoulders perpendicular to his chest.

“we should meet up with your parents some time soon, it has been awhile. shouldn’t we, honey?”

your father nods, pulling up his sleeve to check the time.

“we have to go, honey. we both have a long day tomorrow.”

“okay,” she turns back to the both of you.

your relationship with your mother was never the best. but she looks at you with warm, soft eyes. eyes that said she was proud of you. eyes that said she was happy to be your mother.

and there was nothing more that could comfort you in that moment.

but your mother decides to ruin it, eventually.

“we’ll be taking our leave now...”

“oh, and uh... your shirt’s inside out, hyunjae.”

the look on your father’s face changes like a switch and he laughs at you, turning on his heels and making his way down the steps to the car.

a cheeky grin spreads your mother’s face when the both of you turn to look at hyunjae’s shirt, and the tag on the back was sticking out behind his neck.

she leaves without saying anything else, and they both wave to your embarrassed selves as the car drives off.

you wait until the car was no longer in sight, and then you choose to slam the door shut and give hyunjae a hard punch to his chest.

“you had one job!”

“you opened the door so fast!”

“it is a shirt-- how difficult is it to wear a shi-- oh, my god, they are going to call your parents. they are going to ask them out for a meal. we are going to need to go too. oh, my god--”

“kitten.”

“what?!”

“do me a favour and shut up.”

the dim hallway reminds you of the first time he has his hand wrapped around your throat. hours after you removed the oncology report from his folder meant to be submitted to doctor kim.

you remember the fiery hatred in his eyes. the burning sensation of the wine you downed just seconds before you got the door open, thinking it was your mother.

but this time, his hands were on your waist, his physique gently pressing against yours against the wall behind you when he fits his lips between yours.

you remember the feeling of the cool wine hitting your skin after the arrogant smile you had on your face was completely wiped away by him pinning you to the kitchen island.

your palms greet his chest as they slide up over his shoulders, getting your fingers tangled in his hair feels like he was becoming part of you.

as if he wasn’t already.

time?

one decade.

memories?

a million.

heartbreaks?

four in total, two each.

the first heartbreak, orchestrated by the enemy.

the second heartbreak, broken by a lover in silence.

death?

a better choice than being anywhere else besides in his arms.

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

Epilogue

A/N: I AM SAD

#hyunjae #lee hyunjae #the boyz hyunjae #the boyz #hyunjae fanfic #the boyz fanfic #timetohajima hostis #i am sad

122 notes · View notes