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dycefic · 3 years

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Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero�� one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

#welcome to Evil Mart #good is not just good #evil is not just evil #people are complicated #and so is retail #tw graphic #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #it's a supervillain story #supervillain shit happens #you are now warned

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vernalseason · 2 years

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Here's why I'm so goddamn feral about The Bear.

I ran an ice cream store for about five years. No, it wasn’t fine dining, it wasn’t even a restaurant, but it was still food service. We were in a vacation town, and our place was the only ice cream store in the area, and the ice cream was GOOD. Customers used to ask me all the time if I got sick of eating it and I’d say no, and I meant it. It was reasonably fancy as ice cream goes, with some pretty out-there flavors, but mostly it was just GOOD. Super flavorful, dense but not chewy the way that some ice creams get where it feels like it’s stretching unnaturally when you pull your spoon away…

Point is, it was an ice cream shop in a tourist town, and in the summer we got killed during service every single night. Nonstop lines from 7 til 12 or 1 in the morning, no breaks. We got after-dinner crowds, after-show crowds, hordes of camp kids a busload at a time, and it might not have been fine dining but we worked HARD. We had 8, 9, 10 people on peak days all scooping, cleaning, making milkshakes (which is The Worst, in case you were curious), restocking by running down rickety definitely-not-to-code stairs to our tiny walk-in and hauling ice cream up 4 boxes at a time—because goddamn it, time was valuable and running up and down the stairs sucked and no one was going to go down multiple times when you could just grab 4 at a time and grit your teeth and shove them onto the counter upstairs feeling like you’d just benched your own body weight.

At the start of the summer, Memorial Day weekend, we were at our absolute peak. Following a truly herculean hiring effort aided by the promise of unlimited free ice cream, we had a crew of 20-odd overcaffeinated teenagers and twentysomethings who were working a truly awe-inspiring pace to kill the line. My favorite moments were, variously:

Being so busy I had to run two registers simultaneously, waiting for Square to process a transaction on one (chip card readers were murderously slow in the early days) while taking cash on the other;

Absolutely shattering every store record on a Saturday night with a skeleton crew and getting approval to order 12AM pizza on the company card, and taking a long, long hour to eat before we finally had to get around to scrubbing the calcified ice cream off the floors;

Gearing up to call for a restock on spoons, napkins, and other such necessities only to find that my assistant manager was behind me with a milk crate of those very things;

And so on.

There was about a month and a half of beautiful, well-staffed, smooth-running time before things frayed at the edges. Suddenly the factory couldn't get enough ingredients, since the company was chronically broke (turns out wholesale ice cream is a bad idea, folks; retail is where it's at), or the store walk-in broke down and we had to resort to chest freezers for storage for a month, or, most commonly, we started losing staff. I was always after the owner of the company to hire more year-round full-time staff, but there was always something more urgent for him to spend money on, like rent. So inevitably our staff would start leaving for college, and we'd be left with about half to a third of the staff we really needed to run. Which is when things started getting bad.

There are only so many doubles you can work before you start losing your grip on reality. I recall one day in August when I was somehow, improbably, the only person available to fill an entire day of shifts, and worked from 9AM pre-open to 11PM at night. The only thing that I remember is that the tips were phenomenal. But by Labor Day weekend we were down to our last seasonal staff and the entire core crew had worked at least two doubles that week and we limped into the off season with about two remaining brain cells between us.

Anyway. This post was supposed to be about The Bear.

I've never seen a show—or at least, never seen a FICTIONAL show—that so deeply understands what it means to be in food service. I watched the first episode in absolute awe of how they captured the intensity—just GOING until you get a moment to yourself in the bathroom, in the walk-in, in the office. And when you slow down, you think about how tired you are. How burnt out. How much all you really want is just to sit, maybe eat a slice of pizza, and stare into space for an hour. But then you go back out, and you get back to work.

I've also never seen a show that so accurately captures what it looks like and feels like to be a manager. Carmy losing his temper, giving in to that righteous anger in 'Review'—how DARE you not cover your station, how DARE you leave me with this mess that you created—I've been there. I'm not proud of it. I didn't punch a ticket printer, or scream in anyone's face, but I lost my cool, and that sticks with me. You don't get to take it back. You apologize (even if you were right), you patch things up, but no one ever really forgets.

But the show also does justice to one of the great joys of the service industry: getting to see people improve. One of my favorite subplots is Tina going from sabotaging Sydney to respecting her, trusting her, defending her. But mostly, it's my favorite because we see her get BETTER. She goes from just holding down her station to being a pro, from throwing things together to being careful, and thoughtful, and focused. And that moment when Tina says 'thank you, chef', and means it, really MEANS it, that's the kind of thing that gets me all teary. Because it's so much more than just 'thank you', but you'd have spend a hell of a lot longer to get it all out.

I guess if I was going to trace my rabid and, so far undiminished love of the show to a single thing, it would be the fact that it makes me feel seen. I haven't done that much reading on the people who made the show, but enough of them clearly lived this life or got close enough to it that they understand what it does to people, and what it requires of them. I loved working in food service, and sometimes I even miss it. I loved getting to make people's days, to give kids their first-ever ice cream, to feel like people were leaving in a better mood than they came in. And I met my partners through this life, all three of them, which is as exactly as wild and improbable as it sounds. But every time I look back on it fondly, I make myself remember that it was miserable too. The late nights, the early mornings, the days off cut short by delivering emergency stock or jumping in to cover a shift or just ending back up at the shop out of habit. The crushed toes and ragged wrist tendons and hoarse throats, the constant phone calls or checking sales to try and anticipate if we needed more staff. The sensation that after service, the rest of the world was dim in comparison.

I sank so much time and energy into that life, and I think the last thing I love about The Bear, the other thing that makes me tear up a little bit, is that for them it turns out alright in the end. They work through the problems, they make things run smooth, and they get the chance to build the place they dreamed about. That was always what I wanted, what I was working toward—the chance to make things better. And even in fiction, it makes me happy to see that come true.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #jeremy allen white #ayo edebiri #retail #service #service industry #in service #my work #writing #I should talk more about this part of my life actually #and if you want to know more #just ask

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

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Around Your Neck

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, choking, metal arm kink, fingering, semi-public sex, slight hand and finger kink - 18+, minors DNI. Summary: Something sparks in you when you watch Bucky wrap his hand -- the metal hand -- around Zemo’s throat. A/N: I was gonna wait to publish this tomorrow but ya know what?? im too excited about it. it’s pretty well received on ao3 so i hope y’all enjoy! probably not the best smut ever written but i had fun writing it. this is a result of some late night imagination.

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

It happened fast. You were sitting on the plane, watching the trio bicker, when the next thing you knew, Bucky’s hand was around Zemo’s throat. To make matters more intense, it was the metal one. While hidden under that glove and coat, just the thought of it, the realization hit…

While fully aware of the intensity and seriousness of the situation, you practically groaned at the action. You didn’t know what it was, but seeing that contrast of metal and skin, and the flex of his arm... You couldn’t help it as you let out a breathy gasp.

Bucky backed away then but not before giving you a side glance. You could tell he was fighting back a teasing smirk as he eyed you and your sudden tense state. To outsiders it may have seemed like you were scared by your boyfriend’s reaction, even Zemo looked a bit concerned, but you and Bucky knew. Knew the pillow talk and drunk confessions you’d made about the arm.

Your thighs clenched as you watched Bucky return to his seat. He still wore that hard expression, somehow turning you on even more. It was suddenly getting hot, you felt, squirming a bit in your sweater.

 Why did you allow yourself in this position? When Bucky enlisted your help, citing your past as an agent, you had originally dismissed it. You’d never really worked with your boyfriend, having already been out of the scene before he came into your life. But those pleading eyes and soft touches won you over no matter what.

Little did you know, though, it’d lead to you being on the private jet of a terrorist, ridiculously turned on by your boyfriend’s metal arm.

You fumbled for your bottle of water, taking a big gulp.

“Everything okay, doll?” Bucky asked as he broke off the conversation with the other two men. All of them faced you, waiting for a reply.

You nodded, placing your water bottle down. You turned directly to Bucky and met his furious eyes. “Just feeling a bit hot.”

He raised his brows as you felt the other men stare with confusion. The relationship wasn’t a secret by any means but the tone you two spoke with was certainly one reserved for other times.

"I think there’s a bathroom towards the back," Bucky nodded, motioning towards the end of the plane with his metal arm. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Zemo odd in confirmation. "If you need to cool down."

His simple movements sent a million little fires within you. The wetness between your thighs was getting harder to ignore, harder to play cool in front of the other men.

Biting your lip, you nodded. "Thank you, Bucky." You said his name with such slow ease, it was lighting something more in him, too. That’s when it really clicked.

You watched him as you rose from your seat. He glanced down, pretending to check something, trying to act as cool and collected as possible. For a former assassin, you thought, he wasn’t doing very well. He definitely knew. He got the little hint in your nod, in your tone. You figured he’d give it at most five minutes.

You made it to the airplane bathroom and squeezed your way in. Way smaller than you anticipated and you tried to figure how your super-soldier boyfriend was going to fit in here but he’d make it in. His arousal wouldn’t let him out of this.

You stood in front of the mirror, faux fixing your make-up and splashing water to kill time when the knock on the door came. Bucky hadn’t even given it a full minute before he was hot on your heels.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his urgency as you unlocked the door.

"You know they totally know what’s going on in here," you whispered as Bucky just barely fit himself inside the tiny bathroom. In one full motion, he locked the door then picked you up by the waist, setting you on the makeshift bathroom counter. You let out another giggle of surprise by his smoothness.

His arms were around your waist, pulling himself into your body, so eager and urgent. The gloves were long gone you realizes as you gasped at the feeling of the metal arm teasingly making its way under your sweater. His grip on you were tight.

"Do you think I care if they know?" Bucky mumbled as he began attacking your neck with kisses. He nipped and licked at your skin making you let out little squeals. Oh yeah, there was no way no one knew what was happening here but you didn’t have it in your heart to care anymore. You were practically dripping in your jeans and it was like Bucky could tell.

In an attempt to move closer, his thigh came up to your core, pressing, rubbing. You moved with it, letting the motions ease some of the burning in you.

Bucky continued the assault on your neck as you let out a desperate moan. "Could we please at least hurry so it’s not as weird when we go back out there?"

Your boyfriend chuckled, almost darkly, as he removed his lips from your neck. He began working up until his lips were finally on yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, now taking your chance to pull him in. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your eagerness as he once again nudged your core with his thigh. The moans you gave out at that… Bucky felt captivated and you could feel it in his kiss.

Reluctantly disconnecting, he mumbled, "I don’t think I want to hurry anything, doll." He gave another peck. "Might want to stay here and spend hours between those thighs."

"Bucky-," you gasped.

"But that’s not what you’re here for, right?" He chuckled, his metal arm on your bare back. It came around to your side slowly, inching upward to your lace-covered breasts. "It’s the arm that got you all bothered."

You groaned as he then began to drag the hand back down your side, dipping just a finger below the waist of your jeans. The coolness barely skimmed over your hip but you were thrilled. It was a riveting contrast to the warmth that had been building over you since Bucky decided to choke someone right in front of you.

"It just looked g-good," you were getting breathy trying to formulate words. But everything was escaping you. As you tried formulating coherent sentences, Bucky began popping the buttons of your jeans then slowly tugging down the zipper. You gulped at the actions.

"Yeah?" Bucky chuckled, halting his actions. "How do you think my hand would look wrapped around your neck?"

Your brain starting spinning. You hated and loved when you got in this drunk state for him and he apparently was amused too as he gave you no time to answer. Bucky backed off a bit, as far as he really could, removing his touch entirely. You leaned back on the counter, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Turn around," he demanded.

The lightbulb went off in your head at his words. With a coy smirk, you hopped down from the counter and turned, your ass just brushing over his front. He was already ridiculously hard and apparently not amused with your sudden teasing. Without warning, Bucky grabbed your hips and forced you around completely. He made you plant your hands on the counter, giving you a clear view of yourself in the small airplane bathroom mirror. It surely wasn’t a full-fledge mirror but gave you just enough to see your neck, which you could already imagine how it was going to look with Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around it.

Apparently abandoning his threat of taking his time, Bucky pulled down your jeans and panties in one swift, sudden motion. You gasped at the action, feeling the material practically burn your thighs as it went.

Bucky was over any more teasing and talk as his metal hand promptly came up to your neck. It wrapped around, just tight enough to make you groan at the pressure. It felt so heavy and secure. Like it belonged there. You swore you got wetter at the sight.

Your eyes caught Bucky’s in the mirror. His didn’t hid how aroused, intrigued, he was at the sight before him. His eyes never left yours as his other hand made its way down your body, slipping right to your core where it found the bundle of nerves begging for attention. He gave it some attention before moving to dip a finger in you. Bucky groaned in your ear at the wetness that met his skin.

He pumped the one finger in and out slowly but surely as he whispered in your ear, "So wet." Another pump. "Looking so pretty, doll."

Your eyes started drifting close at the sensations Bucky was working over your body. Between the tightness on your neck to the pumping finger to your clit that brushed a bit over the counter, you were losing it.

Bucky, apparently, didn’t like you getting too comfortable. Without any warning, he pulled his finger out and undid his pants. Before you could register anything happening around you, he plunged his cock into you, lunging you forward on the counter. Your eyes snapped open. You were greeted by your boyfriend’s intense expression once again.

You barely registered the sight of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were wide and that metal hand was not letting up on your neck. You could barely choke out any moans but it all felt so good, so right.

Satisfied that he had your attention, Bucky began thrusting in and out of you, pushing you more into the counter now, your arms barely holding up. He slipped in and out of you with such ease it was almost embarrassing. The only sounds prevalent for a bit in the room were the squelching between your thighs and the light grunts Bucky let out.

"How’s that?" Bucky asked between thrusts. Your legs were going to give out if he even began to talk. And as if he knew that fact, he continued. "Is this what you wanted, doll? My hand wrapped around your neck while I pounded into this sweet, tight pussy?"

You could only let out a weak moan in response which pleased him greatly. So much so, the thrusting picked up and the hand got tighter. Shocking you, your legs began to tremble. Bucky must’ve sensed it as his other hand came to grasp your waist tightly.

"I got you, doll," he whispered in your ear, placing a sweet kiss on your cheek. The contrast between that and his not-so-sweet motions nearly had you climaxing right then and there. "Got you so drunk on this cock you can barely stand, huh?"

You gave a breath moan, "B-Bucky-,"

He continued pounding as he spoke, seeming like the world’s greatest multitasker. Well, you figured, those assassins gotta be fast on their feet.

"What’s wrong?" Bucky mocked. "You close?"

You nodded profusely, watching your boyfriend in the mirror as he turned back towards it, your eyes meeting. He looked so blown out, in a primal state, as he kept working in and out of you.

Slowly, Bucky’s hand left your waist and sneaked down to your clit. He gave it a quick press that made you yelp. Bucky chuckled, amused by your responsiveness. It didn’t make him falter as he pressed again, this time running tight circles on your clit. The pressure and motion were making you lose your mind.

Bucky must’ve greatly enjoyed the sight as his metal hand got slightly tighter. You couldn’t do it — didn’t know how you managed it until now — but your eyes fluttered shut as your orgasm built and built and built—

He sped up the motions on your clit, accompanied by even more powerful thrusts. Your arms gave out, overwhelmed, sending you forward on the counter. Bucky went with, pressing his body fully into yours. His hand never left your throat. His thrusts never hesitating.

"That’s it, doll," he whispered and you could practically hear the cocky smile on his lips. "Cum for me."

And you did. It took nothing else. Your orgasm rushed through you, sending sparks and waves across your body. Bucky never once let up as he simultaneously chased his own while working you through yours.

"Bucky…" you mumbled as your legs shook, your orgasm rushing warmth throughout your body.

His motions and thrusting weren’t letting up, sending you into an overstimulated state. You clenched on his cock at the sensation. Bucky couldn’t hold back anymore. With a tight grip still on you and a desperate moan on his lips, he came inside, soaking your walls, letting it drip to your thighs.

His movements got weak and sloppy as he worked through his orgasm. You couldn’t even handle it anymore and pushed his hand from your clit, earning an amused chuckle from your boyfriend.

He gave one more quick thrust before pulling out of you, watching as his seed slowly leaked out of your swollen hole. He had half the nerve to get on his knees to clean you up but figured that was the last thing you wanted in your overwhelmed, dazed state.

Instead, he was a good boyfriend and began cleaning you up with some hand towels from a rack. You shivered as the fabric came into contact with your thighs. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky who pressed a soft kiss to your skin.

Once cleaned, you finally found your balance again. You pulled up your panties and jeans then looked back into the mirror. You saw Bucky working to readjust himself in his jeans but what really caught your attention was the redness. Your neck had the faintest yet noticeable glow of red from his hand. You gasped, lightly running your hands over it.

Bucky whipped his head towards you, suddenly noticing the redness left on your skin from his grip. His heart nearly stopped until he saw the pure delight, satisfaction, in your eyes.

"Was that okay?" Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You two watched each other in the mirror, this time in a much softer, sweeter position than before.

You nodded, "It was wonderful."

Bucky grinned and placed a kiss upon your lips. You melted into it, half wanting to go another round. But Bucky forced you two to disconnect.

"We should get back out there," he said.

You frowned. "What happened to spending hours between my thighs?"

"You little minx," Bucky groaned, his hands coming up to tickle your sides. You let out a squeal.

"We really have to face them, huh?"

Bucky went to answer but was cut off by Sam suddenly yelling from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Yes, you do!" He called out, anger and annoyance dripping from his words.

You two met each other’s stare as if hoping for one to suggest a way out of this mess but coming up empty, you just gave a sigh and pushed out of Bucky’s arms. Shamefully, you unlocked the door and opened it, trying to prepare mentally for how you were ever going to face Sam again.

"Sorry, Sam," you mumbled, slipping your way around him back to your seat, avoiding his gaze all cost. Bucky followed behind, seemingly unfazed by the situation.

"On a plane? Really?" Sam asked in disbelief. "While people are sitting right here?" You gave a quick glance to Zemo who truthfully didn’t look bothered by the situation. Your stomach turned at the idea of what else was taking place on this plane.

"Maybe you’re just jealous," Bucky finally spoke as he got comfortable again in his seat. Sam still stood in the aisle, hands on his hips, shocked by Bucky’s suggestion.

"Jealous?"

Bucky shrugged. "I got to bang my very hot girlfriend on a plane. I think you’re jealous."

You groaned at his words, trying to hide your face in your hands. You could hear Bucky’s light chuckles, practically dismissing the situation, which did not please Sam.

"Who thinks it’s okay to bang their girlfriend when other people are right on the other side of the door?" Sam asked.

"Look, Sam," Bucky turned his head towards him, that teasing grin playing at his lips. "When it’s game time, it’s game time."

His words earned a chorus of disgusted groans and protest from the entire group. Your face was hot, probably entirely flushed, as red as your neck if you had to guess. You tried reprimanding Bucky for his ridiculous innuendos — something he didn’t quite understand as he tried defending his statement to the group. No one was buying it.

"Alright," you finally said, halting the conversation. "That’s enough. Can we please no longer talk about this? I think we get it, we got a bit carried away."

Zemo, however, didn’t think it was enough. He decided to add his two cents to the conversation by asking, "And what exactly inspired you to get carried away?"

Zemo didn’t even try to hide it as his eyes glanced down to Bucky’s metal arm. Sam observed, his eyes suddenly getting wide as he put two and two together, causing him to share even more disgust towards you two. Bucky took it all, laughing like it was the greatest joke of all time. You, on the other hand, hid your face once more, praying your seat would just swallow you whole. It sent them into another bicker of conversation.

No one was ever going to let you live it down.

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thehairtm-a · 2 years

Text

if he seems lightheaded, dazed and confused when he opens the door, well . . . it’s because he is. it’s not every evening ( well past evening, in fact ) you wake up to your ex-girlfriend spiraling on your front porch about------ he can’t say for certain. for the second he’s even registered her face in his brain, which doesn’t take very long at all, it’s off to the races. his fight or flight is already activated . . . he stretches his neck over her shoulder, darts his gaze behind her as though looking for something to be chasing after her on the other side. hell, he knows the drill----- he’s already looking for a makeshift weapon. but . . . alas, absolutely nothin’. max?

❛ whoa, whoa, nance— sorry? don’t be sorry, i just, what is——? ❜ he quizzes in a soft coo, pillaring her forearms in his hands like landing pillows. he cuts himself off with a resolute nod, deciding instead to take initiative. ❛ okay c’mon—— come on, come in, pick up your feet—- they’re home, so. ❜ he instructs, planting his back against the door and ushering her in.

he ambulates just far enough before hearing the sound of his own name. and he halts with a discreet, yet defeated huff, sprawling his arm out behind him so that gentle fingers can bring her to yield. ❛ just—- stay here. ❜ he commands over the slope of his shoulder shortly before disappearing into the dark to have a little chat with his father. he re-emerges shortly thereafter, scowling briefly before rejoining her there. ❛ c’mon. it’s fine, good, c’mon. ❜ he whispers reassuringly, hand respectfully pressing into the small of her back to gently lead her through the corridor into the living room. ❛ siddown. ❜ he requests, gesturing toward the couch before---- let there be light.

❛ talk to me, okay? i need to know what’s going on. ❜

and she did------ kinda, in fragmented sentences, undertones, a language that required diligent decoding—- steve can only read between the lines so far without proper context. with a small shake of his head, his hands are up again defensively, urging her to stop. ❛ wh, wait--- ‘him’, he? like, . . . vecna . . . ? ❜ he interposes urgently, though sparing a wary glance around in the event that his parents or even vecna himself may be eavesdropping. but when she hits him with that punchline, that single statement that isn’t at all a request but certainly registers as a call to action, he jumps for the solution. ❛ —-o-okay. okay, so you’ll stay here. done. alright? just . . . tell me what you need— y- you need a phone? call your mom or somethin’, tell her where you are? i’m not sending you home like this, no chance in hell. ❜ he insists, eyes scanning the plane of her face. he always forgets just how beautiful she is until moments like these, when she’s just at arm’s length.

❛ look, . . . guest bedroom’s not super comfortable so, you can sleep in my bed. i’ll sleep, y’know, obviously in the other room er . . . whatever, take the couch but for the time being, i just . . . don’t think you should be alone. y’know? not until we, y’know, rule out . . . know for sure he’s not, y’know. back. ❜ he’s being earnest. there’s no trickery, no ploys, no ulterior motives, just his honesty. and he would abide by it, wouldn’t push those limits. but he does lean in a little bit closer to stress the importance of his next point. ❛ hey. i’m here, okay? this is a safe place, nance. we’ll, y’know, figure it out . . . even if i have to bring this refried creep to his knees myself. ❜ he assures her, though momentarily distracted by the stirring coming from the direction of his parents bedroom.. he lowers the tone of his voice to tell her, ❛ c’mon. come talk to me. ❜ he hoists himself up to a standing position, holding out his hand to help her up.

@nancewheelr, cont’d from here.

#nancewheelr #* ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴀʙs. —— interactions.#* season four tag tbd.#hi this is so cute and i love them

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cassanovancats · 3 years

Text

felicitate. nine.

eight < current > ten

Dec. 24, 2017

You make yourself comfortable on the rooftop, debating if you should go ahead and text your brother. He would be almost as disappointed as you were; Satoru had taken to calling himself the captain of your ship with Yuta and Toge, even coming up with a nickname that incorporated shortened versions of all three names. You sigh, deciding it’s probably best to not text him. He’s likely already worried about leaving you in charge, no need to add a worry about something that isn’t deadly.

A sudden yell disrupts your thoughts and you jump into position, nocking an arrow and aiming towards the scream. You hitch your breath at the sight: Geto is striding into your school alone, leaving a trail of headless assistants behind him. One of the bodies is familiar and you recognize her as the assistant that gave you chocolate with a bright smile after a mission with unfortunate timing left you covered in curse blood and your own. She didn't flinch or offer pity - just a single chocolate kiss. Now she is covered in gore and blood, her previously pristine white shirt coated with her own brain matter.

You feel your resolve hardens. Geto is a curse-user, a human at his core, but he also is a monster. The arrow flies an accurate course but the man dodges, leaving it to embed itself into the wall instead of his torso. He turns to your rooftop, calling out, “Ah, (y/n)! And here I thought your brother would lock you in a tower.” Geto unleashes a grade-one curse that looks similar to a wolf and sends it after you. He is infuriatingly unbothered by your presence and continues his steady gait into the school grounds.

You start running across the rooftops, jumping over gaps and dodging the curse’s attempts to bite you. The rooftop tiles bite into your hands and knees. It faintly registers that a nail broke when you almost missed a jump, narrowly avoiding falling to the ground.

Satoru didn’t say how long to keep this secret, but you assume now is a good time to give Maki and Yuta a heads-up. You spot Maki stepping away from a classroom, so you run there, drawing the curse after you. On the roof next to where she stands, you plant your feet and turn, suddenly drawing your katana and slicing at the wolf. It draws back, avoiding your attack before lunging suddenly. Its claws sink into your leg. You cry out in pain, falling to your knees. When the curse lunges again, this time aiming for your throat, you fall on your back and thrust your blade into its stomach. You force the blade down its body with a grunt, disemboweling the creature. The teeth around your throat loosen, but the dead weight of the curse dropping on you prevents you from getting up immediately. Guts slide out and onto you and you suppress a gag. You feel a lot like Carrie on prom night.

When you finally stagger to your feet, you see Maki has engaged Geto in a fight that she’s obviously losing. You cry her name and rush to her side. She doesn’t get a chance to acknowledge you as Geto, in one fluid moment, breaks her weapon and sends her flying. She falls to the ground as a ragdoll, bleeding heavily from her side and head. You watch her body land, horrified, before you’re snapped back into the fight rudely.

Geto is now the closest to you he’s been since you were a child, frightened and unable to communicate with the people around you. He feels some long-forgotten sense of pity as he slides the blade of his knife further into your stomach. “W-wh-?” You look at the handle sticking out of your body curiously, blood starting to leak from the corner of your mouth. The pain hasn’t begun to register but your body understands that you are unable to fight. You faint, missing the entrance of Panda and Toge by a few precious seconds.

When Yuta comes out from the classroom, he isn’t sure what he’s expecting to find. He felt a few earthquakes and thought it best to find you and Maki to wait out any aftershocks together. Yuta was sure it was to be a little awkward after his rejection, but also wanted to be sure you were okay. He didn’t expect to find you covered in blood, the same cute gym clothing you were wearing that morning when he rejected you ruined. A quick glance around and he sees the rest of his classmates, his friends, in similar form. Inumaki is clinging to consciousness.

Geto, the one who grabbed Yuta months earlier, stands surrounded by the bodies, hardly winded. “I truly wanted you to live, Okkotsu, but this is for the future of jujutsu.” Yuta wonders how he can fight this man. How can he protect his friends, the only ones to give him a chance since Rika, when Geto already destroyed the strongest people he knew. He was so, so weak compared to each of them.

Inumaki desperately calls a slurred version of his name and says, “Run away.” The fact that the command does nothing, that Yuta feels nothing, breaks him from his spiral. He summons Rika in a rage.

“I am going to kill you!” He declares. Yuta doesn’t think he has ever felt such anger and despair, the feeling of watching Rika die now multiplied by four.

Geto simply says, “You are going to die.”

A sudden pull on your stomach wakes you harshly. “Shit!” Your eyes snap open, to see a sheepish Panda holding the knife that was previously in your stomach. You automatically go to apply pressure on the wound but your hands find Maki’s already there, dressing the wound. “What happened?”

“The fight’s over, but we need to find Yuta,” Maki explains. “He must have healed all of us, but you still had the blade in you. It needed to be removed before you get up. All of us are going to be fine, (y/n), you can rest now.” She helps you to your feet and you cringe looking at your ruined outfit. Maki catches your pout and smiles, glad some things never change.

Toge comes to your side to take Maki’s place as your crutch. You hug him tightly, unable to express in words how relieved you are. He hugs back, equally overwhelmed after seeing what seemed like your corpse. Toge helps you limp along as you all start tracking Yuta’s residuals. Panda clears his throat and asks, “When did this happen?”

“Only a few days ago. Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming,” you explain with an eye-roll.

“No, I totally did. Just curious who won the bet.”

“If we didn’t just fight for our lives, I would kill you.” You four continue to try to have a light conversation until you come upon Yuta’s unconscious body. Toge helps you sit on the ground and you move his head onto your lap, muttering about checking for a concussion. All of you needed medical attention but you were desperate to help any way you could now.

Yuta begins to blink his eyes open and sits up urgently. “Your wounds… Panda! Your arm!” He seems to be working himself into a frenzy. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder as Panda explains that everyone will be okay. Yuta urgently looks over you, trying to determine how much blood was yours, before he seems satisfied.

“Thank you for saving us,” You whisper. His eyes fill with tears and you wonder how scared he must have been. You maintain eye contact, hoping to communicate how much you admire him, before Rika’s jumbled voice makes the both of you jump. Yuta stands, leaving the circle your class formed around him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Rika,” he says, approaching her.

“What’s wrong?” Maki asks, a little fearful at how resigned Yuta looks.

Yuta hums a little before answering, “In exchange for her power, I promised to go with her.”

“What?” You screech and the suddenness of the yell pains your wound. Your classmates join a chorus of disagreement. Panda and Inumaki both grab fistfuls of his shirt to prevent him from walking any closer to Rika. Instead of her usual retaliation for someone restraining Yuta, her form just falls away to reveal a young girl. Four of you are confused but Yuta just mumbles, “Rika?”

A clapping distracts from the drama. You turn as best you can with a hole in your stomach to see your brother without any eye wear approaching your group. “Congrats. You broke the curse,” he continues to clap and stands next to you.

“Who’re you?” Yuta and Maki ask, causing you to snort before you groan at the pain.

Your brother pouts before replying, “Everyone’s favorite good-looking Gojo-sensei. Do you not see the sibling resemblance?” He gestures between your face and his, before carefully putting you on his back. He doesn’t even flinch at the grime covering you transferring onto him as well, relieved to see you awake and alert. You rest your chin on his shoulder and listen to him explain.

“I thought Yuta was interesting, so I looked into his lineage. Apparently, you’re a descendant of Michizane Sugawara. So, super-distant, but we’re relatives!” You groan and hide your face in Satoru’s neck; the teasing to come will be unbearable.

Your classmates look dumbfounded at the information while Yuta just goes, “Who?”

“One of Japan’s big three vengeful spirits.”

“A big-shot sorcerer.”

“Tuna.”

“The annoying side of the family,” you add.

Your brother takes back control of the conversation. “Yuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you, you cursed her. When the curser severs the bond tying servant to master and the cursed doesn’t desire punishment, the curse is broken. Though it seems you figured that out by yourself.” He gestures at the little girl and Yuta.

“Oh my god,” Yuta collapses in tears. “It’s all my fault…. Hurting so many people, Geto coming after me, it’s all my - all my -” He begins to hyperventilate. Inumaki takes a step to comfort him, but before he can, Rika approaches and hugs his trembling form.

“Thank you, Yuta. For giving me time and letting me be by your side. I’ve been happier these past six years than I ever was alive. Good-bye, be well. And don’t come over too soon, ‘kay?” She gives a bright smile, toothy and pure as she dissolves into bright ashes. Yuta stares at where she stood, long after all the ashes disappeared and everyone else walked away.

“See you,” He says to himself, before getting up to follow his friends to Doctor Ieiri.

#felicitate #cass.writes #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #inumaki x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #inumaki x reader x yuta #female!reader #jjk spoilers #jjk volume 0 spoilers #please dont take knives out #they help keep blood in normally after getting stabbed

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kyber-queen · 4 years

Text

to build a home (rex x jedi!reader)

Summary: A slight rewrite of the ‘ARC Troopers’/Invasion of Kamino episode in season 3, where reader is a Jedi general who has worked alongside the 501st in the past. After a dramatic battlefield encounter, the reader confronts questions of the clones’ place in the universe as well as their own burgeoning feelings for a certain clone captain.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Medical stuff, mentions of drowning, mentions of blasters, rex is awkward and fives is a lil shit, slight suggestive content, a kiss perhaps

Author’s Note: this one’s for the lovely @porgnugget !! this was originally gonna be a quick blurb to pull me out of my writer’s block but oops anyways I hope you enjoy!!!

***

You stared out the bridge port, watching as ships emerged one-by-one from hyperspace to surround a watery-blue planet. With each new starship, your heart sank. This battle wouldn’t be easy, but then again, easy battles were hard to come by these days. You’d been temporarily assigned to the 183rd, and your men were already weary from two months of slugging their way through the outer rim under Separatist fire. They had been eagerly awaiting their return to the capitol, but after your head communications officer received word of an imminent Separatist attack on Kamino, just about every man in your unit was eager to come to the aid of his brothers.

You heard rustling from behind you, followed by the two consecutive thuds of standard-issue boots fixing themselves to the ground. The trooper they belonged to issued you a respectful salute.

“Sir, the Council requests you answer their holocall immediately,”

You had figured your weak excuse for rerouting your unit wouldn’t hold for long.

“Transfer them through,”

As the stern blue faces of the Jedi council materialized before you, you steeled yourself in preparation for their reprimands.

“General, you’ve received explicit orders to return to Coruscant at once. Why, pray tell, is your starship about to breach the Kaminoan atmosphere?”

Master Windu glared down at you expectantly.

“With all due respect, Master, this is the home of the men we fight alongside each day. The 183rd has expressed their commitment to defending this planet, and it is my job as their interim General to honor their desires whenever possible. I and the 183rd will be assisting with the defense of Kamino,”

Windu glanced at Master Unduli over his shoulder. Before another Council member had the chance to speak, the transmission crackled. The Separatists were jamming your signal. Your comms went dark.

You glanced over to the officers piloting the ship. Their hands danced from button to button, working to maintain communication with the ground forces on Kamino. The comm failure had settled it—you were going in.

“Prepare for entry,” you called. A stiff nod from your commander reassured you that the officers had heard you. You turned in a swirl of deep brown robes and made your way to the armory. You had troopers to prepare.

***

You hit the ground from about twenty feet above, using the force to cushion your fall. Confident that the LAATs would find their way into the heart of the battle as planned, you set off on foot for the nearest row of battle droids. As you dodged the seemingly endless stream of blaster fire, you took note of the troopers already facing off against the waves of separatist droids. You recognized the grey armor of the Kamino guard, as well as the deep blue of the 501st. You’d worked alongside the 501st several times before—you searched for a certain familiar face in the crowd.

You were already sure General Skywalker and General Ti were nowhere in sight. You deflected a few blaster bolts while planning your next move. You spotted four troopers aiming for a new line of droids, close to the edge of the platform. One of their brothers lay motionless behind them—they were probably in need of backup. You would make your way over there after you took down a few more rows of droids.

The adrenaline of battle roared through your veins. Your saber swung with a precision you were only able to master with the cacophony of blaster fire rattling in your brain. You heard shouting in the distance, but it didn’t seem to register. All you could focus on was the glide of your saber’s blade through the unforgiving metal skin of the nearest droid.

As you neared the small squadron of troopers, their shouts gained clarity.

“…we’re cutting it close, here. Steady trigger fingers, men,” one of them called.

A glance over your shoulder caused your stomach to flip. The voice belonged to the trooper in the center of the formation—his single pauldron and jaig-marked helmet identifying him in an instant, even through the blaster-fire haze of the battlefield. Rex. A formation of super battle droids closed in on the position his men struggled to hold. You deflected one last blaster bolt before charging in their direction.

You watched what happened next in slow motion.

A droid raised its fist at a trooper in all-white armor. The man didn’t even seem to notice. He raised his blaster, aiming at a droid to his left as his right side remained open for what had the potential to be a deadly blow. The droid swung. Rex dove. He yanked the trooper out of the droid’s trajectory, though the side of his helmet failed to escape its swing. The metal fist landed its blow with a sickening thunk, Rex’s body falling limply at the edge of the platform as his helmet clattered uselessly to the side. His unconscious form slipped. You jumped.

The three other troopers watched in awe as you leapt over a row of battle droids and into the churning Kaminoan waters. You hit its roiling surface feet-first, searching the whitecaps for a glimpse of white plastoid. Clone armor was built to float, right? You took a stroke to your left, dragging yourself through the water urgently when you spotted a glimpse of Rex’s blue pauldron through the waves. You vaguely felt your outer robes drift away, carried off by the tumultuous current. Your hand latched onto the blue plastoid, and you pulled hard. Rex had landed face-down in the water, you realized. You gulped.

Pulling his back to your chest, you kicked backwards as hard as you could in the direction of one of the durasteel supports. You called on the force to be present—you were going to need it if you were going to successfully haul Rex’s unconscious form forty feet upwards. You ducked underwater, shifting your grip on him so he was held in a makeshift fireman’s carry. You secured his body to yours with the force, invisible hands gripping tightly to the arm and leg slung around your shoulders. You grasped the first rungs of the ladder. You climbed.

With aching hands and trembling muscles, you hauled yourself foot-by-foot to the top of the platform. As soon as your fingers curled around the last rung, it was as if all the strength had been sapped from your system. Your chest burned with exertion. You rolled Rex onto his back, crawling beside him as you began your examination.

“He took a hit to the head, fell into the water. I was able to pull him out, but I need a medic,” you explained.

The three troopers stared, shocked. Had you really managed to drag a 200-pound man forty feet into the air from the water?

You glanced up from Rex’s face, noting the lack of movement from the three other men.

“I need a medic, now,” you ordered.

One of the troopers charged off. Satisfied that he’d retrieve someone far more qualified to administer first aid than you, you turned to the man before you. Rex’s face was pallid and sickly-looking. Alarm clawed at your insides. You felt for a pulse, and to your relief, the beat of his heart rose to meet your fingers steadily. His breaths were shallow and inconsistent, though—they sounded to be thick with seawater.

Remembering your training, you pinched his nose closed. You used the index finger of your other hand to tilt his jaw open, before taking a deep breath and sealing your mouth over his. You exhaled, watching carefully as his chest rose in response.

“Wake. Up,” you urged.

His pulse still beat strongly against your fingertips. A good sign, if nothing else.

You leaned down once more, praying to the Maker that he would breathe already. You exhaled, channeling much-needed oxygen into his flooded lungs. Minutes passed. His pulse grew steadier against your fingers.

You administered a final rescue breath, leaping back as if stung when you felt a splutter of air and water against your parted lips. Rex’s eyes fluttered open. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but curled in on himself as a coughing fit overtook him.

Scooping a hand around Rex’s shoulder, you pulled him onto his side, straining against the dead weight of his body. His chest shook as he expelled a sizeable puddle of water from his lungs.

You looked up at the rest of the battle for what felt like the first time in hours. There wasn’t a functioning droid in sight. Several troopers, their armor adorned with 501st blue, stared unabashedly at the scene before them. You looked back down at Rex, your cheeks warm.

“You gave us all quite a scare, there,” you murmured.

He stared at you with wide eyes, his face growing red. Panic jolted through your system. Was he choking?

“Rex? Are you alright?”

He blinked, shaking his head to himself as he hauled himself into a seated position.

“Yeah, General, I’m alright,”

His voice was rough and wavering, almost grating against his throat—from the saltwater, you assumed. You fell silent, focusing just a little too intently on his face.

Sensing that the imminent danger was over, chatter erupted from behind you.

“Some first kiss, eh, Cap’n?”

“Just like a fairy tale,” another trooper added on with a chuckle.

“Always thought you’d be the knight in shining armor, though—the General here dove after you before we even saw you fall,”

Blood rushed to your cheeks. You glanced at Rex out of the corner of your eye before quickly looking away.

“Fives, Hardcase, enough,” Rex grumbled. He made a move to stand up, rising shakily until you slung his arm over your shoulder in support. He stiffened for a moment at the contact before leaning into you slightly.

“Do you know where your medic is?” you questioned quietly.

Rex nodded over to his right. You ushered him through a few stumbling steps before the medic—Kix, you recognized—swooped under Rex’s other arm. Rex turned to you, his lips parting as he mulled over what exactly to say. His brows furrowed, and a new round of flush colored his skin.

“I—thank you, General,” he murmured. His eyes met yours for an instant, just before Kix pulled him toward the Kaminoan medbay.

***

You saw Rex again a few hours later.

A gentle knock sounded against the durasteel wall of your temporary quarters. With a wave of your hand, the door slid open effortlessly.

“Sir, I have your copy of the casualty reports,”

You turned around sharply. Your expression softened. Rex stood in your doorway, extending a stack of flimsi in your direction.

You took it with a quick nod of acknowledgement. Rex lingered in the doorway—you knew he could have easily asked a subordinate to deliver the reports, yet here he was. A wistful half-smile graced your lips—you were glad he came. You had missed him. You motioned for him to take a seat at the small table near the corner of your room, murmuring something about ‘old times’ sake’.

The two of you quickly fell into the routine you had established for yourselves when you worked alongside his unit—after a tough battle, you always seemed to end up together. At first, Rex tended to sit quietly alongside you. He wouldn’t offer much in terms of conversation, but his presence was always strangely comforting as you both silently mourned those you had lost that day. You weren’t quite sure when it happened, but eventually, the two of you began to share little fragments of your lives with each other. Your friendship grew stronger. Just before you were reassigned, you found yourself seeking him out daily—it was almost strange for you to admit just how reliant you had become on your conversations with the Captain.

Rex pulled out a chair and settled himself down.

You talked for an hour—you hadn’t seen him in months. Wartime seemed to stretch out the days until they felt endless, and you were both eager to hear how the other had spent their time. You explained your experiences in command of the 183rd, and Rex discussed his increasing responsibilities as Captain. He actively skirted any discussion of the day’s rather tense events.

“You did well today,” you offered. A couple of the men had quite generously filled you in on their Captain’s heroics after he was carted off by the medic. “I know it mustn’t have been easy, with your home planet in danger,”

“Thank you, but Kamino’s no home to us,” Rex responded. “It’s where my brothers are, and it was them I was protecting. Not Kamino. The Separatists threatened the one thing I had that’s worth defending—my family. It sure wasn’t easy, but it was a necessity,”

You nodded.

“I understand, in a way. I was taken from my parents when I was young, and the Order filled the void their absence left. We aren’t allowed partners or children, so the Order’s all I really have. If they were threatened, I suppose I’d put my life on the line for them, too,”

Rex propped an elbow up onto the table.

“What’s it like?”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“Having the Order as your family?” Rex clarified.

You smiled softly, memories both blissful and bittersweet flooding your mind.

“It’s different, I guess. The Council can be cold, sometimes, but the Order did its best to raise an honorable Jedi. I do my best to remember the lessons my master taught me. The temple was my home for a long time—though not so much anymore. What about you?”

Rex thought for a moment before chuckling to himself.

“The closest thing we clones have to a home is 79’s. Kamino’s got a lot of bad memories attached to it—the longnecks were indifferent to us at best, but most of ‘em just treated us like livestock. At least you feel human at 79’s,”

“What’s it like, there?” you questioned.

“Loud,” Rex grinned. He sobered after a moment, his gaze drifting as he lost himself in thought. “Civvies’ll show up from time to time—makes it feel a bit more normal—but they’re only ever there for the spectacle of it all. Most of ‘em are just there to find someone to spend the night with. I’ve never been able to…” Rex trailed off uncomfortably, directing heavy eye contact towards the back of his hands. “…but some of my vod will. They know they’re being used, so they use ‘em right back. For most of us, there’s no real chance of a family outside our brothers—the Republic’s made sure of that,”

Disdain tinged Rex’s tone. It was rare for him to express anything other than loyalty to the Republic, but thinking back on the regulations preventing the clones from entering relationships, or having children, or even showing their faces to civilians while on duty, you couldn’t say you blamed him.

You hummed in acknowledgement.

“But it’s not always like that, is it? So meaningless?”

Rex shrugged.

“Most of the time, it is. I’ve only met one brother who’s been able to get out, to build a life and a family outside the GAR. I’m happy for him, sure, but I won’t lie and say it wasn’t hard to see that other path and still follow the one that we clones are meant to follow. I think it’s the hope that’s worst in the end—hoping this blasted war will end, hoping someone other than your vod and a handful of Jedi’ll understand that you’re human. Unless you’re really in the thick of it, unless you really see that we’re flesh and blood, you just don’t care,”

You nodded, reaching across the small table to hold one of Rex’s hands in your own. Your heart ached for him. His expression softened slightly as he looked down at his hand in yours.

“I’m sorry about my brothers, by the way. The teasing today was—”

“It’s alright, Rex. I did what I had to do,”

You instantly regretted your phrasing when Rex’s hand fell slightly slack between your own.

“You saved my life,” he murmured. “I can’t thank you enough,”

He squeezed your hand before gently resting it back on the table. He rose from his seat, glancing at the chrono on his wrist.

“It’s getting late—I should get back to the barracks,”

Your gaze lifted to trace the sturdy lines of his face. His eyes met yours, his expression indiscernible, and in an instant, something clicked. The absence of his hand in yours felt like the loss of a limb.

He took a step towards the door. You stood up from your seat.

“Rex, wait—just…” you trailed off, reaching forward to catch his hand lightly in yours.

A hand—your hand—rose to cup his cheek. His breathing slowed in response. Taking a cautious step forward, you leaned in just close enough to feel the warm exhale from his nose against your cheek. You paused. You would leave it to Rex to close the gap.

After a second that felt like an hour of hesitation, Rex’s lips met yours. Maker, he was soft—yet still steady in his movements. You loved him, you knew it in an instant. Little fragments of each other’s lives had never been enough—you needed him, in his entirety, in every sense of the word.

Just as your thumb traced the sharp line of Rex’s cheekbone—just as Rex realized that he was finally kissing you and you were kissing him back—he pulled away.

His brows knotted in confusion.

“You didn’t mean to—”

“I meant it,”

You realized your hand was still intertwined with Rex’s. You held it like a lifeline.

His eyes—oh, his eyes—glimmered like the flicker of a flame in the dim light of your quarters. He didn’t back away. In that instant, Rex knew that he’d remember this moment for the rest of his numbered days. You meant it.

As his lips met yours for the second time of many, Rex figured there were an awful lot of ways to build a home.

***

Taglist: @peacefulwizardfox @a-lil-perspective @marvel-starwars-nerd @nelba

#rex x reader #captain rex x reader #clone trooper x reader #arc trooper fives #clone trooper hardcase #captain rex #my fic

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thebigqueer · 4 years

Note

Omg would love to read something about plague!will going apeshit in battle after Nico gets hurt or something

ooooh yes!!! thank you for the prompt!!

i hope you like this!

i’m literally gonna do minimum editing lmao

okay literally whoops i made it a lot longer and the prompt starts later my bad asljkfskljfd sorry anon

tw for descriptive imagery & blood

It’s a normal night at Camp Half-Blood, with demigods in their respective cabins, sleeping either fitfully or dreamlessly. After all, there is no in-between for demigods.

And that is no different for Will, who tosses and turns in his bed, sweat prickling his forehead.

Visions of Tartarus flicker across his dreams, memories of monsters and heat and pure agony. The aches and pains from previous injuries return in their full heat, with no mercy for Will.

The dreams consume him, taking away any consciousness and tying him to the memories. Sometimes it takes fifteen minutes to wake Will up at all, even if he’s being shaken. And when he is shaken awake, he merely stares at the ceiling, a blank, glassy look in his eyes. Sometimes he stays there until afternoon. Sometimes he’s in his cabin until the evening.

He’s in there until he can convince himself that nothing’s going to risk his life the moment he steps outside.

Tonight is one of those lucky moments where Will doesn’t have to be literally thrown around the bed in order to wake him up. A tug creeps on his shoulder, pulling harder and harder, until he jolts awake. Darkness consumes his cabin, spilling all across the room. For a moment, he swears a shadow moves near the bathroom, and he screams and pushes his back against the wall, heart racing.

And then a voice, deep and calming, melts in his ears. “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs. “You’re okay. It’s just me.”

Will’s head whips to the voice, blood roaring in his ears. Monster, some part of him thinks. Monster is trying to sound like my friends.

A demigod stands before him, dressed in black, melting with the darkness. Anxiety creeps over his neck, an icy cold grip on his body. Monster, he thinks again. What if it’s a monster that can shape-shift?

Will pushes himself further, his breathing ragged. The demigod lookalike leans back a little, as if to give him space. They turn their head to the side and mutter something to someone else, but with the utter panic bursting through his body, he can barely hear them.

Then another figure appears before him, this one shorter and more feminine. A part of Will thinks it’s just another monster, but his vision’s clearing now; the panic that gripped him just seconds before eases back a little. He recognizes them. He knows he does.

“Will,” the feminine figure murmurs, leaning in. “Hey, listen. I’m not a monster. Your favorite song when you were younger was ‘Barbie Girl.’“

Suspicion still crawls over Will, but he’s more stable now. The feminine figure is... Kayla. His sister. Right.

And the one standing next to her is... Nico? What are they doing here?

Will sits up a little straighter, feeling a little surer in himself. He looks between the two, confused. He opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is dry from the panic that enveloped him just moments ago. Will clears his throat. His voice comes out scratchy as he asks, “What’s wrong? Why are you guys awake?”

Nico nods to Kayla, who turns around and flicks on the light. Brightness consumes the cabin, burning Will’s eyes. The son of Apollo groans and shoves his head in his hands. Another bout of uneasiness creeps through his skin. Why are they awake at such a late time?

“Listen,” Nico says, taking Will’s hand in theirs. “I don’t want to freak you out-”

“Just by saying that, you’re pretty much guaranteeing that I’m going to freak out.”

“I know,” Nico mutters. “But you need to be awake. And we need to get out of the cabin.”

Will blinks. Nico’s words are blending together, slurring through Will’s brain. What are they even saying? He looks around the room, seeing if any of the others are awake. A jolt of unease wakes Will right up as he realizes that, in fact, all of his siblings are awake. “What’s going on?”

Nico rises, hand pulling on Will’s. “There’s a chimera loose on the camp grounds. It snuck in somehow." Their arm tugs, and Will rises immediately, almost as if just by Nico’s strength he’s found the will to stand up.

Dread settles over Will like a blanket. The cabin may be covered in light now, but he feels as though only darkness consumes him. Monster, his mind screams.

Nico appears to notice Will’s nervousness, because their eyes soften and they whisper, “You can just stay in the infirmary, Will. I don’t know if you’re in any mental condition to fight.”

Will wants to argue, say that of course he’s going to fight. He more than proved to Nico that he’s not weak when they were in Tartarus, and Nico knows that Will can be more than just a healer.

But Will also knows why Nico’s suggesting that to him. It isn’t because he’s unimportant or useless; it’s because he’s exhausted. He hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. And he’s just now awoken with dreams about monsters. Battling a monster would do nothing good for him, or for the camp.

Swallowing, Will nods. He looks over at his siblings, who he’s suddenly realized have all been watching him and Nico. After a slight hesitation, he announces: “I’ll help in the ways I can.”

~~~

It’s chilly in the infirmary, the cold air whispering against Will’s bare hands, but he doesn’t mind. It wakes him up, makes him feel a little more alive.

Austin and Kayla are in the infirmary with him, waiting to patch up any demigods who’ve been hurt by the chimera. Will will admit, even though he hates being thought of as just a healer, he doesn’t mind the sense of calm bandaging cuts gives him. It’s not about helping people; it’s about the fact that at least he feels helpful.

A part of him yearns to be outside and help the other demigods attack the chimera at the hill, but he knows he can’t. Every time the chimera roars, ice drips over Will’s back; terror paralyzes him. He only thinks of Tartarus, of all the monsters who had tried sneaking on him and Nico so many times.

For the moment, things seem manageable here in the infirmary. There haven’t been many lethal or super serious injuries; only cuts, bruises, and the occasional poisonous gashes. Nothing he and his siblings can’t handle.

And yet, uneasiness still grips him, the sense that something terrible is about to happen. He tries to shake it off. It’s only a chimera, he reminds himself. And there are literally fifty demigods going after it. It’ll be fine.

His worse fears come true when the doors of the infirmary burst open and a demigod comes through, holding a pale, limp figure in his arms.

It takes a moment for the image to register in Will’s brain. At first, the only thought to run through his mind is: Wow, that half-dead demigod looks familiar.

When he realizes why the demigod looks so familiar, Will gasps. It’s Nico, he thinks with horror. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Fear glues him to his spot by the sink, his knees shaking. The cynical, depressing part of Will already assumes the worst: that he’s dead.

And then, all at once, he zips towards Nico, tears threatening to spill over. He pushes the other demigod aside and circles his arms around Nico, lowering them to their knees.

“Nico,” he whispers urgently, shaking their shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Nico mutters something incomprehensible, their words slurring together. Their head slumps against Will’s shoulder, body limp. Will takes his hand and places it over Nico’s forehead, almost crying out loud when he realizes how warm the child of Hades is.

Kayla and Austin rush over with a stretcher, their young faces betraying anxiety. Will gently lays Nico over it, his throat aching with the repression of frustrated tears. “Nico, can you say something? What happened?”

This time, Nico’s voice is a little more comprehensible, albeit still slurred. “Chim’ra,” they mutter. “Ven’m. Tried t’ fight it with sword.” They attempt to move their body and immediately give up, grimacing and hissing. Nico’s face turns gray, the color of ashes.

Will notices the slash on their black T-shirt and the blood oozing out. He quickly lifts the shirt up, discovering a wide gash over Nico’s rib cage. The skin at the edge of the injury is tinged to a slightly green color.

For a second, Will almost loses it. He starts assuming the worst of it, thinking that Nico’s lost it all. But then he remembers: it’s only a gash. The cut may be deep and wide, but there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to fix it. Nico seems worse off than other demigods who came in with the same poison, but if they can get to work quickly, then there’s no reason as to why he should start assuming the worst.

White hot anger erupts in Will’s system, blaring in his stomach and chest. The Chimera did this. It hurt Nico.

Will has had enough of monsters. They chased him and Nico throughout Tartarus, making sure to haunt both their dreams. They’ve taunted him, making sure to ensure doubt and insecurities in himself all his life. They almost killed him and his mother when he first arrived at camp. He’s had friends and siblings die because of monsters who never gave a fuck about demigods and their lives.

And now they’ve decided to mess with Will again, trying to hurt one of the people he loves most.

Well, Will’s done.

He turns his eyes away from Nico momentarily, staring at his hands. He knows exactly what he needs to do.

“It’s okay,” he promises Nico, who’s skin sags even more under the pressure of pain. “It’s not too bad. Kayla and Austin will be able to fix you up.”

Nico doesn’t answer, too exhausted to do so. Kayla and Austin fix Will with the same confused expression. “Aren’t you helping?” Kayla asks, bending over to take one end of the stretcher. Austin holds the other side.

Will shakes his head, standing. He grits his teeth, staring in the direction of the door. “I have something else to take care of.”

Austin’s eyes widen in concern. “Will, no. There is no way you’re going out there to fight that thing.”

Kayla opens her mouth to agree, but Will snaps his head back to them. “I’m going,” he states. He glares his eyes at them, mouth set into a thin line. Will almost relishes the sudden look of fear in their faces. “I’m head counselor, guys. I’m supposed to protect you guys.” Turning his face back to the infirmary doors, he announces, “That’s what I’m going to do.”

With that, he storms out of the infirmary. No one follows.

~~~

The winter air snaps at his skin, sinking its teeth into his hands. Will flexes his fingers, anger still seething, pulsing, gushing from every inch of his body. No one hurts his loved ones like that.

He follows the cries of battle and screeches of the monster to Half-Blood Hill, calling on his rage. If the monster wants a battle, then Will will give him one.

It’s been a while since Will’s used his plague powers. The last time was in Tartarus, and when he used them there, he almost passed out. He hasn’t trained with it at all, afraid of how much damage it could cause. What if he accidentally hurts a demigod?

But tonight, as the wind whips across his face and the image of Nico flashes across his brain, he lets the powers pulse, strengthen. His powers hum, resonating through every cell in his body.

His palms burst with a feverish warmth, turning a pale green. He feels the weight of thousands of sicknesses swirling through him, the power they hold. He’s finds the feeling of the plague powers quite strange; it’s like having a sickness, but only inverted. As if he can’t quite feel the symptoms, but he can feel the strength of the problems they can cause. Instead of wearing him down, they only empower him. He controls the sicknesses, can lash them out to whoever he wants.

Heads turn to Will as he steps over the summit of the hill, eyes widening at his sudden change of appearance. Now the heat reaches his face, hot and wild and etching to let loose. He’s a ball of energy, only existing to unleash chaos.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the shield of one of the demigods, and almost screams. He can barely recognize himself. His face has turned a pale, ugly shade of green, his freckles barely visible. The sky blue of his eyes have turned a sickly, glowy yellow, the only vibrancy on his face. The blond of his hair has turned as gray as ashes, limp against his forehead.

He looks sick and terrible. But really, Will only feels the buzz of power underneath his fingertips. He almost laughs; this feels great. Why would he want to repress this so much? Imagine all the monsters he could kill. Imagine the glory he could get. He would never be looked as weak ever again.

Demigods eyes trace over him, but as soon as he makes eye contact, they jump and scramble away. Will wants to laugh at that. For so long, he’s felt like some kind of scared, useless wimp; now he’s making others feel like that.

No, a quiet part of him says. That’s not right. Stop thinking like that.

Guilt starts building up in Will’s chest, but when a roar echoes throughout the camp, anger once against consumes the demigod. He bares his teeth towards the Chimera, whose lion head growls at him, ready to pounce. Its goat, snake, and lion heads all stare at Will daringly, as if taunting him. What are you going to do, Sunny Boy? Going to kill me with silly little poems?

Will just laughs. “What’s the matter, kitty? Are we scaring you?”

This time the goat answers, bleating angrily. Will almost wants to laugh again, but then the goat breathes a blazing hot fire in the son of Apollo’s direction, almost searing off his clothes.

Will scowls. He speaks again, and just barely registers the change in his voice; it’s raspier, the sound of something brushing against sandpaper. “So you want to play it hard, Kitty? We’ll play it hard.”

The snake tail hisses and spits venom in Will’s direction, but he simply steps back and lets it sizzle on the ground. That was just a test, Will knows. It’s simply measuring how much hell Will is ready to give him.

Well, he thinks, if you want hell, I’ll give you it.

He lets the plague’s strength build up in his palms, locating the power in one place. Will concentrates on just the sicknesses, the energy buzzing through him. His body buzzes with electricity and excitement. Will’s skin turns an even worse shade of green, practically glowing in the night. Mucus builds up in his nose, and he steps towards the Chimera, extending his right arm.

He waits for it to go first.

The lion head roars again, and the monster leaps at Will. But he’s ready for it. Just as it lands towards Will, the blond opens his palm to it.

For a moment, it seems as if nothing is happening. The demigods see nothing, no waves or signals to indicate that Will’s doing something. He looks almost ridiculous, really, and some demigods may have laughed if they weren’t so terrified of the way Will’s appearance has changed.

Will, however, knows a lot is happening. His body surges with power, strength, the urge to only provide sickness. He wants to see the monster fall, weak with illness and begging for death. He wants to see it asking for mercy, and Will will respond only with more torture, more pain.

He wants to make it beg for Tartarus.

The monster seems confused for a moment, surprised by the strange demigod. What does he even think he’s doing, standing there with his arm outstretched so uselessly and lamely?

And then it hits the Chimera. Its body grows heavy, weak, wanting only to sit and lie down for a while. It sways on its feet and thumps to the ground, feeling dizzy and confused. Its vision gets blurry; it can barely tell where the demigods are. Only the glow of the strange demigod is clear to the monster, and for a moment it forgets what it’s even supposed to be doing.

Its mind gets fuzzy. The itch of a sneeze consumes its nose, and then the scratch of its throat makes it wheeze. The Chimera wants to eat this demigod - but, wait. Suddenly the thought of food doesn’t seem too appetizing.

It just wants to sleep for a while. Its body grows weary, tired, hot from fever. It shivers in the night, its fur doing nothing to protect it in the coolness of the night. The Chimera tries to blow a fire, if only to heat itself, but finds itself too weak to do such a thing.

And then a strange tickle bursts in its leg. The snake head looks at the limb, and a delayed shock shudders through the Chimera’s body. It’s disintegrating! Not into sand, as all monsters go. Instead, it’s as if the sickness is breaking down all its cells, ripping apart each molecule in the body until there’s nothing left.

Will feels the power ripple through him, and suddenly he can’t help the laughter that bubbles through him. He’s made the monster weak; he’s made the monster helpless. It whimpers, begging for mercy, just as Will wanted.

Will doesn’t relent. He pushes further, extending his powers, breaking the monster down further and further, until it’s left with only the lion head.

The lion’s eyes peer at Will, glazed over with sickness. Its face is green, which Will didn’t know could happen. Or maybe I made it happen, Will thinks with both elation and terror.

Will glares, anger once against taking over him. “You hurt Nico. Now I hurt you.”

And with that, the monster’s head disintegrates. The remnants turn into sand. The monster is gone.

Will wants to smile, to laugh, to say that he did that all by himself. But his vision goes blurry, then foggy. The world tilts violently.

Will collapses.

146 notes · View notes

persephonesfill · 4 years

Text

choke on me—chapter five

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter four

chapter six

a/n: i’m not going to say much, aside for a little warning that there is some violence and gore (nothing crazy) in this chapter. i’m super excited for this one and i hope you guys enjoy it! also, this chapter has my first battle scene so bear with me folks

rating: explicit

warning(s): this chapter contains violence, smut, and a little bit of gore

—————

Whatever peace they have following the carnival quickly dies when HYDRA rears its ugly head. Again. Tony hates how devoted they are to living up to their namesake. He had hoped that they would take their time to regroup after the fall of SHIELD, but apparently, four months was more than enough time. HYDRA's power ran that strong.

Tony watches Steve throughout the briefing. He's been watching Steve a lot more lately. Ever since that ride on the Ferris wheel, he's been trying to be more open, more inviting, Steve taking to his attentions like a starving man to freshwater. Steve's all business right now. His jaw clenched, he's scrolling through the digital files JARVIS compiled for them on a tablet with a single-minded focus. His free hand rests on his knee curled into a fist. Tony can practically see the rage in him rising like a tidal wave. He can't imagine how Steve feels, to devote himself to something, to die for it, only for his sacrifice to be for naught.

"God, these guys are like roaches," Clint says, cutting through the silence, tossing his tablet down on the table. "They could survive a nuclear winter."

"So what's the plan here, Cap?" Natasha says, leaning forward in her chair. "You've got the most experience with HYDRA out of any of us."

Steve sets his tablet down. "What we're going to do," he says, his voice colder than Tony's ever heard it, "is go for the head."

"We strike fast, and we strike hard, leave them absolutely no time to recoup. HYDRA, no doubt, has a number of facilities at their disposal. We find them, and we burn them to the ground. Any operatives who surrender will be turned into the proper authorities. We don't want another Zola."

"JARVIS, can you pull up a three-dimensional render of the base?" Tony says.

"Of course, sir," JARVIS says.

A bright blue hologram appeared over the center of their table. Steve stands up and starts to circle it. He could practically see the wheels behind Steve's head turning, formulating a strategy from the bottom up.

"They were smart when they made this base," Steve says. "It's incorporated into the mountain top. They'll be able to see us coming from all sides."

Bruce speaks up. "What if we approach from the west? It looks like there's a pretty dense forest; we could use it for coverage."

"A ground assault would be suicide," Tony says, rising from his seat to take a closer look at the hologram. Steve moves over, making room for Tony to stand beside him. "They could have bunkers, watchguards, tanks, the works. We'd be fish in a barrel."

"An aerial assault then," Thor suggests. "So we won't be caught unaware."

Steve gives the idea some thought, a muscle in his jaw working. "Tony and you could fly ahead and scout for assailants."

"That could work," Tony says. His mind is racing, running through all of the possible outcomes of their fledgling plan. The others could stay behind in the quinjet, and he had recently added retro-reflective paneling to it. "Once we give you the all-clear, we'll be right on top of them and—"

"We'll have the element of surprise on our side," Steve finishes.

"And once we reach the base?" Natasha asks.

"That's the easy part, Nat," Clint says. "We give 'em hell."

*********

They finalize their plans and run them by Fury and what remains of SHIELD. They'll head out tomorrow morning, just before dawn, to catch them off guard. The others have left the war room, either to train or to get some rest. Steve sits at the table alone, the hologram casting his face in blue light.

"Penny for your thoughts," Tony murmurs so as not to startle him.

Steve glances at him and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Talk to me, Steve," Tony says. "What's bugging you?"

Steve sighs. "It'd be easier to list what isn't bugging me."

With a sudden surge of daring, Tony steps off from where he'd been leaning against the wall and slides onto Steve's lap. Steve lets him, his hands settling on Tony's hips like they belong there. Tony wraps his arms around his neck and leans in.

"Am I bugging you?" he whispers.

"Never," Steve says fiercely, his grip on Tony's hips tightening.

"That's one," Tony jokes. "Can't think of any others?"

Steve presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Your smile." Another kiss on the tip of his nose this time, making Tony chuckle. "Your laugh."

"Okay, Romeo," Tony says, laughing. "I get it. That's three, I guess."

Steve smiles, a bigger one than the last one. His thumb has slid under Tony's shirt, rubbing circles into his hip. "Thank you," he murmurs. "It's just... I'm worried about the mission."

"And why is that?" Tony asks like an idiot until he remembers that this base is located in the Alps, where so many things went catastrophically wrong for Steve.

Steve's smile falls just as quickly as it came, and Tony kicks himself mentally for being the one to do it. "Whenever HYDRA's involved, things tend to go south pretty quick."

"I gave my life to putting an end to HYDRA, and no matter what I do," Steve whispers, more to himself than to Tony, "they always come back. They always come back and take something from me. I'm fighting a war with no end, Tony."

Tony cups Steve's face in his hands. "But you're still fighting," Tony says softly. "The second you stop, that's when they win. That's when there's no coming back." His thumb brushes over Steve's cheek, wiping away a stray eyelash. Sitting this close, Steve looked so young. Tony forgot that mentally, Steve was only twenty-nine. He carried himself with an age-old grace and had suffered so much…

"And you're not fighting alone. You never did. You had the Commandos," Tony says. He doesn't know where he's going with this, but he'll do anything to take that grimace off of Steve's face.

"No one should be this alone," he thinks.

"You have the Avengers," he continues. "You have me."

"I've got you?" Steve asks. His voice sounds small, unsure.

"You've got me. You'll always have me," Tony confirms.

"I'm holding you to that," Steve says.

"I'm a man of my word," Tony replies.

Steve tilts Tony's head up, and they don't say anything after that. Not for a while.

*********

It's supposed to be a run-of-the-mill ambush, so of course, they're met with the modern-day equivalent of hellfire and brimstone—in HYDRA's case, a volley of gunfire. One second, Tony's flying over a mountain pass, thanking his lucky stars that his flight suit is insulated, the next a bright blue bolt of pure energy strikes him in one of his thrusters, sending him spiraling. Another shot sends Tony plummeting towards the earth in an ironic facsimile of the Battle of New York.

The same terror grips him, that awful feeling of weightlessness and pressure all at once. He barely registers the shouts of the others over the comms before his sense finally kicks in, and he deploys the flaps meant to slow his fall.

The impact still rattles his bones, and for an awful second, Tony swears his brain is shaking around in his skull. Whatever guns HYDRA were using had to be enhanced somehow because there's no way two shots from any old machine gun would take him out so easily.

He's landed in a snowbank, thankfully. Tony always knew that there was a possibility that his suit would be his coffin, but he didn't want to bite the dust just yet.

"Pepper would yell at me," he thinks, still trying to calm his racing mind down. "And Rhodey. And Happy. And Steve. Steve—"

"Iron Man? Iron Man, do you copy?" That's Steve's voice. There's an urgent note to it, almost like he's trying to stop himself from shouting.

Tony blinks once, twice, and tries to answer him. "I'm fine, Cap. Just disoriented."

"What's your location?" Natasha asks curtly, cutting off whatever Steve was going to say. Tony can hear gunfire in the background, and hurried commands barked out in Russian.

"Jarvis?" he asks. Tony used a separate comms unit precisely for moments like these when his suit might be compromised. "You there, buddy?"

"Always, sir."

Relief floods through Tony. He's not totally helpless if Jarvis is still on the line.

"Can you send my location to the others?"

"With pleasure, sir."

"Got it," Natasha says a second later. "I'm sending Thor to you. But first, Hawkeye, let's show these boys a little reciprocity, hm?" Natasha's voice is like ice. Tony almost feels bad for those poor HYDRA agents operating those machine guns. Almost. If only they weren't the scum of the earth.

Tony can't see the quinjet anymore, but he can sure as hell hear it as Natasha unloads a barrage of bullets aimed directly at the turrets surrounding the HYDRA bunker. Never has he ever been more thankful for retro-reflective paneling. There's a pause in the gunfire, presumably from the HYDRA goons taking cover and Natasha ceasing her fire to allow Thor to reach him unharmed.

In the meantime, Tony needs to figure out what he can salvage.

"Is it just me, or do those guns remind anybody else of the Chitauri's weapons?" Clint says over the comms.

Thor lands in the snowbank, sending the snow into a flurry. He stalks towards Tony, his red cape fluttering in the wind. Lightning dances at his fingertips, and paired with the fury painting his face red, Tony would think it was directed at him.

"Iron Man? Are you alright?" Thor asks when he reaches Tony.

"I'm fine, just disoriented," Tony says, which is the truth. The snow broke most of the fall. Aside from a few minor cuts and bruises, he's alright. It's not the worst mission he's been on. Yet.

"Your suit," Thor says. "Can you fly?"

Tony looks down, observing the damage. The gunfire's resumed, Natasha and Clint aiming with deadly accuracy. Good. That makes his job easier. The thrusters in his boots are shot, but his HUD and hand repulsors are still functioning.

"Don't think so," Tony says. "Can I get a lift? I'll tip you."

Thor chuckles, some of the fierceness in his stance deteriorating. "He's alright," Thor says. "He can still joke."

"That's a relief," Clint says, actually sounding relieved. "Who else is gonna call me out on my bullshit?"

With Thor's help, Tony strips out of the armor pieces that are nothing more than dead weight until he's down to his helmet, gauntlets, and chest piece.

"Cease your fire," Thor says, wrapping an arm around Tony's waist. "We're joining the fray." And they're off. Thor's flying is different from Tony's own; Mjolnir functions as a weight, taking them into the mountain top's direction. It's completely flat on top, akin to a plateau. Every twenty feet is a gunman armed with what looks like a modified Chitauri gun. They're firing blindly, still looking out for the quinjet. "We're coming in," Tony says. "And Hawkeye, you're right. This does look like Chitarui weaponry."

"Can you say that again so I can record it?"

"In your dreams," Tony says. Thor lets go of Tony when they're safe to land. Tony rolls into the fall, landing in a crouch. The HYDRA gunman spots them, but before they can pull their handgun sitting at their waist, Tony's already fired two blasts from his repulsor, sending them flying. Thor sends Mjolnir flying through the machine gun, shattering it into hundreds of metal shards sparking and sputtering like the last embers of a fire.

"One machine gun down," Tony reports. He stalks over to the HYDRA agent he shot and takes the handgun for himself. Ignoring the agent's blank, dead stare, he looks over the gun, trying to get a feel for how it functions. It's all sleek curves and silver chrome, a current of cobalt energy coursing through it like blood. He aims the gun and pulls what he hopes is the trigger at the gunner. The HYDRA agent screams as Tony's shot makes its target, charring his skin. "Make that two," Tony says. "The north side of the base is clear."

"I'm dropping Cap off," Natasha says. "The north side is too small to land the jet."

Mere seconds later, Steve's landing near them from seemingly nowhere, looking ready to kill. His eyes looking over Tony, "You okay?" he says, his voice rough.

"I'm alright," Tony says. They can talk later. There's still a mission to finish.

"There's four gunners on the western side," Steve says. "How long do you think until they call for reinforcements?"

The thundering sound of footsteps on concrete answers Steve's question.

"Not long," Tony snarls and rounds the corner with Steve and Thor flanking him. One of the agents who abandoned the machine gun has a regular pistol aimed right at Tony. Steve moves like lightning, lifting his shield in front of Tony. The bullet ricochets and lodges into the agent's skull.

Tony will thank him later, for now, they have to keep on moving. They need to clear space for Natasha to land.

It's like he, Steve, and Thor have a telepathic link with how well they fight together, making quick work of the HYDRA agents and their alien weapons. "It could be a dance," Tony thinks, as they push forward. Thor wields Mjolnir with grace and finesse; it might as well be an extension of his arm. It's the hallmark of a person who's spent half their life spilling blood. Tony's the same when he has a gun in his hands, and this modified Chitauri gun is no different. Aiming and firing with the intent to kill, his weapons are all too happy to listen. And Steve, Steve fights with a dancer's grace, lethal power behind every one of his attacks.

If he were a religious man, he could almost believe that he was meant to do this. That he was destined to fight by their side.

The party truly starts when Natasha lands the quinjet. Bruce emerges, already going green, and it's through him that they're able to bust down the doors and breach the base.

A fierce jolt of pride runs through him at the sight of Natasha and Clint wielding the batons and bow he made for them specifically, and he fights with a renewed sense of purpose. The HYDRA agents storm them all at once, but what's fifty men and women to six pissed off Avengers?

The answer is nothing. The Hulk alone takes out ten agents, tossing them about like a child would a toy. Clint's converted his bow into its bo staff form while they're enclosed, keeping close to Natasha's side.

Only four HYDRA agents remain standing when they finally surrender. The rest lie, unmoving, the smell of blood and sweat and burned skin filling the room like a sickly perfume.

Steve sends Natasha, Tony, and Thor off with a nod, while he, Clint, and the Hulk stand guard. They have their own missions to fulfill.

Tony and Nat find the base's command center, while Thor keeps going, muttering under his breath.

He retracts his helmet, lets himself breathe. The air is stale and dank, reminding him far too much of Afghanistan for his taste.

"Easy, Tony," Natasha says when she notices him hyperventilating. "We made it. We'll be leaving soon. We just need to find what we came for."

"Right," he says. "Right." He came for SHIELD secrets; cover stories, mission files, safe houses, that sort of thing. It takes JARVIS no time at all to hack into HYDRA's system.

As he's finishing up, he overhears Natasha say, "Oh, my God."

Instantly he's on guard. "What's wrong?"

As soon as he speaks, Thor comes back into the command center, his face grave. "There's something you should see."

"But," Natasha begins.

"I believe it might be related to what you found. Follow me."

Tony doesn't know what he's expecting as Thor takes them down a series of hallways, the light growing dimmer and dimmer the further they go. He's not expecting a girl. At least he thinks it's a girl. It's hard to tell when their skin has been completely stripped off their body.

*********

Tony can't say he's paying attention during the debriefing. It's hard to when every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is pink exposed flesh. Thor had been looking for Loki's staff. They had let it stay in SHIELD's custody in 2012 and two years later were kicking themselves for it. He said that he tried to follow its magical signature, and it had led him to...that girl. Or what was left of her.

When the debriefing is adjourned, he comes away with three things. First, someone ratted them out. Second, if someone ratted them out, then SHIELD was still compromised. Third, HYDRA was conducting human experimentation.

It wasn't surprising, given their history. During the war, they had taken prisoners of war and conducted all kinds of horrific experiments on them. As far as he knew, only one made it out alive, if you could even call it living. James "Bucky" Barnes had survived HYDRA's experiments only to be subjected to a worse kind of torture.

Seventy years and HYDRA was still the scum of the earth.

By the time Tony gets an all-clear from the medics, all he wants is to take a nice scalding shower, and he does just that.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Tony can't say he's surprised when he finds Steve, still suited up, sitting on the couch with his helmet in his hands.

Tony makes himself known, knocking on the wall.

Steve's eyes flit up to meet his, and Tony's surprised to see that they're red.

"Tony," Steve breathes his name like a prayer, and it's like someone's punched Tony directly in his chest. Every time Steve says his name like that, it always leads to something electrifying. Tony's eager to see him, eager to wipe the blood and the bodies of the day's events from his mind.

He walks further into his living room, and Steve rises to meet him until they're standing chest to chest. Tony has to look up at Steve, but Steve's never held it over him like others. It should scare him, how small Steve makes him feel. But Tony doesn't feel helpless.

If anything, he has the power to bring Steve to his knees.

Steve's hands are on Tony's waist, and he's shot back to the first time they stood like this, close enough to catch each other's breath. That first time had been an exploration—an adventure in learning each other's bodies.

Steve kisses him, hot and desperate, tugging at Tony's clothes.

This time it's a reassurance.

A fevered kiss—You're okay. Every fleeting touch a "stay with me."

Tony kisses him back.

"We're okay," he whispers into Steve's mouth.

"I saw you fall," Steve's voice cracks. "I saw you fall, and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it."

Tony cups Steve's face in his hand. Steve closes his eyes, leaning into Tony's touch. When he opens them, his eyelashes are clumped with tears.

"I'm alive," he says. "I'm alive, and I'm here with you. That's all that matters. You and me."

Steve shudders. "God, Tony, I need—I need—"

"I know," Tony says, and the next few moments are naught but a blur. They kiss again and make their way to Tony's bedroom, occasionally stopping to feel each other up or get rid of a piece of clothing. When they finally make it to Tony's bedroom, they're both down to their boxers.

Idly, Tony realizes this is the first time they've messed around in an actual bedroom, especially his bedroom.

Except when Steve breaks their kiss to lift him up by his thighs and walk them over to his massive bed...when he lays Tony down gently like he's something precious...it doesn't feel like messing around anymore. Messing around put him in the mind of two teenagers fumbling around the backseat of a car, desperate to get themselves off and themselves only.

Don't get him wrong, the desperation was there as Tony wraps his legs around Steve's trim waist, but there wasn't a selfish bite to it.

Steve Rogers is desperate for love. His entire body thrums with it, in the way he slips his tongue into Tony's mouth and grips one of Tony's hips in a harsh grip, hard enough to bruise. It's fine, though. Steve will kiss every one of his bruises later as penance.

Maybe Tony shouldn't engage in such strenuous activity after another death experience, but he got the all-clear from SHIELD's medics themselves. If he sustains a concussion, that's on them.

Tony's already hard and straining against the confines of his boxers. He can feel Steve, hard and leaking pre-come through the thin fabric of his boxers.

They could come together, just like this, hell they have come together like this, but today is different. Today, Tony almost died again, and today Steve fought like a demon sent from hell for him and—

"Oh."

Tony loves him.

He's in love with him.

It's no great shock to him, not really. There's no fireworks, no lightning strikes, just a subtle shift in his paradigm, like someone zooming out on a camera.

Steve pulls back from their kiss to look at him, and Tony's gone. From Tony's penthouse suite, he has the perfect view of the sun in the evening. It's midday, and the sun, not quite setting, casts shafts of light into his room, catching the blond of Steve's mussed hair until it shines like hammered gold.

Steve has lifted the veil off of his face, and Tony can see the reverence in his gaze untempered. Tony's stomach clenches. He feels like an animal, like some feral beast has taken up residence in his skin, wanting to claim and be claimed.

"This is how Steve feels. This is how he's felt from the beginning."

He's not an artist, not like Steve, but he understands the appeal of wanting to capture a moment forever in all of its rawness. He wants to get some paints and canvas and immortalize Steve precisely as he is right now: wild and devout. To him.

Steve's thumb traces the outline of Tony's mouth and pushes at Tony's bottom lip. Steve gasps when Tony parts his lips and takes Steve's thumb into his mouth. He recovers quickly, pressing his thumb deeper into Tony's mouth. The salt of Steve's flesh coats his tongue, but for once, Tony feels like the hunter.

Steve's thumb becomes his pointer and middle fingers. Tony sucks them, lathing at them with his tongue until they're slick and glistening when Steve withdraws them from his mouth.

Tony blindly grasps for the drawer of his nightstand, rooting around until he finds what he's looking for: a bottle of lube.

He passes it to Steve, who flicks open the cap with his thumb.

"Ah," he breathes as the lube hits his skin, all cool and wet.

Steve's fingers, slick with Tony's saliva and lube, ghost around his perineum. He's thankful he had the good sense to shower beforehand, although he couldn't have foreseen this happening. Steve always caught him by surprise.

Steve starts Tony out slow, with only one thick finger working its way inside of him. The stretch, while familiar, takes some getting used to. It'd been so long since he'd truly been with another man.

A second finger joins the first, stretching Tony to the point of discomfort. In the back of his mind, Tony had always known that Steve's hands were big, but having them stretch him out was an entirely different matter.

Despite his initial discomfort, his cock is still hard, dribbling pre-come onto his stomach.

"Breathe for me, baby," Steve says, and it hits Tony then. This is the first time they've had sex. All of their other moments had been fleeting, full of fevered grinding and hot mouths and rough hands when they had time to spare.

Tony's naked in front of Steve, and he's in love with him, and he doesn't know what's worse.

"Hey," Steve says softly like he's comforting a spooked horse. "Breathe."

Tony closes his eyes and does as he's told. Some of the tension leaves his body as Steve's voice washes over him.

"You have no idea, don't you? How gorgeous you are?"

"Tell me," Tony finds himself saying. Steve's working his fingers in and out of Tony now, searching, searching…

It's getting harder to think straight.

"I'd burn for you," Steve says. "I want you so much, I'm fucking dizzy with it." Steve twists his fingers, and Tony sees starlight behind his eyes.

Steve's fingers are relentless against his prostate, scissoring and splitting him wide open.

"Do that again," Tony somehow manages to gasp out. "Fuck, Steve, please."

Steve, bastard that he is, withdraws his fingers from Tony's entrance, and if Tony whines, that's between him and God.

"I think I like you like this," Steve says instead, pressing his fingers into the meat of Tony's thighs. A shiver runs down Tony's spine at the hungry look in Steve's eyes.

"A wolf closing in for the kill."

"Like what?" Tony finds himself saying.

Steve tilts his head and runs a hand up Tony's thigh until he's tantalizingly close to cupping his cock. "Desperate. Wanting. Regardless of what you want to call it, I like seeing you as wrecked as I've felt these past couple of months."

Wrecked is definitely the right word. Tony's willpower is equal to that of a Jenga tower right now. One wrong move (or right one depending on who you ask), and he'll come tumbling down, and Steve will have to pick up his pieces.

Tony's lips part when Steve takes him into his hand, a soft gasp escaping them as he spreads the wetness of his pre-come along his cock. Heat pools low in his belly, and Tony finds himself spreading his legs wider, baring himself for Steve to use however he pleases.

"Are you going to wreck me?" Tony says.

Steve's grip tightens on his cock, and Tony bucks up into his fist, his hands flying up to make contact with Steve's skin. "I don't want to wreck you," Steve says, eyes burning. "I want to worship you."

"That's blasphemous, Rogers," Tony says. Worship. Like he's something pure. Like he's someone worth loving.

In the most shocking plot twist of his life, Steve Rogers, Captain fucking America, says, "Who the fuck needs a god when I have you?"

It's a far cry from the "aw, shucks" wholesome Irish Catholic mask Steve dons, but Tony shouldn't be too surprised. This is the same man who got him off at the dinner table. And the shower. And the helicarrier.

There's still a part of Tony that thinks he doesn't deserve it, such utter devotion, such attraction (he won't dare call it the other word he's thinking of lest he get his hopes up,) but for what seems like the umpteenth time, he decides to ignore his doubts.

"This moment is mine. If he stays, or if he leaves, this will always be mine." He'll take whatever he can get from Steve with eager hands.

Steve's hand reaches for the lube once more, the other jerking Tony off at an agonizingly slow pace until he's truly hard and leaking pre-come all over Steve's fist.

Steve slicks up his cock, and Tony's toes curl at the thought of all of that going inside him. He wants it, though. He wants Steve like he's never wanted anything else in his life.

Tony isn't new to desire or lust, but the need burning inside of him like a red-hot coal consumes him in its intensity.

"Steve, please," he says, hating the desperate chord in his voice. "Wreck me, worship me, do whatever you want, just do something."

Steve swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and he nods. "Fuck, Tony. Okay."

He lets go of Tony's cock, but Tony has no time to beg because he's lining himself up with Tony's entrance.

Tony can practically hear his heart beating in his chest over the sound of Steve's steady, even breathing. Steve presses into him so slowly, so carefully like he's trying not to break Tony in half.

"Fuck that," he thinks.

Tony cants his hips up, teasing Steve's cock, and says, "I can take it. I want you to fuck me, Steve."

Steve's hands clamp down on either side of Tony's hips, and Tony knows he's won this round when he sees the dark look in Steve's eyes. He plunges into Tony, fucking a sharp gasp out of him. Tony's not a virgin by any means. His playboy reputation is a well-earned one. But it's been so long since he's been full. Steve's only halfway in him, and yet Tony feels like he's in his stomach.

"Is this what you wanted?" Steve asks, withdrawing slightly to add more lube. He pushed back into Tony, the lube squelching obscenely as his hips slap against Tony's. Tony's face, his everything, is red, but he'll take it. He wants it.

"Yes," he says, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist, effectively trapping him. "I wanted you."

"You have me," Steve says, his voice hoarse and wretched. "You'll always have me."

Steve tilts his hips just slightly, but the change in angle is enough to make Tony clench around him as his cock presses incessantly against that sweet, electrifying spot inside of Tony.

They both curse, Tony at the change in angle, the lightning in his blood, Steve at Tony's sudden tightness, and Steve fucks into him in earnest.

Tony's being unmade. He's unraveling at the seams like a worn-out sweater, and Steve's stitching him back together.

Their skin is tacky with sweat and lube, and the clean-up will be awful, but Tony doesn't care as the reality of the day hits him. Tony almost died. He almost died, and he loves Steve, and he should tell him while he has the chance.

Steve buries his head into Tony's neck. "I almost lost you," he says, his voice breaking.

"You didn't," Tony gasps.

Steve doesn't say anything, just presses into Tony harder, like he's trying to seep into Tony's skin. Tony throws a hand over his mouth to stifle his moans even though it's just them, but Steve catches his hand and intertwines it with his.

"No," he says. "I want...I need to hear you."

Tony's toes curl as he nods and lets the moans he was holding back slip from his mouth untethered. If anything, they spur Steve on. His bed squeaks with each thrust, and Tony can hear Steve mumbling under his breath, a litany of "I need you," and "So tight, so good," and "Stay with me."

Tony should tell him. He should tell Steve he loves him, but something holds him back. He doesn't want Steve to think it was just a spur of the moment ordeal. He wants Steve to be sure that he loves him, that his soul has completely intertwined with Steve's, that they're one. It should be perfect.

So instead of saying I love you, he just lifts Steve's head up to look him in his face. He loves seeing the utter desperation in Steve's face, the euphoria right before he comes, loves knowing that he was the one to bring him to such heights. He sees it now. Steve's on the edge, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips all red and bitten like a smear of blood.

"Tony, I—"

Steve never finishes his sentence as Tony's tongue slinks into his mouth. Steve moans, kissing him back. One of his hands finds Tony's cock. Tony bucks into his fist, still slick with lube, digs his nails into Steve's back until they're both falling apart. Steve comes inside him with a muffled groan, filling him with a wet heat; meanwhile, Tony feels like his brain is leaking from his ears as his come spurts from his cock and paints both of their stomachs in white.

When Steve's hand strokes his cheek and comes away wet, Tony realizes that he's crying. Steve kisses his cheeks and his forehead and his nose, and when he finally goes for Tony's mouth, Tony lets out the softest, "Thank you."

Steve hovers over him. For a moment, Tony thinks he's going to say those three terrifying words. Horror and excitement alike send his stomach rolling, but Steve just says, "Anything for you."

He's not sure if he should be disappointed or relieved.

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #steve x tony #steve rogers #tony stark #imperialstark fic #imperialstark writing #my fic #my writing #marvel #mcu #nsfk #choke on me

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spotofimagines · 4 years

Text

About Time ~ Calum Chambers

A/N: I don’t know when this is set, I just made up a match scenario so don’t go looking for details! This is for @footballffbarbiex‘s writing challenge based off tv and film (go check it out, it’s lasting all year!). I watched Harry Potter recently so took vague inspo from Neville and Harry about halfway into this scene. Also, a moment of silence to remember Cal’s awful cat drawing.... Enjoy :)

Warnings: injury but no detail - reader is female

Summary: Winning a match in that sort of fashion will give Calum the confidence boost with you he’s been waiting for.

It was the biggest win of the season. A trophy win. A derby win. A penalty and a 30-yard screamer scored by the strikers for the team. A match saving tackle by the man of the hour. It was a big win alright.

Calum had gone down pretty hard from that tackle late on in the match and stumbled about for the last couple minutes of extra time. To keep the story short, his knee was well and truly busted up, but by god was he going to celebrate this win with his teammates.

When the hugging and jumping was over and the physio had dragged him to get sorted out properly, Calum had his mind set on one person and one person only. You. He wanted to find you in this moment like he wanted little else in his life. A congratulations from his friend was ready and waiting, but given the 90 minutes he’d just played and the confidence coursing through him, he’d had a slight change to that set of plans.

He’d tried a few times already to do what he was going to do today but he had always chickened out before he would, too scared to see anything change between you for the worse. But as he steamed through the halls of the Emirates, feet travelling without being told to, he didn’t even think once about the consequences. He was going to do this and he was going to do this now.

Speeding slightly too fast round a corner, Calum had become the focus of someone else.

“Cal, you alright?” Rob stuck his hand out to the side to catch Calum’s arm and attention at the sight of him darting his eyes around like a meerkat.

“Never better. I feel like I can spit fire.” Adrenaline was still running through Calum like crazy. There wouldn’t be anything in the world that could stop him now. Or at least for the next few minutes or so, before the joy of the win will wash away a bit and the proper pain of his injury will set in. But until then, he was a man on a mission whilst he knew it was something he could actually do instead of backing out like the last times.

“You haven’t seen Y/N have you?” The excited smile on his face shone inquisitively as he asked his friend the question, in dire need to find you as soon as possible.

“Y/N?” Rob repeated a little confused, slightly shaking his head no. What could be so urgent that he would be this desperate to find his best friend? “Why-”

“I’m mad for her. Think it’s about time I told her.”

Rob could barely register getting interrupted before he was watching Calum jog off down the corridor, a happy-go-lucky grin on his face that told Rob he really couldn’t care what else was going on in the stadium, with the fans, with the players, with anyone. It was only you. He had to find you.

Turning back around to his girlfriend, Rob just raised his eyebrows with a laugh and shook his head. “He’s done it. He’s finally lost it.”

Calum just kept searching for you amongst the miriade of people in the corridors. His knee was starting to burn a bit again, and he knew the physio would kill him if they found out he’d been jogging around.

But then he turned the corner, and he saw you, and the thought jumped right out of his mind. It felt like everything stopped for a moment; like there weren’t so many people around anymore, like all the oxygen left the air, like there was nothing or no one he’d ever wanted to come across more. He knew he was being a little silly - after all you were just stood leaning against the wall on your phone - yet it seemed like he was back at that stupid art museum a month back when he first tried to tell you his feelings because god, you looked out of this world. And all you were doing was standing there.

There was a fire in his heart he didn’t have a month ago that was willing him on now to sack it all off and get it over with. And there was a fire burning in his knee that was getting worse the longer he stayed still.

So he moved. He walked toward you, intent in every step and all focus on anything else completely lost to the background. He wasn’t going to stop himself - he didn’t want to stop himself - so he didn’t. He just kept walking until the clacking of his boots against the hard floor made you peer up over your phone.

There was an unmissable splendour in his eyes that bore into yours as you slipped you phone into you pocket with a greeting smile. You hadn’t expected to see him so soon after the match and you were on the verge of asking what had brought him to you so soon as you held your hands out, prepared for a giant bone-crushing hug from him you’d grown accustomed to.

Before you could get your mouth to say words and before you could wrap your arms around him, Calum’s hands dived straight to either side of your jaw and pushed your lips on his. Your hands landed on his waist lightly as his warm hands tilted your head up a touch so he could kiss you just that little bit deeper. If this was only happening once, it was going to be perfect.

He felt your lips start to kiss him back after the sudden shock of him on you sauntered away and he smiled to himself at the way it felt to experience this. There had been far too much time between when he first caught a crush on you and when the moment to do something about it had finally arrived.

Calum pulled away before too long and rested his forehead on yours with his eyes still closed. A breathy laugh fell from his mouth as it couldn’t help but curve into a smile. You couldn’t quite find the words you wanted to say, or any words at all for that matter, so you just gently squeezed his sides to cover up your silent spluttering that he couldn’t even see nor notice.

He slipped his hands down to your neck as he moved his head back to look at your face properly. His hair was still a little sweaty and he was definintely out of breath but his eyes gleamed as bright as his grin. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself now that he was close up to the beautiful girl he yearned to see five minutes ago. It felt just like a dream to be in a moment like this.

Except you weren’t quite smiling like he was. And now he’s realising there are people around you. And he’s still wearing his dirty kit. And his knee is definitely going to need another check by the physio from the heat that’s searing through it. His heart is still in dreamland and his smile is still etched on his face, but his brain just dropped back to earth and hit the ground. Luckily for Calum though, he never has favoured his mind over his mood.

He watched your eyes for a second and took another breath whilst his thumb started moving up and down along your jaw. “Mate, I am sorry if that was way off what you thought of me, but I’ve been waiting to do that for a while. And I know I ain’t thinking straight right now with that win and my knee is making me go doo-lally mental, probably not the best idea to run round half the bloody stadium for you, but I needed to do that.” He sighed as all his words tumbled out of him. “I just needed to do that...”

Your eyes never left his for a second, and you hoped he had some sort of super mind-reading powers hidden in him somewhere so he could know what you felt, because your mouth was trailing years behind your brain. You wanted to tell him how right it felt, how often you’d imagined his lips on yours, how much you wanted it to happen too. But your stammering wouldn’t let you. You were counting your lucky stars that winning this trophy had washed him in so much exhileration that he hadn’t noticed your prolonged reaction, or at least he hadn’t done anything about it.

He was hopped up on the sugar of you and you were so shocked by his sudden actions that your hardwire system shut down.

His body shifted under the palms of your hands and he was about to take a step backwards away from you when your snaked your arms around his torso to stay close to him. “Well mate,” you teased, tilting your head to keep looking up at him directly with a smirk, “whatever you seem need, it works for me.”

He scoffed a laugh at the words that you managed to say and mockingly rolled his eyes at you as you giggled. Those bright blue eyes hadn’t lost a single spark since he saw you a minute ago and they didn’t look keen to be dimming any time soon either.

Calum just pulled you closer to him again for another kiss, this time shorter, and sweeter, and less system-knocking. This time it was Calum. This time it certainly wasn’t a dream.

The thumb on your jaw moved along your skin a couple more times when you looked back at each other, you smiles carved in stone on your faces. His fingers trailed over your shoulders and down your arms until his right hand found solace linked together with yours. You simply watched him, how his shoulders stood tall over you but weren’t wound as tightly as before.

When your eyes met his once more, he suddenly dropped his effervesant smile and furrowed his brows. “I’m being serious now though. If I don’t get this knee looked at in the next 30 seconds, I’ll be chopping it off.” You chuckled as his complaint and secured your hand in his before nudging his arm forward to get him to start walking back to where he’d come from.

“Oi, don’t laugh, it could be fatal! I could be facing life on bed rest for my heroics today.” As hard as Calum tried to make his words sound convincing, the cheeky grin fighting it’s way onto his face sold him out. Every time.

“Alright, superman,” it was your turn to roll your eyes as you placed your other hand on his arm whilst you walked nestled against him, “let’s get you checked on so you can fly me back home.”

#calum chambers #calum chambers imagine #calum chambers x reader #football #football imagine #rob holding #oneshot #my fic #my og post #amys2021challenge

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fangirlovestuff · 4 years

Text

Holding Out For a Hero- Steve Rogers x Reader Pt.1

gif not mine!

a/n: Hey lovely people! the begining of this is based on a prompt from pinterest, but the rest is my plot. This is gonna be a multichapter fic, so this chapter is not very focused on the relationship, it’s less steve centric and more setting the scene. I’m planning on making this a bit of a slow burn. Not beta read. enjoy!

prompt: you are in a typical awkward elevator ride with a group of other people, suddenly a man says “So, I bet you are wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.” before hitting the emergency stop button.

word count: 1,500

pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader.

warnings: none.

The elevator doors opened and you stepped in. It was pretty full, so you made an effort to stand still as to not bump into anyone. There was a man that looked pretty familiar to you, you just couldn't get a good enough look at his face when you entered and he was standing behind you. Obviously turning you head to look at him would be very awkward, so you stayed put and tried to figure it out. No sound was heard except the hum of the elevator, the passengers looking at their phones or simply standing quietly.

"So, I bet you are wondering why I've gathered you here today."

That voice! You were sure you know this man, and when you turned around you saw the familiar famous goatee and sunglasses. Before you could register the fact that you were riding an elevator with the Tony Stark, and that he "gathered you here", he leaned forward quickly and pressed the emergency stop button. You got a whiff of his cologne, and you were fangirling so hard. I mean this is Tony stark! The man who saved the universe, the genius playboy billionaire philanthropist, the man you have looked up to ever since he became Iron Man. You couldn't believe your eyes.

"You all probably know who I am, " he smirked, "and I know who you are, but you don't know each other. It's fine, you will."

After he observed the stunned silence, he continued talking. "I am here to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity. To help the Avengers."

This has got to be a prank, you thought. There was absolutely no way you were chosen to work with the Avengers. Maybe this isn't actually Tony Stark, just someone who looks like him. Or maybe it is him and he was bored and wanted to laugh at some random people. Either way you were sure this couldn't be real, but decided to go with it. What's the harm anyways?

"So, what is the help the Avengers need from us? I mean, no offence to anyone here, but I personally don't really see what the Avengers would need me for. "

"If you would've let me finish, you would know by now. Now hush, there isn't much time until they come rescue us" and at that he raised his eyebrow, "from here." Tony, or fake Tony since you still weren't sure, continued.

"Each of you has something individual they can bring to the team. Trust me, I saw the research on you. Pretty extensive stuff. Your dog by the way," he looked into your eyes, "is very cute." You frowned at him. You didn’t like the idea of someone out there researching you, but you knew the fact that you had a dog could have been deducted from your black pants, who despite your best efforts could still have some dog hair on them. You took comfort in the fact that this person who you were still not sure was Tony Stark could just be observant, and not a stalker.

"In order to participate, you need to come with me right now. I'm taking you to the compound, where you'll receive your respective missions."

"What if we don't want to?" one man asked.

"Then feel free to wait for the rescue team and you'll have a funny story that no one will ever believe. Now come on, we gotta-- "

"How can we know it's you?" a woman that seemed to be about your age asked, voicing your exact thoughts.

He simply smiled and pressed his watch, which then turned into an Iron Man glove. "Anyone has more questions or can we go now?"

Everyone was silent. "Great. Follow my lead." Tony started carving a whole in the floor of the elevator. When he finished

"Wait, you can't actually expect us to fall down that hole, right?" said the woman from before.

"People down there will catch you. Come on." He jumped down, the Iron Man suit closing and flying him safely to the ground. We all looked at each other, hesitant.

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do." Said one of the men and jumped. There was no crash, so probably a good sign. The woman followed his lead and jumped.

Fuck it, you thought, and jumped too. You closed your eyes, and after an unnerving few second, you landed in what you presumed was the arms of a tall, built man. Opening your eyes, you looked into his face, intending to thank him, but immediately froze. It was Captain America. You willed yourself to say something and not look stupid. You could feel the blush creeping on your face. "Um… thank uhh…" you swallowed, "thank you." He put you down. "Your welcome." He smiled at you and stepped away, getting ready to catch someone else.

Someone quickly pulled you aside. Black Widow, your mind helpfully supplied once you looked at her face. "Come on, don't want the others to fall on you right?". We stepped away and you had time to observe the scene in front of you. The Winter Soldier and Captain America were catching people who came down falling. Falcon and Tony were catching them in the air, landing them safely. Out of the ten people in the elevator, it seemed that seven were here. You assumed the rest didn't want to come. You turned to Natasha, who was still standing next to you, eyeing you almost suspiciously. "Hey, so I know it's probably a secret or whatever, but-- "

"Yeah sure, Steve is single. Not a secret." She replied with a smile.

"What?" you felt the blush returning to your face. "No! that's totally not what I was gonna ask!"

"But it's what you wanted to." She smirked at you.

Your mouth opened and then closed. You didn't really have a good answer to that, so you just moved past it, stuffing the information in your brain for later. "What I was going to ask is, can I be told my mission now?"

"No. The best advice I could give you is to be patient."

You wanted to argue, but you remembered the woman standing next to you was a trained assassin and quickly gave up the notion and shut your mouth.

When everyone was safely on the ground, Tony turned to you and asked "Okay, everyone here? That's great. Let's head to the compound."

You and the others followed their lead. The woman from before fell into step next to you. "Hey, I'm Julia. I guess we're teammates now huh?"

You chuckled at her and introduced yourself. You talked for the whole walk, which was surprisingly long. Who knew New York had underground tunnels that weren't the subway? Certainly not you.

You and Julia hit it off right away. You learned she was a Lawyer, which explained what she could bring to the Avengers. The business and PR side of the Avengers was often forgotten because of the whole saving the world stuff, but it still existed. You still had no clue what the heck they wanted you to do. You and Julia chatted some more. At some point she noticed you sending another glance at Steve Rogers, who looked as handsome as ever. "Looks like someone has a crush," she whispered and nudged you, grinning. "What? No I don't!" you quickly denied, your eyes involuntarily darted in his direction to make sure he didn't hear you. "Oh, you know you do! Don't even try to argue about this!". You sighed, defeated. "Look, it's not a crush, I swear! It's just… America's ass has an appeal okay?" You said indigently. Julia laughed quietly at your words. "I get it. I do think Bucky's the hotter super-soldier, but that's a question of taste isn't it?". You nodded at her with a smile, and a minute later you got out of the tunnel in the middle of an abandoned alley.

"Okay people, listen up. We're gonna go to the tower and from there fly to the compound. Anyone with urgent business in New York can simply stay here. But you will not be a part of this mission."

The rest of you schedule for the day was cleared, but Lola was home waiting for you. You knew you couldn't leave her alone, and there was no one you could call to take care of her. If you knew that's how your day will go, you would've prepared better.

"Mr. Stark?" you called hesitantly. "I have a dog, as you know, and I can't leave her alone. Also, I have no clothes other than these and, well, a job. How long do you expect us to stay at the compound?"

"All that will be taken care of by my team. If you decide to come, I'll tell them to fly Lola right over to the compound." You were too thankful to be annoyed at him pretty much stalking you. "Thanks," you simply said, "I'm coming then."

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve roger imagine #steve rogers imagines #avengers #avengers imagine #mcu fic #tony stark #self insert #natasha romanoff

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homobiwan · 3 years

Note

tater (:

Tater: What’s the most inconveniently timed injury you’ve ever had?

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO

I worked at a grocery store in high school and one day i was assigned to stock instead of run the cash register. The boxes were bigger than some of the employees but my stupid gung ho brain decided that i was gonna grab a box without a cart and carry it over. Except the box slipped from my hand and slammed my pinkie against the cart

It throbbed a little and i was like well shit :( owie. But no biggie i hit myself a lot at work with stuff and it was never serious.

Then i got called up to check. Naturally i had to check out customers w the super heavy packs of beer and i noticed that it hurt my pinkie when i used it to pick stuff up. So i stuck my pinkie out like a posh britisher sipping on tea the whole time, completely oblivious to the fact that my pinkie was swelling up and turning white

I complained to my coworker that it hurt so she told me to tell my manager. They asked me to hold up my pinkies to compare and then laughed at me bc my right pinkie is crooked so the injured one looked fine in comparison 😔 anyway they told me to go back to work and then come back in a half hour to see if my pinkie had swollen more (now that i think abt it i’m pretty sure their reaction was illegal,,,, hmmm)

Half hour passes. I come back. My managers’ faces pale bc my pinkie is now even more swollen and slightly purple. My manager calls up a full timer to drive me to the urgent care. We sit in the waiting room for an hour. They take me back, do an x-ray, and then say cheerfully, “Yep! Your pinkie is definitely broken!” They give me a little finger cast and send me on my way.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE!

My workplace was bad but not quite bad enough to make me work after breaking my finger. They tell me to take the rest of the day off EXCEPT MY PARENTS ARE IN AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT CITY BECAUSE MY GRANDPA IS IN THE HOSPITAL

So it takes over an hour for my stepdad to pick me up and i’ve just been sitting at a grocery store, swinging my legs and waving my finger cast at my coworkers as i wait. He drives me to the hospital where i sit and watch my grandpa sleep as my pinkie throbs slightly. My family asks me how i broke my finger.

Here’s the thing. I broke it on a box of cereal boxes. This box was larger than most shopping carts. But instead of explaining this, all i say is “i broke it on a cereal box.”

They laugh at me and take pictures of my finger cast and have me pose in front of my drugged up knocked out grandpa and then they drive me home so i can finally sleep

And that’s the story of how i broke my finger

#asks #bittlicious #hospital mention #injuries #kay dont look #food mention #ask game

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charmandhex · 5 years

Text

Of all the things that Taako was expecting from a day off the moon base, this most definitely wasn’t on the list. But there’d been some kinda parade, a ton of fireworks going off at once, and one oversized, particularly cranky ostrich, and now Taako’s faced with this:

Standing, or rather floating, before Taako and above the thoroughly broken Umbra Staff is the godsdamn Red Robe.

“Fuckin’ finally, Taako!” Except it’s not the godsdamn Red Robe. Or at least, not the same one. Different voice. A voice that’s doing something real weird to Taako’s heart region, filling it with warmth and this weird ache at the same time. Or it could just be the combination of overly sugary cereal and garlic fries that he’d eaten several hours ago. The Red Robe swoops forward, practically on top of Taako, reaching out.

“Uh, personal spa-“ Taako raises his hands but otherwise finds himself more firmly planted than he would have thought. But then. He knows she doesn’t mean him any harm.

“What?” The voice goes teasing (but only half teasing - why does Taako know that?). “You don’t remember me, Taako? Your own-“ And for the first time in several months, all that registers in Taako’s brain is static.

“Uh, no. And gonna, gonna have to talk to the Director; her voidfish is broken.” Taako’s ears flick back, and he scrunches his nose, trying to shake off the feeling of having walked straight into a wall. A static wall.

Taako can’t really see her face, what with the whole spooky Red Robe thing, but he can hear it in her voice as she shifts from pretended shock to quiet sorrow. “Huh. Guess. Guess that’s one thing confirmed then.” She drifts back a few feet. “My own-“ More static. “My-“ Static. And she’s starting to glow at the edges, blurring faintly with the smoke rising around her. The faint sound of fabric starting to sizzle rises around the static still hissing in the back of Taako’s mind. “Taako, I’m so, so sorry I said I would be-“ Static. And with it, her voice goes strange, unnatural, like the other Red Robe, and unstable, a fire rising to inferno. Suddenly, she doesn’t look so good.

“Hey!” Taako yells, surprising both of them, shocking her into stillness and himself nearly jumping. In his head, with his pulse now fast and loud in his ears, Taako’s quick to call if self-preservation. He’s pretty sure he’s in the area of effect if she, you know, explodes or something. “Listen, uh, uh... you’ve been in there the whole time?”

The flames flicker down and the fire fizzles out. Taako’s mostly accidental attempt at calming her works. “Uh, yeah.”

“How long were you in there?”

“Best guess, ‘round a decade.”

“How’d you get in there?”

“Well, now, here’s the thing...” If Taako didn’t know any better (or does he?), he’d say she sounds almost embarrassed. “You know I made an umbrella that eats magic. And, in this form, I am magic.” She seems to shrug, almost sheepishly.

“Wait, wait, wait. So, not only did you make something that looks like it belongs to a clown-“

“A cool clown.”

“No such thing. You made a clown umbrella that ate you so you were stuck in the clown umbrella for ten years.”

“Yeah, you know, I’ve had ten years to reflect on that, Taako. I know.”

“I’m just saying, hindsight being 20/20 and all, probably not a good idea.”

“It was not. But. Besides. You’ve been walking around with the clown umbrella for months.”

“I broke my wand in the ogre fight!”

“You’re welcome for that by the way.”

“Wait, did you help?”

“Natch.”

“So, uh, then, once I picked you up and all, could you... hear shit? Since you obviously figured out what was going on there?”

“Yeah. But, uh, more stuff, more recently. I too was subjected to... Merle and the vines.”

“My condolences.”

She shrugs. “You hear it once, you-“ Static again. “You probably didn’t understand that.”

“Nope!”

“You know, Taako, you might be happier not remembering that.”

Taako hums. The comment, the familiarity in how she talks to him... there’s the real question. “Aaaaaand how do you know me?”

She hums in response, almost a twin to Taako’s own. “Can’t answer that right now. How do you think you know me?”

“Don’t, definitely don’t. But...”

“Do you trust me?”

Taako pauses, turns the question over in his head, clicking his tongue. “Yeah, you know, probably?”

Her whole form seems to heave as though breathing a sigh of relief.

“Oh, hey, do you know the other Red Robe? You know, looks just like you, had a spooky scary voice when we met him?”

She laughs, and the sound gets Taako to crack a smile. “Yeah... Barry does that.”

“Barry? Wait, Barry? Like... Barry Bluejeans?”

“Yeah, that Barry.” She answers, laughing.

“But he’s dead. And also wrong color scheme. It’s in the name. And did I mention the part where Merle’s asshole cousin killed him in Phandalin?”

“Oh, no, he is dead, super dead, but he seemed like he’s all right.” She seems sincere, almost wistful, like she genuinely misses that grumpy nerd.

“Wait, wait, you’re telling me-“

“Sorry, Taako, but my husband’s gonna have to wait.”

“Your WH-“ Taako starts to screech.

“We’ve got other urgent shit to do right now.” She cuts him off hastily. “So if we can go on and get out of here and hop back up-“

“Uh, yeah, no, I said I trust you, but I’m amending that to trust but not going anywhere. No secondary locations, Taako’s good out here, uh, thank you.”

Of course, Taako’s not sure he has any real way to back that up. Worse, she probably knows, too. The Red Robe watches him, red hood tilted to the side. She seems to come to a decision.

“I’m sorry, Taako, I really am. But if this is how it’s gotta be, then this is how it’s gotta be right now.” She straightens up, and the sharp smell of magic hits Taako’s nose. “I’m gonna have to kick your ass now.”

Part 2

#taz #taz balance #taz fic #taz fanfic #taako #lup #did i write this specifically because one sentence floated into my head #yes i absolutely did #bonus points if you can guess the line #what am i doing with this i do not know #charm works

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anika-ann · 5 years

Text

Nothing but the Truth - Pt.8

The Resolution

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4070

Summary: A fake dating AU. You’ve been moping for two days now; despite some surprising visitors in your hospital room, there was one person who haven’t made it yet. It’s just your dumb luck it was the one person that mattered very much.

Warnings: swearing, light angst, brief mentions of violence, fluff, extra dialogue-heavy chapter

Story Masterlist

The first thing your foggy brain registered as you woke up was that you must have a flu. There was no other explanation for how you felt.

Every single muscle, every single joint in your body, simply everything hurt and was so, so heavy… confusing images flickered through your mind, images of a dark room and the burning blue of irises, the pain and the poor attempt at a smile, the ring and leather straps, the maniacal grin on the vendor’s face—it was all adding to the splitting headache that was keeping you from opening your eyes; because no, no sharp light, thank you very much-

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” a velvety voice caressed your ears, gentle fingers lightly squeezing your hand. “You had us worried.”

Mind still fuzzy, you groaned, attempting to squeeze the warm hand back, but with zero result.

God, why is it so, so hard to move--

“I’ll call a doctor, yeah?”

Grunting something incomprehensible in disagreement, because fuck it, I just want to sleep, you drifted back into blissful ignorance, not having a care for the world.

When you woke up again, it was to Sam’s concerned gaze and you did not like that expression on his face one bit.

To your utter shock, he was soon replaced by Tony Stark; though Sam still stayed in your corner while the billionaire gushed about how you had led them right to the bad guy.

“He was crazy, alright. His brain was a like bag of cats and that coming from me? Real deal. Anyway… we couldn’t save anyone else. He was… eh, systematic. Putting trackers into the rings, stalking the couples and then he moved onto his mission of testing the true love bullshit and everyone failed, so he had the shocks to-“

Sam cleared his throat meaningfully as you winced, the ghost of the very unpleasant sensation running through your nerve endings, biting chill curling at the base of your spine, flashes of Steve’s face, the mask, the vendor, the chairs and the electricity crackling-

“Sorry. Just wanted to say… you did really great. You saved a lot of lives by helping us to lock him away. You basically entered the hero kindergarten,” Stark announced almost brightly, earning another ahem from your friend.

You smiled at the genius tiredly. “I’m not planning on joining your superhero group, Mr-“ you faltered when he made a face, “-Tony. And… I’d feel better if we could have—if the people who were taken-“

“Hey. Not your fault,” Sam interrupted you swiftly, voice as serious as his face. “You did amazing and I hope you’re never getting into this kind of shit ever again.”

Now he looked like a father torn between being proud of his kid punching a bully to their face and being exasperated because the said kid had earned an exclusion from school for it. To be fair, he possibly felt exactly like that.

“Yeaaaah, I guess that’s my cue,” Tony backed out with an awkward grin, stopping in the doorway to toss few more words over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry for the delay. The deactivated trackers took us a while. Get better, hon!”

You couldn’t but grin at his demeanor, but your mood instantly shifted back to grim when you saw the look on Sam’s face. The air of an overexcited genius which Stark was carrying around was sucked out of the room, suddenly making it hard for you to breathe as the horror images filled your mind once more.

You shook your head and gulped, trying to push them back to the corner, focusing on something else entirely; namely on the black eye which Tony was nursing, one of which had a good idea how happened.

“You gave him the black eye, didn’t you?”

Sam’s furrowed brows rose at the probably unexpected remark, but he didn’t bother lying. “Damn right, I did.”

Who would have guessed that two days, only 48 hours, could last an eternity?

You would.

You knew; you had your fair share of experiencing that. Still, every hour crushed your chest as Tony Stark visited once more, Sam was at your bedside at nearly all times, Irma came to see you, hell, even Natasha freaking Romanoff stopped by and yet, yet, no Steve in sight.

Sam had told you he was busy; you could imagine. He must have probably been filling out mission reports, recovering himself, had to answer to authorities, to reporters-- and your eyes filled with stupid and pathetic tears when you thought of the reporters every single time.

Recalling your own encounter with the sensation-hungry sharks, the intrusive memory of the interview wormed its way to your brain and more importantly, to your heart; a memory of the time when everything had seemed alright, better even, almost as if there could be something more —and then Steve had said yes--- and then-

Then all you had was a hazy memory of his voice at your ear when you had been pulled out of unconsciousness, a wistful dream, a fata-morgana which you made up to console your mind when your body couldn’t quite comprehend the exhaustion and pain tearing you from your sleep only to slip back again.

He hadn’t come.

For two full days, he wouldn’t as much as shoot you a text, send flowers or something awfully sweet and Steve-like and you were starting to question just how much of what had happened down there you only imagined.

You were almost certain he had said he loved you, you would swear on it even; but if it truly happened and Steve was still not showing up, well… then it opened a whole new number of possibilities of what his motivation could be.

You refused to believe he didn’t care at all. However, you had met Steve a while ago and if you understood something about him, it was that his sense of duty was just a tiny bit inferior to his sense of loyalty. In other words, he would look out for his friends, as much as they would look out for him – more even.

So, even when Steve was supposedly busy – unless he was out of the country, naturally – he would let himself to be dragged out of the gym, out of his office, dragged away from anything that seemed urgent, yet not urgent enough for him to refuse Sam or anyone else who was concerned and insistent enough.

Hence you coming to the conclusion that he simply didn’t want to spent a single second in your presence, because he had in fact figured out that you had been about to confess your feelings to him and now he was doing everything to avoid you, because he had somehow tricked the machine when saying that stupid ‘yes’ and he had no clue how to turn you down gently now-- because Steve was nothing short of gentle.

Yep, that was your elaborate theory.

Say yay for your super-inventive brain, you thought darkly. And try not to choke at the thought of Steve ghosting you for the rest of your life.

Burying your face in the pillow and letting it soak up with your tears, you lulled yourself to sleep, grateful there was no one in your room at the moment to witness your break-down.

You were woken up from your slumber by three swift knocks on your door. It snapped you to full consciousness at instant, mostly because there weren’t many people who bothered to knock; it was quite common for them – and that included the doctors – to simply enter.

That difference in approach was essential, because your mind traitorously drifted towards the idea of Steve finally paying you a visit and it was both exciting and mortifying.

Also, it gave you hope of which you were certain would be crashed the moment the door open, so there was that.

The knocks echoed in the room once more, this time softer, as if the person behind the door worried about intruding your sleep.

Huh. Cute and considerate. How could you not get your hopes up at that?

“Uhm… come in,” you encouraged the mystery person cautiously, your heart nearly giving out when a blond head hesitantly poked in.

Yep, it’s Steve.

Or maybe I’m just high and I’m imagining him.

Hard to tell.

He offered you the weakest of smiles as if he could hear your thoughts and whispered a very shy ‘hi’.

You felt your heartbeat pounding in your temples in panic and excitement.

“Steve… uhm. H-hey. What-eh- what are you doing here?”

You would have been ashamed for stuttering like an idiot, except you were too busy freaking out over looking like a hobo, having red-rimmed eyes and chest filled with dread at this encounter, feelings spoken and unspoken sitting heavily in your ribcage—and well, generally just losing your mind.

Also, Steve was unable to speak like a normal person as well, so that helped. “I-uhm… came to check up on you.”

He stepped fully into the doorway and you expected him to come all the way in. Instead, he wavered there, not quite entering and it only caused your chest to tighten. You swallowed against the lump in your throat, trying your best to seem collected and not like desperately looking for a clue, anything to give away a single of his thoughts.

Was he hesitating because he wasn’t sure if he was welcomed after ghosting you or was it because he wanted to have an escape route open? He was a strategist, after all; it would be wise to have a chance at escaping the moment he sensed the situation going off rails.

A somewhat torn expression crossed over his face, followed by an expectant one, and you realized he must have been waiting for you to lead.

Again.

Ever the gentleman.

You would have appreciated it and possibly melt into a puddle of sappy goo, because Steve was a sweetheart always… except you hadn’t a clue what you wanted and where you wanted this to lead—well, you did know, but you doubted that would happen.

Your heart ached, a reminder of his confession possibly not being sincere and you being left on your own in your pining.

Shaking your head to free yourself from the cage of your own mind, you attempted a small smile, one that probably came off as super-awkward.

But he needed to cut you some slack, alright.

“Oh. I’m fine,” you finally said, answering the question not quite asked. “I mean… my head spins a little-“ And you’re not helping. “-but mostly I’m here because Tony Stark is being an overbearing ass. I don’t think he would admit that, but he probably feels guilty.”

It was another conclusion your brilliant mind had come to. You know, apart from the fact Steve was ghosting you because he was waking up in cold sweat dreaming about you being interested in him and all that.

But why were you telling him about Tony? Were you really that desperate to see him for a bit longer that you babbled? So desperately trying to postpone the inevitable conversation for later, because once it happened… God only knew what the outcome would be?

Your ears might have been playing tricks on you, but you would swear you heard him murmur ‘I know how that feels’ under his breath.

Hm.

“Good,” he stated, nodding his head as if he needed to assure himself that it was indeed good. “Uhm… it’s good that you’re almost fine.”

“Yeah.”

He was still standing in the doorway and your eyes started burning with unshed tears.

Small talk. Awkwardness. Things unsaid, hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Was this how it was going to be between the two of you now?

And what else did you expect it would be like after you pretended to be a couple? After you kissed? And got tortured together, just in the case you forgot about that?

“What about you?” you forced yourself to ask, willing your voice not to crack. “How you’ve been?”

“Huh? Oh, uhm. Good. Yeah, good. Busy.”

“Right. I-- uhm… I bet-“

“No, actually… that’s a lie.”

You blinked, utterly taken aback at the blatant admission. It was so unlike Steve to be this cruelly honest that you barely registered that his words felt like a punch to your face.

Not that you had ever been punched to your face. Only nearly electrocuted. Which you guessed wasn’t any better.

“Oh.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling bitterly, still not moving from the fucking doorway and you wished you were in his place, so you could just flee.

“I spent half of the time staring at a wall in my office.”

“Oh… uhm.” And like an idiot, because you were one and you had no clue how to react besides bursting into tears, because he hadn’t come to see you and had been staring at a wall instead, you said: “I mean… I guess Stark Tower has some pretty interesting walls.”

This time when he chuckled, the sound was just as breathless, but lighter. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gestured towards the chair by your bed.

“May I?”

No. Nope. You let him in here and the more you look at him and do small talk, the more you’ll want to cry. Tell him no-

“Sure.”

Idiot.

Closing the door and finding his seat, he spoke again.

“Thank you. I… I should have visited. But… I spent hours and hours wondering how to apologize, and I know that it isn’t the best excuse, but I- you--“

You tried to blink away your tears, grateful for Steve staring at the bedsheets and not watching your face when talking. That would be pretty humiliating if he saw your awe-struck, humiliated and entirely confused face; this already was enough.

Apologize? For what? For lying and getting away with it? For telling the truth and then ignoring you? For pretending to care? For caring and suddenly not caring enough? Or for what?

What, what, what-

“-what happened in that basement-“ he continued and the tone he spoke with was already too much to bear— you knew at instant that you didn’t want the answers to your questions.

Not if it meant that you‘d have your heart broken, a wedge driven into the already wide enough raw crack in it.

“Steve-“

“I got you hurt. And I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning his elbows onto his thighs, fingers interlacing as his hands hang loosely between his knees. Wait, what? “I am so, so sorry. That never should have happened-“

Your heart skipped a pleased and relieved beat.

You shouldn’t be getting your hopes up just yet – this wasn’t about what you thought it was, he wasn’t telling you he hadn’t been lying down there, but this possibility hadn’t even crossed your mind. It should have, it made perfect sense that he was feeling guilty, because he was the captain of the team, responsible for them—

You were so wrapped up in your own head, clinging to the fact he admitted he loved you (or not, who the fuck knew), that you hadn’t even considered this.

The revelation explained so much and sounded much more like him than you could imagine and your mind started racing with new possibilities. Maybe… maybe he didn’t—or did he- this was far from him denying that he never wanted to talk to you again and had literally nothing to do with your little truth-or-lie issue, yet you felt an enormous weight fell from your shoulders, a blanket of lead that had been lying on your chest for a while now lift.

You wiggled up so you could sit straighter in the bed.

“Steve, that guy was insane. He drugged you with god knows what, he had you-- wired to something-“

“We shouldn’t have been there in the first place.“

Oh. Oh.

You gulped, your head pounding all over again, ribcage constricting.

Yeah. You supposed that was true. It didn’t mean that it hurt less; no, hearing him to say it out loud hurt more, actually, however, you tried your best to focus on the problem at hand, which was giving Steve whatever forgiveness he craved, no matter it wasn’t his fault in the first place.

“Well. I was the first to agree, if I remember correctly and you were radically against. So if anything, I kinda got us into that mess, so-…”

His cerulean eyes bored into yours, sorrow, self-torment and stubbornness incarnated, as he interrupted you.

“Maybe, but I agreed then and I promised to protect you. You trusted me and I failed you,” he accented, anger lacing his voice. He sighed then when he took a note of that and slowly breathed in and out, sounding much softer when he spoke again. “I’m sorry.”

It was as if you hadn’t said a word in the past minute.

“Steve, you’re… you’re just human. Serum or not, you’re- hell, even superman had his kryptonite and he’s fictional. You’re just— what--what he did to me--- after which I’ll be alright, by the way – that happening doesn’t make you any less of a hero,” you explained sincerely, minutely forgetting your weeping uncertain heart. “I know that you did everything you could. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

The implication that there was something else he should apologize for hang heavy in the air.

“I… about what I said down there-“

“Steve, don’t. You don’t need to explain anything. Whatever happened, however you managed to do that-“

“You think I lied,” he stated dully and you avoided his gaze at that.

You didn’t respond.

If you were being honest, you weren’t sure what to think anymore. Everything was just so damn confusing; his yes, his apology, his sorrow, him avoiding you… it was making you dizzy and it all the wondering had you honestly exhausted.

“I’m a coward.”

That got you snap your head back to him, hundreds of question marks in your eyes. “What?”

A humorless chuckle was the answer.

“I didn’t lie. I mean, I did lie down there once, and the machine caught that. And I got you hurt-“

You wanted to protest, because you’d been over this, but his previous words rang in your ears, confusing and disgustingly hopeful.

He hesitantly reached for your hand, gingerly taking it between both of his own, thumbs tenderly caressing its back. You swallowed the choked noise threatening to escape your throat at the soft touch; deliberate, yet seemingly not uncomfortable to him.

“I was forced to admit how I felt right after I got you hurt and I had no single clue what to do with that. Still don’t. I-I spend hours just sitting here and staring, trying to figure out-“

You successfully – ha, you wished – tuned out the first part, focusing on the latter one, not any less surprising.

“You’ve been here?”

He seemed distracted by that question. “Yeah, uhm-“

“Were… were you here when I woke up?” you asked, another foggy memory flickering in front of your eyes, a memory of him in the chair, the concerned frown on his face, dark circles under his dry eyes, raspy voice-

“You… you remember that? You weren’t even conscious for a full minute. You were out again before the doctor arrived, both times.”

‘Both times.’ He had witnessed you conscious twice.

Just how long had he spent here by your sleeping form?

“I thought-“ I though that I dreamed that up. Apparently, you hadn’t. He… he had been there with you. Oh. “I—so you- oh.”

He waited patiently before all of his words registered in your brain; including the ones about-

“You… weren’t lying?” you asked breathlessly, astonished and warmed from inside out for the second time in the past few days as the realization took roots in your brain, finding the remnants of your previous belief and euphoria.

“No. Not when I- when I said-”

“-yes,” you finished for him, your lips parting in amazement, your heart fluttering in joy.

There was no need to specify which question you were talking about – it was clear as day; about the only one that truly mattered.

“And I’m an idiot. I hurt you again, letting you think that I didn’t care at all and I should have come here, but I had no idea what to do next and if you-- what did you think about it- and I got you hurt-“

“We’ve been over this. Not your fault,” you chastised his distractedly, staring at his face because he was breathtaking and he… he-

His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously and you couldn’t but give him the reassurance he was no doubt seeking; you knew you would in his place.

“I… I was about to say yes. And it wouldn’t have been a lie either,” you offered quietly, a slow smile spreading on your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a watery smile, tears still crinkling in the corners of his eyes as he carefully raised your hand, watching every micro-expression on your face, searching for the tinniest trace of disapproval; finding none, his lips brushed your knuckles with the gentlest kiss.

You melted into the pillow, feeling warm all over, your smile turning goofy as you finally, finally got your answer and wanted to scream it at the top of your lungs, because it was delightful.

Steve loved you.

Steve loves me.

And you loved him.

There was a mess for you to deal with for sure, a lot of explaining ahead, but… what else than the fact that you loved each other was important here?

Nothing. Not really, not at the moment at least.

Something told you this might be the true start of a beautiful relationship.

The non-faked kind.

--and you hunch turned out to be true.

The next day, the very hour of your discharge from the med-wing, Steve was waiting for you; all ready with a car to drive you home, a bouquet of cream-colored tulips in his hand to make your day downright wonderful and for some reason, also with daggers in his glare whenever he sized up the nice doctor who had been keeping you company until Steve arrived.

It earned Steve a kiss on his cheek as he led you to the car with his palm lightly resting on your lower back and if your lips brushed his before you got in, well, no one needed to know.

“Mr. Wilson, you wished me to tell you when the confessions would be made. They were just now.”

Sam glanced up from the screen and stopped scrolling mindlessly through his phone, letting out a long exhale.

Judging by the not-so-ominous tone of the AI – nope, he would never get over the fact that an artificial intelligence could speak in different ways and be sassy on top of everything – the talk didn’t end up tragically. At least Sam hoped; he didn’t think there had been much space for messing it up worse, to be honest.

“Thanks, Friday. It was about damn time. How did it go?”

A record of the infamous interview, showing his two friends making out on live TV lighted up his phone—fucking rude to hack his phone like this, especially showing him that.

“About like this, Mr. Wilson,” Friday explained nonchalantly as if that fucking thing wasn’t in control of his phone.

Sam breathed through the shock caused by the intrusive AI, focusing on the good news before planning on giving Stark another black eye because what the hell, SOME privacy left would be nice and very much appreciated-

“Didn’t exactly need the visual,” he muttered, adding a louder ’but thanks.’

His screen returned to normal and he found himself too tired to get up and find Stark right now; he could always throw it to his face later.

Speaking of planning on throwing words and things at someone’s faces…

Sam realized he had to stand up anyway, because he had a different job to do, now that the two idiot friends of his finally made it past the mutual pining phase and actually got together.

Shoving his phone to the pocket of his jeans, he went to polish his guns; just in case that the big blond dumbass planned on making Sam’s favorite almost-sister cry again.

Note: White Tulips – representing purity, innocence, forgiveness and respect, they would be a great flower for a wedding or to give with an apology. (Cream-colored tulips are closely related and have also a meaning of commitment.)

Tags:

@mermaidxatxheart @bobertswagert @kakakatey @ccolz88-blog @joeyrumlow @lovemeterwrites @jessyballet @bellaireland1981

Thank you for reading and leaving likes! You’ve all been amazing :-* Special thanks for commenting and/or spreading my work, it is greatly appreciated ❤️

If you enjoyed, check out my other works and if you by any change wanted to be added to my S.R. fanfic taglist, let me know and I happily will :-*

#marvel #mcu #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #fake dating #fake dating au #nothing but the truth #anika ann

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littledarlinwrites · 5 years

Text

Enemy Fire

Winter Soldier x Reader

Word Count: about 1k

Summary: What happens when the Winter Soldier finds his soulmate during a battle with Captain America?

Author's Note: this was a request sent in quite a while ago by the lovely (and very patient) @jewelofwinter, I hope you love it dear! Soulmate AU. Beta'd by the fantastic @all1e23 for who I'd be a mess without💕

Warnings: Angst, little bit of torture (but nothing super graphic)

It was a day like any other for the Winter Soldier. Mind wipe, trigger words, compliance, mission orders. He was sent to take down Captain America, a pesky thorn in HYDRA's side. It wasn't until he arrived and began fighting the golden haired man that he spotted you and everything just stood still. Time froze, but not like it had countless times before. He felt things that he had never felt before, the urge to protect being the most urgent. The distraction, however minuscule did not go unnoticed by Brock, and The man the Asset was fighting who was able to lodge his shield in his metal arm.

You ran away from the fight happening in the middle of the street, searching for any sort of place that wasn't locked up for cover. Tossing looks over your shoulder to be sure you were out of the way, you couldn't help but freeze as your eyes connected with soldier in black. The Winter Soldier. For whatever reason, looking into his eyes didn't strike an ounce of fear within you, but a feeling of safety. As Captain America lodged his shield in the man's metal arm a gasp escaped your lips. You turned to continue running, but you ran straight into a man wearing all black with an earpiece in his ear and a smile that made your stomach turn.

"Well, well, look at what a pretty thing we have here." He says as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, a shiver of revolt runs down your spine like ice water, freezing you to the spot. It isn't until he grabs you that you find your ability to move again. You thrash, and kick and squirm trying to get out of his iron grip before you feel something hit your head and your whole world goes dark.

The flashbacks reeled through his mind, the man that he was fighting on the bridge was reaching out to him from a train as he fell. Yelling out one solitary word.

"Bucky!"

Then a man in a white coat, telling him he was the new fist of HYDRA.

The next moments were a blur, but he vaguely remembers pushing a man away from him in a white coat, the clinking of guns, the stimulants too much for his frazzled mind.

"Mission report." A man commands walking in. The soldier too lost in his mind to register the command.

"Mission report, now." It wasn't until the man backhanded him that the soldier comes to.

"The man on the bridge… who was he?"

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment."

"I knew him."

"Who was the girl?"

The soldier remains quiet. He mind focusing on the look in your eyes. Not one of fear, but of recognition, of caring. He knew he couldn't tell the man in front of him what he felt when he laid eyes on you. They would surely find and destroy you if he did. They couldn't afford distractions to their precious asset, and he couldn't afford to lose you, to know that he was the cause of your demise, even if they scrambled his mind again and would forget. This was blood he couldn't stand the thought of staining his hands, his soul. The urge to protect you outweighed the sense to protect himself. He knew they would fry his brain again, he only hoped it would wash away any trace of you if it kept you safe.

"I don't know." He replied, pierce looked towards Brock giving a slight nod of his head before a sinister smile erupted across his face. Brock left the room to go to the one next to it. The one that held you.

You awoke to a man slapping your face.

"How do you know the Winter Soldier?" Confusion marred your face as you tried to unscramble your thoughts. The man in black, the one with piercing blue eyes.

"I- I don't. I swear! Today was the first time I saw him."

"Bullshit. You expect me to believe that a trained assassin, with 70 years of brainwashing and programming that was broken, was simply distracted by a pretty face he's never seen before? Try again sweetheart." The use of the pet name made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Please, let me go! Honest, I won't tell anyone! I don't know him, I swear!" You plead, tears falling down your face as you pull at your restraints tying you down to the chair.

"Wrong answer." He sneers. He walks towards you with a mouthguard in his hand before roughly shoving it in your mouth and walking back to some sort of control panel. The machine behind you groans to life before something covers your head and part of your face.

The hiss of electricity is the last thing you register before guttural screams fill the room and white hot pain erupts behind your eyes.

The soldier hears the pained screams com in ng from the room next to his and his heart sinks, he doesn't know how he knows but he knows it's her. The clinking of gun doesn't phase him as he fights his way out of the room leaving a trail of dead and half dead bodies behind him. The sight of Brock hovering over your shaking, sweaty frame has him seeing red. Protect. He tosses the man across the room like a rag doll making sure the man isn't trying to stand back up after. The sound of your whimper brings him back to focus. Your raw wrists pulling at their bindings with weak strength. Slowly, as not to startle you, he begins to undo them. First your ankles, then your wrists, before he looks into your eyes. Eyes that are frightened, but not of him. Confusion still mares your beautiful features. Soldat finally looks at all of you, checking for any other injuries besides the blooming bruises on your face. The left shoulder of your sweater is ripped where he notices a red star similar to the one on his own, but yours isn't a tattoo, but a birthmark. He pulls the sweater away, just a little to notice you have the same scarring as he does.

"How long have you-?" His question hangs in the air as he stares at your shoulder inquisitively.

"My whole life." You manage to croak out. Your throat sore and dry.

"Soldat-" Brock manages to rumble out before the soldier throws something hard at his head, efficiently knocking him back out.

"Soldat?" The girl in front of him questions, the word tasting wrong on her tongue.

"Bucky, call me Bucky."

#winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky angst #winter soldier angst #soulmate au

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