#If she hears 1 curse word she goes ballistic.

[beezybuzzn]

These 2 are stuck in my head

[lizamango]

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 2/?

A/N: Hi everyone! I’ve decided to call this fic Finding You, just to inform you for future chapters! Getting my second vaccine tomorrow!! 😁🤩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp​, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies

Word Count: 2345 (this is so fucking satisfying omg)

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Warnings: Just curse words, rewrites are hard but it’s kinda like shifting but through fanfiction??

Chapter Summary: Steve Rogers doesn’t trust you very much

Chapter 2: BUT YOU KNOW BETTER

On our way back, the STRIKE team is on celebration mode while Rogers is quiet. It won’t be a surprise if he goes to see Fury about the side mission I was assigned without his knowing. As we land on the Triskelion landing pad I watch as Captain Rogers leaves without a goodbye and heads to, undoubtedly, Fury’s office.

I tune into Fury’s communicator.

“Heads up, Fury. Angry Cap on your way. He found out about my mission.”

“Batroc?” he asks.

“He got away,” I answer regrettably.

“I’ll have international agents on high alert. You’ve done your part. Just leave the drive with me after Rogers.”

“Yes sir.”

I put all the weapons into the cache and go to clean up, changing out of my stealth suit and into a SHIELD hoodie and sweats that I keep in the locker for after missions. I wait by Fury’s office doors and he finally emerges from the elevator without an angry Cap.

“Gave him a little tour of Project Insight,” he says as he unlocks his office.

I walk in behind him. “That’s brave of you.”

“He didn’t like it.” He takes a seat and so did I.

“I’m sure he didn’t.” I fish out the hard drive and put it on the table. “One super secret hard drive for Nicholas J Fury,” I announce like a waitress.

“Good job.”

“He didn’t think so.”

“I want you to keep an eye on him. Just make sure he doesn’t do anything, alright?”

“What could he possibly do?” I raise my brows.

“He isn’t on board. I need you to get him there.”

“Don’t you already have an agent assigned to him?”

“Agent 13 is for when he’s off duty. You will be there for when he’s on.”

I scoff. “Have you met the guy? That’s all the time.”

“That’s an order, Agent.”

I nod. “Fine. Have you heard anything else on HYDRA?”

“The last reliable intel we have is three years old now, Y/N. It’s hard to track them down.”

“I don’t understand why you had to take me out. I was getting close to something. Someone. I don’t know.”

“Finding the world’s greatest soldier just took precedent. You weren’t getting anywhere for a whole year. Whatever it was, they packed it up tight.”

“Because it was something big,” I defend. “I still think you made the wrong choice. Captain America doesn’t need two babysitters.”

“Well, you try being asleep and waking up 70 years after to a whole new world and see how you feel. You’re dismissed. Get some rest. Make nice with the old man.”

I get up and leave his office. Make nice…. How do I do that when he doesn’t trust me anymore?

I get a ride home from Fitz who congratulated me on completing the mission.

“So what was he like?”

“He doesn’t like me very much,” I chuckle.

“Why not? What did you do?” he asks in an accusing tone.

“Me?!”

“He’s the perfect man, what could he have done?”

I roll my eyes but don’t answer. We arrive at my apartment and I thank Fitz for the ride back.

Unlocking my door I go straight to the bathroom for a bath. I run the water to the perfect temperature and add a bath bomb that turns the water a glittery lilac scented with lavender. I also light a candle that crackles like a fireplace that emits a subtle smokey French vanilla. A girl’s gotta treat herself. After a good long soak I get out and decide to rest up not wanting to do anything for the rest of the day.

I wake from my nap to the ringing of my phone. Reaching over to my bedside table I read the screen which has nothing but the number 1212. Well, that can’t be good.

“This is L/N,” I say.

“I need you to find the star. Keep your guard up.”

Shit, I think as I jump out of bed and get dressed in something inconspicuous. Black trousers, leather combat boots, a Kevlar vest under a back hoodie, two pistols on my belt and a knife tucked in each boot. I pick up a grey Von Dutch trucker hat on my way out.

Walking is the safest option so I navigate toward Steve Rogers’ DC apartment that he was relocated to after the New York Invasion as he decided to become a full time SHIELD agent.

I arrive outside his apartment and see Sharon on her way out.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Mission. Waiting for the Captain,” I say. I look at her scrubs. “How you liking the infectious disease ward?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Well it’s just a uniform. I guess it’s better than people shooting armour piercing bullets at me.”

“I’ll see you ‘round, Kate,” I wave, using her alias.

I track Steve’s whereabouts on my phone and see that he’s at a counselling centre for veterans. Fair enough, it’s good to admit you need help.

What do you want me to do here, Fury? I wonder to myself. I decide to do a perimeter check for any bugs, wire taps or double agents.

I reach an alleyway and after peering into it I hear the scraping of a manhole against the ground. I reach for my gun and keep it to the side as I slowly approach it.

I hear a grunt and raise the gun.

“Agent,” I immediately recognize the voice as Fury’s. “Stand down.”

“Shit, Fury.” I holster the gun and help him out of the manhole. “What happened, who did this?”

“Not safe,” he says in pain.

“W-where do we go? Rogers isn’t inside.” I inspect his wounds. “Looks like you have multiple fractures on your left arm and abdominal bruising-“

“Car ambush,” he utters as he approaches the fire escape. “Stay out here, keep a look out.” He pushes a phone into my hand, I don’t recognize it as his day to day. “Anything happens, secure line 0405. I have to… get to Rogers. Do not engage unless enemies fire first.”

“Fury-“

“That’s an order.”

I put the phone into my back pocket and stay behind as he climbs up and through the Captain’s Window.

The sky is starting to darken so I make my way through the perimeter again. Sharon returns and shortly after that, Rogers arrives, weary but alert. Just as a soldier would.

I hear some 40s music coming from the walls of the Captain’s apartment. I suppose he heard it too and got suspicious because he exits his apartment building to climb up the very same fire escape that Fury did.

My eyes follow him up and survey the roof of the building for any suspicious activity.

Suddenly three shots are fired right into one of the apartment building’s walls.

“Fuck!” I whisper, looking for the source.

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs,” I hear one of my comms come through. It’s Sharon’s voice.

“Do we have a 20 on the shooter?” a dispatcher responds.

Before I know it, Captain Rogers is jumping out of his window and into the building the shots came from.

“Captain Rogers is in pursuit,” Agent Carter says.

I follow the Captain as he runs through a building following the shooter while he runs on the roof. They don’t fight but Rogers manages to throw the shield at him and does what some would say impossible as he catches it and throws it back just as hard. I stop where I am and just observe which is what Fury wanted me here for. The shooter jumps from the building and it looks like he catches himself using his… metal… arm. I look up and see Rogers standing at the edge of the rooftop, looking back down the shooter is out of sight.

“Transporting Foxtrot to BridgePoint Hospital Capitol Hill,” the dispatcher says from my comms. After sweeping the place one more time for any sign of the shooter and coming up empty I decide to take a cab to the hospital.

I put out an arm but it’s not a cab that stops in front of me.

“Get in, L/N.”

“Hill?” I get into the passenger’s seat and she starts to drive. “You’re supposed to be –“

“Fury called.”

“He was shot.”

“I know. Ballistics will tell us more at the hospital.”

“He’s gonna be okay,” I say but it’s more for my comfort than hers.

We arrive at the hospital and Maria takes a phone call while I find his room number, viewing the operation through the glass. Rogers is already there.

“Is he gonna make it?” I ask the Captain.

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me about the shooter.”

“He’s fast. Strong. Had a metal arm.”

“Ballistics?” I ask, knowing he can hear Hill’s conversation outside.

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” he answers and looks at me.

Hill enters.

“Soviet-made,” I add as I put the picture together in my head.

“How did you know?”

I don’t get to answer her as the surgeons and nurses say that Fury’s in V-tach and rush to solve the problem.

“Fuck’s sake, Fury,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.” My hands start to shake as they lose his pulse and can’t bring him back. I notice that I’m mumbling something repeatedly but I can’t realise what.

I feel Rogers leave as the team gives up.

“Time of death, 1:03am,” the doctor calls.

I watch them wheel him out as Hill goes too. Taking a deep breath, I walk outside into the hallway.

“How did you know they were soviet-made?” Rogers asks, following me.

“Do you trust me?” I ask him, turning to face him.

“No. How did you know?”

“Why are you asking me when you don’t trust me?”

“Why are you dodging the question?”

“Cap!” Rumlow calls. “They want you back at SHIELD.”

“Give me a minute.”

“They want you now.”

“Okay,” he replies irritated.

“You’re not gonna ask me what Nick was doing in my apartment?” he asks.

“I know what he was doing there. Do you?” I raise a brow and turn on my heel, walking away.

I see Maria in the viewing room with Fury’s… body.

“I need to take him,” she says. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, alright?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a child, Maria.”

“Do you want a ride anywhere?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“What, you’re just gonna hang around here until Rogers comes back?”

Yes that’s exactly what I was going to do. “No.”

She chuckles and walks away. I wait for all the SHIELD and STRIKE agents to clear out of the floor to go back into the waiting area. I go to the vending machine to pick up a snack and notice something that shouldn’t be there… the drive I gave Fury with SHIELD intel hidden behind three packets of bubble gum. Frowning I buy out the stack until the drive also falls to the dispenser. I take a seat, waiting for Rogers.

I don’t realise when I fell asleep until someone shakes me gently.

“I heard.”

I look up and it’s Sharon. “Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you have an assignment debriefing to give?” I reply.

She shrugs. “That can wait. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Did you wanna know what Fury was doing at Rogers’ apartment too?” I ask, suspicious.

“Do you know?”

I nod.

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

“Fury trusts – trusted him,” I correct myself. “That means we have to.”

A beeping comes from her wrist communicator and she sighs. “I have to go. I’ll keep you in the loop about what happens at the Triskelion.”

I frown. “Why would I need to be kept in the loop?”

“Because I know you’re gonna be on the run, soon. With him. To find that shooter. Pierce won’t like that you’re after him outside of mission directives…”

“I know. You be careful, Sharon.”

She smiles stiffly and I know it’s because she’s worried about me. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were being careless and rash.”

“But you know better.”

She chuckles softly and turns to leave. I get up walk around to stretch my legs. Where the fuck is Rogers?

An hour passes and I’m back where I started but I see the man of the hour stop in front of the vending machine. I pop a strip of gum in my mouth and walk up behind him, blowing a bubble.

His face sharpens and he sighs then pulls me by the arm and takes us into a room.

“Where is it?”

“Safe.”

“Do better.”

“Fury trusted me. I’m on your side if he trusts you.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone. That’s the problem. That’s why he’s dead,” he says harshly.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Rogers sighs and pulls away. “What’s on it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the Pirates didn’t you?” he accuses.

No, no I didn’t. Stunned, I blink at the news. “Made sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you.”

“How did you know it was Soviet-made?” he repeats his earlier question, losing patience.

“I know who killed Fury,” I say. “The metal arm… I knew as soon as I saw it. 2009, Natasha had a mission in Odessa. Someone shot out her tires and killed the engineer she was protecting by shooting right through her. Soviet slug, no rifling. Metal arm. The intelligence community call him The Winter Soldier. I’ve heard him as the Asset. That’s who killed Fury.”

“How do we find him?”

“He’s been credited with two dozen assassinations in the last 50 years, Rogers. You don’t go after him. I’ve tried.”

He looks up at that, as if surprised. But he doesn’t know half the shit I’ve been through while working for SHIELD.

“So he’s a shadow.”

“Was.” I pull the drive out of my pocket and hold it up to him.

“Let’s find the Asset, then.”

 💖

Thank you for reading! I’ll update once I’ve finished Chapter 4 but I am busy this weekend!

Chapter 3

[thewidowsghost]

Fox - Chapter 30

Previously on Fox:

"Good, send some -" (Y/n)'s cut off by a loud ping that even Natasha could hear, and a thump into ground. It detonates, and Natasha's eyes widen in fear, hoping that the worst hadn't happened. "Okay, that's not cool," (Y/n) says, grunting and Natasha is able to breath again.

"Shit!" (Y/n) curses as another ping sounds and then the call ends, with Natasha staring at the phone in shock.

Natasha pulls her phone off the plugin and takes a picture of the call's origin, and dials Clint's number. "Clint, we've got a problem?"

Clint freezes at the distress in Natasha's voice. "Nat? What is it?"

"(Y/n)'s been kidnapped!" Natasha answers. Clint's eyes widen in horror, Laura turning to stare at her husband, the brunette having heard since the phone had been on speaker.

3rd Person POV

All Tony Stark can hear are nightmarish, garbled voices, and sees probing lights. Tony thrashes against a belt restraining him to a table.

Then he gets flashes, a red scalpel, blood-splattered hands, a man, looking down on him. The man yells to someone in Arabic, and Tony is held down, a chloroform is pressed to his face.

Tony flickers awake, disoriented. A tube protrudes from his nose. He sees bald man, tanned skin, and brown eyes, behind wire rimmed glasses.

Tony looks over, seeing a jug of water on the table. He tries to speak, and realizes it's from the nasal-tube. Tony pulls at the tube, gagging as two feet of tubing slithers from his nose.

"...water...water," Tony whispers hoarsely.

The bald man continues humming, and frustrated, Tony yanks the IV from his arm and stretches for the water, but is stopped by a wire, under his chest bandages, snapping taut.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the unknown man tells Tony.

Tony follows the wire with his eyes and finds, to his horror, that it's hooked up to a car battery. He starts clawing at his chest bandages and the bald man turns. Tony sees an ugly chest wound, too much for the billionaire to handle and she swoons.

Hours later, the bald man is stirring a bubbling pot on the furnace, and he glances at Tony, who wakes up on the cot. Tony eyes the bulky chest-piece protruding from his fresh bandages.

"What have you done to me?" Tony asks.

"What did I do?" The bald man asks sarcastically. "I removed what I could, but there's a lot left headed for your atrial septum. Do you want a souvenir?" He tosses Tony a jar with a ton of bloody Christmas tree shaped barbs. Tony regards the shrapnel and he drops the jar. "I've seen many wounds like this in my village. The walking dead we called them, because it took a week the barbs to reach vital organs. I anchored a magnetic suspension system to the plate. It's holding the shrapnel in place ... at least for now."

Tony struggles up, sitting up on the cot, and notices a surveillance camera on the cave wall.

"That's right, smile," the bald man says. Pausing for a moment, then he continues, "We met once - at a technical conference in Bern."

"I don't remember," Tony says, looking confused.

"You wouldn't," the bald man says. "If I'd been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand, much less give a talk on integrated circuits."

"Where are we?" Tony asks.

A slot in the door opens and a pair of dark eyes stares in. The bald man drops his spoon and puts his hands on his head. "Stand up! Do as I do. Now!" he orders. Tony gets to his feet, but can't get his hands up, and the bald man helps him. "Listen to me, whatever they ask you, refuse. You understand? You must refuse?"

The door opens and a man, Abu Bakar, enters with two armed Henchmen standing a little behind him. On one of the henchmen's wrist, he sees Jimmy's bright orange Mets watch from the earlier convoy.

"Welcome Tony Stark, the greatest mass murderer in the history of America," the Bakar says in Arabic. "It's a great honor." The bald man translates the main man's words for Tony. Bakar looks Tony up and down like a prized horse, then continues in Arabic, "I want you to build this for me - the Jericho missile you were demonstrating." Bakar holds out a photo, a surveillance image of the Jericho Missile launch. The bald man translates the previous statement.

". . . I refuse," Tony says and the bald dude backhands Tony across the face, going ballistic.

"You refuse? You will do everything he says. This is the great Abu Bakar. You're alive only because of his generosity. You are nothing. Nothing! He offers you his hospitality, and you answer only with insolence He will not be refused. You will die in a pool of your own blood!" the bald man screams at Tony. Bakar spoons at the bald man's food, and throws a look of smug satisfaction. He heads out, his two henchmen behind him, and he slams the door shut.

"Perfect," the bald man tells Tony. "You did very well, Stark." Tony looks utterly perplexed. "Good, I think they're staring to trust me." he returns to his cooking. "Well, that's the end of my plan."

A little while later, Tony is jostled awake by Bakar's henchmen, who wrestle a hood over his head. And he struggles as he's pulled to his feet, clutching his car battery hooked to his heart.

After a few minutes of walking, the hood is ripped off of Tony's head and he squints into the stinging daylight, his expression turning to shock as he takes in the scenery.

In a bowl of tall mountain, camouflaged tarps are furled, revealing tons of Stark Industries weapons dating back to the 80s, some of the logos faded and some new.

Tony, stunned staggers along the creates, the bald man following. "Quite a collection, isn't it?" he asks.

"How did they get all this?" Tony asks.

The brown eyed man translates for Bakar, "As you can see, they have everything you need to build the Jericho. He says make a list of materials. You will start work right away and when you are done, he will set you free."

Tony sees a heavily armed and imposing man, surrounded by several men, acting as pilot fish around him.

"No," Tony murmurs, "he won't."

"... no he won't," echoes the bald man.

Days later, James Rhodes and General Gabriel and a team of assets, along with Agent Clint Barton are assessing the remains of (Y/n) and Tony's convoy.

"Something's not right," Clint says, the blond looking up the two.

"Looks like a standard hit and run," General Gabriel says.

"Sir, I'm telling you, this was a snatch and grab," Rhodes says, a confused look on his face. "A perfectly executed linear ambush. As soon as they got what they wanted, they melted away."

"Intel's on it, we're in good hands. If they're out there, we'll get them," the General says.

"With your permission, I'd like to stay in theater and head up the search and investigation," Rhodes says.

"There's a PR firestorm brewing over this," the General answers. "Right now, the best way to serve your country is to get back there and handle it."

"Both Tony and (Y/n) Stark are the DOD's numbers one and two intellectual assets, and I can be one of value in the field," Rhodes counters.

"Duly noted, but we need you back home," Gabriel says, then he turns, walking away, adding. "Colonel, it's not lost on me that Tony Stark is a lifelong friend, and (Y/n) is your honorary niece."

Rhodey nods and heads for his Humvee as things are beginning to be packed up. Clint looks around, a look of grief spreading across his face as he realizes that it might take a lot longer than he thought to find his friend.

A few days later, Tony is sitting in a wheelbarrow by the furnace, wrapped in an Army surplus blanket, Yinsen, the bald man looming over him.

"I'm sure they're looking for you, Stark, but they will never find you here," Yinsen tells him. "That car battery is running out ... and thy wont turn on the generator till you start to work." Tony doesn't say anything and Yinsen continues. "You don't like what you saw out there, did you? I didn't like it either when those weapons destroyed my village. What you just saw, that's your legacy - you life's work in the hands of the murderers. Is that how you want to go out? Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark? Or are you going to try to do something about it?"

"Why should I do anything, they're either going to kill me or I'm going to die in a week?" Tony says, despair evident in his voice.

"Then this is a very important week for you," Yinsen tells Stark.

A little while later, the lights come on as the generator is started. Bakar is flanked by several guards and watches as one of their guards goes to refuel the generator, then walks the gas can to a cage, housing a fuel drum, locking that down too.

"Okay, here's what I need," Tony says, packing back and forth, barking what he needs while more of Bakar's guards carry in missiles and materials. Yinsen follows, translating as Tony assesses his work area. "S-Category missiles. Lot 7042. The S-30 explosives tritonal. And a dozen of the S-76. Mortars: M-Category #1, 4, 8, 20, and 60. M-229's, I need eleven of these. Mines: the pre-90s AP 5s and AP 16s." Bakar's men dart about, grabbing the materials. "... this area free of clutter, with good light. I want it at 12 o'clock to the door to avoid logjams. I need welding gear - acetylene or propane, helmets, a soldering set-up with goggles, and smelting cups. Two full sets of precision tools.  Bakar starts getting exasperated by the never-ending list. "Finally, I need: three pairs of tube socks, white, a toothbrush, protein powder, spices, sugar, five pounds of tea, and some playing cars," Yinsen pauses a moment during the translation at the last request. "And a washing machine. Top load."

Bakar's eyes bulge, and he gets into Tony's face. "A washing machine!? Does he think I'm a fool!?" he yells in Arabic.

Tony talks to Bakar, "Must have everything. Great Satan makes big boom-kill for powerful Abu Bakar. Big boom-kill."

After a while, the two men get all of their materials. Tony pulls open a missile-housing and removes a glass ring from the inner workings of it's guts then he leads Yinsen up to a large missile crate.

They remove the chip-rack cylinder form a larger warhead.

"You do know they've removed all the explosives before they brought this to us," Yinsen says.

"I know," Tony says. "They're crazy, not stupid." Tony walks the heavy chip-rack to teh work-bench and removes a tiny palladium strip. "This is what we're looking for. I need eleven of these."

"Eleven?"

A little bit later, Yinsen removes all of the chip-rack cylinders, bring them to Tony, and the billionaire extracts all the palladium strips.

"Heat the palladium to 1825 degrees Kelvin," Tony instructs.

Yinsen at the furnace asks, "How will I know when it reaches that temperature?"

"The palladium will melt."

Tony wraps a copper coil around the glass ring, and drops the palladium strips into a crucible on the fire. Tiny sculpts a sand-mold of melted palladium to Tony.

"Careful, careful..." Tony warns.

"Relax," Yinsen says. "I always had steady hands. It's why you're still alive."

"Oh yeah, thanks. What do I call you?"

"My name is Yinsen," Yinsen says.

"Nice to meet you," Tony nods to the brown haired man.

"Nice to meet you, too," Yinsen says.

Tony lifts the palladium ring out of the mold with a tweezer.

A little while later, Tony is plugging a cable into the generation.

"What are you shaving for? We're almost done," Tony asks.

Yinsen, taking his time shaving tells Tony, "Look like an animal, and soon you'll start behaving like one."

Tony throws a generator switch and lights find in and out. The finished RT device, wired to the generator cable, beginning to glow on the workbench.

Yinsen wipes his face and trails Tony to the workbench. He undoes the wires, holding up the glowing RT device, "That doesn't look like a Jericho missile."

"That's because it's a miniature ARK reactor. It should suspend the shrapnel in my chest and keep it from entering my heart," Tony explains.

"What an original invention," Yinsen mutters sarcastically.

"Yeah, but this one's going to last a little longer than a week."

"It's pretty small, what can it generate?"

"The gigajoules - per second."

Yinsen marvels at the words, "That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes."

"Or something very big for fifteen minutes," Tony says, and the two men's gazes meet for a moment. Then Tony says, "Let's put it in."

Back in Malibu, Pepper Potts enters Tony's office and is surprised to Obadiah Stane sitting behind Tony's desk, his head in his hands. "Sorry, did I startle you?" he asks.

"A little..." Pepper murmurs and Stane watches as Pepper swaps yesterday's unread L.A. Times and Wall Street Journal with today's. Something she did everyday, like a vigil.

Stane rises, gazing out the windows at the vast Stark Industries compound, Pepper coming up behind him.

"This was a bad idea, I should never had let them go over there..." Stane starts to break down, and Pepper places a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey... we've got to be strong, they're both going to be okay," Pepper says crumbling inside herself.

Obadiah composes himself, and nods.

Back in Afghanistan, while Tony is working on the Jericho, a certain (H/C) headed woman isn't fairing too well.

Strapped to a metal bed, a knife sticking out of her left shoulder, cuts and bruises littering her arms, legs, and face, her head lying on the cold, hard metal.

She begins drifting off to sleep, but is startled awake as a bucket of cold water is dumped on her.

(Y/n) opens her (E/C) eyes, the usual gentle eyes full of pain and anger, dark bags visible under the woman's eyes.

Bakar walks in, a nasty smile on his face. "Turns out, you father is more cooperative than we though."

"You an asshole," (Y/n) growls.

Two men advance on (Y/n), knives in hand, and she holds back her screams of pain as they cross over half-healed cuts and bruises.

Weeks later, Tony has a beard and is filthy now, cutting metal flat-stock with a torch. His shirt is ripped open, revealing the glowing RT device in his shirt. Tony snuffs the torch, looking over his shoulder at Yinsen, who is concentrating on building a backgammon board.

Tony secretly begins filling a cylinder with gas from the torch.

Yinsen glances at Tony, "Stark, tell me what you're doing, and I'll tell you what I'm doing."

"Looks to me like you're making a crappy backgammon board," Tony infers.

"Crappy?" Yinsen asks incredulously. "This is Lebanese cedar."

"Is that where you're from, Lebanon?" Tony wonders.

"I'm impressed you even know what this is. How about we play, and if I win, you tell me what you're really making."

"'A' I don't know what your talking about. 'B' I was the backgammon champ at MIT four years running."

"Interesting," Yinsen says, "I was the champion at Cambridge."

"Please don't use 'interesting' and Cambridge in the same sentence," Tony pauses. "It that still a school?" he wonders.

"It's a university. You probably haven't heard about it since Americans can't get in."

"Unless their teaching," Tony points out.

After a little while, Tony wipes his face, pulls on a pair of gloves as he goes to the furnace. He takes a white-hot piece of metal from the forge and starts pounding on it.

Yinsen, smoldering a complex circuit, looks up. "My people have a tail, about a Prince - much hated by his King - who was banished to the underworld and jailed there ..."

The hammer echoes on the anvil and Yinsen continues, "The evil King gave him the most difficult labor - working the iron pits. Year after year, the Prince mined the heavy ore, becoming so strong that he could crush pieces of it with his bare hands. Too late, teh King realized his mistake. When he struck at the Prince with his finest sword - it broke in half. The Prince himself had become strong as iron..."

Tony, sweating, holds up the metal he's been working on, a crudely shaped iron mask. He tosses the mask down, and it lies there smoking and pulsing with heat.

Back at Stark Industries, Pepper watches Stane and Rhodey in close, heavy conversation. Obadiah, grave, looks over and catches Pepper's eye, then he walks off, shaking his head.

Rhodey starts walking out, but Pepper steps into his path. "So that's it?" Pepper asks, her voice cracking. "Everyone's pulling the plug and moving on..."

"There's nothing left we can do. If there was any indication that (Y/n) and Tony are still alive," Rhodey says softly.

"Spare me," Pepper snaps. "I read the official e-mail. Thought maybe you'd have something else to say." Rhodey follows Pepper into her office. "If anyone could figure out how to beat the odds, it's those two. If it was you over there, they'd be finding a way to get you back," Pepper pauses. "Or inventing a new one."

"What do you want me to do?" Rhodey asks.

"Be a better friend," Pepper says storming out out of her office, leaving Rhodey feeling stung.

A few hours later, Rhodey slings a duffel bag in front of a C-17, is shipping out on a line of soldiers. General Gabriel pulls up in a golf cart and approaches. Everyone salutes; the General pulls Rhodey aside.

"What do you think you're doing, Rhodes?"

"Going back there, Sir," Rhodes says.

"Listen, son - it's been three months without a single indication that either of the Starks are still alive. We can't keep risking assets, least of all, you."

"Are you blocking my transfer, Sir?" Rhodes asks.

"Any one of those guys would kill for your career," the General looks around, catching sight of a blond man and a black haired woman in black leather walking towards them, the man has a bow and quiver strapped to his back. "Are you willing to sacrifice that to fly a bunch of snake-eaters on the desert patrol half way around the world?"

"I am, sir," Rhodey says, and the blond, standing a few feet away, nods in approval.

"Than I have one thing to say to you: Godspeed," the General says, then motions the blond forward.

"I'm Agent Barton," Clint says and the General nods. "This," he gestures to the Asian woman, “is Agent May. We're with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." The archer couldn't even bring himself to say SHIELD with one of his best friends missing. "We'd like to go with Colonel Rhodes, with your permission sir."

The General nods and the three turn and head up the ramp and into the loading bay.

Word Count: 3226 Words

So... Yeah...

I feel super bad about all of this, but hopefully, something good happens in the next chapter... 😣

So, see y'all!

Love,            Kaitlynn ❤😍

Imma tag peoples now: @confusinggemini612, @gay-disaster826, @thelastavenger-3000, @osugahunnyicedtea, @night-howl199, @minicastle, @happilyeverafterfantasybooks, @billiebanner, @me-and-sweatpants, @scottjudah, @scarlet-raccoon, @whore-for-charlynch, @nyx-aria, @night-howl199, @brittanyrenne2004, @juegamiri29, @minicastle, @peggycarter-steverogers, @gay-disaster826, @guitargodme, @avengers-avenging, @natashadeservedbetter2, @awesomesuperbat2universe, @witchxaf, @marvel325​, @natashadeservedmore

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (32/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: all of my thanks to all of you for reading these words and enjoying them and to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading all of these words beforehand to make sure they make sense ❤️

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Killian’s shoulder is stiff when he wakes up. It’s not necessarily painful which is more than good considering how it’s been for a few weeks now, but it is definitely stiff. He’s sure that it has to do with spending most of yesterday stuck in a car with the Nolans because there were photographers waiting for him at the airport, and he immediately told David to turn around because he was not going in there with vultures waiting for him like that.

That decision may as well have screwed up his shoulder that little bit more, but sitting in the safety of Mary Margaret’s SUV is probably exactly what kept his mind intact.

No one in that car asked him any questions about his dad or his injury or Milah. No one there brought up everything he’s trying to forget. It’s simply a little hard to forget it all when he was trying to watch his team’s game last night and thirty minutes was spent talking about an article that is apparently determined to take over his life.

Fuck Walsh Osborne and fuck Brennan Jones.

They deserve nothing.

All he’s trying to do is play baseball and live his life. He never wanted any of this. He never asked for any of it.

The past two days of his life have been hell, and he’s been away from it all where it couldn’t honestly and truly get to him. Killian’s been in Maine trying to have a good time with his girlfriend and her family, and he’s avoided his phone as much as possible so as to not see all of the backlash. Emma has done the same.

Of course, he did have an extremely concerned brother who was also torn apart by their shitty excuse of a father lying and finally using them for money he’s probably already gambling away. He also had Elsa and Anna worried sick. That’s not even mentioning Will and Robin or Eric and Ariel.

God, Ariel.

She’d gone absolutely ballistic. Killian doesn’t think he’s ever actually heard that many curse words come out of her mouth, but in the hour that he spent talking to her (it was pretty much fifty minutes of her talking, ten minutes of him, and that’s being generous), he learned about an entirely new side of Ariel Fisher.

Or, at least, her mouth.

She is willing to go to war for him. All of these people are, and as flattered and grateful as Killian is for that, right now he is exhausted. Simply thinking about everything that’s going on in his life is exhausting. Hell, he’s just woken up thirty seconds ago, and his brain has already focused in on these catastrophic parts of his life in the damn article and his damn shoulder.

He’ll have to do some of his exercises before he goes into the stadium to meet with Archie for his physical therapy.

Physical therapy before physical therapy. What a concept.

He’ll also have to read the press statement that Ariel has written to be released. It’s all carefully thought out and lawyer approved and absolutely everything that he doesn’t want to say. He wants to say that the people spreading lies about him are the fucking scum of the earth. Instead he has to release a statement politely stating that while he doesn’t usually give out comments on his personal life, he will say that there are parts of his past of which he is not proud but they are in the past. They are not part of his present.

There’s some shit in there about his father and how his words were untrue, but he left that part to Ariel and some of the team’s PR managers to write. Killian knows that he’s too emotional about that to say anything that is even remotely acceptable.

The one part of the statement that he carefully crafted himself is the one at the end where he states in very clear words that Emma has earned every bit of her success in her career, exemplifies the height of professionalism every day, and that insinuating that a woman has advanced in her career because of who she is dating is a form of sexism that he will not tolerate. He may have screwed up in the past when he asked her out, but he’s learning that stupid questions and games aren’t always okay no matter how well-intended they are. Other people should learn too.

That’s all that he cares about the world knowing. They can think all kinds of shit about him and his past and what he did to his father, but they’re not going to get to think that Emma has slept her way up the ladder.

There’s no way in hell.

Slowly, Killian moves to sit up in bed, the covers barely draped over his waist, and starts doing a few short movements with his arm. Emma is still asleep on her side of the bed, nearly all of the blanket bunched around her, and he has to be careful not to wake her up. She is not a fan of being woken up for anything other than food or sex. And sometimes not even those two.

(She always wakes up for food.)

He pads out of his bedroom and down the hallway to the room where he keeps his gym equipment. It’s supposed to be a spare bedroom, but since he already has one of those, he didn’t see the point in having two when he has more use for a bit of a personal gym. Slipping into his sneakers and tying the laces, Killian gets dressed to go for his morning jog. He’s still half asleep, is still wearing the sweatpants that he slept in, but this is going to have to work. He turns on the television so that he has something to distract himself, finding whatever morning show that it is that airs for what seems like ten hours a day, and then he starts a slow jog to try to loosen himself up a little bit.

And to make himself forget.

Focusing on the different ways that his body aches and on the way that he’d rather be in bed usually keeps his mind off of everything else that’s in there fighting for dominance.

Nothing like killing himself with exercise to calm himself down.

It’s an hour run, no more and no less, and sweat is dripping down his entire body by the time that he’s finished. Killian has to towel himself down, wiping away the sweat from his chest and his back before running the cloth through his hair. His shoulder is still stiff, so he picks up the free weights and runs through a few repetitions until he knows that he can’t push himself any further.

In the past, Killian has always pushed himself past his limits, especially when his mind is the one attacking him, but he can’t do that anymore. That’s how he ends up in situations like this.

That and lying his ass off about the kind of pain he’s in.

By the time he finishes exercising, the sun has risen outside, sunshine shining brightly through the glass windowpanes. Having such large windows everywhere is great until he has a bit of a headache and needs a large cup of coffee, about a gallon of water, and something to eat.

Water. He desperately needs water right now. And food.

Killian takes off his socks and shoes and wanders into the kitchen, fixing himself a glass of cold water to drink before making himself some oatmeal. It’s not really what he wants, but it will have to do for this morning. He’ll eat something more filling in the clubhouse.

Soft hands wrap around his stomach, gentle fingers trailing up and down the hair on his chest, and Killian can feel Emma pressing into him and nuzzling her nose in between his shoulder blades. He smiles and puts his spoon back in the bowl on his countertop before placing his hand over both of hers and patting against his abs. Her lips are smooth when they press against his skin in response.

“I thought this a few days ago,” she mumbles, and he can practically hear the sleepy smile in her voice, “but I’m incredibly happy with my life choices right now.”

“And why’s that, love?”

“You’re really damn hot.”

Killian snorts, unable to help himself, and chalks up the heat in his cheeks to him still being warm from exercise. “And by that you mean incredibly sweaty and gross from my workout.”

Emma hums against his skin and tightens her arms around his stomach. “You know, that is exactly what I was trying to say.”

“I thought so. How’d you sleep?”

“Really good actually.” She kisses his back once more before releasing him and stepping around to the side so that he can see her rumpled hair and the way that the t-shirt she’s wearing is falling off of her shoulder. Emma hops up onto the counter, something she’s been doing a lot lately in the mornings, and lets her legs dangle. There are red pillow marks against her cheek. “Your bed is about a million times more comfortable than the one at Ruth’s. I think it hurt my back.”

Killian chuckles and moves to take another bite of his oatmeal before the remaining bit gets cold. “So, you turn twenty-eight in a month, and you’re already preparing to be an old woman. I like that you’re ahead of the game.”

“Twenty-eight is in no way old. Plus, you’re, like, nine months older than me, so you’re not allowed to ever call me old.”

“Nine months is not a long time.”

“Tell that to a pregnant woman.”

“True,” Killian admits, scooping up some more oatmeal. “Do you want something to eat before you go get ready for work?”

“Not hungry.”

“You are always hungry in the morning, Swan.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The pieces click together in Killian’s mind, and he sighs before stepping in between her legs and reaching his hands up to push all of her stray hairs behind her ears so that he can look into the emerald of her eyes. “So, you’re nervous then?”

“Nope.”

“Emma.”

“I’m nervous as hell,” she admits. That didn’t take much coaxing. “I don’t think…I mean, no one is going to say anything to me. I’m almost sure of it, especially because the only people I’m working with today are Ruby and Jeff and the guys…but I feel like.” She sighs, and he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek to get her to look back up at him. “I feel like I’m going to have to start over again.”

“You’re not going to have to start over.”

Emma nods her head and leans her cheek into his palm while her eyes close, blonde lashes landing against freckles. “I know. I’m just – I never got to have anything that was simply mine until I was older. I always had to share everything, if there was anything to share. But my work: that has always been mine. Having to deal with people trying to take that away from me is terrifying.”

“No one,” he starts, tapping his thumb, “is taking your job away from you. Are the comments you’re inevitably getting going to suck? Yes. But they’re not true. You know they’re not true, and I know they’re not true. My Emma is too strong to let the words of some misogynistic assholes bring her down.”

She chuckles and opens her eyes before leaning forward and pressing her forehead against his. Her lips brush over his, nothing more than the lightest of fleeting kisses, but her lips never leave his long enough for him to feel her falling away. Emma’s hands ghost over his neck until they’re landing on his shoulders, nails digging into skin, and her lips start moving over his in a slow, lazy kiss that has him tasting the mint of her toothpaste and feeling the warmth of her tongue.

Killian hums into it, tilting his head to the right to deepen the kiss, and Emma’s hands pull him closer into her while the hairs on his arms stand at attention. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of kissing her, not like this. And not when her lips trail along his jaw and down his neck, tongue flat against his pulse.

“Darling, as much as I want you, and trust me, I always want you, we don’t have time.”

“I have time,” she mumbles.

“Aye, you do, but what I have in mind takes two of us.”

Laughter passes through Emma’s lips as she pulls back from him, and Killian immediately misses the warm press of her lips. “I’m going to go take a shower in the guest room because I think I’m going to need you to drive me to work.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because there’s a hell of a lot of photographers outside your apartment, and the only way out of here without me punching a camera is through the garage.”

“For fucks sake,” Killian groans, stepping out of Emma’s legs and walking over to the kitchen window to look at the small mass of people waiting outside his apartment. “I’m a baseball player. I literally throw a ball for a living. It’s not that interesting.”

“So, you’ll drive me then?”

“Yeah, Swan. I will. I’ve got to leave in thirty minutes so be quick.”

-/-

A few teammates and managers are in the clubhouse when Killian walks through, and while the room does quiet a bit when he initially walks in, everything goes back to normal as Killian goes through his locker, most of his gear untouched for two weeks now. He’s been here a few times, not every day like he usually is, but it’s still odd to show up for physical therapy and strength training while not actually playing.

His teammates rely on him, and yet he is a bit of a mess right now. They probably all are too. Their lives simply aren’t splashed across the pages of tabloids and on Instagram. He hasn’t seen most of it, all of the apps shut down on his phone, but Ruby has been keeping track and talking to Emma about it.

It’s…a lot.

And everyone now knows more about him than he ever wanted them to.  

But it’s fine. It has to be fine. He’s simply here to have his shoulder worked on, and nothing else is going to bother him. He hopes Emma’s day goes much the same. Honestly, that’s what he’s most nervous about especially with how nervous she was this morning and on the car ride over. Her leg never stopped fidgeting.

Today is a huge game with the play-offs being on the line, but he’s not going to still be around the stadium this afternoon. He thought about it and wanted to be there, still kind of wants to, but just being in the locker room today is a little overwhelming. Plus, he doesn’t want to make today any harder on Emma by having her have to interact with him at work. He’ll be around for all of the other big moments to give awful hope-induced speeches and celebrate in the post-game high. Today, he’ll simply watch in the comfort of Liam’s home.

“Oi,” Will greets, slapping Killian’s back. “How was Maine?”

“Fine.”

“Did you impress Emma’s mom?”

Killian almost corrects Will, but he knows it’s not necessary. “I mean, besides her learning about all of my dirty laundry, I do think she genuinely liked me.”

“Well, if she can get past all of that, you’re golden, ponyboy.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, looking over to Will and the big cheesy smile on his face. “I mean, you got past all of that and are still joking around with me.”

Will shrugs his shoulders. “We’ve all got shit going on in our lives, but my face isn’t handsome enough for me to be a celebrity outside of baseball. I’m just good at my job all on my own.”

Killian reaches out to punch Will’s shoulder but he dodges it, sticking his tongue out. “Asshole.”

“Pretty much. Can you practice with me today?”

“Nah, not today. My doctor’s appointment is in two weeks for him to check up on my arm. I might get to come back then, so you guys better clench the playoff’s spot today so that I can finish this season out on the right note.”

“I’ll try my hardest. Keep your chin up, Jones. You’re prettier that way.”

-/-

Killian works with Archie on his arm for an hour before doing some more strength conditioning for his core, and by the time he’s out of the clubhouse and the locker room, it’s nearly two in the afternoon.

A part of him wants to go see Emma and check on her since the game won’t start for another hour and she’s been here for as long as he has, but he knows that today of all days, he might as well leave her alone while she’s working. They haven’t talked about how they want to interact around the team quite yet, mostly because he isn’t technically back to work, but also because in the three days since his life has blown up, all he’s done is talk. He’s a bit tired of it.

They’ll discuss it later.

For now, he texts her to have a good game before walking through the tunnels to the garage and getting into his car to head back to Midtown so that he can pick Addy and Lucy up from their school.

Uncle of the Year, obviously.

Twenty-five minutes later, he’s pulling into the parking lot of their elementary school, thankful that no one seems to be following him, and slamming his car door shut to walk up the front pathway of the school and pressing the buzzer to the front door to get in. it doesn’t matter how many times he picks them up, the front office secretary always seems to forget who he is.

“Name,” she says through the speaker.

“Killian Jones.”

“Who are you here to pick up?”

“Addison and Lucy Jones.”

It takes a few seconds, and he’s sure that she’s typing in their information. “You’re not one of their parents.”

“Aye, I know,” he sighs, rolling his eyes a bit. “I’m their Uncle. My name is on their approved list. It’s – ”

“Oh, I see you now, Mr. Jones,” she interrupts like clockwork. “I’m buzzing you in. Please wait in the lobby, and the girls will be brought to you.”

Killian nods his head and opens the door after it clicks. Addy and Lucy usually have their nanny pick them up from school since Liam and Elsa are at work, but in the few times he’s done it, he’s quickly learned the routine. He knows that their teacher is currently standing under an awning on the other side of the school with all of the children who are being released to their regularly scheduled guardians, and the teacher’s aide will be the one to bring the girls to him at the front of the school. It always takes about five minutes, and sure enough, after a little over four minutes, he sees two blonde heads of hair come into his view, their backpacks nearly as large as they are.

Out of instinct, he squats down to their level because he knows they’re about to tackle him with an embrace. Sure enough, they do, and Killian swears that his heart grows three sizes like he’s the damn Grinch.

“Why weren’t you at dinner last night?” Addy immediately asks him in leu of a hello.

“I was in Maine. Do you know where Maine is?”

“Nope.”

Killian grabs both of their hands, squeezing Lucy’s a little tighter, and the leads them out the front door so that they can walk toward the parking lot to his car.

“Maine is another state, like New York, and it’s where Emma was born. I spent my weekend there with her.”

“Where is Emma?” Lucy asks.

“She’s at work.”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

Isn’t that the question?

“I hurt my shoulder, Luce. Remember?”

She nods her head.

“Is Emma coming to dinner tonight?” Addison asks him as he opens the back door to his car and lets her climb across to the booster seat that he had to put in his car this morning.

“She’s supposed to, but she might be a little late.”

The girls continue to ask him questions about Emma. Their brains never cease to stop coming up with new ones, and it honestly makes him laugh that they’re so interested in what she’s doing and where she is. It only stings the slightest bit that every time they see him, all they truly care about is seeing Emma.

Then again, that’s exactly how he is too.

They ask for ice cream, and while he would usually stop, Killian is under strict instructions from Elsa not to give them sweets since they’re having some with dinner tonight. So, ever the bearer of bad news, he has to tell them no as they drive through the city on the way to their house. Traffic is surprisingly good, especially for the time of day, but they don’t have to travel far until he’s pulling into the garage and helping the girls grab their things to go inside.

In the ten minutes that they were in the car, they somehow managed to lose all four of their shoes, a hair bow, and Lucy’s favorite stuffed animal.

Just amazing. Honestly.

Killian fixes the two of them a snack, slicing up an apple and some peanut butter, before giving them glasses of water and listening to them both go into very detailed instructions about their days. Addy is obviously more talkative, but they used water colors in Lucy’s preschool class today and the girl is hyped over them.  

Seriously. He doesn’t think she has ever been so excited about anything. She may very well be taking after her grandmother in the artistic skills department.

For the next hour, he helps Addy through her few assignments so Liam and Elsa don’t have to deal with it when they get home, but then they’re finished with all of that (thank goodness because getting a six-year-old to focus on school when she’s just left school is damn difficult), and he’s able to turn on the game.

It’s the bottom of the third, and both teams are still scoreless. Arthur is currently up to bat, and while he makes Killian’s jaw clench, he’s a damn good baseball player who they need. You simply can’t win everything.

“Are we winning?” Addy asks before she crawls up next to him and cuddles into his side.

“Not yet, little love.”

“It’s because you’re not playing. They’re not as good without you.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” he sighs, having to bite back his laugh. “We’re a team. They need all of us to be good.”

“Yeah, but you’re the best.”

“You only think that because I’m your uncle.”

“Maybe. All of my friends think you’re cool except for Billy who likes the Red Sox.”

She shifts against him and Lucy does the same, and he swears their elbows are the sharpest objects on the planet. Arthur’s bat makes contact with the pitch, and it flies to the outfield only to be caught and end the inning. Damn. They had two people on base. That could have been huge. The camera changes from the field to Emma where she’s standing just outside the dugout holding a microphone in her hand talking about how today’s game can officially clench their playoff spot. They’re going to make it. All they have to do is win one of their next ten games, and even then, they’d still qualify based on how everyone else in the league is doing.

He’d kind of like to be the number one seed going in, though.

“Do you and Emma have any babies?”

What the hell?

Killian blinks several times before looking down at Addison, who doesn’t seem to realize what she’s just said. She’s simply looking at the television screen still watching Emma.

“No, sweetheart,” he stutters out, “we don’t have any babies.”

“Why not?”

“Um, because it’s not time for us to have babies yet. Babies are loud and messy, and they smell bad, you know? I think it’ll still be a few years before Emma and I have any babies.”

Holy shit. Did he just say that?

How does he get out of this conversation?

“Okay,” Addy shrugs. “I’m going to brush my teeth. They feel fuzzy.”

At that, she gets up from the couch and moves to walk away. Okay, so that’s how he gets out of that conversation.

Kids are so damn weird.

Each inning in the game seems to go on for more than forever, the outs slow to come for each team, and the Yankees finally score in the bottom of the sixth with Booth’s single. It’s a relief, even if there is still a lot of game to be played, but Killian gets distracted by it all when Elsa and Liam walk through their garage door and there’s a bit of chaos with the girls immediately having to tell their parents everything they’ve already told him about their day.

Including the fact that he and Emma don’t have any babies. That gets him quite the look from Liam. Eventually, though, Elsa moves the girls to the kitchen, leaving him with a not-so-subtle wink. She’s very obviously giving he and Liam time to talk, and as much as he appreciates that, Killian also doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants to lay on this couch and watch this game and not do anything else.

Liam obviously has other ideas.

“I have been contacted by no less than fifteen people today asking me to give my statement or appear on one of those inane morning shows to tell, and I quote, ‘my side of the story.’ It simply makes me wonder how many of these shows Brennan has offers to be on.”

Killian scoffs. “I imagine all of the seedy ones, but I don’t think he’ll do it.”

“No?”

“No.” Killian crosses his legs over each other and props his hands behind his head. “I’ve thought about it a hell of a lot, and I think he did this to hurt us more than the money. Walsh couldn’t have paid him that much. He doesn’t make much money. And it’s not as if there were a lot of details. If he wanted money, he would have gone to a bigger publication. Maybe he’ll do that if there’s enough interest, but I think it was more about hurting me.”

“Do you really think he’s that petty?”

Killian arches a brow. “Brennan Jones? We’re talking about the same man, aren’t we? Of courseOf course , he’s that petty. He only cares about himself. Always has. That’s not going to change.”

Liam sighs and taps his fingers against the wood of the side table. “How are you handling things?”

“Just peachy, thanks.”

“Killian.”

“What?” he sighs, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can actually look at Liam. “I’m pissed. I’m upset. I’m angry. There are so many emotions swirling around in my head that I can’t even keep track of how I feel. And there’s nothing I can actually do about it, you know? The damn thing has spread like wildfire, and I can’t stop it. My statement can’t stop it either. The only real option that I have is possibly suing that bastard for libel, and all that will do is drag both Emma and me into a legal battle that’s simply not worth fighting.”

Liam doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to be said. They hashed all of this out over the phone. Killian ranted before Liam took his turn. Brennan deserves absolutely no space in either of their minds, but he manages to find it anyways. It is exactly the thing that has fire burning in the pit of Killian’s belly.

“I’m going to be fine,” Killian says to fill the silence that the sounds of the baseball game on the television aren’t filling. “You will be fine. Emma too. It’s just…I hate that it happened, but I can’t change it. I can’t change it, and I can’t fix it. Hopefully things will calm down as the days pass. I imagine that once I start playing again, this will simply be a footnote.”

“You know,” Liam begins, “a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

Killian can’t help but roll his eyes. He’s heard that line a few times before, and it’sit’s always so damn pompous no matter how true it is.

“Yeah, well, the only thing I’m currently willing to fight for is the woman on that TV screen right there. She’s sticking by me because she loves me, and I am not dragging her through the mud anymore.”

“I think I’d likely do the same.”

“I know you would.”

“Daddy,” Lucy screeches as she runs into the room, loose curls escaping her braid and framing her face, “Mommy says that you have to come and put the steaks on the grill outside.”

“Well,” Liam starts as he stands and walks over to Lucy to pick her up and rest her on his hip, “if Mommy says so, then I guess I must.”

The two of them leave the room, and Killian is left to his own thoughts once more. One day, his life won’t be this complicated. It will be complicated in other, different ways, but it won’t be complicated quite like this. One day he will be carrying his own child on his hip, hopefully one he’s had with Emma, and all of the struggles of the day will be put so far in the past that he barely remembers them.

There’s a loud cheering coming from the TV, and Killian twists his head to look at Will running around the bases after hitting a home run.

“Damn, Scarlet,” he mutters under his breath with a smile on his face.

That smile grows a little more when the camera pans to his entire team jumping up and down in excitement, practically shaking the entire stadium. The shiver that runs over Killian’s body makes him feel like he’s there.

God, he’s missed the feeling of being a part of the team like that.

He’s missed playing.

But he’s going to get back to it soon. He has to. His arm is going to get better and be better.

Emma comes onto screen then, a beatific smile on her face that causes his to grow too. “Well,” she starts, laughing at something off screen, “it looks like we’re going to the playoffs.”

[ionlyeatcomfortfood]

The Selection: Sander Side Style- Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, so I know I said the next writing would be the third part of A Boy Worth Fighting For, but I’ve been struggling to write that, but I FINALLY FINISHED CHAPTER THREE FOR THIS BAD BITCH SO I’M POSTING IT! Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1965 (oh my gosh I wrote so much)

Pairings: Logince, Moxiety

Warnings: Homophobia, Kicked Out, negative talk towards Roman, sympathetic Remus, cursing.

Chapter 1  | Chapter 2

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He had done it. Roman had done it. He turned in an application against his mother’s wishes. Holy shit.

He had never done anything like this before. Remus was the bad boy, the one who didn’t follow the rules. Roman was a golden boy. He always did what his parents said, ‘cause parents know best. At least that’s what he thought.

But when his mom exploded, Roman just knew he couldn’t listen to her anymore. If she was going to so vehemently deny who Roman was, even if she didn’t know it, how could Roman listen?

So he had done what he wanted for once. He wanted to be apart of the Selection, so he applied. It had been about a week since he had sent in an application, and tonight was the night they would announce the Selection contestants. Roman was equally parts excited and scared. But he was ready.

Or so he thought.

He had to beg his mom to watch it. Lyssa did not want anything to do with the broadcast, but a glance at Roman’s puppy eyes did the trick. They sat down on the couch to watch the king announce the Selection contestants.

“We have Patton Foster, Four. Delcan Rose, Two.”

Come on, come on.

“Emile Picani, Three. Remy Zephyr, Four.”

Come on. Please.

“Roman Prince, Five.”

The king continued down the list of names, but no one in the Prince household was listening. The television wasn’t turned off, it just sorta became background noise.

“You put in an application. After I specifically told you not to?” Lyssa was silently fuming. Remus and Carlos were waiting behind her, quiet.

“Yes.”

“Why? You’d have to be crazy! Or… no,” Lyssa shook her head. “No, no, no. Y-you can’t be a…”

“A homosexual, Mom? Is that the word you’re looking for? Yes, Mom.” Roman spat the words out. He wouldn’t have been able to get them out of his head otherwise.

Lyssa was quiet for a moment for she said “Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get out of my house, you monster! Get out!” Lyssa screamed.

Roman knew she was going to react harshly, but he hadn’t been expecting this. He just thought she would give him the silent treatment until it was time for him to go to the palace. He didn’t expect her to kick him out.

“Mom, please-”

“You’re no son of mine! I did not raise my kid to be a homosexual! SO GET OUT!”

Roman turned to his father and brother. His father’s face was impassive, but Remus was actually a little sympathetic. “Dad.”

“You heard your mother,” Carlos’s voice was ice cold. “Out.”

“Rem. Please.”

Remus looked at his parents, fire and ice, and walked over to Roman. Roman sighed.

“I’m not leaving you, Roman.”

“What? Remus, you can’t be thinking about going with this imbecile!” Lyssa said.

“Mom. I can do what I want. Besides, if you must know, I also put my name in the drawing, because I am a raging homosexual.” Remus didn’t even bat an eye when Lyssa went fucking ballistic.

“You as well! What went wrong? What is going on?”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have places to be,” Remus said, dragging Roman out the door. “Oh, and if you did love us, at some point, would please direct any palace officials to the Redwood’s household?” 

And with that, Remus slammed the door, leaving a dumbfounded pair left in the Prince household, TV still blaring.

xxxxx

The next couple days were insane for Roman. Their parents had done what Remus had requested and directed palace officials to the Redwood’s house. Remus was an old friend of the eldest Redwood, Maxon, so the Redwoods welcomed them in and congratulated Roman on his success.

Tailors came and measured him for suits, manner coaches talked to him about where he was, manner was (quite adept), and just plain government workers who explained how this would all work a million times over.

They would arrive at the palace, along with thirty-four other guys, in which the prince would pick and choose guys he liked and go on dates with them. At a certain point, the prince picks his Elite, ten guys that have the best shot of being the prince’s spouse (they always used ‘spouse’, not husband). Then from there, the prince chooses who he will marry.

They had also mentioned how his family would get paid every week he was still in the Selection, which he had made a few inquires about.

“So, this family is not my birth family,” Roman said while the tailor maneuvered around him.

The official that was there that day, Ms. Potts, glanced up from the magazine she was reading. “Are you adopted?”

“No. But my parents kicked me out when I was announced a winner, so I was wondering if the money could come to this family?”

“No can do, sir,” Potts said. “Only the families of the contestants can receive the money.”

“What about my brother?” Roman asked.

Potts looked over to where Remus was chasing around the younger kids and sighed. “How old is he?”

“He’s my twin, and we turn 18 in three months.” Roman said as the tailor finished his measurements.

Potts thought for a moment, before saying “We could probably transfer the funds to him. We would just need to get your written consent that you’re okay with that.”

Roman nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, with that out of the way, we should get going. Come along Bartholomew,” Potts said to the tailor. He packed up his supplies and they were off.

“So, is that all the fancy prep you have for today?” Remus asked, the younger Redwood children, Ravyon and Celie, hanging off his legs.

“Yeah. Until tomorrow, that is.”

“So, do you think we could go visit the children?” Remus smiled.

Roman nodded. ‘The children’ Remus were referring to were the kids down in the orphanage. It was the one thing the twins had always done together. They would visit the orphanage and tell stories, play with the kids, and help deal with temper tantrums and nasty diapers. They hadn’t gone in some while, especially since Remus had his accident.

“I’d love to.” Roman said, and with that, the two left the Redwoods with a goodbye and a promise to bring back some bread.

xxxxx

When they entered the orphanage, they were greeted by a flurry of young children crowding them. Every child was shouting, and it was really quite a sight.

“Roman! Do you have another story?”

“Remus! Look what I drew!”

“You’re back!”

“Woah, everybody, take a breather,” Roman said, hugging all the kids that were holding onto him. “I know you guys are excited, but we’re only two people, and there are twenty of you.”

“Twenty-one now,” One of the older kids, Lace, said. “There’s a new kid, but they don’t wanna come out of there room.”

“Oh. Well in that case, I’ll go talk to them, see if I can get them to join us. Remus, would you mind telling these rascals a fairy tale?” Roman asked, already slipping away from the crowd.

“My pleasure. Say, how many of you have heard the story of Cinderella?”

Roman walked down the hallway to see a door closed. He knew from previous visits that the door was usually open because there was no child to occupy it. The new kid must be in there.

Roman knocked on the door and waited till he heard a small little ‘come in’ before entering.

“Hello, little one. What’s your name?” Roman asked the small child curled up on the edge of their bed.

“I’m Mo,” The little one whispered, curling more into themselves.

“Hey, your okay. There’s no reason to be nervous.” Roman crouched next to Mo and smiled. “So, are you a little prince or princess?”

“I’m neither,” Mo said.

“Alright, then you are tiny but mighty royalty!” Roman exclaimed, striking a dramatic pose. Just as he intended, he got a little giggle out of the child.

“Would you like to hear a story, Mo?” Mo nodded. “Alrighty. Have you heard of the Princess and the Dragon?” Mo shook their head. “Well, here it goes.”

Roman recounted the story, waving his hands around, making different voices for all the characters, and just being his normal goofy self. Mo was laughing, gasping, and yelling, and it made Roman’s heart warm. From just one story, he had gotten this shy child to laugh. He was good at this, and it made him proud to be him.

“So, did you like that story?” Roman asked as he wrapped up the tale.

Mo nodded excitedly. “Can you tell me another one?”

Roman glanced at the time. “I’m sorry, but me and my brother have to get going.” 

“Oh. Can you come next week?”

“Again, no. I’m going to be at the castle.”

Mo’s eyes widened. “The castle? What for?”

“I’m part of the Selection.”

Mo’s eyes got even wider. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Woah, that’s so cool!” 

“I know.”

“Hey!” Mo jumped up from the bed to grab a sheet of paper. “How about when your in the castle, you write me letters!” Mo wrote the address of the orphanage on the sheet of paper and handed it to Roman. “Please?”

“Of course, tiny but mighty royalty!” Roman smiled, giving the kid a quick hug before going to find his brother.

xxxxx

The last few days before he left for the palace rushed by Roman, leaving him breathless. He could barely keep up with everything that was happening. And before he knew it, it was the day he had been waiting for. The day they traveled to the palace.

Ms. Potts was back to escort Roman to the car, since there was already a hoard of press waiting outside to bombard him with questions. He had said all his goodbyes except for one: Remus.

Roman stood before his brother. Remus, despite all his buffoonery, was a good person underneath. He was just a little misguided. He placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder.

“Okay. I had them direct the money the families get weekly to you. But do not blow it on yourself. Give some to the Redwoods, since they’re going to be hosting you for awhile.”

Remus shrugged off Roman’s hand. “I know. I was already planning on it.”

“Remus. Seriously. Be smart about this.”

“Geez, Dad, I already told you I would. Okay? I’m okay now.”

Roman looked at his twin. They were so different, but they were still brothers. And Roman still loved him.

Roman pulled Remus into a hug. “Thank you for leaving with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You’d probably be wandering on the streets.” Remus joked. “But in all seriousness, I wouldn’t have stayed with those witches anyway. I would gladly do it again.”

The brothers hugged, then it was time for Roman to be off.

“Farewell, all. I shall see you in another life.”

“You’re leaving for a couple months. We’ll see you soon enough.” Remus said, and it was the last thing Roman heard before he was whisked away.

xxxxx

Roman got situated on the plane, when a voice joined his thoughts.

“Hello! I’m Patton! It’s nice to meet you!” A blonde boy was sitting next to him, freckles adorning his face and a permanent smile on his face.

“I’m Roman Prince. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Prince? Well that’s no fair, you already have an advantage!” Patton joked.

“Well, you must use every advantage you have, my dear Patton.” Roman joked back.

“I can tell we are going to be royal friends.” Patton smiled.

Roman smiled back. Maybe there was more to look forward to than just the prince in the Selection.

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Click here to read the fairy tale Roman told Mo.

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TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added)

@redistooviolent

@jellopuffs

@loginceismyjam

@a-trans-ghost

@hekking-happy-nonsense

@chaotic-sinnabun

@steampunkicarus

@theoddkidnextdoor

@stop-it-anxiety