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backburnerdio · 2 years

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TB: Bits

Today's Prompt is Far Awayfrom this prompt list

Words: 993 cw: language Taglist: @irnalia, @waysofink, @ashen-crest, @spacetimewraithwrites, @dustylovelyrun, @idreamonpaper, @abalonetea, @jaimistoryteller, @kaiusvnoir, @writeouswriter, @reininginthefirewriting, @concealeddarkness13, @athenixrose, @asomeoneperson (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

Beau had been surprised how little Valetta stressed with her hands stuffed inside enough explosives to take out three city blocks. She’d been relatively cool while giving him instructions –even as far as giving him one of her Bluetooth headphones to share the pop song she was listening to.

“So, what’d you think?” She nudged him, undoing the bulk of her blast-suit letting the top half fall to hang around her waist.

“I was impressed with how quickly you were able to disarm it. You’re very good at what you do.” Beau mimicked the energy of her smile.

“No,” she snickered, pulling at the strap of her undershirt to wipe sweat from her face. “I meant the music. What’d you think of the music?”

“Oh!” He pulled the earbud from his ear, handing it back to her. “It’s very bright with romantic undertones. I could see how it would help get rid of stress.”

“So, you don’t like it.”

“Well…”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” she playfully punched his shoulder, “You don’t have to like it just because I do.”

“I didn’t like it,” Beau admitted, following her past the barricades towards the trucks. “I think the voices are too high in pitch for my liking.”

“Fair enough,” she snickered making a sudden glance towards the sidewalk where people were attempting to gather. Officers urged them to keep moving, not to clog up walkways or prevent entry or exit of emergency personnel.

“Hey, Valetta,” a Mediator approached from another truck. Jona Falken, station 1 patrol officer, 31 years old. “You did fantastic out there.”

“Yeah, thanks Jona.” All of Valetta’s energy from earlier seemed to wick away, focusing on getting her gear back on the truck. Beau stood by quietly, watching Jona’s eyes flicker away from Valetta’s face and down her shoulders.

“How long you been doing this now?” He leaned on the side of the truck, an almost predatorial note in the curve of his smile.

“A few years,” was her dry reply. Even Beau detected this interaction wasn’t welcomed. Jona, however, didn’t come with that sensor.

“Officer Falken—” Beau tried.

“You clearly know what you’re doing, and look great doing it. If only you didn’t have piercings and tattoos,” he passed her a sleazy grin, biting his lip with his gaze trained on the ink exposed on her arms.

Valetta shoved her helmet onto the truck with more force than was necessary. “Yeah, too bad, coach. Better take me off the roster.” She sneered, giving Jona a once over. “Probably should go check a different catalog if you want a mail order bride.” The amusement fell from Jona’s face, shock that was quickly replaced with anger.

Beau’s defense protocols readied for action.

“The fuck did you say? You ugly—” he yelped as he was suddenly yanked back from the truck, disappearing as Garnet wedged himself between them.

“Hey man, you good? We got a problem? Huh? You got something you wanna add?” Garnet crowded him with each rapid fire question. “If you have information you need to add, you speak to me. Understand? Me. I don’t want you over here interfering with an operation. What is it –what’a yiz gotta say?”

Jona started to say something only to decide against it and turn away. Garnet hovered until Jona was back with his group on the sidewalk. Valetta shook her head, tossing her gloves onto the truck. “Ah, he was just runnin’ his mouth.”

“Yeah, well, I got tired of hearing that fuckin’ jersey accent.” he turned with a huff, crossing his arms to take Jona’s place leaning on the truck. “And what’re you doing?” he nodded at Beau, “You just gonna stand there and let him talk to her like that?”

“I had him, G.” Valetta passed a sharp glare to Garnet. “It’s not Beau’s fault. He didn’t know.”

“You ever see a human bothering another human, you knock his teeth out. Got it?” He told Beau.

“Stop, don’t tell him that.” Valetta hissed, smacking Garnet’s arm. “You’ll get him in trouble and he’ll end up as bad as you.”

“Just pop ‘em,” Garnet mocked hitting the truck. “Make ‘em eat molars.”

“No, Beau,” Valetta shook her head before sharply turning back to Garnet. “Quit it. He’s gonna believe you.”

“Okay,” Beau smiled, causing Garnet to grin wide enough to flash his titanium canine. “I also scrambled the radio frequency identification of his patrol car keys.” They both stared at him, eyes wide and stunned.

“Alright, Tamagotchi!” Garnet extended a hand over Valetta’s head to welcome a high five. Beau bounced up on his toes to meet it. “Wanna act like a beat cop, gonna walk like a beat cop –ahnno-dat!” He burst with a laugh that sounded more like wheezing air, gripping Beau’s hand giving it a shake. But Valetta didn’t seem convinced.

It wasn’t until much later, after the extraction team had cleaned up and the detectives moved in, they were dismissed to head back to the station. Valetta and Beau rode back with Garnet, passing the solar deck where Officer Falken was angrily pacing on the phone beside his patrol car.

“That’s what he gets,” Garnet cackled.

“That’s what you get!” Beau yelled from the window, Valletta falling over in the backseat, hands covering her face.

“Tell ‘em, Beau. Get him!”

“If I see you bother my friend again, I’ll knock your teeth out!” He leaned from the window, Garnet grabbing the back of his belt so he wouldn’t fall.

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Garnet choked, trying not to laugh.

“Fuck you guy!” Beau yelled until he was too far away.

“Get back inside. Garnet, get him inside!” Valletta sat up, smacking the plexiglass partition. Garnet pulled him in, gripping the steering wheel as he wheezed laughter.

“Good job, Beau.”

“Yeah,” he turned, smiling. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore, Valetta. He heard what will happen if he does.”

“The entire block heard, Beau.” she snickered.

#wip: tb #tb excerpts #writing #writblr #writeblr #am writing #tb snippets

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tiredbuthappy · 3 years

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Cowboy Like Me

Hello, it was time for another fic. I was listening to Taylor Swift and I wanted to write an angsty Daniel USGP series. It ended up a bit more goofy than angsty, but we'll see if I do another part. Please feel free to send me messages! Thank you to @haterpenny and @ggaslyp1 for the very kind encouragement and assistance.

Warnings: NSFW Content 18+ only, minors DNI. AFAB!Reader, some light bondage and hair pulling. Light oral, male receiving. If I forgot anything let me know!

Words: 2,973

It was a hot, humid night in Austin and you were spending it at a local bar, enjoying some live music. The bar was pretty lively, and you sat nursing a beer as your eyes surveyed the crowd. You noticed a man with tanned skin, sporting a cowboy hat and a big goofy smile, his head thrown back in laughter. He didn’t seem to notice your gaze, so you lingered there, appreciating his lean form, a smile spreading to your lips as you watched him absently sip at his beer as his head nodded along to the music. After a few minutes of shamelessly staring him down, you headed up to the bar to get yourself another drink. You glanced in his direction again, and this time he was waiting for you. Your cheeks burned and you muttered a quiet ‘shit’ under your breath.

You quickly turned the other way and tried to be casual, channeling your nerves into your hips; swaying slightly to the music when you felt a tap on your shoulder. There he was, the smiley guy in the Longhorns jersey and cowboy boots. Immediately, you thought you had him figured out, you had seen others like him before. Handsome- and aware of it- a bad decision just waiting to happen. Fortunately for him, you were just tipsy enough to make a bad decision. And then he spoke, your ears pricking up at his unmistakable Australian accent. Embarrassingly, he began by tipping the edge of his hat to you. “I thought maybe I could get you a drink.” Almost as if on cue, your beer was presented to you and you raised your brows playfully.

“I’m afraid this is my last drink of the night.” You informed him, raising the bottle slightly as if it were evidence.

“I’ll settle for a dance.” He offered, reaching his hand out towards you. His brown eyes twinkled at you and you looked him over once more before accepting his hand. The band had settled into a slower song and you didn’t mind. You ran your hands up over his arms and allowed yourself to enjoy the broadness of his shoulders before finally clasping them behind his neck. His hands settled on your waist, his grasp a little bit firmer than it needed to be, but you didn’t mind.

“I like your hat.” You said, leaning up a little so he could hear you over the music. He grinned.

“Thank you kindly.” His tone was joking like he was doing a bit but you weren’t in on it. He plucked it off his head and stuck it on yours, making you laugh. Without the hat, you could see a few dark curls, and you felt a smile creep across your cheeks. “Like what you see?” He teased, sliding one of his hands down to your hip. “You could say that.” You agreed, reveling in the full smile that crossed over his features. Slowly, he pulled you closer until your chest was almost pressed against his. All too soon, the song was coming to an end. You figured the group he had been with was probably missing him by now, so you assumed you would be parting ways.

When you broke apart you applauded the musicians before turning to face him again.

“Thanks for the dance, cowboy.” You handed him his hat, and he tossed you a wink as he returned it to its rightful spot.

As you turned away, he caught your hand. “Leaving so soon?” He asked, trying to make it sound like a joke but his eyes seemed sincere. “You going to give me a reason to stay?” You chuckle, flashing him a challenging look.

“How about that drink?” You gave in to those twinkling eyes and that playful smile and decided to hang around. It was a Friday night, and this handsome stranger had captured your attention. You grabbed a table and engaged in casual, flirty conversation while sipping your drinks. Finally, after telling him what was probably too much about yourself, you decided to segue the conversation back to him.

“So cowboy, what do you do?” He pursed his lips and seemed to consider for a moment before finally responding. “I drive.” You quirked your brow. “You drive?” You asked, clearly unfulfilled with his answer.

“Racing, I race.” You assumed he meant locally, racing was a fairly normal pastime in Austin, so you didn’t think the answer was too unusual. He stayed quiet for a moment, almost as if gauging your reaction. You chose not to push the subject farther, as what he did didn’t really matter to you. You were more interested in this moment, here and now. “My name is Daniel.” He tells you, his hand coming to settle on your knee. The contact is casual, but you still feel a wave of excitement wash over you. “Daniel.” You repeat, listening to the pleasant way it rolls off of your tongue.

“I like cowboy better.” You tell him, causing him to laugh as you raise the bottle to your lips.

“I can be your cowboy, darlin’,” Daniel replied in a terrible southern accent again tipping his hat and throwing in a wink for good measure. You couldn’t help but giggle, but you weren’t sure if it was out of pity or amusement. His laugh was loud and boisterous and you were glad to be in on the joke. He told you he was visiting Texas and he’d be around for a few weeks. You liked the idea of playing with the Australian dreamboat for a little bit. You took a moment to look at his lean but cut bicep, which flexed subtly as he raised his drink for another sip.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You suddenly ask, his eyes looking like stars as he nodded his agreement. He insisted on saddling up to the bar and settling your tab for you, doing some goofy line dance step on his way up. “An idiot.” You mumble to yourself, pulling your purse up onto your elbow and waiting for his return. He offered you his arm which you gladly accepted and started to lead him back to your apartment that was only a few blocks away. As you walk you notice a few eyes lingering on the two of you, but quickly dismiss it due to Daniel’s quirky attire, and the random comings and goings of his loud and largely terrible southern impression. Something about him made you feel lighter like you had known him for a long time. The banter that flowed between you was easy and quick and you felt like you were evenly matched. Before long, he was trying to prove to you that he knew how to two-step, but you’re laughing too hard to tell him that he’s absolutely doing it wrong. “I can’t believe this is working for me.” You finally say, hiding your face in your hands for a moment, trying desperately to regain your composure.

“Cowboy Dan,” You announce, halting suddenly and grabbing his hand to stop him in his tracks. “This here is the best barbecue joint in all of Texas.” You tell him in your best southern drawl, effectively putting his earlier impressions to shame. He raised his eyebrows looking genuinely impressed, but you were unsure about whether it is at the accent or the restaurant. He glanced up at the restaurant’s sign that proudly read ‘STUBB’S’.

“I’ll have to remember that.” He replied, nodding and giving your hand a little squeeze.

Before too long, you’re standing at your front door, fumbling through your purse in an attempt to find your keys. As you look you feel Daniel press himself against your back, one hand pushing your hair aside while the other settles on your waist, pulling you closer to him. He begins to pepper kisses below your ear and down your neck and to the top of your shoulder making it infinitely more difficult for you to focus on the task at hand. Suddenly, Daniel seems a lot less funny. You let out a light sigh as you finally get them into the lock and push the door open.

Once inside you tugged him in by the front of his jersey, eager to feel his lips against yours. He returned the passion, wrapping you in a tight embrace, pulling you into him by the small of your back. You dropped your purse absently and focused all of your attention on the man in front of you.

“I saw you the minute you walked into the bar. I wanted you right then.” He said hotly before pulling you into another searing kiss. You broke apart again and gripped at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. He looked at you ravenously and reached up to remove his hat, soon whipping the jersey off as well. You almost felt as though the wind had been knocked out of you. He was breathing hard, mostly with anticipation, you assumed. You felt tempted to pause for a moment and turn on some more lights so you could properly count each ab. You unbuttoned your pants and kicked them off, and Daniel went to follow suit. “Stop-” You told him, placing your hands over his. He knit his brow together in confusion, seeming slightly concerned like perhaps he’d overstepped. “Put the hat back on.” You ordered.

“Yeah?” He chuckled but obliged. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to your room. Immediately, you dropped to your knees and began to undo his pants and pulled them down his legs, revealing some more tattoos peeking out below his boxers, that make your breath hitch. You looked up at him through your lashes and stuck out your tongue, licking from the bottom of his flower tattoo to the edge of his boxers.

“Fuck,” Daniel groaned, and the sound went straight to your core. He grabbed your forearm and pulled you up, one hand on your neck, his lips desperately moving against yours. His hand ran over your bra strap to sort of ask for permission. You nodded against him and he made quick work of it, unclasping the back with suspicious efficiency. You slid the straps off your arms and tossed it carelessly behind you. Daniel dipped down almost immediately and took your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to leave a mark for you to enjoy the next day. He gave your other breast equal attention before slowly moving to the valley between your breasts, and back to your throat. One particular spot, where your neck meets your shoulder, makes you gasp out and he takes notice. Then he bit down on it, and you full-on moaned. He soothed your skin with a gentle lick and a kiss before beginning to make his way back up your neck again, his hands busying themselves with handfuls of your ass. You bucked your hips up against him and elicited a hiss from him as you rubbed against his hard length.

“You like being tied up, Daniel?” You questioned him, your fingers skimming the elastic waistband of his boxers. He simply nodded at you, wordlessly understanding exactly what you wanted. You pulled the black boxers down his legs and let out a ‘fuck’ as his cock sprung free. “Where do you want me?” That is all he asked, holding back a groan, an eagerness to please clear in his voice. He’s so fucking game and it makes you that much more desperate for him. “Lay down, put your hands over your head.” You told him, and he did as he was told. With his arms outstretched over his head you’re taken aback by just how fucking gorgeous he is. You stole his hat once more and decided to wear it for him. You grabbed his belt from the foot of the bed and climbed over him, straddling his waist and leaning forward to secure his wrists through the rails of your headboard. You firstly moved to his lips, kissing him teasingly slowly. Then you moved to his neck, then his chest. You paused to suck on his nipple- as he did to you- before moving to suck and lick along his rib cage. Seeing him tied down, desperate and at your mercy is almost enough to get you off. You slipped off the bed to survey your work for a moment, admiring how fucked out he looked without you doing much of anything to him. “You fucking tease.” He groaned, again thrusting up and feeling no friction. You turned your backside to him and slipped your panties down your hips and your thighs, sure that Daniel was watching every step of the way. Normally, you’d feel a little silly, dressed only in a ridiculous hat, but he was looking at you like a starved man. You worked your way back up him, pausing to suck purple marks into the prominent V below both of his hips. You dipped down once more and licked from the base to the tip of his dick, pulling some whines from the back of his throat. You could hear him pulling against your makeshift restraint and that egged you on even more. You bobbed your head down, fully taking him into your mouth and sucking and licking like an absolute whore. His hips thrusted up and you could tell he’s beginning to lose his patience- but so are you. You steadied yourself with your hands on his chest and lined him up with your entrance. Slowly, you eased yourself down and allowed the two of you a moment to adjust to the sensation. He felt so good, stretching you in just the right way, making you feel deliciously full.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” You whispered and began rolling your hips, quickly allowing yourself to settle into a quick but deep rhythm. “Jesus,” He groaned, throwing his head back further into the mattress, bringing a smile to your lips. You felt so powerful, getting this gorgeous man into a state of broken moans and choked sighs with each rough thrust. You could feel him doing his best to raise his hips to meet your movements and you wished you could feel his hands against you. For purely selfish reasons, you leaned forward and slipped the restraint off, unleashing the desperation that you had been trying to keep contained. Without hesitation, his hands flew to your ass and he assisted in your movements, bouncing you up and down on his cock. “I need more,” Daniel told you, his grip on your ass almost bruising.

“Then take it.” He leaned up and put an arm around your waist and smoothly flipped you over (cowboy hat lost in the mix), keeping his dick deep inside you the whole time. He set a bruising pace, fucking you into the mattress with abandon. You could feel yourself nearing your peak and the new position only heightened the sensation. He steadied himself with one arm over your head and used his free hand to move your hair out of your face before kissing you aggressively. His tongue fought yours for dominance, and you submitted to him. The tension in you was about to snap, your legs starting to quiver. You ran your fingers through his hair and wrapped your fingers in his curls and gave a sharp tug, eliciting a strangled ‘fuck’ from his lips. You pulled him back into you and he buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking as he continues to fuck you. “You feel so fucking good.” You gasped out between each pump, wrapping your legs around his hips so he could go just a little bit deeper. “I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.” Daniel sounded truly strained, his hips faltering slightly as he tried to keep his pace up. “Let go,” His hand found yours and he intertwined your fingers as he reached his high. Feeling him moan out and swear under his breath against your neck is enough to push you over the edge.

“That’s it doll,” Dan told you breathily, kissing your neck and doing his best to keep his hips in motion to prolong your climax.

“Ah, fuck.” Daniel says, laughing slightly as you get a second to recover. You ran your hands over his smooth, muscled back as he laid on top of you, still sheathed inside of you. With one final kiss to your lips, he slowly pulled himself out and plopped down beside you.

“Damn,” You said simply, a grin falling over your features. Your eyes locked on his brown ones and you couldn’t help but reach out and run your finger across his stubbled cheek. “Damn indeed.” He agreed. You had half the mind to high-five him but somehow restrained yourself. The last thing you remember is looking at his tired smile and prominent nose before knocking out.

When you awaken, the space beside you is empty. You felt some disappointment course through you but did your best to shake it off. You knew it was a one-night kind of thing, but you couldn’t help but yearn for more of his touch or his blinding smile. Truth be told, after just one evening your attraction to him was too strong, and a clean break was likely for the best. You sat up and glanced around, your heart thumping extra hard when your eyes found his cowboy hat placed neatly at the foot of your bed. You glance downwards and see a litany of bruises over your hips and you’re worried about the state of your chest and neck. You rose and wandered to your vanity mirror and gasped as you saw yourself, deep purple marks scattered about. That would make it a bit more difficult to forget about Daniel.

Part Two: Gold Rush

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emerald-chaos · 3 years

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Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

#eeeeeeee #i love soft drunk boston frat chris so much it pains me #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans headcanons #chris evans imagines #chris evans fic #chris evans fluff #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans/reader #chris evans/you #fluff #imagines #headcanons

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

okay so we all love dad dumo and he's an incredible parent but even dumo isn't perfect. Could we maybe have dumo snapping at logan (or sirius, if it strikes your fancy, but i love dumo+logan dynamics) and then apologizing for it like a parent actually f*cking should

Oof, yes. Combined with asks for Sirius and Logan bonding, as well as some pre-Cap and James. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for parental figure disappointment

The car rumbled. Dumo’s hands squeaked on the wheel as he flexed his fingers. Logan felt like he was going to throw up.

Can we turn around real quick? No, too vague. Can we go home so I can use the bathroom? No, he’ll say I can wait another ten minutes. I forgot my phone at home? No, he saw me put it in my pocket. Logan ran through every possible way of asking to go back to the Dumais house without giving away his dilemma; with each scenario, they grew further from where he needed to be.

“Hey, Dumo?” he began quietly, swallowing around his dry mouth. What was it his father always said? Honesty is the best policy. “We need to go back to your house for a moment.”

“We’re already running late,” Dumo said, not even sparing him a glance in the rearview mirror. The traffic around them was a mess. “If we go back, we’ll miss the first part of warmups.”

“I know, but it’s kind of important.”

“So is the game. If it’s your wallet, you don’t need it right—”

“I left my skates by the front door.”

Dead silence filled the car as Dumo slowed to a stop at the fourth red light. Logan’s heart sank and his stomach crawled into his throat. “What?”

“I left my skates by the front door,” he repeated, staring at his hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Tabernak, Logan!” Dumo snapped. He felt something inside him wither and die. “First the nap, then forgetting to wash your jersey, and now you left your fucking skates behind? What’s going on in your head? You are an adult now with responsibilities, and it’s your job to keep track of your shit.”

“I know,” Logan said quietly.

Dumo huffed. “Clearly you don’t! Do you just not care? Is that it?”

“I care.”

“This isn’t a college team, Logan.” Dumo’s accent grew harsh around his name. It had been a bad day for him—Adele came down with a nasty cold just after Celeste left to visit her parents for the weekend, and there was always an added pressure with home games. Logan knew that, and he knew he should have been paying better attention.

“I know.”

Dumo muttered a curse under his breath and pulled onto a side road, then swore again when his duffle bag slid in the passenger seat. Logan closed his eyes; there was no way they would make it all the way to the house and back to the rink in time for pre-game rituals. Damn it, Tremblay. What were you thinking?

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Dumo parked the car with a quiet “go”, and Logan hurried inside with a slight nod to the babysitter as he grabbed his skates before slinking back to the car with his head hung low.

“I’m really disappointed in you,” Dumo said when they reached the freeway again.

“I’m sorry.”

He received no response.

They won the game despite skipping all their superstitions, no thanks to Logan. He played like shit; Arthur barely gave him four shifts the whole night. Finn shot him a concerned look as he rinsed off and slipped back into his street clothes, but Logan didn’t have the energy to confront both his best friend and the upsetting feelings connected to the aforementioned best-friend-slash-secret-crush. If he tried, he’d certainly end up doing something stupid.

He packed his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed Dumo out to the car like a stray dog with his tail between his legs. “I really am—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dumo interrupted as they pulled out of the parking lot. Logan pressed his lips together. “Are you hungry?”

Starving. “Kinda.”

“I’ll heat up some leftover lasagna when we get back to the house. Will you pay the babysitter and make sure the kids are in bed?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Logan ground his teeth around the steady ache building in his chest—he hated disappointing people in general, but it was a whole different story with Dumo. He was his second father, the person Logan admired most on the team. He gave him a home and a substitute family to ease the homesickness, and was always there to cheer him on. And Logan let him down.

They went through their nightly routine silently, which was a sharp contrast to their usual banter. Marc and Louis refused to go to bed at first, nearly bringing Logan to tears in his frustration, but he eventually got them settled down and tucked in. By some miracle, both the girls were already asleep.

“I’m going to call Celeste,” Dumo finally said as Logan unloaded the dishwasher. He nodded without a word, not trusting his voice.

As soon as the dishwasher was full and running, Logan took his phone out and dialed the only person he wanted to hear from. It rang twice before connecting. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Sirius sounded confused, and more than a little tired. “Ça va?”

Logan’s eyes burned. “Not bad. Do you have a minute?”

There was a rustling noise from the other end, followed by the clink of keys. “You’re at Dumo’s, right?”

“Oui.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks,” he managed around his tight throat. “See you soon.”

Hushed voices came from the living room and Logan padded down the hall, knocking gently on the doorframe. Dumo looked up and furrowed his brow. “Un moment, mon amour. Are you alright?”

“Sirius is coming by in ten. We’re going to hang out for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Tell him I say hello.” Without another word, Dumo uncovered the base of his phone and returned to his conversation. Logan nodded and headed back out into the hall, swallowing down the tears forming behind his eyes.

Ten minutes turned out to be seven minutes—Logan was simultaneously flattered and concerned—and a soft knock startled him out of his thoughts. Sirius already looked worried when the front door swung open. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Did something happen to Celeste?”

“She’s fine. Dumo says hi.” And he’s horribly disappointed in me. Logan took several deep breaths through his nose to control the tremor in his voice and Sirius gave him a worried once-over. “Can we drive around for a bit?”

“Of course.”

For all of his bluster and general brooding vibe, Sirius continued to be the king of empathy and (in Logan’s opinion) a secret mind-reader. The second his arm draped across Logan’s shoulders and held him close as they walked down the sidewalk, he felt some of the pressure in his chest release. “Sorry about the late call,” he sniffled. It was a cold night—the snot threatening to drip from his nose was frigid already. “I just—I needed to get out for a minute.”

“À tout moment.” Any time. Logan didn’t feel deserving of that kindness after the mess he had been on the ice. The heaters kicked on as soon as Sirius started the car and Logan closed his eyes, leaning back into the warm seat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Logan took a moment to breathe before shaking his head. “I forgot my skates. We were already running late, and I forgot my fucking skates at the house.”

Sirius hummed, but said nothing.

“It’s—Dumo has been having such a horrible day.” Tears clogged his throat again. “And I took a nap earlier because I stayed up late last night like an idiot, and Adele’s sick so he had all the kids and no help while he was trying to get ready, and then I overslept so it was already going to be rushed and forgot to clean my jersey and then—and then I forgot my skates. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” Logan wanted to kick him for being so infuriatingly patient. Sirius glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s not why you’re upset, though.”

“He’s—” Logan broke off and swiped the first tear away with his sweatshirt cuff. “He said he was disappointed in me.”

“Ah.”

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about.”

Sirius sighed through his nose and pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour Taco Bell, then turned off the car and faced Logan with one eyebrow raised. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Belittling yourself.”

“Okay, Heather,” Logan snorted. Sirius reached over and flicked him on the forehead. “Hey!”

“You forgot your skates. Big deal. We’ve all been there.”

Logan shot him a glare. “You’ve never forgotten your skates.”

“Yes, I have. My very first game with the Lions, actually. Except I didn’t realize it until we were already at the rink.”

“Did Dumo drive you back?”

“The whole damn way. He was mad as hell, but he did it.” Sirius’ face softened, and he poked Logan gently on the thigh. “Stop kicking yourself for this one. It sounds like it was a bad day for you both.”

“I still feel like shit.”

Sirius shrugged. “I bet. Disappointing Dumo is the worst feeling ever.”

“He wouldn’t even let me apologize.”

“He will.”

They sat in silence for a full minute as Logan tried to find the right words. “How did you deal with it? Letting people down. It feels like I’m drowning, sometimes.”

“Really, really poorly,” Sirius half-laughed, crossing his ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t until I was named captain that I started accepting that people weren’t lying when they forgave me for fucking up.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, the people I was around as a kid didn’t make a habit of apologizing to me when they did something wrong.”

Logan looked up from the faded letters on his sweatshirt sleeve and sniffled. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

“Pas de problem. I figured you could use some company outside the house.”

“You’re the best.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” You’re like a brother to me, actually. “Is this what James did for you?”

“No,” Sirius laughed. Affection took over his face, bright even in the dim light from the streetlamps. “No, he snuck me onto the roof of the rink with massive amounts of junk food and stayed with me until the imposter syndrome faded. It was fantastic, but we nearly got hypothermia several times in the winter. This is much more comfortable.”

“Thanks for helping me keep all my fingers and toes,” Logan said wryly. He lapsed back into silence and folded his forearms on the dashboard, sighing at the pleasant stretch of his back. “I know I have to go back eventually, but I’m scared.”

“Honestly, Logan, I bet he’s already forgiven you. He knows it was an accident.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” The words came out as little more than a whisper. Sirius’ hand rested hesitantly between his shoulder blades until Logan leaned back into it, then began rubbing gentle circles.

“He does,” Sirius said softly. “And he loves you so much.”

Logan sniffed back more tears. “Really?”

“Ouais. You’ve been living with him for nine months now, and he’s so proud of how far you’ve come.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me. Last week, after your hat trick. People fuck up, Logan, but that doesn’t mean they’re unforgivable. You don’t need to flay yourself for one bad day.”

Logan shut his eyes with a slow exhale and buried his face in his forearms. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“D’accord. Buckle your seatbelt.”

He straightened up and stretched, wincing at the crack of his back. Sirius drove out of the parking lot and hummed under his breath to the radio, but Logan didn’t miss the careful glances out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he finally said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Sirius said casually, though he looked like he was holding something back. Logan didn’t press; Sirius would talk in his own time if he wanted to. He opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. “But I do worry about you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Thank you, Captain Black, for the most media answer of all time. “You really don’t have to.”

Sirius parked the car and leaned his head back against the seat. “You’re my friend, and I care about you, so I worry.”

Logan blinked at him. “You care about me?”

“Obviously,” Sirius muttered. Even in the darkness of the street, his cheeks were pink. “Now go on, you've got someone waiting for you.”

“I care about you, too.”

“Out of my car, Tremblay.” Despite his words, a smile quirked at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. Logan socked him lightly on the arm and opened the door, shivering in the night air as it bit through his hoodie.

“Drive safe, Cap.”

“I will.”

The walk to the front door felt less like a trip to the gallows and more like coming home; Logan felt his muscles relax, and saw the curtains shift as someone moved away from the window. Dumo opened the door before he could even knock.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison. Logan raised his eyebrows and Dumo opened the door the rest of the way, ushering him inside.

The moment the door closed behind him, Dumo wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so sorry for what I said earlier, Logan. You made a mistake, and I shouldn’t have come down hard on you.”

“I’m sorry I made us late,” Logan said into his soft shirt. “And for not helping earlier. It won’t happen again.”

“All is forgiven.” Dumo patted him on the back of the shoulder and held him at arm’s length with a sad smile. “I should have kept a better handle on my temper. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”

Logan bit back the urge to say it’s okay or I deserved it and instead pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I didn’t realize how much you’ve helped me until today.”

Dumo made a quiet sound and held him tighter. “It’s a gift to have you here.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of emotion rolled in his heart. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” he whispered. They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, before Dumo stepped back.

“Get some rest. We have early practice tomorrow.” He mussed Logan’s hair and gave him a nudge toward the stairs. “Bonne nuit, mon fils.”

Mon fils. Logan’s breath caught for a second and he smiled. “Bonne nuit.”

#logan tremblay #sirius black #pascal dumais #finn o'hara #james potter #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #hurt/ comfort #cap and logan bonding #dad dumo

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clintbartonswife · 3 years

Text

tender but tough

Pairings: Wade Wilson x Peter Parker Summary: Ever since Vanessa, Wade had been scorned from even a friendly shoulder touch even when he was in the suit. Peter realises this. Whumptober no.6: touch and go Notes: touch starved wade, college!peter parker, not as angsty, but the whump’s there. masterlist

Watching Wade Wilson was a pastime that Peter had come to love.

Ever since meeting him a few weeks ago, he had been drawn to the man, watching from afar as he tried to work up the courage to speak to him once more.

Upon spying (Ned had called it stalking but he had quickly stated that he didn't seek the masked man out, instead only watching him when he naturally came across him in the city. The word was quickly changed to ‘pool spotting’, and Peter had grudgingly complied.) on Wade, he had managed to come to three conclusions.

Number one: Wade Wilson was a creature of habit. Despite his seemingly erratic movements, he would always buy food from the same three places - if he didn’t already have a pre-cooked meal in his hello kitty lunchbox. Peter had at first wondered if that meant that Wade had someone at home who cooked for him, but after a very loud conversation on a roof with someone called ‘yellow’ and ‘white’, knew for certain that he was “painfully alone and in desperate need of a quick fuck or someone to hold”. He especially loved his Mexican food, often returning to his favourite roof top with two bulging bags of of the stuff.

Number two: Wade kills, and he does it a concerning amount. Normally, whenever Peter was on his pool spotting expeditions and he saw him getting his katanas out (he had once heard him call them Bea and Arthur), he would swing by, web up the bad guy, and swing away while shouting some different iteration of ‘don’t kill him, please!’. He would later hear people talking about others Deadpool had killed once he had gone home, though the webbed ones were never touched. Peter prided himself on his very anti-killing stance, but something about Wade made him curious - enough to put his moral code on the backburner and instead feel the need to help him change for the better.

Number three, and arguably the most important: He had never seen anyone touch him. Sure, people had thrown punches, violently approached him, but never once had he seen anyone touch him with anything less than hate. This is what finally convinced Peter to approach him.

“Hey Webs”

Wade was sat with his legs overhanging the roof of the building, mask half pulled up over his face and a burrito halfway to his mouth.

Peter took a deep breath before he spoke, settling his nerves, “Hi Wade.”

“Aaah, he speaks! How are you doing baby boy.”

Peter flushed at the nickname, face heating up under his mask, “Uhh -”

Wade let out a laugh, placing his burrito down and pulling his mask back over his face before turning to face him, “Well, he tries to speak.” Wade tilted his head to the side slightly, patting the surface next to him, waiting until Peter sat beside him, “I’ve been seeing you around a lot, but we haven’t really spoken since the last - no Yellow I’m not trying to guilt him - shut up White.”

Peter just looked at him.

“Sorry - it’s the boxes-” Deadpool said, with a strong jersey accent, waving his hands around his head animatedly, “You wouldn’t get that reference, shame. I love Margot Robbie.”

“Who?”

“Oh, Webs” Deadpool sighed, patting his masked cheek condescendingly, “The world of joy you’re missing out on.”

That’s another thing that Peter found out after hanging out around Deadpool for a few months - he would instigate touch, but shy away whenever Peter would go to return it, shrugging it off with a quick joke or pun.

It was on the third month of knowing Deadpool that Peter decided he would address it. The two of them had become extremely close, and Peter had found himself trusting the older man quicker than he ever had before. It was only one day at Stark tower during a quick drop-in visit to see Tony, that the billionaire had pointed out how quickly Peter had become comfortable with him.

“Webs, webs, webs. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today?”

Peter smiled, sitting cross-legged beside Wade as he unloaded the two bags of Mexican food. “Just wanted to see your gorgeous face, as always.”

“Always a charmer - and a beautiful liar at that.”

“How do you know I’m beautiful? For all you know I could look like a troll under this mask and you’d never know.”

Wade’s mask warped as he raised his eyebrow, “With an ass that phat? Baby boy, you’re nothing short of an angel.”

He wouldn’t know why he had done this until many years after the fact, looking back in hindsight. Peter had let out a small laugh, and ripped his mask of with a grin, “Well damn Wade, someone would think that you’re sweet talking me.”

Wade went quiet - something Peter had never known him to be - and sat back heavily. At the silence, the younger man’s smile dropped slightly, turning more nervous, “Is this a case of ‘if you’ve got nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all’ type-a deal?”

“No.” the answer was so fast that Peter let a nervous laugh escape, “You’re - you look better than every wet dream I’ve had about you combined.”

Peter laughed loudly at that, relief making his head feel slightly woozy, raking his hands through his curly hair.

“I’m not kidding - I mean I knew your body was good - but your face! ” Wade’s voice was higher than it normally was, disbelief clear in his tone, “You gotta body of a stripper and face of an angel, y’know that?”

“Wade-”

“And you blush pretty too, it’s like god took every one of my dirty fantasies -” Wade’s rant was cut off as Peter placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes widening at the soft touch, “Webs -?”

“Peter,” he smiled, moving his free hand to slowly start removing his mask, “My name’s Peter.”

Wade repeated it like a prayer, so distracted by the feel of the letters on his lips that he didn’t even move to stop the action. Peter let his finger brush against the textured skin of his cheek, Wade going completely still at the contact.

“Pete... what are you doing?”

He just smiled, moving his other hand to cup the other side of his cheek as he lifted the mask all of the way off. “Beautiful.” The one word seemed to strike Wade at his core, the man melting in to his hand before coming to his senses and pulling back slightly.

“You are,” he insisted, “fuck anyone who says anything else.”

“Oooh, little spidey used the f-word.”

Peter shot him an unimpressed look, “Wade.”

The mercenary just huffed, seemingly losing the internal battle against himself and the boxes as he let himself relax in to Peter’s hands once more. The younger man just watched as Wade’s body seemed to completely loosen, as if he was crumbling right before his eyes.

As if on delayed time, Wade’s eyes began to water, “I - I don’t know why-”

“It’s ok, Wade,” Peter said, instantly moving closer and enveloping him in a hug, taking the full weight as he relaxed completely into the hold, “It’s ok.”

Peter just held him as he felt the merc’s tears wetting the front of his suit, slowly moving his hand up and down Wade’s back. The rhythmic motion seemed to lull both of them into a comfortable silence, one which was only broken by the sharp sudden breaths of the man in his arms.

Wade had been quiet for too long, eventually pulling slightly back from the hug but taking great care to keep contact, “If you can make me this weak with a hug, I cant wait for when you finally take me home and bang me into next year.”

“Wade!”

Sniggering, Wade leaned back into the hold, burying his face in Peter’s neck, “Well if you’re offering, I’m sure gonna make the most of it, Webs.”

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #touch starved #marvel #spideypool #deadpool #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x deadpool #whump #fluff #peter parker x deadpool #fanfiction #marvel fic #spideypool whump #wade wilson

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uswntxfootball · 3 years

Text

i get a little bit stressed out (when i think about you) (jill roord x arsenal!reader)

how were you supposed to ask her out when just thinking about her made you nervous?

word count: 3342 ish

rated: F for flirtation sugar daddy

title- nervous by shawn mendes

——

your eyes followed her even when you didn’t mean for them to.

there was just something about the way she carried herself… you really just couldn’t get enough of it and-

“hello? y/n?”

you really really really had it bad. it really didn’t help that she was talking adamantly about something to viv, the other dutch forward having a relatively hard time keeping up with the taller girl.

its only when daan claps in your face that you turn and look at her.

“sorry what?”

daan face palms before saying:

“you know if you stare any harder you’re going to strain your eyes.”

you blush a little.

“i’m not staring….i’m-”

daan’s pointed look shuts you up.

you blush harder and look down at your cleats, adamantly avoiding the midfielder’s gaze.

her tone softens a little when she sees you.

“you really should just ask her out y/n. its been like two years.”

you scoff a little.

“it has not been two years what are you-“

daan cuts you off with a matter-of-fact tone:

“she joined the team in 2019 buddy.”

“yeah but that doesn’t mea-“

“and exactly how many words have you exchanged with her?”

you think before saying with an air of false confidence:

“like a lo-“

“not counting on the field.”

you sigh and hang your head in defeat before whispering:

“like two.”

the dutch midfielder hums and asks again:

“mhmm now what was that?”

you roll your eyes and say it a little louder, still with that air of defeat:

“like two words.”

daan patted your shoulder encouragingly before the whistle blew, indicating the end of break, and training picked up once again.

jill was talking about you during the break, actually.

to viv across the field from you.

the dutch forward had slowly realized that you were different around her, that you didn’t speak as much, and actually that you avoided her at all costs.

this she found out because there were instances, such as during team dinners, where if there was an open seat next to her, you didn’t take it, opting to stand or sit on the floor as far away from her as possible.

or that whenever she sat down next to you you shot up out of your seat almost instantly.

or that when you saw her coming down the hall you immediately turned and walked the way you came from.

or- you get the point.

she couldn’t tell if you hated her, because frankly that’s what it looked like.

so that’s what she was speaking to viv about.

and to lisa about.

and really anyone who would really listen.

of course, everyone knew your predicament, as you weren’t exactly subtle in your staring and stuttering.

they all assured jill that you didn’t hate her, that maybe you were just shy, something jill had a hard time believing since she watched you hold confident eye contact and conversations with literally everyone else but her.

if you were someone else maybe she would care less.

but you weren’t.

see, this is only how you acted off the field.

but on the field, you were a completely different person.

you had a confident, almost authoritative tone when you spoke, one that made everyone stop and listen, and was something that ultimately landed you the role of captain for every team you’ve ever played for, with arsenal being no exception.

you spoke to her that way too, and it was really the only time you made eye contact with her and spoke to her.

granted it was more like you giving orders and directions, but same difference really.

it was also something jill found really really hot.

so safe to say she cared about what you thought of her.

jill eventually decided that if you weren’t going to talk to her first, she’d do it instead.

and so began her quest, getting y/n y/ln to talk to her and hopefully become her friend.

you noticed the change in jill immediately.

it seemed as though the dutch forward was tailing you every chance she got.

every corner you took she seemed to appear right in front of you, every time you glanced at her it seemed as if her eyes were already on you.

it got so bad that you tried even harder to avoid her.

for instance,

one day before training you were out on the pitch shooting from midfield and muttering game analysis under your breath when you heard a familiar, heavy dutch accent making its way through the halls.

you panicked and-

daan found you ten minutes later inside a trashcan.

needless to say you had a pretty hard time trying to explain the smell and stains on your jersey to joe later that day.

in your defense because the field was so empty, that was the only plausible option in your mind.

as time went on, it really didn’t get any better.

there was another day during training where you turned to catch a glimpse of jill only to see her eyes already on you, and you turned back so abruptly that you knocked down the entire weight rack in front of you.

jill giggled, and the rest of your teammates were rolling their eyes and collectively face palming at your stupidity.

it all came to a climax when you were on the bus to your first match of the year, and jill plopped down in the seat right by you.

your eyes widened and cheeks flushed immediately, and you trained your eyes on the seat in front of you, not daring to turn and look at the girl beside you.

“hey how are you?”

you gulped and slowly looked up at her, and you cursed internally.

she was just so unfairly attractive.

the slightly shy smile and arched eyebrow was a combination you swear only she could pull off and-

“i’m doing okay, how are you?” you managed to force out.

at least you didn’t stutter.

jill gave you a lopsided smile that made your heart skip a beat, and went on talking.

she knew you weren’t much of a talker around her, and subsequently filled up all the gaps with her rambling, something that you both appreciated and hated, as it really didn’t help the queasy feeling in your stomach.

when the bus pulled to a halt you felt like you were going to puke, and shot up out of your seat wanting to run off before you freak out, only to remember that you were in the inside seat.

jill moved slightly without hesitation, something you were more than thankful for.

she whispers a little dejectedly when you get off:

“are you sure she doesn’t hate me?”

lisa gives her a sympathetic look and smile.

“she doesn’t jill.”

“but she just-“

“trust us, she doesn’t.”

jill nods a little apprehensively, and gets up and grabs her stuff, making her way off the bus along with everyone else.

during the game, jill was so distracted that she almost ran in the wrong direction.

“jill! press! now go!”

you were yelling at her from midfield, glancing all over the place as you watched every player’s movement and stance.

jill almost stumbled upon hearing your voice.

you note that she’s acting weirdly, and bring it up during a quick break while the ref is assessing a potential foul.

you catch her arm when she walks by you, an action that catches her entirely by surprise.

“hey you alright? your head is all over the place.”

jill swallows a little bit before smiling weakly and replying:

“yeah yeah i’ll be okay.”

“alright well get your head in it, you’re really talented and we really need you right now.”

you give her arm a reassuring squeeze and move to take the free kick which had just been given.

jill still stood there a little dumbfounded, its only when you snap loudly and point in the direction of the box that she remembers there’s a game going on and moves into position.

all in all, arsenal wins with an emphatic victory of 5-1.

after your duties as captain were fulfilled and you gave your post game talk, you quickly fell back into your off field self.

now why was the previous bus interaction the climax?

simply put, it had been the last straw for a lot of your teammates, who were now fed up with your idiotic gay panic, and decided to do something about it.

you should’ve known something was weird when you get a text from viv reading:

“URGENT- team meeting in 15 min at me & lisa’s apartment”

you furrowed your brows in confusion.

you were the team captain and the one who called team meetings, so what was up?

also it was saturday night, couldn’t it wait?

you texted kim, the vice captain, and pretty much the only responsible adult on the team, to double check.

she replied with:

“yes- joe told us about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows again because you took your job of captain seriously and you honestly didn’t remember joe mentioning an impromptu meeting on saturday night at viv’s house.

but you made your way there just in case anyways.

when you make your way inside you glance suspiciously around the apartment and only get more confused when you see less than half the team there.

the only people there besides viv and lisa were daan and beth, caitlin and lia, leah and jordan, and katie.

by this point you should’ve known.

you open your mouth to speak but you’re cut off when daan shoves you down into a chair.

“sit.”

you shoot back up and fight her back a little bit before asking:

“guys guys guys what is going on?”

leah calmly looked at you and said:

“sit down and we’ll tell you.”

and so you begrudgingly take a seat.

lisa starts.

“alright so collectively as a group, we decided that watching you deal with jill is making us all lose brain cells.”

the group in front of you nods adamantly in agreement.

“and so we’re here to help you. to teach you how to flirt.”

you cross your arms and snort a little.

“and how are you going to do that exactly?”

“well-“

beth piped in here.

“we’re going to employ katie and have her flirt with you and teach you for the next week or so.”

you shake your head.

“katie? no i would rather go on my own thank you very-“

katie cuts in here with an offended look.

“what do you mean no?! i’m obviously the best here and-“

the room quickly broke into a loud cacophony of sound, as they began debating about katie’s comment.

its only when lisa yells for silence that everyone quiets again.

“wait how many people are in on this?” you ask suddenly.

“the whole team with the exception of jill,” leah replies offhandedly.

your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you heard this.

“is it really that bad?”

lia snorts.

“can birds fly?”

you let out a sigh.

“fine.”

you turn to katie and very adamantly say:

“but don’t you dare make it weird.”

katie holds her hands up in surrender.

and so it began, your “training” as they called it.

katie, surprisingly was pretty good at what she did.

she did unfortunately call herself your flirtation sugar daddy, but that really made you uncomfortable so you avoided those terms at all costs.

so day after day, katie stuck by you and flirted with you 24/7, with occasional performance evaluations from lisa and caitlin, all who approved thus far.

on the downside, jill, who had been kept out of the loop from everything, saw this as you being interested in katie.

she wanted to tell you that katie had a girlfriend, but didn’t really know how to start that conversation without making it weird.

she couldn’t just go up to you and say, “hey i’ve been watching you flirt with katie for the last few days and just so you know she’s taken.”

so she just stood by and watched.

she did ask viv about it one day though.

“does y/n know katie has a girlfriend?”

to which viv replied:

“yup.”

“so why is she flirting with her?”

“its just for fun.”

“it doesn’t look like its for fun to me.”

viv turns and looks at her dutch teammate.

“are you jealous?”

jill almost sputters out her answer.

“wh-what no of course not! why would i be jealous?!”

viv turns to hide her smile.

“sure jill. whatever you say.”

two weeks went by, and katie was delighted by your performance.

next saturday, the ten of you met up at viv and lisa’s apartment again.

“alright so you might be asking why we’ve gathered you here today!” lisa proclaimed with a very poor attempt at victorian english.

“we’re gathered here today to-“

“oh just get on with it,” viv butts in.

lisa turns to her with a glare.

“all right all right,” viv relents.

“we’re going to assess y/n’s flirtation capabilities.”

you quirk an eyebrow.

“how are you going to do that exactly?”

“ooh we didn’t actually think that far. we’re going to ask you questions?”

“what like ask me to finish the line? like ooh girl are you from tennesse cuz you’re the only ten i see?”

lia cringes a little at that line.

“what ever you do, don’t say that.”

“mhm yeah wasn’t going t-.”

leah cuts in.

“alright the point is. just be yourself y/n. you exude confidence on the field so just bring it out when you talk to her. that’s all”

the others all nod in agreement.

“that’s it really. you can do it y/n, we all believe in you.”

“thanks guys i really appreciate it.”

“wait but i can still be your flirtation sugar da-ow! you didn’t have to all hit me!”

the next day at training you were shoved and funneled in jill’s direction by almost half the team.

a particularly hard shove from daan had you slamming directly into jill.

the dutch forward turned and grabbed your waist in lightning fast speed to steady you.

your arms immediately fell to rest on hers, and you took a shallow breath in when you saw her concerned look.

“are you alright?”

“yeah i am thanks to you…”

well here goes nothing.

“…though i have to say if this is what it takes to get you to hold me i’ll gladly fall for you again.”

jill’s face was worth the burning on your cheeks.

“w-what?”

you had to admit, jill’s stutter only made her cuter.

you just gave her a wink and reluctantly pulled her arms off you.

“come on jill, we have a training session to get to.”

you gave her a final wave before you made your way out of the locker room.

jill still stood there, shocked and a little confused.

viv rolled her eyes.

“come on jill.”

and when jill didn’t move, viv just grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

later during training almost the exact same thing happens.

except this time it was more jill’s fault than yours.

she wasn’t watching where she was going and ran right into you.

your hands found their way immediately on her waist.

“is this how we’re going to meet and talk from now on?”

jill blushed and mumbled a “sorry.”

you grinned.

“don’t be, i’m kind of enjoying it, though…”

you stopped to fake pondering something.

“…i don’t know what we should do now that we’ve both fallen for each other.”

you finished your sentence with another wink, essentially rendering jill speechless.

and so, this became a trend.

you would flirt with jill, and the dutch girl would essentially just freeze up and stare at you in shock.

you thought it was cute.

jill thought it was mortifying.

she complained to viv later on.

“i can’t even flirt back what is happening to me?”

viv just gave her a reassuring pat on the back.

“that’s what we call gay panic my friend.”

jill groaned and buried her face further into her hands.

“what’s a pretty lady like you doing all by yourself?”

you ask, plopping down in the empty bus seat beside her.

jill blushes and looks down at the seat in front of her.

she could barely see your playful grin out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to kick the butterflies in her stomach to a higher gear.

you had a little deja vu during the bus ride, except that in the previous predicament the roles were switched.

jill somehow managed to hold it together for the remainder of the bus ride.

it was on the pitch when jill really couldn’t take it anymore.

you didn’t even do anything, except fulfill your captain duties.

you were standing on the sideline, watching a scrimmage between lia’s team and kim’s team.

joe had asked you to sit out and assess every player’s strengths and basically coach them.

and coach them you did.

“caitlin! daan’s open on your left! and malin! cover daan better so she’s not wide open!”

you looked down to scribble notes in your note pad, and when you looked up you saw jill staring at you on the field.

“jill! focus!”

her gaze snapped back onto the game.

before the second round, you gave a bunch of pointers to both teams.

“okay so you guys are doing pretty well, just make sure to keep up your back line, don’t make it sloppy.”

and to the other:

“alright so pass accuracy is something you need to work on, because half of your passes are being intercepted at the moment which probably isn’t something you want.”

after a few minutes the teams took their places back onto the pitch and you began scribbling down a few more notes.

a pair of cleats makes their way before you, and you look up.

“what’s wr-“

jill leans down and kisses you.

you drop your notepad in surprise.

she pulls back quickly and searches your face for any sign of disgust or repulsion, and finding none, she leans in again.

this time, you met her halfway.

it was electric and a little needy, really everything you wanted a first kiss to be.

you briefly heard the cheers and clapping of your teammates, too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

jill’s hands fell to your waist and yours rested on her cheeks.

you pulled back after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a couple of seconds.

“so i guess i don’t have to fall for you to hold me like that again,” you whisper.

jill giggles.

“definitely not.”

you’re silent for a few seconds, but jill beats you and breaks it first.

“you know, i thought you liked katie.”

your eyes widen in surprise, and your face quickly contorts into disgust.

“oh god no way.”

“oh that’s good.”

you ask her a little teasingly:

“why, were you jealous?”

jill scoffs a little.

“shut up.”

you arch your brow a little in challenge.

“make me then.”

jill’s eyes flash back onto your face dangerously but before she can do anything you give her a little shove back.

“now go back to your scrimmage, we’ve had them wait long enough.”

she rolls her eyes and turns back towards the pitch, and towards a hoard of your giddy teammates.

“flirtation sugar daddy for the wi-ow!”

your perfectly struck ball hits katie square in the chest and your glare cuts eliminates any objections.

still you hear her mutter:

“still if anyone needs any help with flirting i’ll be free to-“

“katie!”

“sorry sorry i’ll stop.”

#jill roord #jill roord x reader #jill roord imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #nedwnt x reader #nedwnt imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine

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amphxtrite · 4 years

Text

george weasley x fem!reader

part two: our future together

warnings: swearing, spelling/ grammar mistakes.

summary: George falls head over heels for the reader at Quidditch try-outs.

word count: 2.2k

enjoy <3

___________________________________

Ah Quidditch, one of George’s favourite activities, other than pranking. The feeling of cool wind blowing against his face and the rush of adrenaline he gets hitting bludgers, and flying across the stadium at full speed makes him feel on top of the world. He’s adored the sport every since he was just a little kid watching in envy as his older brothers and his dad flew around throwing quaffles, catching snitches and, his favourite, hitting bludgers. He’d always dreamed of being to play real quidditch, not just the scrimmages at home, so when Fred suggested they try out for the gryffindor team in second year, he jumped on it. George smiles at the memory of their first try-out, they’d dusted any other kid in the beaters department and since then always have. Fred laughing loudly brings George out of thought.

It’s the start of a new year, which means try- outs again. George tries not to worry about it, he’s been on the team for years now, what could go wrong? He tries to focus on how excited he is to get back on the Hogwarts Pitch, but his anxiousness is shown, he’s tapping his foot and figeting with his bag string. “Let’s get a move on Fred, we’re going to be late!” He starts to drag Fred out the door of the gryffindor common room. “Alright, alright! Just quit your pestering.” Fred sighs, rolling his eyes and stuffing a dungbomb he was poking at back into his bag. “I don’t understand what’s got you in such a worry.” Fred starts. “We’ve been on the quidditch team for the past three years, we’ve got this!” The older twin smiles, patting George on the shoulder, “I know, but who knows who’s going to try out this year, what if there’s someone bloody amazing.” George says nervous. “Can’t be better than us, eh?” Fred smiles back. George manages a weak grin.

The twins make their way into the changeroom and get into more suitable clothing, swapping out their uniforms and ties, for their quidditch jerseys, and shin guards. Grabbing their brooms, they make their way onto the pitch and are greeted by their captain, Oliver Wood. “Hello lads.” He greets with his usual heavy Scottish accent. “How’s it going Oliver?” The twins answer back in sync. “Not bad, just excited to start try-outs, you guys have got competition this year!”Olliver laughs pointing over to a small group of gryffindors huddled together. “Well I guess we’ll just have to show em who’s boss, right Freddie?” George nudges his twin. “Right on George.” Fred answers back smugly.

The try out begins with a couple laps around the pitch, so Olliver can start to pick off those he sees unfit. Fred and George decide to have some fun looping around people and pestering their friends. “Heya, Harry how's it going?” George smiles at the blue-eyed brunette, while flying upside down above him, Harry flashes a smile and rolls his eyes at the twins' antics before making small talk with the red-head.

Oliver finally calls everyone back down and starts each round of try-outs starting with chasers, he and Fred began to cheer on Angelina, Katie and all their fellow gryffindors, feeling pride watching his classmates play.

George starts to grow nervous as the try-outs for the beaters roll around, he figits with his broom as Oliver begins to call them out in twos. “Alright let's have y/n and Finnick go first!” Oliver motions for two people. George sees a tall, skinny boy walk out first, sizing him up, he turns to Fred and shrugs slightly before turning back to look at whoever y/n was. His breath catches in his throat. You were stunning. He watches you in shock as you climb onto your broom with a bat and push off, taking a moment to admire the way your h/c hair blew in the wind and the look of excitement plastered on your face as you flew around, your e/c eyes seemed to shine like diamonds in the sunlight. How did he not notice you before? “Blimey.” George whispered out watching you race back and forth hitting bludgers back with such elegance and force. He had a dopey grin stuck on his face as he watched the way your eyebrows scrunched together when you spotted a bludger and how you retaliated quickly after a not-so-good hit. You were perfect. “Freddie…” he turned to his twin next to him. “I think I’m in love.” He concluded a blush littering his freckled cheeks. Fred eyes widen and his brows shoot up, looking back towards the pitch, he’s in time to see you landing back down, a huge smile plastered on your face as you pant slightly, giving a high-five to your partner. Fred looks back towards his twin “y/n?” Fred questions, George nods, still gazing at you, stuck in a daze, as you take a sip from your water bottle and spoke to Angelina. “Mate, that’s Angie’s best friend, she’s going to rip you to shreds!” Fred laughs. “Really?” George questions, he tries to think back to if he’s ever seen you before, but draws a blank every time. “How come I’ve never seen her before?” George asks, his eyebrows knitting together in a confused expression. “Well you’re pretty bloody clueless for one.” Fred smirks and continues, “You know, she goes to games a lot to cheer on the team, you probably haven’t noticed cuz you’ve got your head so far stuck in the game.” Fred laughs loudly. “She’s also in the year below us so that explains why she’s not in any of our classes.” Fred finishes explaining, rolling his eyes as he watches his twin’s love-struck expression.

“Weasleys’ you’re up!” Oliver shouts. The twins shoot up immediately, walk over and quickly ascend into the sky. “Alright George it’s go-time so put your goo-goo eyes away, alright?” Fred warns. George blushes bashfully, sneaking a glance down at you one last time, he almost has a heart attack when he sees you looking back at him, cheering him on with Angelina. He musters a smirk and decides to show off a little. Oliver releases the bludgers and George grips the bat a little tighter, he lets his usual competitive nature consume him and he flawlessly hits back the incoming bludgers with a strength only to be rivaled by his own twin. Flying back and forth down the pitch, doing loops and laughing, he looks back at you again after hitting the bludger several yards back and sees a look of amazement cross your eyes, your lips slightly parted in shock at the sheer talent of the twins. George’s smile goes even wider and taking a chance he shoots you his signature wink and speeds back into the game. Praying that he’d gotten the reaction he wanted.

Back down on the ground, you watch in awe as the Weasley twins loop around, hitting bludgers and laughing their heads off, you could kiss being a beater goodbye when the twins were this good. Your focus was mainly on George, his loops and turns were just so amazing and the ways his arm flexed made you blush. Continuing to watch him, he makes eye-contact with you and winks, before swinging his bat again, You smile and feel your heart swell. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Angelina, who comments on the small interaction.

“Oh what’s this I see?” she teases, “does someone fancy a certain Weasley?” Angelina continues a wicked grin crossing her face. “Don’t be ridiculous Angelina, there's nothing there.” You say brushing her off as the twins land, pushing each other around smiling. “I don’t know y/n, I’m pretty sure that wink was something.” She nudges you. Ah shit so she saw that. You feel your face grow hotter as a devilish smile grows on Angelina’s face.

George had just touched down. Wiping the sweat of his brow with his arm he nudges the boy beside him, “Nice job Fred!” he says high-fiving his twin. “You too!” Fred laughs back, bumping shoulders with George. Oliver calls up the next duo as Angelina calls out for them. “Oi, you two nitwits, i have someone for you to meet!” she yells for them. George can see you bury your face into your hands and he frowns. Was something wrong? Fred saunters over with George in tow and the two groups meet halfway.

“Well hello there Miss Angelina, you called?” Fred says as he approaches the two friends.

“Yes, I’d like you two to meet my very best mate y/n.” She laughs wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You blush and mutter a thank you to Angelina before speaking.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you, you’re very great at quidditch by the way, y-your skills I mean.” you stutter out, mentally cursing yourself for messing up your introduction. George couldn’t care less in fact, he could’ve melted right there, your voice was adorable and your nervousness made him just want to wrap you in a hug.

“Thank you, haha y/n right?” Fred answers swavely before George could open his mouth, The younger twin turns and glares at his brother, what was he doing? “Yeah, that’s me.” You respond.

“Hey Angie, how come you haven’t mentioned little y/n before?” Fred teases. Angelina rolls her eyes.

“Oh I have, you two twats don’t seem to listen though.” She says coldly. Panic takes over the older twins face. “Oops?” Fred cringes. his answer coming out more like a question.

George decided to speak now while the other two were bickering. “You’re really good yourself you know, you’ve got a mean swing.” George compliments, your face lights up like a kid in a candy store. “Wow! Thanks George, it means a lot.” you smile sweetly at him. His breath hitches.

“W-wait you can already tell the difference between us?” he asks, trying to be nonchalant, but his voice comes out very excited. “Of course!” You laugh. “Angelina’s been telling me loads about you guys, and I’ve just drawn the personality to the person.” You giggle out. “Of course, she obviously can recognize the better looking twin.” Fred butts in puffing out his chest smugly. You roll your eyes, “Fred’s the confident and cocky twin and George is the sweet and compassionate twin” you explain with a smile playing on your lips. Fred opens his mouth in mock offence looking to Angelina for an answer, Angelina stares back at him and mutters a quick, it’s true.

George could tell he had to be beaming, you thought he was sweet and compassionate! He was going to burst with happiness.

“Hey Freddie can I talk to you, alone, for a sec?” Angelina asks, pulling Fred away. “Uh-yeah of course.” Fred follows slightly confused. Angelina shoots y/n a wink and George a look that said, don’t fuck up, as she continues to pull Fred away.

Oh shit she saw his blush didn’t she? Feeling nervous he turns back to face you and he can’t help but stare into your gorgeous eyes, tracing your adorable nose and perfect lips, he can feel himself falling. Hard.

“Lovely weather we’re having” you started, George accidentally cuts you off “Uh- hey, y/n how’d you like to grab a butterbeer with me this weekend?” he asks with a grin, silently kicking himself for interrupting you. Your eyes widen at his sudden boldness, but it’s replaced with a smirk. “Are you asking me on a date Georgie?” His face must’ve been on fire now, he hoped you’d think it was because of the try-outs. Godric he loved the way you said his name.

“I might be, what if I was?” he questions sarcastically. You grin playfully, you pretend to think it over, tapping a finger on your cheek. “I’d say, I’d love to go with you George Weasley and do this.” George looks at you confused as you walk closer to him, but it’s replaced with happiness when you wrap your arms around his torso. He was going to faint, he was sure of it, serotonin was coursing through him at such a fast pace he felt himself physically wobble. You step back a bit, not wanting to over step any boundaries.

Regaining a sliver of his confidence he flashes a charming smile. “Well then y/n what do you say then? Will you go on a date with me?” He opens his arms. You roll your eyes playfully and step back into his embrace. “Yes George I’ll go on a date with you.” you murmur into his broad chest. He hugs you tighter as Angelina and Fred walk back into your view, “alright love birds, y/n and I have got to get going.” Angelina pulls you by your shirt out of George’s embrace, you pout and say one final goodbye to both the twins before grabbing your bag and rushing to Angelina’s side, waving before turning and chatting with her.

Fred leans closer to the blushing red-head, “I take it, it went well?” Fred teases. George doesn’t answer at first, too busy watching you fade in the distance. “Perfect. It went perfect.” He feels himself grinning like an idiot and turning to his twin, “Freddie, I think I'm in love.” He says again joyously, “Alright, loverboy, let’s go get showered and changed so you can go hang with your little y/n again.” Fred suggests. George nods excitedly and grabs his bag, walking alongside Fred back towards the castle. Smiling all the way back.

George didn’t think it possible, but he found himself loving quidditch even more, tuning out Fred’s voice, he silently finds himself hoping he’d get to play quidditch with you by his side.

#george weasley #harry potter imagine #harry potter #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #quidditch #fluff #harry potter fluff #george weasley fluff #imagines

258 notes · View notes

savagenutella46 · 3 years

Text

And Thus With A Kiss I Die

Jasonette 1/1 - A fic I wrote for @moonlitceleste because she’s amazing

All quotes/title in bold italics derived from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

"Banishèd' is banished from the world, and world's exile is death."

There's no finite end to where white and black meet. Everything is shades of grey; infinite on a foreboding scale of fate and destiny: entities that push you to make the choices you do.

It had ended with a flash of light—real or her imagination, she had witnessed it between her own eyes. The kind of flashing light that tells you, "you've died."

Ladybug could still hear the shrieks and screams of civilians echoing ringingly around her, confused, scared, as to why an akumatized villain was hurting them the way that it was; this wasn't how akumatizations usually went, maybe a few scratches, worn out knees, but never this.

(—And to think, it had started out as a normal day.

Marinette rose out of bed with the same grogginess lingering at the corner of her eyes, brushed her teeth, kissed her Maman on the cheek as she ran to school, late.

You'd never suspect you were going to die on a day so normal, so domestic.)

What had this person been through before submitting to Hawkmoth with such a vicinity? How had Hawkmoth prayed to a cacophony of emotions like this—to kill, order, destroy everything in its path? Marinette would never catch an inkling, dying and all that jazz.

It's easy to see the world through a rose-colored lens. To believe that people do the things they do because they're bad. (but no one ever talks about why they do the things they do because they're good.)

And Marinette, masked in all her red-and-black glory, had pushed a frozen-with-fear civilian out of harm's way, an absurd amount of unleashed dark magic from the akuma hurtling its way toward them, and she'd taken the hit. Rolled on the ground for yards from the sheer force that the akuma's magic had flew and stricken her and pierced the skin, blood splattering and trailing as she slapped and hit the street from every possible angle.

Ladybug can't move, can't call for help when she desperately needs to, because her partner is miles away trying to fight what has her plastered to the ground, laying limp underneath her dead weight, breathing muffled and heavy underneath her physical detriment.

Ladybug's eyes droop under the weight of exhaustion, barely running on fumes before she had run out in an attempt to defeat what was supposed to be an everyday activity.—Crazy, how something can seem so domestic until its so, so much more.—A hemothorax forming in her chest where Marinette had been hit, a very open thoracic cavity filling up with blood, and she's spluttering for breath, because her throat is closed up, filled with blood from where the akuma hit her to where it burned.

It burns real bad, almost like an explosion stemming from her chest to the nerve endings on her toes. Marinette feels like she's being tortured with every meek twitch of her wrist as she lays on the ground, unable to see over the car shouldering her path, the pain burning behind her eyes, the white-hot disappointment in her heart.

—And she knows it's time. Because this is the work of fate. Her life in its hands. It had seemed miles away from Marinette just this morning, and how she wished she could go back and cherish the moments since she'd arisen from unpremeditated slumber.

She cannot. This is her destiny, as it seems. No one can be saved if Ladybug cannot save herself, can't will herself to detransform and heal herself because she can't, and she feels a gripping amount of remorse before emotions hit her all around—she should've told Adrien something, she can't recall what it is—should've told her Maman she loved her before running out the door in such a rush—should've squealed about the hot superheroes in America with Alya one last time, before she feels nothing.

Nothing except for the white light. And then dark again. Absolutely nothing.

_________________

It's dark when she opens her eyes, and she blinks to make sure her eyes are actually open, and sees a big, fat, load of nothing.

Marinette's—the ladybug suit had disappeared, her normal clothes taking its place—body feels light, floaty, and utterly weightless against the dark mass she's standing atop of. Her head feels eerily light, calm without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a calm feeling washes over her.

Her voice echoes against endless sound barriers as she utters her first words since death.

"This is what death feels like, huh?" Utterly amazing. Marinette can't believe she didn't do this earlier.

—But, for a moment, she feels empathy. Empathy for the people stuck in Paris, wondering if this was the day they were going to die, the people all around the world living in fear of something so inevitable.

She closes her eyes for just a second, a moment of vengeful peace. Opens them again, and this time, she's somewhere different.

She's in a library. Unfamiliar, but welcoming all the same. The smell of crisp, unopened books float idly in her senses, a synthetic warm feeling creeping up behind her back. Distantly, she realizes that she recognizes the place, tables placed and shelves abundantly filled with books, ranging from science fiction to classic literature, and it feels exactly how it did all those years ago.

Years ago, when she'd first visited the United States of America, the first place her Maman and Papa took her was a public library in Gotham City, New Jersey. It had welcomed her so openly that she couldn't help but smile a little, slip under from her parent's grasp, and wander toward a vast section of William Shakespeare, someone she'd heard so much about in her eight—nine years, she couldn't help but be pulled toward the ordain shelf.

She'd even met someone, too. Her mother would forever deny—if Marinette had still been alive, but Marinette was convinced the little boy sitting against the mass of wooden shelves had been very, very real. Marinette had smiled at him, sat down next to him, even if he gave her a wary, and borderline aggressive look, she'd introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Marinette." She'd said with a horrible stutter and an almost unintelligible accent. The boy closed his book—a black and white cover with words she couldn't quite understand the meaning of as well as a simple name like Shakespeare's, and she smiled a little harder.

"Jason," He'd said in a heedful voice, staring at her curiously. "Whadda' you want?"

Marinette shrugged as best she could with weak shoulders, and turned her head from the person next to her to drink in every corner of the library that she could see without moving from her increasingly-uncomfortable crouch on the ground.

"Nothing. Just wanted to see what you're reading." She leaned over his shoulder, monosyllabic and complex English text alike filling her view, so many words that blurred together, and she felt a heat at the top of her head in frustration.

She couldn't read English.

The boy next to her—Jason, had seemed to recognize her distress and pull the book closer to him, floundering for a moment before he exhaled loudly, and started to read.

Words flowed out of the him, smooth and languid, and she found herself trapped in the moment, mesmerized by such an eloquent reading from a boy who looked just her age.

"What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight to cross my obsequies and true love's rite?" He reads off, breaking unevenly for gulps of air, and dove back right where he stopped without much distraction, and moments, minutes passed under his voice.

And the memory fell away from view. She opened eyes she didn't realize had closed when a voice seemed to float from the corner of her vision, a body stepping into view and a realized this wasn't imagination.

Another boy, dressed in tattered—but comfortable looking jeans finds his way over to her, a curious glint in his magnificent blue eye and a raised eyebrow, though he looks troubled, aged where he ought to look youthful.

"Who're you?" He mumbles, lips barely moving around syllables as he stares at Marinette, defensive, yet hopeful.

His voice. Despite the clearly street-wise accent, his voice is beautiful. A voice that could recite hundreds of words and never get old in the canals of her ears. Marinette found herself wanting to hear more.

"Marinette." She blinks, seems to realize the way he seems nervous, and, "You like jazz?" Blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which, just so happens to be the only sentence capable of such utterance in damning—literally—times like this one.

Jason finally cracks a smile after a few more moments of cricket-inducing silence, and the newfound tension in her shoulders seems to melt away again, just as it did with her entrance to a magnificent limbo such as this. "Not in particular, but I do like to read." His smile is utterly contagious, and Marinette feels it spread its way along her own face, eyes crinkling under the weight of emotion.

They spend their days in an endless limbo like that, reading, laughing, sometimes in the comfortable chair in the library, and sometimes they're gazing upon clouds, feeling the prickly sensation of grass under their backs as they lie next to one another under a cool breeze and warm sun—which is the scene they're settling in, when Marinette turns her head toward the boy next to her.

"It's been," She pauses for a moment, adding up the days since they've both died—it had to be around the same time—and Jason turns his head toward her in a similar fashion, an eyebrow raised. "A few months? And..." She trails off, suddenly feeling less confident in a horrid question.

She knows the way she had died hadn't been peaceful, and if the boy she'd grown so close to in months of passing had died as painfully, he might doubt their budding friendship, as new as it is.

But then Jason reaches over and covers her hand with his, a blooming warmth enveloping her hand all the way to her heart, her vision snaps back to where it had wandered down to the rest of her body, reliving a turret of emotions. "Marinette," Jason stares at her in earnest, "You can ask."

Another thing she'd never understand was Jason's ability to read people so well. He'd always know her intentions, as bad or good as they may be, like something mundane, a book she'd eyed for a few minutes before he'd sighed heavily and got up to get it for her, or when Marinette wanted to be left alone. Just for a minute, to pull herself back together.

"How did you die?" She watches as Jason closes his eyes, curling in on himself despite the foretold question, and waits.

She's good at waiting. (A familiar feeling of heat creeping up to her cheeks, the same way it did with someone else, not so long ago, but in a different lifetime.)

"It started out when I tried to steal Batman's tires—" Marinette widens her eyes in surprise.

Oh, so they're going way back then, huh?

But by the time Jason finishes speaking, pats his sweaty hands down on the slacks he wore that day that came from God knows where, Marinette finds the humor and her mood had dimmed significantly.

And Jason, he looks terrible. Like it was the first time he'd said something about it since, well, death. Almost hyperventilating, Jason is breathing heavily, gripping onto his pants with malice and intent, almost as if stopping himself from something. He'd told his beginning to end with an increasingly shaky voice, cracking at the edges where he'd relived the fear and abandonment he felt when trapped in an unfamiliar country, in a dirty warehouse, trapped in his own feelings in a suit that he thought would always protect him.

Without a dad that he'd thought would always protect him.

Marinette feels a little sick. The boy next to her had died so brutally, alone, scared and slowly.

"I don't regret it. Being Robin." He adds quietly after a moment of hesitation. It's small, but it's there and plain. He doesn't regret something that changed his life, but— "Just the death part."

He would want to change his death, and she couldn't agree more.

If only it meant they could've still met despite living, that is.

She doesn't say that. Instead, she laughs a little. "You and me both." Marinette reaches over to hold his hand once more, and pretends not to see the tears climbing out of his eyes.

"So early waking, what with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals, hearing them, run mad—?"

How it felt to tear his way out of the ground, shivering, shaking, flinching at the way his fingernails tore away with every claw and scratch at the unyielding wood before him. Jason was vaguely aware of a horrible groaning noise that might've been his own, but when his hand stuck through to crisp Gotham air, dirt flinging and spilling down on his face as he gasped and choked for breath, he could only think of a single quote from such a cliche play.

He thought of it while tearing out the bloody uvula of his victim, spurred on by the Pit and Talia's ruthless training, starving for the sound of screaming that rung in his ear, continued to clang loudly even in sleep, when it bestowed itself upon him.

Because he couldn't think about anything else. Wouldn't allow himself to, because then he would start thinking about her.

About how she left him.

Jason had turned to retrieve a book from their peaceful library limbo one day, muttering to himself about something so mundane that he didn't even remember, but he'd grabbed the book—a simple fiction, because they were both bored of astronomy—and turned around to silence, instead of the shiny mop of dark hair he was expecting.

"Marinette?" Jason calls, swiveling his head around when the chair previously occupied by her stood empty.

Jason waits.

He doesn't know how long he waits, searches, but she isn't there.

And the feeling of disappointment and fear runs up his spine again, before he knows it, he's kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath as tears run down because he's been abandoned again, and it's just as damning as the first time.

His father, his brother, his mother, his birth mother, and now his friend.

Jason breaks down again, gripping harshly onto his hair while he cries, where he'd usually hold onto Marinette's hand.

So he doesn't think of much at all, really. Not when he turns on murder mode, not when he forces himself to stare into the eyes of the person he's killing while they die, because he wants to remember how it felt. How it felt before he met another superhero torn away from her life almost as harshly as he was ripped away from his own.

He wants to go back. Before he flew to Ethiopia unsupervised and unprepared, before he took the Robin mantle, before he decided to make quick cash off of the Batmobile, before his mother died by her own hands, loosely holding a syringe and shaking, shuddering from her overdose.

Jason wants to go back to Before. He can't stand living in the After, where he makes the choices he does.

He’s supposed to be good.

permanent taglist: @nathleigh @stainedglassm @officiallydarkgeek @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @buterflies-and-ladybugs @maskedpainter

#i told yall this would be a Right Person Wrong Time #HOW MANY OF YOU LISTENED #HUH?#jasonette #maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #marinette dupain cheng #Jason Todd

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blackleatherjacketz · 2 years

Text

We Dug Coal Together: Title of Your Sex Tape: Chapter 6

Brooklyn 99 x Justified

Summary: Boyle and Diaz interrogate Crowder while Captain Holt bonds with Gutterson. Holt finally gets under Crowder’s skin.

Warnings: Talks of murder, heartbreak, bigotry, lots of eye contact, confessions.

Featuring: Captain Holt, Boyd Crowder, Tim Gutterson

Word Count: 2207

Read the rest of the story HERE!

Crowder relaxed in his chair as the door to the interrogation room opened, screeching against its hinges as Boyle entered the room just behind Diaz. Holt watched the suspect’s features drop from behind the glass, the hope of seeing Givens one more time evaporating before him like water on a hot stove as Boyle sat down across from him.

“Well, I know Raylan is here, he brought me into this very room. I suggest you get him back in here to interrogate me, or I’ll be on my way back to New Jersey.”

Detective Boyle opened the Manila folder in front of him, spreading the crime scene photos of Supposed Doug Judy’s murder out onto the table like a deck of cards. “You don’t get to make demands, Crowder,” he pushed one of the photos forward, “We do.”

“Why son, that is a terrible sight, do you show everyone these grotesque images?” He sang without even looking at them.

“We know you were working with Doug Judy, we know Elmore Asimov came to visit both of you in prison before the two of you escaped.” He pulled the photo of Asimov out of the file and pushed it in front of him. “He owned both of the properties we searched today, including the one we found you at this afternoon.”

“Is my DNA anywhere near this murder scene?” Crowder leaned forward, palming the photos as he stared Detective Boyle in the eye.

“We’re waiting for the samples to come back from the lab, but when they do, I’ll bet dollars to donuts it has your name written all over it.” Boyle dropped the octave off his voice, a sort of grit taking over that Holt recognized he did only when he and Peralta were practicing accents for undercover characters.

Holt held his breath as he watched him stare down this convict, crossing his arms as Marshal Gutterson leaned against the table behind them. “You know we can just take him back to prison, right? Interrogate him there?” Holt felt his deep azure eyes gloss over him, sizing him up methodically before he bothered turning his head.

“Yes, I know. I’m also aware that the man in those photos is most likely who Peralta fears it to be. We’re not bound by a timed hold here, we can keep him here as long as we need to.” He paused and took his time looking him over in return.

Marshal Gutterson was fit, dressed only in simple colors and patterns that served the purpose of comfort, concealment and efficiency. His boyish good looks were almost lost in his simple clothing choices, but Holt knew that if he were unwed and a younger man, Gutterson would be someone he might consider pursuing. “How long have you known Givens had a salacious past with Crowder?”

“Always had a hunch.” Gutterson placed his hands on his hips. “Raylan thinks he’s a good liar by telling half truths, but his eyes give him away every time.” He watched as Boyle and Crowder continued to banter back and forth, the names Gomer Pyle and Hannibal Lecter being thrown around carelessly.

“So, how long have you been out?” He made sure not to look at him directly when he asked, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared straight forward to hear his answer.

“Since I joined the force. It’s never been something I’ve tried to hide.” Holt stated matter of factly. He glanced over as Diaz came out from her perch on the corner wall, playing her usual role of Bad Cop.

“And that’s worked out for you in law enforcement?” Holt noticed the muscles in his shoulders relax with the question, his face still directed forward.

“It came with its challenges, as I’m sure you know.” Holt baited, watching for any tell to let him know if he was off base. He saw him eyeing the pride flag on his desk earlier, a look of relief coming over him that he knew all too well.

Gutterson sighed, crossing his arms over his chest to mirror Holt’s stance before opening his mouth to speak. “Kentucky isn’t New York, Sir.” He twisted his lips in a sad sort of smile, one he might use when giving someone bad news.

“I see.” He paused for effect, acknowledging that he understood his predicament. “Does Givens know?”

“He’s too self-involved to notice. I could have Vulcan ears and he’d never bother to ask if I was an alien.” He waved his hand as if to brush the idea off. “Hell, I’m surprised he even figured it out about himself.” That sad smile turned upwards, wrinkling the skin around his eyes and mouth before a small laugh escaped his lips.

“There’s a U.S. Marshal service here in New York,” Holt offered quickly. “If you ever needed a reference, I would be happy to write you a letter of…”

Diaz slammed her fist onto the crime scene photos between her and Crowder, nearly climbing on top of the table to get closer to him before Boyle attempted to pull her back.

“Excuse me.” Holt whispered to Gutterson. He took a step forward and knocked loudly on the glass, pressing the button to speak into the other room. “Detective Diaz! That’s enough!”

Captain Holt sent the rest of the squad out to lunch with Givens and Peralta, letting Crowder sit and stew in silence for an hour as he looked over his file for the tenth time today. He looked up at him every few minutes, wondering what Givens saw in him all those years ago, or perhaps even still. He understood the power and charm of a narcissist on a logical level, but couldn’t imagine being in a position himself to ever be vulnerable to his empty promises. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky not to have that on his list of obstacles to overcome.

“You must be Captain Raymond Holt!” That charm turned back on as soon as he entered the room.

How exhausting that must be for him.

“Do we know each other?” Holt eased himself through the doorway, taking his time to close it behind him as Gutterson finished his lunch in the adjacent room.

Crowder laughed, that maniacal look twisting his features into an almost jester-like appearance. “Well no, we do not, but I know plenty about you and your husband, Kevin Cozner, who looks after that little dog of yours, what’s his name again? Gouda? Swiss? Colby Jack?”

“Cheddar.” Captain Holt corrected, sitting down calmly.

“It’d be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”

“If you think that threatening me or my family will frighten me, you are gravely mistaken, Mr. Crowder.” He rearranged the crime scene photos in front of him, refusing to seem thrown off by his knowledge of his personal life.

“Who was Doug Judy to you?” He started in where Boyle and Diaz left off.

“Just a cellmate.” Crowder leaned back in his chair, picking at the skin around his fingernails.

“Just a cellmate?” He repeated, raising an eyebrow thoughtfully as he looked at the pictures again, Crowder’s silence filling every inch of the room. “He didn’t provide contact with Asimov to help facilitate your escape? Give you resources to get out of the country?” He paused, showing him a photo of Asimov. “We know that he visited both of you in prison.”

“Well, if you already know so much, Captain, why are you asking me? If I wanted to get out of the country, I’d already be eating crepes in Paris by now.” Crowder stopped fidgeting with his nails and looked up at him.

“Then what is all this for, Crowder? Why waste our time?” Killing Judy once he’d served his purpose made perfect sense on paper, it fit Crowder’s profile to a T, but something just wasn’t adding up. He was better than that, smarter than that, more patient than that. Something was off.

“Captain Holt, I’m serving five consecutive life sentences, what difference is one more dead body gonna make?” His hazel eyes burned into his as he closed the space between them, Givens’ cologne now a noticeable scent. “It makes no nevermind to me.”

“Why did you kill him, then?”

“Why did I kill anyone? They got in the way.” He avoided answering the question directly, eye contact still heavy.

“And Doug Judy got in your way because…”

“Because he’s a loud mouthed negro who slowed me down, is that what you want to hear, Raymond?” That jovial mask he wore melted away as he tilted his head to the side.

Holt nodded, remembering the look Peralta gave him in the other room when explaining that mark on his forehead. Crowder’s file said that he had distanced himself from the white supremacists in prison, focusing on religion and philosophy instead, but he wondered how much of that was a ruse. How much of it had all been leading up to this very moment?

“I’ve been called far worse than that. I’ve also been called a word I’m sure you’ve heard whenever Marshal Givens paid you a visit.”

“He told you about us, huh?” Crowder paused and looked completely through Captain Holt, projecting his voice into the next room. “You finally let it out, huh, Raylan? I knew it would only be a matter of time. Of course, I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to wait until I was in custody to hear it!” His smile widened, the chains around his wrists jingling as he lifted his hands.

“You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you?” Holt leaned forward, figuring he had nothing else to lose by pursuing this angle. “Anything to get him to notice you the way you noticed him. I mean, who could blame you? I’m a married man, but I even did a double take when he walked into the precinct.”

Crowder’s face changed as he sat up straight, eyes squinting to figure out what Holt was getting at.

“That mysterious gaze, those coy lips, the effortless confidence?” Holt smiled and closed his eyes, shaking his head before giggling like a schoolgirl.

Peralta walked into the other room as Gutterson finished throwing away his trash, looking over at Holt through the pane of glass. “Oh no, what’s he doing?”

“Let him talk.” Gutterson defended, looking like he was watching his favorite team play the Super Bowl.

“How long has he been in there?” Peralta asked, standing next to him. He knew that if Holt had already resorted to laughing, it wasn't going well.

“Not long enough.”

“He used to visit you in prison, did he not?” Captain Holt continued his line of questioning. “Every time you were locked up, the record shows that it was almost weekly you two had hour-long visitations, but now…” he trailed off, sifting through the papers in his file.

“Now what, old man?” Crowder swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat as he leered across the table at his captor.

“It’s been years since Marshal Givens has come to see you, or even given you a call. No letters, no contact, nothing; even before you were transferred out of Kentucky.” He took a breath, watching the veins in Crowder’s neck bulge as he got closer to the truth. “That eats you up inside more than anything else, doesn’t it?”

Crowder remained silent, biting his bottom lip as if that was enough to contain the words he wanted to hurl at him.

“He has a whole life without you now. He moved down to Florida to be with his wife and daughter, but you and I both know that was never going to work out. The question that runs through your mind every night now is ‘Why hasn't he come back? Not even once?’ Has he found another man down in Miami? Someone who can make him feel better than you ever could? I’m sure they’re just lining up around the block to get a taste of that tall, dark, handsome cowboy.”

“That’s enough!” Crowder shouted, pounding both fists onto the table. His eyes gleamed a bloody red as they dampened with tears, nearly burning a hole in Holt’s head.

Got him, Holt thought.

“Escaping and killing Judy was the only way to get him to drop everything and fly across the country to see you one last time without bars between you, wasn’t it?”

A silent static filled the room, Crowder’s indignant gaze scanning his chained hands before looking through the two-sided mirror he believed Givens to be standing on the other side of. He blinked a few times, the motion causing a single tear to fall down onto his cheek. “If I say yes, can you guarantee he’ll be the one transporting me back to prison?” He muttered through gritted teeth. “Can you at least give me that?”

“You have my word.” Holt nodded, holding his breath.

Crowder chewed on his lip, taking his time to weigh his options in his head before finally deciding to speak. “I killed him. I used Doug Judy to get out of prison and then I shot him in the head.”

“Oh, damn,” Peralta whispered in the other room.

#Justified #brooklyn 99 #captain raymond holt #boyd crowder #tim gutterson #jake peralta #justified fanfiction #brooklyn nine nine fanfiction

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visionsofus · 3 years

Note

Hi! Just wanted to say that i'm living for you scarlet vision fanfic right now, they give me so much happiness and relief and they are so well-written that i'm re-reading them daily. I just wanted to ask if it's possible to have maybe If You Ever Come Back by The Script. I think that this will fit very well with our favourite synthezoid and witch.

Thank you again and please continue writing about them! Cheers and stay safe

hello! thank you so much for reading and reaching out with this song - it was perfect! I really hope you continue reading and enjoying this series ❤️ I hope you have a lovely morning/evening and are staying safe

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

track #9: If You Ever Come Back by The Script

synopsis: Wanda and Vision recall an argument that forced them to go their separate ways in the early days of their relationship post-CW. Upon finding out Wanda is near the Compound Vision can't help himself and seeks her out to apologise. (Happy resolution)

Wanda had only meant to draw one circle around New Jersey but in her distraction had kept the ballpoint moving in continuous circles so that it was now an unrecognisable big blue scribble.

“Wanda, present please,” Natasha said waving her hand in front of Wanda’s distant eyes.

“Sorry,” she murmured, instead starting to flip the pen nimbly about her fingers.

“As I was saying,” Steve said from where he was braced above the map of the US they had spread out. “We can’t afford any more international travel for a bit, not after Sam was spotted in Venice last week.”

Sam Wilson raised his hands in defence. “Hey, I was actually being very careful, it’s not my fault my fan club spans nations.”

“Regardless, no more international travel,” Steve said looking at them sternly in turn, “Wanda that means you too, no European rendezvous with Vision for the next two months.”

The ballpoint clattered onto the table before them, and Wanda watched it role miserably away. Natasha cleared her throat awkwardly and she could only imagine the looks that she was giving Steve. The pair seemed to be able to communicate most things through very specific glares. Right now, Wanda guessed Nat was giving him a look that said something along the lines of ‘shut up why are you bringing her ex into the conversation?’.

“Uhm,” Steve said slowly, “right yes, no international stuff so all in the US right now. That means we’re going to be moving around a little more frequently to keep out of any states with large security presences.”

“So for now,” Natasha continued on, “that means New Jersey, big things happening in California with old Chitauri tech so we’re staying as far away as possible.”

“We could help,” Wanda spoke up. “That stuff is right up our alley.”

“We can’t help if we’re imprisoned and I doubt they’ll let us out as easily a second time,” Sam pointed out and Steve nodded in agreement.

“I know you want to help,” Nat said putting an assuring hand on Wanda’s arm, “but the most we can do right now is stay far away. We’d be putting the others at risk by being there.”

The Others, code for those ex-teammates they didn’t like to mention despite the fact that they were all still on contact. Nat with Tony, Steve with T’Challa and well, up until a month ago, Wanda with Vision.

“Safe houses have been arranged for all of us, separately, so we don’t draw attention.”

Wanda sighed audibly, she hated the separate placements, hated the loneliness.

“It’ll only be for a few weeks,” Nat assured them as Steve handed out envelopes with their assigned houses, addresses, keys, the lot.

Standing up to get her things ready and make to leave the current safe house, Wanda was stopped by Natasha when she tried to leave the room.

“Wanda,” Nat said, her eyes concerned.

“I already know what you are going to say, and yes I am fine.”

“I don’t believe you though,” Nat said crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Well, it’s not really my job to convince you,” Wanda said making to sidestep her.

“I’ve seen how you’ve been for the last month, you’re going to burn out at this pace. It couldn’t hurt to slow down and actually think about what happened between you two.”

Wanda shook her head wordlessly.

“I know it’s difficult but there’s no way you can move on if you don’t address it.”

“What if I don’t want to move on?” Wanda asked, frustrated at herself for how easily her accent burst forth.

Nat looked at her sadly, but not with pity, Wanda knew that there was genuine worry behind that gaze. Still, it didn’t make her feel any less crappy. “Look, thinking about it, thinking about him still hurts so I’d just rather not talk about it.”

“You still don’t want me to pass your whereabouts onto him?”

Wanda shook her head and finally succeeded in getting past Nat and into the corridor, where she sped walked to her room and set about gathering her things before she could be coaxed into another ‘let’s all talk about our feelings’ session.

Admittedly there was a part of her that wished Natasha would pass on her location to Vision, even if it was only just to see whether he would actually show up. But Wanda had made Nat promise not to reveal where she was staying in the past month, at least not until Wanda was ready for that. Vision was an addiction she needed to kick, and constantly reminding herself of him or thinking about the chance of a reunion certainly wasn’t going to help.

“Vision I need you on and concentrating ok? Not away with the fairies,” Tony Stark said from where he stood at the front of the board meeting table.

“Apologies, I am present and involved,” Vision said shaking his head slightly to clear his mind, a mannerism he had picked up recently.

“As I was saying, two days from now we’re heading over West to deal with the Chitauri tech that is now a burning pile of shit thanks to—”

Vision didn’t mean to zone out again, but it was so easy to take a backseat in such conversations when he had the assurance that his brain would keep track of anything important Tony said. Lately he had been wishing that his brain was human, or at the very least that it wouldn’t move so fast so that he might be able to get a bit of peace and quiet.

His thoughts were always on her, Vision just couldn’t help it. At home he was always scouring the internet, dreading the moment he might see her name pop up on news feeds as it had with Sam’s the previous week. When he was away for work there was always a small part of his brain filtering through local security cameras, half hopeful that he would catch a glimpse of her somewhere nearby. She was a constant distraction, and it was becoming one of the many things making him seriously doubt the decision he had made those long weeks earlier. Which was strange because that decision had been a logical, rational answer to their problem, it had been a preventative measure for heartbreak. So why was his heart still hurting?

It had been six months since the events in Germany had divided the team he had come to know as friends. The absence of those who had brought such life to the compound had been noticed immediately. But it was Wanda whose absence he struggled with most, both while she was imprisoned and after Captain Rogers had broken her out.

Vision had gotten by on snippets of information fed to him through Natasha, to Tony and then finally to him. He had a suspicion that Stark had known exactly what he was doing in given that information to him. Sometimes it was mentioning which city their old teammates had been in the previous week, other times it was switching off the old school radio in his office just in time for Vision to hear Natasha’s voice crackling from it. Eventually, Vision had gathered enough pieces of the puzzle that he was able to track which radio frequencies they had been using to communicate with each other. He’d listened long enough to discover where Wanda was going to be next and showed up unannounced, despite the danger, despite the bridges burnt between them and the different paths they were on. But Wanda had welcomed him into her arms without hesitation and it had become clear that their connection was still there, as strong as ever. One thing had led to another and before he knew it, he was making time to travel and see her every few weeks. She usually chose Europe, and he was happy to see the world, if it was with her.

Their last trip hadn’t gone so well. They’d nearly gotten caught because Vision had slipped up on his way out of their rental property one morning, forgetting to glamour himself and letting someone get a photo of him. It had been circulating the internet and local media before Vision could stop the spread. Thankfully, Tony had a press release ready to go for this exact situation and made it clear that Vision was acting strictly within the limits of the Accords. It could have gone a lot worse, but it had also made several things clear to him. Their argument after the incident had been bad, to say the least.

“Isn’t it better we stop now before it hurts us both?” Vision cried after half an hour spent arguing over who ought to leave the apartment first. The damage was done on his side so if Vision was seen again it wouldn’t matter, but if Wanda was seen in the same city, he could kiss his currently peaceful relationship with the UN goodbye. On the other hand, if anyone decided to look too closely at his whereabouts of the last few days, Wanda would be discovered, and he didn’t know what he would do. The idea of her getting caught and imprisoned again was sickening.

The argument had got them nowhere. Each was too concerned about the other. He wanted her to leave, regardless of the risk this posed to himself, meanwhile Wanda wanted him to leave before he got caught with her and a target was placed on his back as well.

In the end the decision had to be made.

“It already hurts,” she’d yelled back at him, her eyes telling Vision all he needed to know.

“I cannot keep putting you at risk like this.”

“I am not asking you to!” She’d turned her head skyward in frustration. “This is worth it for me. You don’t get to make this decision for both of us!”

“I am making this decision,” Vision said his voice thick with emotion, walking backwards to the door, “and I am deciding to leave, before neither of us can.”

He’d hovered at the door, coat in hand but she’d already turned away to look out the window, watching rain drizzle dismally outside.

“Then go.”

He’d checked hundreds of radio frequencies in the weeks since, but had never caught them again, figuring that the four must have changed communication tactics since. It didn’t stop him from using the burner number that Tony had given him to reach Natasha. He was sure his messages were getting through, but there was never a reply. He supposed he was not really owed anything considering he was the one who had walked out. It didn’t matter that he’d regretted his decision ever since. Wanda didn’t know that he’d missed two trains all because he couldn’t bring himself to take the next, more final step away from her and everything they had been together.

Back in reality Tony had come to the end of his debrief and had ended the call they’d been on with various other officials related to managing the presence of super-humans in the country.

“When are we leaving on Thursday?” Vision asked, a hopeless attempt at pretending he’d been listening properly.

“Iam leaving on Thursday afternoon; you are staying here.”

Vision was stumped. “Why?”

“Because you are in no state to be heading out on a potentially sensitive mission right now, you could barely pull yourself together for a meeting, Vision.”

Tony sighed with such disappointment that Vision regretted being so absent the last few weeks. He’d been sure to be there as much as he could after the team had disbanded, allowing Tony to delegate to him when needed. But this last month he’d let things slide more than he’d realised, Tony looked tired.

“I’d like to disagree with your decision,” Vision began, standing as Tony made to leave the room, “but I cannot help but think you’re right. If I could just have the weekend to reassess my priorities, I would be back to regular working capacity by Monday.”

“And I want to say I believe you,” Tony said leading the way back through the compound. “But you don’t have a good track record with this particular type of distraction.”

Vision hovered by the front door with his head hung in shame. He heard the beeping of Tony unlocking his car and the soft hiss of air as the door opened automatically.

“She’s in New Jersey this week.”

Vision paused on his closing of the front door.

“I thought you should know,” Tony said rubbing at his chin as he paused by the car, “Address is 22 Steel street, don’t get caught.”

Wanda hated how much America reminded her of Vision now. That was why she was thinking about him so much – it was definitely New Jersey’s fault. It was the proximity to the upstate Compound that had her thinking of him so often. It had to be.

They were done, Vision had made that so very clear the last time she had seen him. But it hadn’t stopped her staying another few days at the house they had rented together in some desperate attempt to come to terms with yet another person leaving her life. At least he was still out there, living a life just not with her.

She pressed her palms into the kitchen bench and took a deep breath. She was halfway through washing up the dishes from the day, but she’d already slipped and broken one glass by accident and was on the verge of giving up. It was frustrating. Wanda could control other people’s minds with ease. She hadn’t had reason to in a while but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel that dormant aspect of her power waiting to be used. So how come she couldn’t manage her own mind? Why was she grieving the loss of someone still alive?

Wanda knew that Steve and Nat had struggled to understand what she had with Vision, and it didn’t help that she herself struggled to put it into words. They hadn’t labelled themselves in the months since they started stealing moments together, it had all been to see if there was something more there. Something worth pursuing. And well, Wanda had thought they were on the same page but evidently, she’d been wrong. She just couldn’t bring herself to believe that those feelings weren’t real. Hope was a pain in the ass.

And she supposed her alertness these past few days could be owed to him as well. Of course, there was the general haze of fear to consider, the fear that one of these days a SWAT team would arrive at her door to take her back to prison. But on the other side of that coin, she knew there was a fraction of her that was listening out for him. It was painful, knowing he was so close. It didn’t stop her listening out for him, for his soft footsteps, his steady breathing, for the comforting presence of him and the way their minds called out to each other. Even before they’d started meeting like this, he had always been the first one she looked for in a fight, the first person her eyes fell on when she walked in a room, the one person she always wanted to have in her corner.

She paused the absentminded drying of a plate and realised that the imagined footsteps outside weren’t in her head. There was most definitely someone walking up and down the creaky floorboards of the run-down townhouse she’d been assigned to for the two weeks. She’d picked the floorboards out as her first warning if any unwanted guests stopped by the property, probably followed by the breaking of the two locks in the front door.

The closer she listened the more she could hear weight shifting and creaking wood.

Wanda crept through the still unfamiliar house, out of the kitchen and down the dim hallway to the door. As she approached the pacing paused and she distinctly heard a fist rapping on the wooden door three times.

She rose on her toes to peer through the peep hole. A familiar figure was standing on the porch with a head of neat, sandy hair and a carefully pressed blue shirt. Her hand flew to her mouth to hide the exclamation of surprise threatening to come forth. She dropped her hand quickly and stepped back, subconsciously reaching out and letting her magic unlock the door, sending it swinging open.

Wanda didn’t really know what to say as Vision turned around at the sound of the door creaking open. She simply stood there looking at him, fearful that she was imagining things and that he wasn’t really here. She tilted her head in question.

“Mr Stark told me you were here,” Vision said quietly, glancing over his shoulder as though worried someone might be watching them, but the street at his back was deserted. “I’m sorry for just showing up out of the blue.”

Wanda folded her arms, wrapping her cardigan further around herself against the night chill from outside. A deeper cold was spreading through her at the unnatural tension between them, even as she fought the urge to step forward and embrace him. “And why are you here?” She asked instead.

“I made a mistake, and I’d like to fix it.”

“How?”

“I’d like to start by talking, if you wouldn’t mind me coming in?”

Wanda bit her lip hesitantly but knew she couldn’t keep him waiting out on the doorstep. She stepped to the side and nodded for him to come in.

Wanda led him to the kitchen and settled herself opposite the table, so she could lean with the comforting pressure of the kitchen bench at her back.

She watched his eyes flicker about as he entered the space, taking in the washing in the sink, the bread open on the counter and the remains of her supper littered here and there. She suddenly wished she’d finished cleaning quicker. Wanda saw a lot in his gaze, knowing from months of meeting up as a fugitive that he was concerned about how well she was eating on the run. His gaze turned to her next, taking in her clothes, her face, the distinct bags under her eyes and Wanda couldn’t help but soften her stance, unfolding her arms but maintaining the distance she needed.

Vision had dropped his human glamour as soon as he entered the house and she watched as he now stood before her, hardly believing it was real.

“I will not attempt to make excuses, I owe you more than that,” Vision said after a beat seemingly to collect himself. She was unnerved by his unwavering eye contact but met him head on.

“I was wrong. I thought that putting space between us was the right thing to do but I regretted that as soon as I left you standing there. I have regretted it every day since. I know that I was afraid, afraid of what we might become if I didn’t stop things where they were.” He paused for breath. “It wasn’t until I sat on the train that I realised the idea of living a life without you hurt more than I could bear. Perhaps that makes me selfish, wanting to keep meeting up and putting you at risk. But it is the truth. And if I could change things, if I could go back, I would behave differently.”

Wanda felt her breath loose out over her lips, a quiet sigh of relief.

“I would have told you all this the day after I left if I knew how I might reach you. I’m sorry.”

Wanda swallowed, taking a breath to think about what he had said. There was little to think about, she had forgiven Vision the moment she realised it was him standing on her porch. Learning now that he had tried to reach out for her in the past few weeks, something she hadn’t dared hope, and that she had stubbornly not let him in hurt more than she’d expected it to. They’d both made mistakes.

“As much as I hated being left like that, I understand why you did,” Wanda said earnestly.

“I was a fool,” Vision said shaking his head shamefully.

“That makes two of us.” Wanda smiled softly at him.

“I never could have stayed away,” he admitted, gesturing restlessly with his hands.

“I should have let you in sooner.”

Vision wasn’t often hesitant, but he paused before his next words. “Can you forgive me?” He stepped forward as he spoke.

This movement was all the invitation Wanda needed and she pulled away from the bench as he drew closer. They met each other in the middle, his arms coming around her waist, her hands sliding over his shoulders in a hug. They swayed for a moment, relishing the closeness.

“Forgiven,” she murmured to him, though she was sure the hug said it clearer. “No going back,” she added, considering making a joke about cold feet.

“I can’t help but think this was inevitable,” he said quietly from where his chin was pressed to her shoulder, his breath ruffling her hair. “That no matter the bridges we burnt, or how our paths changed, you were always going to be my future.” She hugged him tighter.

“But we need rules from now on,” Wanda said drawing back a little so she could see his face clearly, “like not getting photographed by tourists.”

“I will never live that down, will I?” Vision groaned but smiled nonetheless.

“Never,” she whispered, scrunching her nose at him affectionately, then growing more serious, “please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” he promised pressing his forehead to hers in understanding.

#wandavision #Wandavision fanfiction #scarletvision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #visionsofusfics #break up make up fic #soft scarletvision

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milky-maid-library · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER 1: Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim.

Summary: 19 year old Elizabeth Hillard is met with the truth that she is actually a late blooming Omega.

Please read the trigger warnings and tags!: description of medical vagina examination, abandonment and verbal scolding/abusive tones. non-consensual treatment. non-consensual drugging.

Notes: A gift to @cursedcursingviking

“Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim” means “be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.”

April 15th 2023, 13:00pm, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.

“Holy shit, holy shit, no, no, no!” she was sobbing. Stick in hand, a horse shoe and a smiley face soaked in her urine on the tip. Five other tests were on the floor around her feet, all positive; all Omega.

She couldn’t believe this, her whole life said “Alpha, Alpha, you are an Alpha.”

Her parents were both Alphas!

She was meant to be an Alpha!

The possibility of being an Omega for her is less than six percent. The last Omega in her family was her great-grandmother on her mother’s side or some distant shit like that. Her aunts and uncles were all betas and Alphas.

Her family have always told her that “to be an Omega is to be a waste of time.”

Omegas were submissive, obedient, they were at home looking after pups or in the hospital at the nursery or at daycares looking after loud, slobbering toddlers.

Her family were strongly built, they were made of soldiers, police officers, construction developers, political leaders and company CEO’s. Not pathetic, whiney housewives.

Currently she was seeing her whole world swirling down the toilet as she flushed it. She wanted to stay in school and study to be a high paid vet! Now she’ll be sent to a correctional centre or foreign country with extra distant family and forced to knit and paint until finally sold off to a partner or a birthing centre for science.

She sobbed harder before finally vomiting over the toilet bowel induced by the overwhelming stress.

Laying her cheek on the seat she glanced at her watch and cringed. Her mother would be home any minute! Picking up each test, she considered snapping them in half and clogging the toilet up with them yet what was the use? When scent was in the picture evolution was the final bitch.

Looking at the many smiley faces she felt like they were mocking her, laughing at her. Normally she would get angry, but now…instead she was sad. Tears sprung in her eyes again as she cradled them to her chest. Stumbling out of the bathroom she clamped up the stairs to her bedroom. She shut the door instead of slamming it. Gentle, considerate. Dropping the tests onto the side table, she fell into her bed and crawled under her covers.

“W-worst day ever.” She cried over and over, muffled by the softness of her pillows she inhaled in.

April 15th 2023, 16:30pm, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.

“Beth! Come down here please!” Her mother called from the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed open, she was wrapped in a tumble of her sheets and blankets. Her mother must’ve just come just gotten home, she was always so busy with her corporate work, she hadn’t seen her dad in two weeks since his overtime in the city bank.

She could hear her call again, firmer this time around.

She groaned and dragged herself up from her bed and down the stairs. Her stomach growled, hungry. She wondered what her mother was planning to cook or if they were just going to have pizza.

Stepping into the Kitchen her mother was kicking off her leather shoes and ripping her suit jacket over the counter.

“What did I say about boys?” She snapped over her shoulder. Drinking down a Painkiller. Great, she was already in a bad mood. She forgot her mother only got her cornrows re-braided yesterday, her head must’ve been violently sore. Elizabeth tried warning her to not go into work, call in a sick day, but no one would attempt to change Mrs. Hillard’s mind once it was made, like most mums.

But boys? Now that Elizabeth didn’t understand the sudden burst of tone. She felt her body loosen and turn icy, her skin covered in goosebumps. She mother was furiously popping an second pill before her when Elizabeth shivered, “D-don’t bring boys over.”

She sneered, her canines flashing; her large brown eyes identical to her daughters, glared her down.

Stepping around her to the cupboards, she whipped out an air freshener and dosed the room in a scent of lavender…only to be clouded by hormonal pheromones.

She felt the air grow painfully heavy as her mother hissed and sprayed the can out, before furiously slamming onto the counter and slamming the cupboards shut.

“Then why the fuck do I smell an omega?!” her sharp nail pointed to the ceiling and she began yelling as though there was someone upstairs she was calling to, “You tell that bloody boy to get out before I haul his goddamn omega ass out onto the fucking sidewalk!”

Omega…She thinks I brought an omega over…She smells…me…omega…I’m an omega…no…no…

“M-mum…I don’t have a b-boy over,” Elizabeth stepped from side to side.

Her mother pinched the bridge her nose and sighed, “Well Beth…I didn’t know you were into girls,” gently reaching out, and peeled back her daughter’s silk cap lovingly releasing her coily hair, “…but she needs to leave.” Her mothers fingers touched her cheek, boiling. It was then that colour started to fade from her face.

“Mum, please-” Before the poor teen could explain that she was the scent, Mrs Hillard marched her way up stairs and slammed open the door to her room where a giant wave of humid Omega scent flew out.

No…no! Mum! Stop! No!

Her voice was silent, her lips shut in a worried grimace.

As Elizabeth ran up the stairs, she heard her mother scream.

April 15th 2023, 17:45pm, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.

The hospital was…cold…the air-conditioning pelting down on her neck made her snuggle deeper into her sweater. Her mother was trembling just as hard as she was. She was shaken up herself, Elizabeth couldn’t tell if her mother was experiencing fear, rage even …disappointment. She hadn’t let Elizabeth touch her ever since she found all the positive Omega tests. When she tried to hold her hand, her mother growled at her.

Elizabeth though craved touch, she needed support, she needed her mum, she needed affection.

The waiting room was almost empty, the only other people was an Omega man with his pup in a sling while his Alpha wife continued to protectively touch their baby’s forehead. Elizabeth stared at the baby though… pups…where are my pups?...

“Elizabeth Hillard?” an English accent cut through the train of thought on the baby. In the doorway to the hall, the tall doctor was looking between her and the couple. When she stood up, with her mother hot on her tail, he smiled and led them to his office.

Awkwardly Elizabeth sat down onto waiting chair next to the doctors desk. Taking a deep breath she could smell the scent of Alpha and hand sanitiser. The overwhelming senses made her feel slightly nauseas.

Her mother sat beside her with a mournful sigh, she lifted her hand out to the doctor to shake it, “Julia, Mrs Hillard, Beth’s mother.”

He smiled, “Hello Mrs Hillard, I’m Doctor Cavill.” After the two Alphas acquainted themselves he finally sat in his wheeley chair and regarded Elizabeth.

“What can I help you with today Miss Hillard?” he smiled. Beth noticed how he looked so clean, and was built like a brickhouse, he smelt like an Alpha. The rooms light glinted on his medical wrist band proclaiming him as his blood type and confirming his own scent. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were kind, made of two colours, blue and his left eye had a tip of brown…it was merely something she saw...his smile was warm like a freshly baked cookie. Oh god…she was aroused.

Beth didn’t realise she wasn’t answering his question when he stared at her and her mother finally answered.

“She smells like an Omega.”

The Doctor then turned his attention away and pursed his lips and lifted a single brow at Mrs. Hillard, “Is something wrong with that?”

Her mother scoffed and rose her voice to a humiliating state. Elizabeth’s heart was beating fast, her cheeks were heating up and she tried sinking further into the seat. Her nose dug into the woollen shoulder of her sweater.

“Her father and I are both pure blooded Alphas! How can this happen!? The last omega we had was my great-grandmother and that’s it!”

Doctor Cavill sighed calmly taking off his glasses and setting them on his desk he then folded his arms and stood from his desk, “I see, well then Mrs Hillard, please step outside to the waiting room. I will need to conduct a blood and vaginal test.”

Her mother obviously huffed and grumbled about ‘how unprofessional’ and ‘surely I can stay’. Even now Elizabeth wanted her to leave with her hostile attitude. Luckily there was no way a female Alpha would argue with a male Alpha. When the door shut though it felt strange. All the heavy tension in the room lifted off of Elizabeth’s chest. She felt instantly calmer and made it easier to breathe.

The doctor sat back into his desk chair and crossed a leg over another casually.

“So…” he smiled, “How do you feel Miss Hillard?”

She gulped slightly and shakily answered, “Everything is smelling sweeter than normal,” she hated the scent of hand sanitiser but now it was something she wanted to shove up her nose. If it blocked out every other scent from the dust on the walls to the chocolate in the vending machine outside to the scent of the alpha right in front of her…she’d drink it all down.

“No,” he chuckled pushing back from his desk and started rummaging through his desk for medical items, “I mean, are you okay? Are you stressed or scared, or are you alright? I can always get a cup of water for you. But we need to take your blood first.”

She shook her head and tucked her neck deeper down into her sweater. Her fingers felt the scratchiness of the wool. She nodded and slipped the material off over her head and folded it neatly onto the chair her mother sat.

“I’m terrified,” Elizabeth confessed, her voice choked up, “I don’t want to be an Omega, I hope this is just a stupid puberty flux…maybe it’s a flip!”

It wasn’t uncommon for this situation to happen. Hormones can sometimes Flip and shows signs for the two other blood types, sometimes blood has become contaminated due to high iron levels or too much sugar intake. Diabetes were always Flipping the board. There were a million things that could cause a Flip in the hormonal pool.

“There’s nothing wrong with being an Omega you know,” her doctor commented sternly, holding up a needle, changing the needle point while Elizabeth choked.

She felt unusually insulted, “Everything is wrong with being an Omega, I won’t get the job I want and I won’t be allowed to come to parties with my friends, I’ll be stuck home with a…a…a fucking baby. Or sent to a breeding farm! I heard about the science experiments conducted on pregnant Omegas in the camps.”

The doctor turn abruptly at her and narrowed his eyes at her, he seemed offended. What does he need to be offended about, he’s an Alpha!

But his frown became a smirk, “You’re aware they are safetly committed with the Omegas consent,” He patted the medical chair in the centre of the room, “But whatever case, what do you want to do Career wise?” he asked while she crawled up atop of the tall chair and let him pull up her sleeve and wipe the alcohol on her arm.

“I want to be a vet,” She winced as the needle broke through her skin. She looked away from the bubbling blood being sucked up through the tube.

As he pulled away and capped the needle tip he asked, “Ever thought about midwifery?”

“I don’t like babies,” she snorted, “They’re so uncomfortable to be around. And I don’t want to listen to a screaming woman in labour.”

She noticed the movement in his shoulders as they slumped, he nodded and she felt like she was failing an unspoken test. She felt a rising anxiety, she growled to herself, it’s just a hormonal Flip.

“Fair enough,” her doctor said off handily, he sealed up her blood in a plastic bag and started to write her details. The pen cap lazily hung from his lips. He looked like he smoked…he didn’t smell like it though, maybe it was the way he stood. His scent was so easy to smell and feel…the omega yearned to know if he could smell her. And to her tragic uncontrol, her underwear were rubbing rough against her sensitive areas, the fumes dragged out this needing slick that was sickening.

Being omega is disgusting, this is what they do all the time? Gross! GET ME SOME ALPHA HORMONES NOW. She knew this had to be wrong, all the time she had been surrounded by alphas and she had been strong and confident like an alpha, maybe a little strategic like a beta. She was sure though she was alpha rather than beta and there was no possible way for her to present as a dormant omega for this long!

“How old are you Miss Hillard?”

“I’m eighteen,” she informed him of her birthday and he nodded, writing it down in the corner of the bag.

She was officially pissed off, crossing her arms she felt her eyes watering. “I want to be an Alpha or even a Beta,” she whimpered, “I can’t be an Omega, no way.”

The whimper…Shit! Stop whimpering you baby! Stop proving this point! Could you be anymore Omega!?

The doctor placed the test bag on his desk before gifting her a soft tissue “Have you taken a home determine test?” his hands settled onto his knees as he crouched down before her.

She broke out into a light sob and nodded, “ugh huh, I took six different ones…all positive for Omega.”

The doctor smiled sadly and handed her the box of tissues he had on his desk. A nurse came knocking barely after she had started. It made her feel puny when she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She felt helpless, why couldn’t they just get her some alpha hormones already?

“Please take this to the test room,” he asked the nurse, handling a plastic bag with her needle inside.

Doctor Cavill let Beth cry as long as she wanted and reminded her that it wasn’t a hundred percent if she was an Omega yet.

The doctor rubbed her back and cleared his throat. From a draw below her feet he pulled out a green plastic cape, “Miss Hillard would you like to step into the bathroom there and remove your bottoms? Put the gown on?”

Time to get the vaginal confirmation that she was tighter than a needle hole. She pushed his hand away. God he sounded patronising, even if he was being merely polite about the events unfolding she took it as a personal attack, an underlying “You’re a weak omega, deal with it!”

No! I’m not an Omega!

Things were escalating to quickly; she barely realised the conclusions she was leaping to and how dramatic she was pushing with these emotions. She sniffed hard and snapped at him, “Can’t I just take my pants off now?”

Doctor Cavill shifted back uncomfortably, he grit his teeth and scrunched up his eyes, “I merely am offering a more comfortable option,” he clapped his hands, “But you may if you wish, have you ever attended a gynaecologist for a papsmear?” he asked as he got his tools ready from another draw.

She leaped off the chair and slammed her foot down.

“Duh!” She yelled, kicking her shoes off, and shoving her pants down, she was furious. Moodswings was a popular symptom of Flips.

“I just want to get this over with. Mum is so pissed off. Can’t wait for some fucking A-pills.” She grumbled, leaning back into the chair and spread her legs apart…normally she did this with a female doctor but right now she was too impatient to request a woman and she needed to know how fucked up her Flip was and how long would she experience it and how powerful would the drugs be. She couldn’t ever stand the look her mother gave her when she held up the positive determine test with horror.

The doctor cleared his throat again, snapping white gloves onto his hand and over his wrist band. He squirted a tube of lube over his hands and over the speculum, lining it up to her vagina and pushed it inside slowly, “Miss Hillard, please relax for me.”

She huffed to herself. I am fucking relaxed! No you’re not, you’re a bad omega, obey him!

The metal was cold inside of her but she was looking forward to the results: Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, I am Alpha.

He took a flashlight and shone the light down her passage, looking down at her inner muscles, “How often do you practise sexual intercourse Miss Hillard?” looking up at her from her pussy.

Shit, the scent was strong, it was so sweet like maple syrup and honey but sweeter…lick me. Oh fuck please alpha please please.

She shook her head and blushed, “N-never, I’ve only masturbated. So….” She swallowed hard, her head felt hot and she swore she could feel cold sweat dripping down, “Am I an Alpha or Beta?”

The doctor dipped two rubber fingers inside of her, patting down and around inside her. And suddenly his eyes widened, he gently slipped out his fingers and the cold speculum out. On his fingers was blood…oh shit…

“You may sit up and dress Miss Hillard, “The doctor set his tools and gloves into a silver tray. She was shaking…what was she?

He was washing his hands in the sink right beside her head when she bit her lips and lifted up her undies and jeans back up. The room was so quiet, the only noise was the sinks running water and the air conditioner. Beth shivered and sniffled.

Doctor Cavill’s shoulders were low, he turned his head and faced her. Twisting his fingers together he shook his head, “Miss Hillard,” he started with a long exhaled breath, “You’re days away from your first Estrus.”

The earth dropped and the moon broke and the stars were dimmed…“What do you mean Estrus!?” she questioned. Tears spurted from her eyes again. Gagged by nature.

No fucking way. Yes way.

“‘Heat’, an Omega will go into Estrus or commonly known as Heat while an Alpha will go into Oestrus commonly known as a ‘Rut’,” Doctor Cavill tried explain only for the angry young woman to scream abuse at him.

“I know what it is! I must be going into Oestrus, n-not an estrus, I can’t be an Omega, doctor! Ch-Check again!”

Sweat trailed down her face onto her neck, her heart was punching her insides, seeking an escape of her ribcage.

When she tried undoing her pants again, her doctor tore her hands away and took her wrists up, he was breathing harshly through his nose, “Miss Hillard I’m going to have to ask you to sit down and take a deep breath. Listen to me.”

She shook her head over and over, she couldn’t believe it! She was finally sobbing hard, choking on her tears.

Wailing, “No, no, no, please doctor, please!”

Out of the depth of the doctor’s chest came a stern growl, “Sit. Down. Now. Or I will have to restrain and sedate you.”

Her body was out of control, she didn’t want to sit but her arse met the chair cushion anyway. Good omega.

The doctor huffed, shaking his head with disappointment, her head flinched down, cowering and humiliated. She felt apologetic, but this wasn’t the real her.

“Good girl,” he praised, handing her a paper cup filled with water from the sink, “Now drink.”

The water was gulped down in a heartbeat, she needed the refreshment even if she didn’t want it, her doctor nodded, “That’s it.”

As she sipped on some more water the nurse from earlier stepped inside and handed the doctor a sheet of paper. The blood results… she shook on the spot, her red face panicking.

“Pl-please.” She choked on the water slightly, clearing her sore throat she sniffled, “What does it say?”

There was still a chance, maybe he was wrong; maybe this was just a intense Oestrus that was causing her to bleed. Maybe it was so strong her vaginal walls were stabbing themselves, seeking out an omega cock to claim.

Cavill looked from her to the parchment a few times, he shook his head. He held out the medical sheet to her and pointed to a positive cross.

The world went silent even as he was talking to her…it was a distant noise.

“Miss Hillard, you are as I had diagnosed, Omega positive,” he scratched his gland gently, “You are days away from your first Estrus I will give you a choice to either battle through it with medical aids or medical suppressants.”

She dropped the paper and the cup, the shock was as cold as ice. She felt weak and her arms numb, her eyes rolled back and her mouth lulled open. Her life was completely over.

Elizabeth Hillard the Omega fainted.

April 16th 2023, 1:25am, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.

When Elizabeth woke up, she was delirious. The world wouldn’t stop twisting and turning. Abover her was a bright light, she cringed away and whimpered. There was a mean bite at her wrist. She felt cold, washed out. Her body was laid out and angled up a slight. Her cheek rubbed into the soft hospital pillow. She smelt blood, so much metallic salt in the air. And her stomach was viciously growling. She peered down and noticed what was pinching her wrist. Handcuffs. She was handcuffed to the railing of her bed!

Clearing her eyes, she found herself surrounded by three blue curtains. One was quick to open, startling her. The nurse from earlier smiled at her eagerly, her Beta tag was super shiny in the light, forcing Elizabeth to blink rapidly, “Oh look, you’re awake. Can you please tell me your full name sweetheart?”

When she sat up slowly and moaned, “Elizabeth Hendrix Hillard.”

Before she could ask the handcuffs to be removed, the nurse smiled and held up a torch.

“Wonderful, now I am gonna need to shine a little light in your eye, can you please look into the corner of the ceiling dear?”

Doing as she was told, it was quick and over as soon as it had begun. The nurse was pleased, “Fabulous, right, I’ll be right back, Doctor Cavill needs to have a chat with you.”

“B-but my hand…”

Ignoring her, the nurse left.

Something was clearly off. Why did they handcuff her!? She started to tug at the chain, feeling her anxiety seep deep and activate a sense of fight or flight. The curtains reopened. And in stepped the doctor.

He grinned and nodded his head to her, “Hello there Elizabeth, how are we?”

She wasn’t amused in the slightest, quick with retort. “Chained to a bed rail.”

He smiled and whipped out a key, uncuffing her from the bed. She cradled her wrist, murmuring ‘thankyou’.

Her stomach loudly purred, extinguishing the level of discomfort she wanted to send the doctor. “…and hungry.”

“I’ll tell the nurse to get you some jello,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands. Just as he was to leave, she launched herself forward and caught his medical coat, “Wh-where’s my mum?”

He softly assured her, “She is just sitting in my room, we were discussing options after I showed her and your father your blood results.” Oh…dad…oh jesus…

She suspected her father to have been incredibly furious. How much furniture did he break?

“You…” she paused, “options…” she gulped and smiled at the doctor, “….I want suppressants...as soon as possible.” They would surely fix everything! She could have some and go have a coffee with her friends tomorrow.

“Not those kind of options…” He sighed and perched himself near her feet at the foot of her bed.

That was a weird answer…what does he mean? Could they change my DNA? Could they turn me into an Alpha. She had heard of some new sciences like that coming in.

“What other types are there?” she laughed hesitantly.

When he didn’t answer her, she felt the air grow heavy again…there’s a reason they kept you chained like a bitch.

There was only one other option….a correctional institution. She felt ill.

“I want to see my mum,” she gulped and moved to slip out of the bed. The medical gown was scratchy against her skin, she started to feel worse, her fingers scrunched up and unravelled. Her body felt dizzy when she stood up to quickly. The doctor attempted to block her way when she peeled back the curtain to many empty bed and a single door with a sign, “Farewell room.”

No, no, fuck, no! where’s mum and dad!

She hurried to the door and shook at the handle, but it was locked, she was locked in with the doctor. She couldn’t escape. The floor cleaner and bright lights were clouding her senses, blinding her eys and stinging her mouth and nose.

She ripped a heavy breath, not thinking it would be so painful after holding it in too long. I won’t cry, no, no crying!

“Elizabeth I’m gonna need you to calm down,” the doctor informed her, setting his hands over her shoulders, she was fast to slap them away. She lowly growled at him and bared her teeth ferally. Don’t you fucking touch me!

When she realised whatg she had done, especially to an alpha, she felt instant regret and guilt, she choke on more tear and buried her head into the doctors chest. His heart was beating fast too, but not like her rabbit pounding blood.

“N-no,” she cried, “I want my mummy!”

She felt the doctor soothingly rub his hand over her head and down her back. He hushed her until she was just a whimpering woman.

The door unlocked, and finally…“Beth…” her mother spoke out to her.

She snapped back around and saw her mother and father beside the door. Her father barely came him, his lips curled in, disappointed, disgusted and silent.

A tiny smile came to Elizabeth’s face, her hands reached out, “Mum!”

But Mrs Hillard stood back from her. Again and again. The closer Elizabeth sought out her mother, the more Mrs. Hillard distanced herself and stood closer to the door.

“M-mum? H-hug me…” she begged, “pl-please mum?”

She sighed and looked away from her, refusing to look her in the eye. Shame. “Doctor Cavill, your father and I believe it is best if you…go away for sometime, “ she clutched her own arms, “…where people can help you.”

Elizabeth did not see it that way at all, and she knew her mother was lying out of her arse.

“I don’t need to be helped,” Elizabeth sniffled and smiled, “I just-just need some suppressants.”

“Elizabeth,” she seethed through her gritted teeth, “Go with the nice nurses.”

“M-mummy, please,” She put her hands together and got to her knees on the cold tiled floor, “Please don’t do this!”

“STOP!” her mother screamed, “You are making a scene!” she rolled her eyes and turned around to leave, “You will go to ‘Saint Selene’s School For Adolescent Omega.’ We may see you during the summer.” And slammed the door closed.

She ran to the door and found it locked, she pounded the window with her fists and screamed out, “D-don’t leave me, please don’t leave me Dad!…M-Mummy!” her father and mother did not look back as they walked away, abandoning their only child. Their backs and bodies continued to get smaller and smaller the further they walked. The sight broke her heart. The concept of betrayal could not be clearer. Her breath clouded the glass, her tears sliding down and tapped onto the floor, onto her naked feet.

Doctor Cavill’s hand reached out and wrapped around her bicep, trying to tug her back from the door. “Come on,” he said.

She felt her body move and she went into a frenzy of defense, “Let go of me!”

When he did not, she saw a lonely pen on the end of a bed frame with a clip board. She grabbed it and jabbed his forearm. The blue ink spattered across his skin while he yelled in pain.

“Get the fuck off of me!” she squealed again and held up the pen with both hands, take a few steps back from the now pissed off Doctor. The sound of the door opening again had her heart rushing.

Mum!?

To her massive disappointment, it was the nurse who was shocked by the scene unfolded. Now Elizabeth was surrounded.

“Put the weapon down!” the beta demands, holding up her own hands in defence, “Now.”

“Calm,” was the word she heard him say beside her ear, before pressing her back into him, grasping her jaw and finally feeling an incredibly long sting in her neck followed by the unusual flow of liquidised drugs into her body, “calm.” Her last thought was, that’s a lot of fucking morphine.

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x black female reader #non con #tw noncon #tw drugs #tw abandonment #tw kidnapping #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #dystopian

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mysteriousdoll · 3 years

Text

Jonathan Crane’s Backstory

For my AU, at least.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of abuse, self harm, specificitations of said abuse, death.

"Maybe villainy wasn’t the right way to go. Is it time to use the Scarecrow for real justice?"

Jon grew up in deep southern Texas, originally having lived with his loving mother before he was taken away at age 3. He spent the next 13 miserable years with his grandmother. She was rather extreme with her religious views, which unfortunately left a bad taste in Jon’s mouth about the subject. It likely didn’t help that she used it as a tool to punish him for nearly anything she could. Listening to music, reading anything but the Bible, allowing his hair to grow out, socializing...whatever she deemed not okay.

Of course, his grandmother never aimed for traditional punishment. She sought to it that Jon “marked” himself with a cross each time he “sinned”. If he had truly done something awful, such as going into rooms he wasn’t supposed to, then came the chapel. There was only ever one time he managed to escape, and while the crows chased him, he did his best to run to the scarecrow for safety... but he was too late and met an early fate.

Although, he has no memory of dying as a child, having blocked it out severely. As such, he’s not sure what brought him back, but he did recall hearing students at his school discuss an angelic figure being seen near his home that same night.

Fast forward to high school, where through a constant pushing of education and taking any and all summer classes he could, Jon managed to graduate early at the age of sixteen—and high tailed it out of Texas. He had no belongings aside from essentials and his horse, Checkers, whom he rode all he way to Gotham, New Jersey, where he met his soon to be college roommate, Harleen Quinzel.

Jon had never been the vocal type, let alone social, so a chatterbox like Harleen was brand new. He didn’t mind her, though. She was sweet and was nice to listen to. And while she would sometimes attend parties after they worked on assignments together, he’d stay back and relax while watching some television, the consarn thing being forbidden back home. It was on the television he found his inspiration, Harvey Dent. A man with such passion and kindness, with integrity and respect... seeing him truly set off Jon’s academic push.

He sought two things he was stellar at and took pride in them, excelling in chemistry and psychology. It was a rush! He felt happy, excited even! Nothing could beat the feeling he had!

Then came graduation...despite everything, Jon was lost. He never expected to get this far... no matter. He applied to a few places... and was only mocked for his accent and age, or seen as not experienced enough... Arkham accepted him, but only out of being desparate.

The way Jon saw it, even though he worked so hard and well deserved it, nobody gave him their respect. That’s when he had an idea. If they weren’t going to respect him, they’d fear him instead. Fear and respect were two sides of the same coin, weren’t they?

It didn’t take long to silence the voice in his head telling him what he was doing as the Scarecrow was wrong. He was finally getting what he wanted, just in a more violent manner. Besides, he was only getting revenge, it wasn’t as though he went after innocents... it didn’t make sense why Batman went after him, they were one in the same, really.

But you can only fly so high before you fall, and falling just what Jonathan did. In an attempt to escape the Bat, the Scarecrow used his scythe to halt the blades of large turbine. It didn’t hold, and he was cut in two. Jonathan Crane met his (second) death at the age of 21.

What he would soon struggle to see as luck came to him a year later, where after suffering in hell, he made a bet with a demon. It was a joke, he had thought, so he went the route he expected to lose... and that was the first time Crane witness Edward Nygma make something not about himself.

Jonathan Crane was given life once more, but after the suffering he faced... he’s not quite sure what to do. He had never seen what was wrong with his methods, yet now a question lingered in his head.... Maybe villainy wasn’t the right way to go. Is it time to use the Scarecrow for real justice?

#jonathan crane #dc #au #mdaverse #scarecrow #l’ll add a keep reading thing later #on mobile so let’s hope this formatted well #reminding myself to edit this to match their pronouns later lol #this was before I was confident in having them being non-binary

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

---------------------------

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #coops kid #stella #lions #regulus black #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #birthday party

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feed-your-neopets · 3 years

Text

Valdemar x Devil!Lucio Fluff (One-shot)

Writer Preface:

First, I haven’t written fanfiction in years. Nor have I read a book recently. So, don’t feel bad about pointing out grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this. Also, my knowledge of the science and medical world is pitiful. Please, let me know if I said something ridiculous.

Second, it is cannon that Lucio has a New Jersey accent. It may enhance the story to imagine him with it, because I did while writing this.

Third, this is just slow, awkward, fluffy Valdemar x Lucio stuff. I was trying to piece together how a relationship could even develop between them, and I love the challenge of unlikely, cursed pairings. I was thinking this would probably take place in Muriel’s route (so, smoll SPOILERS from this point on). I would think Lucio’s social circle would be dwindling since – ya know – he merged with the Devil and all. Lucio would definitely be longing for friendship and companionship. Valdemar will humor him if it means they get new things to study. Get that bag, Valdemar.

---

The salon was one of the few rooms left in the palace where one could find some peace. Ironic, as this room was once one of the livelier places in the palace. After all, the salon was where Countess Nadia would entertain her guests. Now, it was an echo of its former self.

Since his resurrection and merging with the boss, Count Lucio ran with a different crowd, and these new guests had a habit of “borrowing”. Not that Valdemar cared about the state of the rooms throughout the palace, nor the drunkards who sloppily paraded through the hallways with pockets full of silverware. However, the room was simply lacking. It was not quite the same without Countess Nadia’s fingers gliding across the ivory keys with precision and grace. Instead of the haunting melodies of a grand piano and the idle chatter of the other courtiers, the room was filled with the distant echoes of intoxicated partygoers reciting a rather impolite folk song about a sea captain’s cousin.

However, Valdemar was paying little attention to the commotion outside and quietly sipped their tea. They chose instead to focus on the decorating choices they felt were an improvement. For example, the dying flowers wilting in waterless vases were a nice touch. Additionally, the portrait that Count Lucio had commissioned in his mother’s likeness had some alterations. It was laying waste on the ground below where it was once proudly hung. The vandalism was done with such intention that Valdemar was certain the count had crossed out the eyes himself. Valdemar pondered if he had done so in a fit of rage. The count had such a temper, and judging from his interaction with his mother, there was a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. While the symbolism was a tad on the nose, Valdemar appreciated the irony none-the-less. It was Lucio who murdered his own mother. It was only fitting he should be the one to remove the light from her portrait’s eyes too.

Without much warning, the doors of the salon burst open with a bang; shaking the few portraits that still hung on the walls. Yet, Valdemar sat unflinching despite the abrupt entrance from the count.

“Alright, I’ll catch you guys later.” called Count Lucio to a chorus of guttural cheers and whooping from the end of the hall. Valdemar peered at the count from over their teacup as they took a long sip. They had been wondering what was taking the count so long. He had been the one who had requested a meeting with them. To keep them waiting seemed in poor taste.

“Crazy guys.” chucked Lucio to himself before turning his attention to Valdemar. “Hey, there you are! Where have you been? You weren’t at last night’s party. You missed Vulgora tackling several new recruits. You should have seen them go at it. We were taking bets and everything.”

“Hm.” hummed Valdemar as they peered into their teacup, finding more interest in the way the tea leaves settled to the bottom of their cup than Lucio’s story. However, Lucio did not seem to notice as he reenacted the punches and kicks of last night’s tussle; knocking over a chair in the process. “But hey, don’t worry about missing it. They’ll probably do it again tomorrow night. You’re gonna love it.”

“I am sure, my count.” lied Valdemar.

Lucio seemed convince Valdemar was genuine, and with an exaggerated groan, he slumped into the chair next to them. Valdemar watched as he adjusted the scabbard on his waist, the end of which clanked aggressively on the hardwood floor. His legs then spread out for maximum comfort as he sunk into his seat. It would seem he was finally situated, and he looked merrily back at Valdemar expecting them to speak first. The quaestor closed their eyes. Admittedly, their patience was wearing thin. With a short sigh, they placed their teacup on the table and prepared themselves to address the count.

“Is there a reason you have called me here today, my count?” asked Valdemar as politely as they could muster.

A spark of realization lit in Lucio’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! I gotcha something.” said Lucio as he started rummaging through a small satchel. “I felt like we left it kinda weird at that old broad’s house, and I been wanting to make it up to you.”

“Old broad?” whispered Valdemar to themself as they searched their lexicon for a translation.

“Yeah, you remember. I gave you her heart. I was weird about it, but you were just asking for your payment.” explained the count. “It is nothing amazing, really. You probably have twenty of ‘em, but I was traveling through the market, and I saw it, and I thought - do you know who would like this? Quaestor Valdemar - so, I got it. No big deal, ya know?”

From his bag, Lucio pulled out an adult human skull. Embedded in the eye sockets were large rubies that burned in the orange glow of the setting sun. The count placed his gift in Valdemar’s hand, who made quick note of the condition in which the skull was in. In short, it was nearly perfect. The dental work was most fascinating to Valdemar. Not a single tooth was crooked or missing. No sign of disease or decay. Whoever extracted this specimen knew what they were doing. Valdemar was so transfixed by the skull, they almost forgot Lucio was still in the room.

“Yeah, I thought you like that.” said Lucio as he leaned forward in his chair. “I got that off a guy who was selling all kinds of wild, kooky stuff.”

Valdemar was quiet as they studied the skull. They were far more impressed by the specimen itself than the embellishments. Gemology was not at the top of their list of the most appealing subjects, and frankly, they thought the rubies were rather gaudy.

As they pondered the feasibility of extracting the gemstones without damaging the bone, a visibly nervous Lucio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence between them.

“I -uh- I got it because the eyes remind me of your eyes.” said Lucio. As the words left his mouth, he instantly wished he had just swallowed them instead. He was not prepared for Valdemar's undivided attention. Their eyes were fixed on Lucio. Their expression was blank. Their entire form was eerily motionless. He immediately felt the need to elaborate. “Ya know, because the rubies are pretty - pretty like your eyes.”

To Lucio’s relief, the compliment was enough to break their stare. No one had ever called their eyes pretty before. Creepy. Unsettling. Unnatural. But never pretty. Pretty was a meaningless word. Pretty was objective. Pretty could not be measured. Pretty was unscientific. Yet, the word bounced around in their mind, unextrapolated and uncategorized. Valdemar wanted to dissect its meaning. They wanted Lucio to elaborate. What did it mean to have pretty eyes?

"Hey, is that thing broken?" asked Lucio. who had unknowingly grounded Valdemar from their slow spiral into the definition and interpretation of the word pretty.

"Pardon?" asked Valdemar.

"Did that bastard give me a busted skull?" asked Lucio gesturing to a fissure starting from the bottom of the eye socket across the cheekbone.

Realizing what the count was referring to Valdemar had to stifle a laugh. "No, that is a zygomaticomaxillary suture. You'll notice the second one, right here." They turned the skull to allow Lucio to see the other fissure reflected on the other cheekbone.

"Oh, so it's okay then? It's not broken?" asked Lucio.

"This specimen is in excellent condition." reassured Valdemar. A moment passed between them before the quaestor softly cleared their throat, and managed a polite thank you to the count. They fully intended to investigate the skull further for any clues of what may have lead to the specimen’s demise. They loved a good mystery. Afterwords, it would look lovely in their display cabinet - pretty ruby eyes and all.

“Right, so that guy I got this skull from. He has other things too. Goopy things in jars. Dead things in jars. Dead things out of jars. Drawings of bones and meaty parts. Books. Does any of that sound interesting to you?” asked Lucio.

Valdemar considered Lucio’s offer before replying, “I suppose that I am always in search for new specimens to add to my collection. Additionally, this could be an opportunity to ask the merchant where the rest of the remain’s of this specimen can be found.”

Their response seemed to greatly please the count as he leaned back in his chair. For the past few nights, he had done nothing but party - which he loved to do, and would surely want to do again - but sitting with Valdemar, as the sun lowered into the horizon felt nice. Not to mention, they knew a lot, which Lucio appreciated. Having them around could be quite helpful to keeping his kingdom. Additionally, he was curious as to what was under their bandages. His money was on horns, but it would be fun to confirm his suspicions.

“Great, I’ll take you down there sometime.” said Lucio. “And, if you see anything you like, consider it yours.”

While material possessions never interested Valdemar, the idea of discovering something new was quite alluring. Perhaps, the merchant had a sealed jar of an entirely forgotten disease, or maybe they would uncover an ancient tomb that described a real account of an unsolved death of an entire village. The more they thought about it, the more exciting the prospect became.

“Would now be an appropriate time?” asked Valdemar who had moved to the edge of their seat. Their body was stiff with anticipation, as they leaned over ever so slightly towards him. A coy smile spread on Lucio’s face. He knew the moment he agreed, Valdemar would be sprinting for the door. Frankly, it seemed cruel to make them wait another moment for his answer.

“I’ll have someone fetch two cloaks and a carriage.”

END.

#lucio x valdemar #devil!lucio x valdemar #valdemar x lucio #valdemar x devil!lucio #lucio #count lucio #devil!lucio #lucio the arcana #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #valdemar the arcana #courtiers #the courtiers #fluff #one shot #one-shot #fanfic #fanfiction

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

Blood Trails [ Pt. 7 ]

Chapter Summary: Time skip to two weeks later, when Tony Stark comes up with a fool proof plan on how the Avengers will protect Johanna. Although Bucky doesn't agree, he still decides to go ahead with this. Is this a coincidence or is Bucky having other hidden interior motives? Who knows?

Warnings: Cute fluff, daddy daughter moments

Word Count: 2900+

Masterlist

You had been living at the Avengers Towers for two weeks now, two mostly uneventful weeks; where you had been interrogated almost three four times again, and then on the fourth day, for some reason, you didn’t know why, they had decided to take you off the cuffs when they saw that you were pretty much behaving yourself and not giving them a hard time. The truth was, you were sort of liking living here. It was much better than the crap and the torture that Vasili gave you and this felt refreshing. In fact, Bucky even let Sasha come see you, and for some reason, the little girl pushed the monster in you into hiding, bringing out the real hidden you that had been laying dormant for ages.

“You do realize that we are actually hiding a fugitive in here, don’t you?” Tony crossed his arms dismissively over his chest. He had always liked you , you were one of his favorites, and this was the only single reason he had not blurted out to anyone that the Avengers were actually hiding a HYDRA assassin and protecting her from law.

“What do you want me to do? Throw her out? Hand her over to the CIA? They will rip her apart. Besides, she seems to be doing better.” Bucky’s eyes turned towards you, as he noted you making weird googley eyes at Sasha, who was standing outside the glass room where you were locked in, but the two of you looked merry, even with the glass separating the two of you.

“Oh, would you look at that Barnes? The mother of your child and your child are just getting along so perfectly. Who can say that she doesn’t remember a thing?” He dramatically pretended to wipe a tear, and then smiled, this time a genuine, carefree one, directed towards you as he cleared his throat and turned towards Bucky. “I think she isn’t as bad as how you used to be initially.” Bucky just rolled his eyes at Tony’s words, but his eyes were fixed on you as he studied you. He could see that you were kneeling down, your palm was pressed to the glass, and Sasha had, for some reason, her lips pressed to the glass where your hand was. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at what he was looking at, before Tony’s phone started ringing, and he walked off, speaking on the phone.

Bucky made his way to the coffee vending machine, and he poured you a mug of coffee. With equally slow steps, he walked up to where his daughter was, and when Sasha saw him towering over her, she turned around and smiled, Bucky looking down at her as he said, “You wanna come inside with me? We can give her a coffee. She looks miserable without it, don’t you think?” He threw out his hand towards her, and could notice that you were noticing the small interaction between the father and daughter from behind the glass, a hint of a smile playing against your lips.

Sasha took her father’s hand excitedly, and there was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. She was finally going to meet you, without having the wall of glass separate the two of you. As Bucky and Sasha reached the door, he slowly lowered himself so he was in a squatting position in front of her, and face level with her face, “Sash, I know you’re my big girl.. and Daddy can tell you anything.. right? And daddy also knows that you will understand.”

“Yes daddy, you can talk to me,” the little girl smiled, her blue eyes radiating with warmth as she ran her fingers through her loose strands that had managed to fall out of her fishtail braid.

“Well, ah – “ Bucky squinted his eyes slightly, “she, uh doesn’t really remember anything. The bad place we got her from, they did some things to her, that made her forget..”

“Is that why she doesn’t remember who I am?” She asked, her eyes widening, with a glimmer of sadness in them, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, which is why.. can you try not to call her mom, baby? She might just get scared, you know?”

“I will try, daddy. I don’t want to scare her away, now that I’ve found her.”

“You do know that you’re my best girl right?” Bucky smiled, and the little girl fixed her forehead with Bucky’s, chuckling in her sweet, childlike voice. “Yeah, I am your best girl.” Bucky chuckled genuinely, and he stood up, taking her hand again, her tiny fingers clasping naturally against his hard metal ones, as the glass door swiped open automatically, and you turned towards the two of them, still kneeling by the glass.

“Well, hi. Is that for me?” You pushed yourself up to your feet, awkwardly shuffling the weight of your body from one foot to another. You were dressed in a loose fitting tunic that reached your knees, and you didn’t care that everyone in here could see the various marks and dried up cuts that covered your legs.

“I thought you could, uh, use some caffeine.”

“I really do, appreciate it.” You smiled, taking the mug from his hand and bringing it to your lips, as you blew twice on it and took a sip, letting the froth give you a fake moustache, to which Sasha just started giggling.

“What? What’s so amusing, скучать?” You looked down at her, amused, and then back up at Bucky Barnes, noticing how he was also trying to muffle a smile from breaking out against his lips. That’s when you realized that you probably had froth all over your face. Embarrassed, you pursed your lips together, your cheeks flushing red suddenly, as you turned away and quickly swiped your sleeve over your lips, trying to ignore the little child’s very obvious giggling.

“Well, I think we should leave – “ Bucky began speaking; but Friday’s voice ringing through the cell suddenly made him clasp his mouth shut, as the two of you started looking at each other; your frown only widening.

“Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark wants to see you and the rest of the team in the meeting room. They’re all already there and waiting for you now.”

“Thank you Friday, I’ll just – “

“Also, Mr. Stark wants you to bring Miss Johanna to the meeting room.”

You raised your eyebrow questioningly towards Bucky and he just shrugged, running his hand through the back of his head.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Your stomach felt like it was knotting up, and you began nibbling on the insides of your cheeks to make your nervousness go away. It wasn’t nervousness per say, but you really didn’t understand why you had been called suddenly, when all you had done the past two weeks was be nice. You hadn’t tried to escape, you had listened to what was asked of you and yet, today you had been called into the meeting room. Your first thought was whether they were planning to send you back..to Vasili Dreznov. You dreaded it, but at the same time, you mentally scolded yourself for being so paranoid. Sending you to Dreznov will be the last thing to cross their mind.

Bucky cleared his throat, and you were pulled out of your thoughts, your head sharply turning towards him. He raised his palm slightly, asking you to step into the meeting room before him. You nodded, and stepped in, your footsteps loud enough to alert the other occupants of the room enough to turn and give you a glance.

“Well, Y/N.. I mean to say Johanna, why don’t you take a seat?” Tony pointed towards a leather chair that was a few steps away from where you were standing. You turned to give Bucky a quick glance and he blinked, as though telling you that it was okay to do it. Biting your lip, you lowered yourself into that chair, placing both your elbows on the table as Tony cleared his throat again, “Well, I’m not going to beat around the bush, but we’ve got a problem. I just received an anonymous intel.. something is going to happen. Something bad, something dangerous, something that will change everything.”

“Well, you are sort of beating around the bush here. What’s the crack?” Clint walked up to the empty chair next to you, pulling it casually and plomping down on it like this was the most normal Avengers meeting and you were a normal part of it, which was hilarious. Nothing about this meet made you feel like you were a villain that had actually been caught by these people.

“Way to ruin my mood, Barton. Well anyway, there is something weirdly fishy going on here.” He clapped dramatically, and the holographic screen started displaying a video footage. The footage playing was of a colony. Everything looked normal; women and children walked about the streets, cars passed by, and everything looked like a normal upper middle class colony. “Now I know you all must be thinking what’s so fishy about this little colony in New Jersey. This is what’s fishy! Nothing really looks fishy?”

“You’re really not making any sense,” A female voice called out from behind you, and you just turned around, to see a woman with a slender frame, and long dark hair step in, her eyes darting around the room and fixing on you for a bit before fixing on Tony. You knew her as Wanda Maximoff, and you knew her from your third day of captivity in here when she had come to see you, immediately returning from her mission.

“Thank you for your input, Miss Maximoff,” Tony mumbled, faking an accent and then turned back to the holographic scene. “Jokes apart, something is going on in that colony, and that’s what the intel said, and that is what we must find out, what exactly are they hiding?”

“This is still vague, Stark.” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Well, Barnes, this is all I know. It could be anything, someone in that colony might be making a freaking bomb that may destroy all of America for all I know, but I don’t.” Tony continued, glaring at Bucky before he abruptly turned and bent over the keypad, his fingers typing something against the keys and an animated 3D representation of the colony sprang up in the middle of the room. “Well, I’ve done you all the favour of narrowing down your search for you. Well, technically my systems have. And these are the only suspects that have been narrowed down.” Two houses out of the entire lot were suddenly highlighted as the color of their rooftop started turning red. Tony explained in a detail that the mission involved going to live in that colony in New Jersey undercover, and trying to find out what exactly was going on there, and it meant, that the interaction had to be formed with the occupants of these two houses because these were the most suspicious ones, and one of them was definitely hiding a secret.

You kept sitting there awkwardly, listening in, trying to process the information that was so openly being discussed between you, which you had no idea why. Little did you know that Bucky and the rest of the team also had the same apprehension and thoughts as you, in fact everyone except Tony seemed to think this. Finally, you gave up when you could listen no more and slowly stood up, your sudden movement causing a sudden hush to fall over the room.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mistake here. I don’t understand why I have been asked to be here. I’m not one of you,” you frowned, looking at Tony.

Tony smiled, and the next moment, he had turned round the desk, and was already walking towards you, while you looked on in confusion. He finally stopped walking and fixed himself just next to you, and cleared his throat. “On behalf of the rest of the team, I don’t think they’re gonna mind, I would like to make you an offer. You’ve been here two weeks now, and I was wondering if you ever considered joining us.”

Bucky’s eyes almost widened, when he heard what Tony had just said to you; so much so that he pushed himself closer to Sam, and mumbled into his ear, “What the hell is going on? You knew about this?”

“No freaking way, Barnes,” Sam whispered back, just as startled as Bucky was.

“Woah, hold on a minute. You’re offering me a position here? Knowing well who I am and who I worked for.”

“Well you said it yourself. Worked. In past tense.” Tony mumbled, scratching his jaw when Bucky grabbed his arm forcefully and literally pulled him aside so he could talk to him, alone, “Okay, what the fuck are you trying to do?”

“Hey, you’ll thank me later, metal man,” Tony yanked his arm away, and walked off, letting Bucky just glare at him, like nothing had even happened.

“So Johanna, you in?”

You couldn’t hide the budding frown on your forehead, as you suspiciously eyed him, trying to psychoanalyze him, try to figure out if he was just mocking you, but Tony Stark looked at you with what looked like an utmost sincerity, that confused you even more, “What’s the catch if I say yes?”

“If you say yes, you’re protected, you’re not a fugitive anymore you’re free from HYDRA, atleast to an extent that you don’t have to work for them anymore, and if you say no.. you’re a traitor to this country and you know the rest.”

“So basically –“ your arms crossed over your chest as you took a deep breath, “ трахни мою жизнь but I don’t have another option is what you’re telling me. Because it’s like choosing between wanting to die either by consuming poison, or by drowning. But you got to die in the end.”

“We aren’t that bad, Jesus. You make us sound like we are horrible. Well woman, we have fans all over this world – “

“Tony, seriously that’s enough. Give her a break,” Wanda stepped up next to you, and for once you were thankful that someone had spoken, broken their silence for it felt like you were being cornered in here by one man.

“Tony, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?” Bucky finally spoke, and that’s when you realized that he had been strangely quiet all this while. You watched from the corner of your eye, as Bucky and Tony stepped out of the meeting room, and the door slammed shut, leaving you alone with the rest of the team.

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky almost growled, when he had brought Tony out into the hallway.

“I am only doing you a favour. Isn’t that what Steve did? Did you forget about yourself?”

“That was different.” Bucky stated, simply.

“Yeah you’re right Barnes. That was different. I didn’t like you back then, and neither do I like you now, but her –“ Tony crossed his arms over his chest, and took off his glasses, now standing chest to chest with Bucky, “ – she was a nice one. I knew her before you even knew her. And if there is anything I can do to make sure she doesn’t have to step foot back from where she just came here I’m going to do that. And besides, I cooked up just the best little plan so she gets her memories back.”

“So that’s what you truly want,” Bucky deadpanned, and shook his head, moving away, back towards the meeting room, leaving Tony to quietly follow him until all eyes turned towards the two of them, including yours. You finally took a deep breath, and brought your hands up to your hair, fluttering your eyes shut just for a split second, before you opened them again, “I accept.”

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Three days later, you found yourself in your first official meeting as an Avenger. Natasha and Bruce Banner still weren’t back from Afghanistan, so it left Bucky, Sam, Clint, Tony, Wanda, Vision and you.

You kept watching as Tony slammed two heavy looking files on the round table in front of you.

“Johanna.. Bucky..” Tony deadpanned, grabbing a file out of the two and tossing it into the air, that Bucky caught midair using his metal arm, “that mission I was talking about. The one about that colony in New Jersey.. You two would be going undercover.”

Bucky looked at you, and you looked at him, then back at Tony, nodding. This seemed fairly easy, for your first official mission. It was only when you felt Bucky almost groan, and you noticed that he was reading the file that was handed to him, that you realized that this wasn’t the end of it. You snatched the second file that was laying on the table, and a frown caked over your forehead when you saw what the mission was all about. You and Bucky were going undercover, pretending to be a newly married couple who were expecting their first child together.

Of course, it just couldn’t have been a straightforward, kicking some asses kind of a mission for you.

“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Tony chuckled, and Bucky just threw him a glare, knowing well aware the games that he was trying to play, and the conversation he had with him three days back came spiraling back into his mind; where he had confessed that he had an idea that could bring your memories back. Maybe this was this intelligent idea of Tony Stark, when even Wanda and Vision could have been send undercover, he actually chose the two of you.

“When do we leave?” You turned to Bucky, your expression blank.

“Tomorrow. Think of it as a vacation. The two of you deserve it.”

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