#monitor home-based agents

[reidmotif]

I’ve Got My Eye On You

Summary: Reader is a Special Surveillance agent assigned to spy on Spencer. He manages to see through her cover, and thoroughly enjoys the confrontation that follows.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, f!masturbation, slight dubcon regarding recorded sex, heavily based on that one scene in scandal, iykyk.

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

I’d always been good at watching people. 

My life had been spent mostly to myself, divulging the information people offered without even realizing. When you talk less, you learn that body language, passing remarks, or even the quirk of an eyebrow gives away more than anyone ever realized– maybe more than an actual conversation at times. 

And I took it all in stride, not a single detail left unanalyzed. People were always surprised when I’d mention my observations, finding a way to explain a seemingly unexplainable situation, those around me wondering how on Earth I could’ve been privy to that. I’d always shrug at their queries. 

Pay more attention, I guess. 

It wasn’t a surprise that I’d ended up here, I suppose, in the end, as an Investigative Specialist for the FBI. I doubt that my listening skills were exactly what landed me the job, but I’d like to believe they contributed more than they actually did. Regardless, I’d never expected the result of the decisions I’d made over the years to lead to this– involved in spying on an agent of our own. 

The infamous "Dr Reid".

His specific circumstances had been shrouded in secrecy and mystery, apparently having just been let out of prison. (Prison? How’s he an agent then? Anyway, not my problem).

 The Bureau had been curious about erratic behavior on his part, and the string of discrepancies involving the unit he was involved in. Apparently, there had been multiple unforeseen and unprecedented events all occurring under the same team in a relatively small time-frame, and despite smaller investigations, nothing came out of them to warrant any real disciplinary action.  Probably why they brought me in, in the hopes of changing that. 

I’d been assigned to put up small, virtually undetectable cameras and listening devices within his apartment. 24/7 home surveillance, no exceptions. I couldn’t help but think that the guy really should invest in better apartment security, despite how easy his naivete made my job. His lack of caution surprised me, given the details I’d been given. For a guy who had a penchant for being framed by the ghosts of his past, he sure didn’t live like it.  Even as an FBI agent, he essentially had no technology to counter my own, and the height of his protection was a standard deadbolt. Was he insane? Unaware, somehow? Only time would tell, I suppose. And I had plenty of that, to watch and deduce the nature of his mind on my own terms. 

My time spent with Spencer resulted in one, overwhelming conclusion. Spencer Reid lived a relatively quiet life. His apartment was barely used, honestly, given the sporadic nature of his job. (Which was a shame, in my opinion, because it’s a nice apartment).  When he was at home, he seemed to remain quite unassuming. The positions I’d see him assume often were that of being hunched over on an aging leather sofa, pouring himself into grading papers, or creating lesson plans for his students. Oh, right. Did I mention he was also a professor? He is. I’d assume he likes the job, given how much of himself he gives into it, or maybe that was just who he was as a person. I wasn’t sure yet. 

I monitored his life outside of the apartment occasionally as well, just to see what intel I could gather with further investigation. There wasn’t much. Coffee shops. Book shops. Coffee. Books. Coffee- God, does the guy do anything else with his life? 

Most days, though, I’d liken him to butter spread too thinly over toast. Sleepless from nightmares that would have him walking around his apartment until daylight broke through the window panes. I felt exhausted just watching the guy, and it seemed insane that he could continue to live on when he left that apartment at the break of dawn. It didn’t seem like he had anyone to talk to, honestly. From what I was seeing, he wasn’t a threat to the Bureau, just a sad, middle-aged man who’d been dealt the most unfair of hands in life. 

I’m sure there’s a moral somewhere in all that. To waste your potential on something that gives so little back. Oh, well. My report was nearly finished at this point, and the most I could recommend the higher-ups was to get Spencer a better therapist, maybe. This one wasn’t really helping, it seemed. Besides that, his personal behavior wasn’t indicative of anything worrying to the interests of those managing him. 

At long last, it was my final night of watching him. Coincidentally, the date lined up with Halloween, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally be free of this specific survey job. Don’t get me wrong, Spencer seemed nice- but God, his life was boring. I don’t want to say it was like watching paint dry,  out of respect, but previous targets had offered at least some part of their life to be interested within. Spencer had nothing. No friends over, no gossip-like phone conversations, no drunk wanderings home. Nothing! I know he didn’t sign up to be watched, but God. 

Like, come on. Give me anything here. 

Needless to say, I’d become accustomed to the quiet, and this night was no different. If he was following schedule, he should be home right about … now. 

Now? 

Now… 

Silence. 

Spencer was definitely a creature of habit, so to not see him adhere to the routine he’d so meticulously stuck to in the past was a bit jarring, but I assumed he was just running late. 

A few hours later, I reasoned he must be running really really late. It was bordering on midnight, and he still wasn’t home. I checked train schedules, possible reports of a car crash, just about anything that could keep him from his scheduled appearance at home. 

I was just about to call my supervisor to look into whether or not he’d been called out on a surprise case, but that’s when the door of his apartment creaked open, and I felt my shoulders deflate in relief. Okay, he was home. He was going to go to bed and- 

He wasn’t alone. 

Spencer was dressed in all black, a leather belt adorned with a gold belt buckle being the only color his outfit brought. He wore tiny devil’s ears upon his head, the headband pushing down on the mop of curls that sat atop his head. He looked absolutely delicious, if I must say myself, and it seemed the woman in his arms would agree with me. 

He practically pulled her into his apartment, kicking his door in with his leg before slightly fumbling with the lock. As soon as the mechanism slipped into place, his hands were all over her, pressing her flush against his body, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them. 

For all the time I’d been watching him, none of his behavior indicated the presence of any kind of significant other, so this girl must be a stranger. If this is how Spencer treated strangers though, I was surprised he didn’t have a barrage of women lining up at his door every night. 

His lips absolutely devoured the girl, his hand cradling the side of her face, before his thigh slipped in between her legs, possibly to soothe a building ache that had built up there in the time they’d spent together, which I found entirely possible, considering I, personally, was heated from simply watching. 

I watched the pixels on the screen with such precision, innocuous shades of red, green and blue painting the most sinful of images. I found myself noting the way his hand snuck up the girls’ dress, the way her breathing hitched as she pulled back, watching as Spencer presumably played with her clit. I could feel myself squeezing my thighs together, recognizing just how wrong it was to be turned on by the scene in front of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t as if this was the first time a target had behaved sexually in front of me. (Or in front of the camera, I suppose.) I’d seen and heard just about anything you could think of, but this was different- in a way. To see Spencer so filthy, so confident, so- interesting. It lit a fire in me that burned with every passing moment he touched this girl. 

I’m able to watch him circle over her panties in a way that has her groaning directly into his ear, a smug grin plastering his face as he watches her every reaction. 

“Like that?” He murmurs, and I’ve never heard his voice so fucking deep.

She nods frantically, and it only serves to widen his grin. I can feel myself rocking slightly in my own chair, doing anything to try and soothe the fast growing arousal within me, unable to stop from imagining myself in her place. His hands, the feel of hot breath down my neck- 

I’m stopped dead in my tracks, however, when his eyes suddenly shift to the camera closest to him, his eyebrow raising, as if in challenge. He continues to whisper in the girl’s ear, and has the galls to wink. I’m horrified, a very sudden and intense heat rising to my cheeks. I can only watch for a second more, before he’s suddenly pulling her away, and I realize he’s taken her  within one of the only blind spots within the apartment. 

I’m scrambling to turn off the feed, stunned into silence whilst, my heart beating uncontrollably and eccentrically. Oh god. He knew. He knew and he did that?! 

I stare into the empty space, a multitude of thoughts inhabiting my brainscape. On one hand, the aplomb shown in that situation was commendable, since most people would react to the knowledge that they’d been secretly watched in their own home for the past few months in a much more hostile way. On the other hand, how did he even acquire that knowledge? The cameras were virtually undetectable, and he’d never let on that he was aware of their presence, and I’d know, considering how closely I’d watched him. 

I shake off the thoughts, focusing on something other than the overwhelming mortification coursing through me now.  

Alright, tomorrow, get into his apartment, remove the cameras, and hopefully never have to look at the man again. In any capacity, honestly. 

When daylight broke, I turned on the cameras for the final time, a bit more sheepish, knowing he was aware of the devices plaguing his home. However, it seemed like he was once again pretending like he wasn’t aware of the looming existence of them, sending his female companion off her merry way once they woke up, before going about his normal routine, heading out of the apartment for what was most likely his morning coffee and then afternoon lecture at the university. 

That was my cue. I turned off the cameras,  quickly making my way out to sneak into his residence, the heavy door offering little resistance to my advances, my movements quiet and undetectable. 

I’m  in the process of removing the final camera I had placed in his bedroom, hidden behind a copy of  The Sign of Four. Doyle. He had good taste, I could give him that. 

I’m just about to turn around and get the hell out of there, when I hear a voice behind me. 

“I noticed that one first, you know.”

I turn around slowly, embarrassed and slightly fearful to find Spencer’s eyes meeting mine. I’d watched him for so long, but seeing him now– his eyes were so beautiful. The camera didn’t do him justice.

He continues, despite the silence. “The other ones were harder to spot, I’ll give you that, but once I knew where they were, it was a bit obvious, don’t you think?” 

I’m speechless. My mouth is agape, and all he seems to do is smile at my lack of prose. 

“Don’t look so surprised. I know this apartment. I’m not here a lot, but I spend enough time to know when things have been shifted around.” His tone is cheeky, and he pauses, almost theatrically to add on:

“I’m sure you knew that though.”  His smile turns into more of a smirk. 

God, did he have to be so hot?

“Are you going to complain to the Bureau?” I manage out, keeping my eyes steady on him. 

“Did you find anything of note to tell them?” He responds, tilting his head with curiosity. 

I shake my head vehemently. “No, um. Nothing pertinent to say.” I get my words out in a hurry, my gaze continually trained on him. 

He meets my eyes with the same stare. “Then I don’t have much of a reason to complain.” 

I nod solemnly. I’m wondering where this situation will lead- what either of our next moves are. Before I can ponder long though, he surprises me and takes a step closer.

“I saw you, you know.” He says. “Thought I was going insane when the same pretty girl kept showing up at the bookstore and coffee shop out of the blue, but I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.” 

“Oh.” I whisper. I really wasn’t as good as I thought I was. 

“You really shouldn’t beat yourself up.” He says, chuckling with some mirth. “Again, I’m observant. I notice these things. That, and you’re pretty.” He says, forward. “So, more of a reason to notice.” 

“Oh.” I reply, yet again, dumbfounded by the events currently transpiring. 

“Yes, oh.” He chuckles, before he starts to move closer yet again. “Tell me. Were you watching last night?” He murmurs, his voice dropping a bit deeper as he directly addresses the elephant in the room. 

I give a movement of affirmation, because at this point, what could he do? What could I do? 

“So you saw.” He mumbles, moving to position himself right in front of me, his eyes darkened and laser focused on my figure. 

“Yes.” I whisper, my voice hushed as our proximity decreased, his breath fanning out over my face now. I’d be uncomfortable, if I wasn’t so distracted. 

“Tell me.” He whispers, letting his calloused finger finally touch my skin, running down my neck. “Did it turn you on? Watching me with her?” 

I feel the familiar heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly widening not only due to the sudden proximity, but also the scandalous nature of his words. Did he mean for me to watch? Was that his plan all along? What was this sick and twisted game he was playing?

“Did it.. get you off?” He whispers, his lips leaning in to kiss lightly at the side of my neck where his finger once was. 

I freeze, leaning into his touch and going statue-like all at once. I can’t help the shakiness of my voice when I reply. “I.. wasn’t neutral.” 

“Mm.” He murmurs, kissing now at my jawline. “Did you get off? When she did?” He whispers.

“I didn’t watch that long.” I reply, helplessly, as I feel his hands start to envelop my waist, pulling me closer to him. 

“What a shame.” He mumbles. “I think you would’ve liked the show. I did it for you.” 

At this point, I can barely speak, a slight moan escaping me instead of a coherent reply as his lips continue to leave warm, wet kisses on the expanse of my flesh. 

“I’m sure you’re curious.” He says, his voice soft and seductive. “Would you like me to show you what we did?”

There’s no hesitation, finally, a resounding thought I can translate from brain-to-mouth for him, in complete certainty.

“Yes.” I manage out, breathlessly. 

He makes a noise of satisfaction, quickly pushing me onto the bed. 

“I’d already gotten her wet by touching her before, but if my suspicions are correct.” He murmurs, his hands working deftly to undo my jeans and feel the wetness that had accumulated in between my thighs. “You already are.” He finishes. 

I let out a small whimper as his fingers touch the heated flesh, unable to help my sensitivity to his small, calculated strokes over my clit through my underwear. His fingers starts to move a bit more aggressively, upon feeling the wet patch that had formed there, the flimsy fabric doing little to hide the stickiness he was now collecting on his fingers. He quickly pulls them off as well though, bringing his slightly damp fingers to his mouth, tasting the hint of my arousal that had accumulated there. His eyes were dark, watching my face for any reaction, and in that moment, I know all he can see is pure want. 

I can see the same hunger within his eyes, and I feel a rush of pride as the approval radiates off of him. 

“What next?” I whisper, already desperate for his next slew of ministrations. I don’t care how needy I looked. I was needy. I’d spent so long watching him, and now he was here.

“She wanted my mouth.” He murmurs, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His thumb brushes over my clit, his tongue running against plump, pink lips, wetting them, watching over me with a predatory gaze. 

Before I can respond, he’s suddenly everywhere, ducking his head and allowing his tongue to brush over my sex in broad, wet strokes. My response is immediate, my hips bucking up to meet him in a frenzied motion. It seems that he relishes in whatever control he can have in this situation, because he quickly holds down my hips in a firm grip, squeezing the fat there while he continued to ravage me. 

I can barely look at him, pretty brown locks splayed in his face, his lips moving hypnotically against my cunt. Little whimpers escape me, absolutely aching for more. He seems to catch on, and flicks his tongue over me, before suckling against my clit. It’s wet, messy, and the picture of debauchery– and it’s enough to drive me over the edge, my hands gripping the sheets as I cry out his name. 

He seems to be unaffected, getting off his knees, his mouth glistening with my release. The sight makes me wish he could do it again, but before I can get a word in, he’s positioning himself over me, caging me against the bed. 

“Then I fucked her.” He whispers, starting to undo his belt with his free hand. “Can I?” 

I nod, feeling a wave of anticipation, before registering the sensation of the head of his cock nudging my entrance. I feel my chest tighten, watching him with bated breath, absolutely exhilarated. 

“Relax.” He whispers, kissing the lobe of my ear. “You’re in good hands.” 

He utters the last word, before sliding into me, a hushed gasp leaving the both of us. He groans in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feel of my warm, wet cunt around him. He takes a moment, before he’s setting a steady pace, his hips bucking rhythmically into me in a way that’s designed to bring us both so much pleasure. 

I can’t help the string of moans that come out with every slide of his cock inside me, my legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer than he already is. My hands grip onto his shirt, clawing onto the fabric to find any purchase, wanting– no, needing him on me. 

Is it odd to wish a stranger could crawl into your skin itself? 

“Fuck, Spencer.” I moan, unabashedly. “You feel so good.”

“You do too.” He groans, his arms braced on either side of my head before gently lowering himself to crash his lips against mine in a messy kiss. 

I can feel myself barreling towards release, as is he, if the twitch of his cock inside me were to mean anything. It’s not long before his hand reaches in between where our bodies are met, rubbing my clit in fast, small circles. It’s intense in the best way possible, my body barely being able to process how good it felt in the moment. 

“Come for me.” He moans, in between kisses. “Wanna feel you around me. Please.”

I can’t help but obey his words, my cunt convulsing around him in obedience as he subsequently finds his release inside me, groaning loudly as his hips thrust erratically. 

He pulls out, and we’re a tangle of limbs, sweaty and sated, breathing heavy. 

Of course, it’s him, yet again, to break the silence. 

“Two things.” He mumbles, breathlessly. 

“Mm.” I reply, weakly, my head a mess of airiness and complacency after the orgasm he’d just brought me to. 

“One. I want your name.” He says, rolling to his side to get a better look at my face. 

“That can be arranged.” I murmur, nodding dreamily. 

“Second.” He whispers, kissing my cheek. His voice takes on a teasing quality to it, before leaning to brush his lips against my ear.  

“You missed a camera. Behind the plant. They don’t stop recording, do they?” 

okay wowww. clearly this was meant for halloween, if you couldn't tell! this is one of those pieces where i'm like.. hmm .. do i like this? question mark? do i want to put it out? hmm .. but regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed it!! please, please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed!!! it is sooo important as an author that i get some feedback and know what you guys think, in any capacity. i truly appreciate all of it <33 thank you for reading, thank you for everything!!!

[marvelseries19]

VANISHING POINT

Chapter One - Castaway

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter Four | Chapter five |

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The mission was successful, however, your return home will not be as easy as you may believe. In fact, you're not sure you would be able to get back.

A/N: It's been a while since I've been excited about writing. So, here is the first chapter. I hope you like it. I rewrote a few times, but I think this is as good as it gets. I would appreciate feedback on it, and any comments, suggestions, questions, or just conversations about it are welcome. There are some posts that I would like for you to check out, there is some info and ideas that I wanted to let you know. If you saw a typo or something, no, you didn't. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries, language, etc.

Word count: 1.2k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The Quinjet hummed steadily beneath your fingertips, the vast stretch of ocean below endless and unforgiving. The ride back to the compound was at least full of beautiful views.

It had been an easy mission, just surveillance on a suspected HYDRA base. It took a week to complete, and now you were on your way home.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling. Just a few more hours, and you would be back home. Back with her.

Your fingers idly reached for the chain around your neck, your thumb grazing over the cool metal of the ring that rested against your collarbone. Natasha’s ring. Your ring.

"So you don’t forget who’s waiting for you," she had murmured the night before, fastening the delicate chain around your neck, leaving a soft kiss at the nape of your neck. You had smiled, shaking your head, but you had worn it beneath your suit every day since.

You were still lost in thought when Control’s voice crackled into the cockpit.

"Quinjet 9, this is Control. We just lost your tracking signal. Do you copy?"

Your brows furrowed. That’s not good.

"Yeah, I’m here. Everything looks fine… But let me check." Your fingers moved swiftly across the controls.

"Check your navigation relay. We’re showing nothing on our grid." A knot of unease formed in your stomach.

"Navigation relay is showing an error," you reported, your voice tight. "Stand by. I'll reboot—" The comms crackled, then cut out.

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

"Control, say again? I'm losing you—repeat last!"

A new sound sliced through the cockpit—a shrill, piercing alarm.

Your radar flashed red. Missile lock. Your blood turned to ice.

"Shit—"

The first blast struck the Quinjet’s side. The impact threw you forward, your head slamming against the seat as the ship lurched violently. The left engine flared and failed instantly.

Alarms screamed. The Quinjet spun into freefall.

"Unidentified hostiles—taking heavy damage! Engines failing—I’m going down!" You shouted into the comms, straining to regain control.

"09, respond! What’s your location?! Agent Sloane, respond!"

You gritted your teeth, forcing your shaky hands over the controls, trying to reroute power. But the ship was already lost. The only thing you could do was brace for impact.

Your fingers clutched the ring against your chest.

Another explosion. The world blurred.

The ocean rushed up to meet you.

And then... Nothing.

—

The tension in the command center was thick enough to suffocate. Maria Hill stood with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the central monitor where Quinjet 9’s tracking data had once been.

Now, just static. Nick Fury stood beside her, his jaw tight, watching the same feed with unreadable eyes. Agent Dawson swallowed hard, headset pressed to his ear as he scanned multiple screens, waiting for anything-any sign of life.

Then—a red alert.

Dawson’s heart dropped.

"No, no, no..."

He straightened, turning toward Hill and Fury. His voice was steadier than he felt.

"We lost Quinjet 9."

Hill’s eyes narrowed. This couldn't be happening. "What do you mean 'lost'?"

Dawson hesitated. "No comms. No signal. No trace. It’s just... gone. We don't know where it is."

Silence.

Fury exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Shit."

A muscle in Hill’s jaw twitched, but she gave a curt nod. "Start a search. Now."

Dawson hesitated. "Are we letting Agent Romanoff know?"

Fury and Hill exchanged a look.

Hill's voice was quieter now, almost resigned. "We'll tell her soon."

But Natasha Romanoff was already walking toward them, worried about not being able to contact you.

And the moment she saw their faces, she knew something had happened.

—

The first thing you felt was pain.

It dragged you from unconsciousness, a dull, throbbing ache that rolled through your entire body in relentless waves. Your head pounded, the world tilting dangerously even though you weren’t moving. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filtered through the ringing in your ears.

You forced your eyes open.

Blurry at first. Then, sharper—too sharp. Sunlight burned against your retinas, forcing you to squeeze them shut again. You tried to shift, but the moment you did, agony tore through your right side.

Your breathing hitched.

Ribs—definitely broken. You pushed through the pain, blinking against the light, taking in your surroundings.

Sand. Golden, coarse grains clinging to your skin. Your tactical suit was torn and streaked with blood and seawater. You were half-buried in the surf, the edges of the tide touching your boots. Further up, debris from the Quinjet was scattered across the beach—twisted metal, shattered glass, pieces of what was once your cockpit.

Shit.

You bit back a groan as you tried to sit up. A sharp, white-hot burst of pain shot through your right shoulder.

Dislocated.

Gritting your teeth, you cradled your arm against your torso, barely holding back a scream. Your ribs protested with every movement, but you had to keep going.

Your left hand found your chain, fingers fumbling until they closed around the ring.

You exhaled shakily.

Natasha.

She had no idea where you were. No one did.

The Quinjet had gone down off-radar. You had no comms, no signal, no way of knowing if anyone was even looking for you yet.

You’re on your own.

For now, at least.

Your forehead throbbed, and when you reached up, your fingers came back slick with blood.

You checked yourself over as best you could. Right shoulder, dislocated; ribs, at least two broken; head, bleeding, probably a mild concussion; and finally your legs, sore but not broken. Good. Small victories.

Breathing through the pain, you forced yourself to move. You needed shelter. Water. Some kind of plan.

But first—the shoulder.

You swallowed hard. There's no way around it. It had to go back in.

You found a rock near the treeline, rough and sturdy enough for leverage. Your breathing was ragged as you planted your feet, braced your body, and slammed your shoulder back into place.

White-hot pain was felt behind your eyes, swiftly dragging you into darkness. Resetting your shoulder—or other joints—was nothing new, but never under circumstances like these or with this many injuries.

The agony was too much for your body to handle. So to protect you, it shut off.

—

A few months ago

"You’re fidgeting."

Natasha’s voice was amused, but there was something softer in her tone, something fond.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing your hands in your pockets. "I don’t fidget."

She smirked, stepping closer, the city lights casting a glow on her freckled cheekbones. "You do when you're nervous."

You sighed, exhaling a shaky breath. It was a stupid thing to be nervous about. You’d faced assassins, HYDRA, and alien invasions, but somehow, this moment felt more terrifying.

You pulled the ring from your pocket. A simple band, strong, unyielding.

Much like her.

Natasha’s breath caught.

"I know we never really talked about it," you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "And I know we’re both terrible at normal, but—"

She cut you off with a kiss, her fingers curling around yours, closing them over the ring.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely a whisper.

"I was waiting for you to ask."

—

You were jerked back to reality by the sharp, relentless pain in your ribs and shoulder, the ache grounding you in the present. But the memory of your marriage proposal still lingered, a warmth that cut through the agony like a lifeline.

You flexed your fingers. It worked.

Barely conscious, body trembling, you let your fingertips brush against the ring resting against your chest. A reminder. A promise.

And with that, you forced yourself to your feet.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Insufferable to the Core

Ratchet x Reader - transformers prime

The children were insufferable, his growing concern for them was insufferable, but you… you brought him the most suffering of all. And the worst of it was that you didn’t even know it, because all that you did was to try and make things easier for him, doing whatever you could to hold back the children in hopes of giving him a break.

He’d openly complained about having to watch over Miko all the time or keeping his optics on Rafael to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, being as small as he was, and even Jack tended to come up with mischief, especially when Smokescreen was in the picture.

But you… You and your insufferably kind smiles and softly spoken words were meant to soothe, to calm him. You’d once said you’d never wanted to be a mother, but Ratchet found that hard to believe because acting like a mother was something you did so very well. You made Rafael feel seen and appreciated, you helped calm Miko’s explosive and wild tendencies by engaging her imagination, and you gave helpful advice to Jack, who in turn appeared to listen to you quite well.

The children adored you, and so did he.

That is what made you insufferable, because how could you ever feel the same? You were human, first and foremost, and he was an old mech with a short temper who was good for little else than patching up his team when they were hurt, and even that he didn’t see as entirely too useful, because he still hadn’t found a way to fix Bumblebee’s voice box, so what good was he?

What good was he in comparison to someone young like Smokescreen, who seemed to have taken a great liking to you, or to someone as wise and strong as Optimus, who so clearly had a soft spot for you?

And you, lovely, beautiful you… Was it pity that made you come to him? Pity that drove you to ask him how he was, how his day had been, if he’d recharged enough or gotten enough energon? Was it pity that forced you to forgive him when he’d shouted at you…

He could still remember the way your face had fallen, how your eyes had welled up with tears, and how you’d swallowed thickly as you held back your hurt. You’d smiled at him, sadly, and apologized for bothering him before you’d left to return home.

Home… You didn’t live in Jasper, you didn’t even live on the same continent, but circumstances and bad luck had made your paths cross, and though Agent Fowler had wished – wanted to force you – for you to move there, you had adamantly refused to permanently leave your home. You were steadfast like that, and he could understand your reasoning.

If Cybertron wasn’t dead, then he’d refuse to leave it too if he’d been offered a place to live on Earth. And yet… If he’d done so, then he’d never had the chance to meet you. Would he have wanted that?

“Ratchet?” your voice called, and he turned. You were smiling, beaming in fact, as you hauled a massive present in front of you. It sagged against the floor, and you huffed as you caught your breath. “Lost in thought? Busy with work as always, I assume?” you asked, smiling still as you put your hands behind your back.

You were giddy about something.

“Yes, I am busy, so mind telling me why you’ve decided to interrupt me now?” he asked and turned back to the monitors, attempting to return to work before you loudly cleared your throat. He moaned in annoyance but turned to fully face you this time. “What is it?”

“Your present!” You chirped, grinning and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Present?”

“It’s Christmas,” you said, as if that explained everything.

He’d heard the children mention it, heard you most of all as you’d brought a tree into the base; fake, of course, and you’d spent such a long time decorating it and the platform you and the children spent your time on, that Ratchet had thought you’d passed out from exhaustion once you’d finished.

No, no, you’d said. You’d only been resting atop the carpet you’d brought. Just resting, not sleeping. Yes, as if he was supposed to believe that. It had been difficult to resist a small smile at the sight of you, splayed out like that, half asleep.

“Right. Christmas. I must have forgotten,” said Ratchet, holding back the fact that he hadn’t bothered to remember it. Human traditions held little importance to him, but as you stood there, beaming like the sun, he could almost feel a small sense of wonder at what you’d brought him. It was huge in comparison to you; massive.

He took it and felt the softness against his servo. Tearing gently at the paper, he revealed something long and woolly in his colours. Pulling it out, it stretched and stretched until finally, it hung limply in the air. What—

“A scarf! I know you don’t need to wear one, and I’m not sure if you even want to, but I didn’t know what else to make that would be easy for you to wear, sooo,” your grin widened, and Ratchet’s spark gave a pleasant pulse, “a scarf! Took me eleven months to finish it. That’s the reason why I’ve been so sluggish these past months. Had to stay up rather late in order to finish it in time.”

“You…” Ratchet felt speechless, and his spark continued to pulse with warmth, making him almost dizzy from the sensation alone. “You made this… for me?” he asked, and your eager nodding forced him to look down, right at the scarf still held in his servo. He had no use of it, none whatsoever, but it was soft and pleasant, and it was made by you.

You’d spent valuable time; time that your preciously short human life didn’t have much of, on something like this? And just for him alone? You clearly didn’t have anything else with you, and you must have waited until he was alone before you approached him.

You’d wanted to be alone with him so you could give this to him…

“I… I have nothing to give in return,” he said, and he felt embarrassed and stupid for not thinking of it. You’d been so excited for Christmas; he should have thought of something for you.

“A kiss,” you said.

Ratchet almost dropped the scarf as he stumbled on nothing.

“What?!”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you looked down; shy.

By the AllSpark, you were far too precious.

“…” Ratchet glanced around. “… Come closer.”

Your face grew redder as if you hadn’t expected him to agree, but you approached and stood flush to the railing, turning your head slightly to present your cheek. However, a digit came to tilt your chin forward, and carefully, as though you were made of glass, Ratchet gave you a gentle kiss on the lips.

It made his spark tingle, and it made your heart soar.

“Merry Christmas, Ratchet,” said you, voice soft as you smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas, sweetspark,” said he, returning your smile.

Perhaps you weren’t as insufferable after all, and perhaps Ratchet has found a human tradition that isn’t quite as strange or worthless as he first believed, because as it has helped in finally revealing how you truly felt about him, then it certainly couldn’t be all that bad.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Have any ideas on how a spy's job would work? I'm struggling to write about one

Writing Notes: Spy Characters

In the intelligence world, a spy is strictly defined as someone used to steal secrets for an intelligence organization.

Also: agent or asset; a spy is not a professional intelligence officer, and doesn’t usually receive formal training (though may be taught basic tradecraft). Instead, a spy either volunteers or is recruited to help steal information, motivated by ideology, patriotism, money, or by a host of other reasons, from blackmail to love.

From an intelligence perspective, their most important quality is having access to valuable information. For this reason, a government minister might make a great spy—but so might the janitor or a cafeteria worker in a government ministry.

Espionage - process of obtaining military, political, commercial, or other secret information by means of spies, secret agents, or illegal monitoring devices; sometimes distinguished from the broader category of intelligence gathering by its aggressive nature and its illegality.

Double Agent - someone who works for two sides.

Intelligence - In the spying world, intelligence means information collected by a government or other entity that can help guide decisions and actions regarding national security. But intelligence can also mean the process by which that information is acquired

How are spies recruited? Spies are recruited via an approach or pitch by a case officer. This often seeks to persuade the individual through appealing to ideology, patriotism, religion, ego, greed, or love, or sometimes by using blackmail or some other form of coercion. 

How do spies go undercover? Intelligence officers often operate abroad under some form of official cover, perhaps as diplomats in an embassy. Others operate without the protection of their government and must create a convincing cover that explains their presence and activities in a country—a businessperson, perhaps, or a student. The Russians call these officers “illegals,” the Americans call them “NOCs” (for Non-Official Cover). If caught, they’re on their own, and face arrest, even execution.

How do spies communicate?. Face-to-face meetings can be impractical, even deadly—especially if spies are caught red-handed passing or receiving classified information or carrying spy equipment. That’s why sharing information relies on covert communication or COVCOM. Methods include secret writing (such as invisible ink or tiny microdots) or sending and receiving secure messages using special technology (often concealed or even disguised to look like everyday objects).

How much does a secret agent make? Professional intelligence officers receive salaries based on their level of experience, like all government employees. Few own vintage Aston Martin DB5s and order beluga caviar on a regular basis. Spies can earn a lot more money, though. In the 1980s, CIA officer Aldrich Ames received over $4 million from the Soviets for betraying US secrets, enough to buy himself a half-million-dollar home in cash and a flashy red Jaguar. But living beyond his salary aroused the suspicions of US intelligence, which ultimately led to his arrest.

The Intelligence Cycle

Refers to the process through which spy agencies acquire information. It consists of at least 5 stages:  

Planning: Decision-makers task an intelligence agency to acquire information on certain topics or specific issues of concern (“requirements”). 

Collection: This is where the spies, agents, case officers, tech ops, scientists, hackers, and others come in, acquiring information from different sources in a myriad of creative ways. 

Processing: Collected information needs to be narrowed down, prioritized, and put into some kind of digestible format. This might also involve having to decode information. 

Analysis: This is the stage where collected information becomes something useful that decision-makers can use: intelligence.

Dissemination: Intelligence agencies get the final product to the decision-maker or “customer.” Of course, it’s quite possible that this might prompt more questions… and the intelligence cycle begins all over again. 

Tips on Writing About Spies

Some tips from different sources:

Being a real-life spy isn’t always James Bond-glamorous. Spies are typically brilliant when it comes to reading people—your spy character needs to be curious and patient. It may take seven years for a spy to get their footing.

Normal people make the best spies. In real life, handlers are looking for a Regular Joe or Plain Jane with access—they don’t want someone who sticks out in a crowd or whose life is in disarray. They also want someone who is honest and immediately willing to own up to any mistakes they might have made. (Elizabeth Bentley may have had problems with this.) So, having a character who is bland as vanilla (at least on the outside) may work well in your favor.

Your spy could be overheard at any moment. It’s a good idea to have your spy flip on the radio to cover important conversations, or meet in a loud restaurant. (Which also solves the problem of having a potentially bugged apartment.) Even better is to meet near a water feature—the sound of falling water is unique and difficult to filter out even in modern-day recordings.

Spy gadgets are really cool. Ticking off the KGB is not. If your spy character runs afoul of the KGB (or one of its many predecessors), be prepared for creative assassination attempts that may or may not make use of more lethal spy gadgets. (Just ask Bohdan Stashynsky, a KGB officer who used a cyanide spraying spray gun to assassinate two Ukrainian nationalist leaders.) In a pinch, the Russians might resort to a tactic like Leon Trotsky’s ice pick to the face, but either way, it’s not going to be much fun for their target.

You need a good reason to be a spy. Idealists often make the best spies, but there are other motivations that might get your character to join up with the CIA, KGB, or some other spy organization. Does your character need the money being offered? Are they looking for a sense of purpose or belonging? Do they have an axe to grind with the government? Also, remember that the CIA doesn’t coerce people into informing for them. The Russians, on the other hand… Well, they’re a different story. 

Don’t draw portraits of spies, but draw portraits of people who happen to work as spies. The choices they make in their lives emerge from who they are, and those choices might conflict with the requirements of their spy work. The spy’s job may be to suborn friends, lie to adversaries, betray a trust, but it is the spy’s nagging, perhaps inconvenient, humanity that makes them suffer their choices, and excites the reader’s empathy.

Writing Tips: Spy Thriller

A step-by-step guide to writing a spy story with international intrigue and non-stop action:

Think of a killer concept. There are a lot of spy novels out there, so you need to come up with a story that has a new and unique angle. If you’re a history buff and have a specific area of interest—like Russian operatives, Nazi Germany during WWII, or American soldiers in the Middle East—go with where your passion lies. Come up with a fresh idea that people won’t feel like they’ve read before. Do some research. Find inspiration in real-life spy stories to tell yours.

Get familiar with spy tools. From spy cameras to surveillance equipment, the cool tools and gadgets of espionage fiction are part of what makes the genre fun. Get to know spycraft and tradecraft—the technology and techniques real spies use to track the enemy. Read news stories to see how espionage works today or in the time period you’re writing about. While espionage can also be incorporated into another genre, like science fiction, for the most part, spy novels emerge from actual events. That doesn’t mean you need to just use real tools of the trade. Create your own spy tech for your story.

Create an incredible protagonist. From Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, a CIA agent first introduced in The Hunt for Red October, to Ian Fleming’s most famous secret agent, James Bond, the protagonists of spy stories have long been ingrained in popular culture. Create a main character who readers will root for and who will persevere no matter what obstacle you throw in their way.

Send your character on a world-saving mission. Think about James Bond. His heart-pounding missions crossed international boundaries, and they always involved more than just taking down a bad guy: He always had to stop a massive attack that would kill innocent people. You need to justify the intense action by making the consequences big. To do this, start by coming up with your antagonist. Who are they and where are they from? What is their goal in the story? Once you know that, you’ll have your protagonist’s quest that will propel your plot.

Write highly visual action scenes. Red Sparrow and The Bourne Identity are action-packed films based on bestselling espionage novels. Spy books make great movies because the action translates well to the screen. When you sit down to start your story, think in pictures. Readers are expecting action so you need to lead with a dramatic scene that shows your protagonist at work in a perilous situation. You’ll need a few of these big scenes throughout your story—not to mention the climax which has to be big, suspenseful and, yes, visual. Use descriptive words to get the reader into the middle of the pulse-racing scene.

Use page-turning literary devices. Plot twists, cliffhangers, dramatic irony, foreshadowing, red herrings: When you write a spy novel, you’ll get to employ literary devices you might not have used before. To write a real page-turning story of espionage, make sure you take advantage of the tools that literature has to offer for maximum suspense.

You can also read about real life spies to guide your writing. Some examples:

John Walker (American spy)

Donald Maclean (British diplomat and spy)

Mata Hari (Dutch dancer and spy)

Nancy Hart (Confederate spy)

Audrey Hepburn as a WWII resistance spy

Famous Women Who Were Secretly Spies

Some of history’s most notable spies

List of spies

Some Terminology: Espionage

Agent - A person unofficially employed by an intelligence service, often as a source of information.

Black Bag Job - Secret entry into a home or office to steal or copy materials.

Clean - Unknown to enemy intelligence.

Dangle - A person who is made accessible to a foreign intelligence agency with the intent of being recruited by that agency to then work as a double agent for the person’s own country.

Eyes-Only - A designation signifying who may read a specific, classified document.

False Flag - A deliberate misrepresentation of motives or identity; an operation designed to appear as if it were conducted by someone other than the person or group responsible for it.

Ghoul - Agent who searches obituaries and graveyards for names of the deceased for use by agents.

Honey Trap - Slang for use of men or women in sexual situations to intimidate or snare others.

Innocent Postcard - A postcard with an innocuous message sent to an address in a neutral country to verify the continued security of an undercover operative.

L-Pill - A poison pill used by operatives to commit suicide.

More spy-related terms: 1 2 3

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[ronearoundblindly]

Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve. 

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.” 

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left. 

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America. 

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you. 

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again. 

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real. 

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job? 

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.” 

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes. 

“On your six, Cap.” 

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out. 

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ. 

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.” 

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet. 

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise. 

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.” 

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

 “I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it. 

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[aste-te05]

Would you fall in love with me again?

A Optimus Prime x Human! Reader fic

Chapter 2: Problems Follow You

"Well this was a pretty positive outcome I'd say, I was pretty sure it was going to be a bit more..." he begins towards you pausing as you look at him and cock a brow. This man is really starting to get on your nerves, maybe if you get on Optimus' good side you can even have him banned from the base.

"Poorly?" you add. He looks at you and gives you an affirmative nod, shrugging as he does so.

You shake your head, not amused at the situation and choosing from now on, to just let whatever this agent- or general- say go in one ear and through the next. His poor choice of throwing you into the metaphorical deep end of the pool before letting you acclimate to the water is going to bite him in the ass later.

"So what now agent Fowler? Do I need to do a 'Welcome To The Team!' Quiz?" You say sarcastically, Optimus, whether it be his own choice, or him not wanting to leave you alone since if you ever got the chance you'd rip Fowler's head off his shoulders. Has been standing next to the two of you, watching the shit show unfold slowly as he continues to keep an eye on your already seemingly shaken frame, which more or less, kind of freaks you out.

"I think the next step is to get you introduced to the base and the rest of the team. You'll be staying with them until your house is done so it's best to get used to your new... housemates." Oh if he wasn't on thin ice before he is now,

He gives you a slight look, guiding you to what you assumed is the "hangout spot" or "main room" of the base. Optimus continues to linger in the area as he watches your eyes trace the ladders and platforms of your new place of residency. He watches in mild amusement every time you give Fowler a small scowl, or look of disgust. Between all the humans he's met in his lifetime you stood out to him. Continuing to monitor you both, he begins to remember the conversation he had earlier with Agent Fowler, it replays through his head loud and clear.

"She's one in a billion Prime, are you sure you want her on your team? I swear up and down there was steam coming up out of her ears when she saw what happened to her house. Thought she'd have to be restrained even." Whether it was Fowler exaggerating or just giving him the plain truth, Optimus gave no care for it. Fowler has been briefing him here and there ever since the incident. He can't help but feel guilty in a small sense. He was there, He saw what happened to your house, more so who happened.

It was suppose to be a recon mission, an energon mine has been sensed nearby and he took it upon himself and Bulkhead to investigate and do a perimeter check. Upon searching for the mine he found your house, a three story monstrosity, surrounded by open fields that seemed to go on for miles on end . He couldn't help but be charmed by your yard work with the vibrant flowers you planted all those years ago, the fairy lights you strung on your back patio, furnished with pieces of furniture and what he thought was a fireplace. It was a humble piece of work and he couldn't help but take it all in, he admired humans and their creativity he more so lacked himself. Turning away he looked at Bulkhead who seemed to be staring at his tracking device that sat in his hand rather worriedly.

"Seems like we got some special guests." They both looked at the sky to hear the sudden sound of jets flying ahead of them, he knew those weren't human jets, the way they moved, the way they glided like they owned the skies. He was all too familiar with the sight of Starscream and his Armada. In a flash the flying jets transformed mid air, landing in the soft grass behind where he and Bulkhead stood.

"Keep them away from the humans home Bulkhead, we must leave with no evidence that we were here." Optimus ordered, moving into something similar to a battle stance as Bulkhead did the same, nodding as he took note of Prime's order. Optimus knew how clumsy Bulkhead could be, how he doesn't monitor his surroundings as well. He vowed that this would be a battle fought swiftly and cleanly.

"You really think you'll leave without any fresh marks Prime!? How foolish of you both." The seekers shrill voice played through his head, it rung and pounded him like a hammer.

"I will see to it myself Starscream, that the only one leaving with fresh marks, is you." He draws out his energy blaster, ready for the offense attack.

----

"You okay Prime? Lost in your own bot fantasies or something?" Fowlers voice rang through the Primes mind as he snapped back to reality. He stayed standing confused as he looked at the pair. Only to see you yourself lost in thought as well, all the while glaring at the agent beside you. A sight that made Optimus smile to himself every so slyly.

"Sorry to interrupt, we were just about to take a look at the weapons room, care to join? so you can keep an eye on her?" The special agent remarks, giving you an odd look. Optimus can only nod silently as he continues to follow the two earthlings fairly close behind, keeping his eyes on the back of the females head, watching and waiting. Almost like he was scared she'd suddenly disappear after he just promised no harm would come onto the small human. Like something was just going to swallow her from the ground and take her away from here.

----

As you listen to Fowlers tour of the base you can't help but grow bored of the mans many speeches. Since when did you need a tutorial on how to survive a robot playground? Last you heard there wasn't such a thing. You take notes of the many towering doors your group passes, maybe they're the robots bedrooms, best to stay out of those. Not that you'd even run around here without supervision, this wasn't your home so you'll stay in one place majority of your stay. As you continue to walk the long winding hallway, you find your legs growing tired, a yawn escapes your already sleep deprived body, as you shoot Fowler a quick apology and cover your mouth you glance back at Optimus. your shocked to find him already staring back at you.

Has he been doing that the entire time?

You smile and give him a slight wave, turning your attention back to the tour, relief washing over you as you find yourselves back in the main room, seeming that the halls were just a simple long loop. Thank god.

"Alright well I'll be off then, base called and they said they need my assistance else where." You shoot the man another mean look. He seems to almost shrink under your gaze.

After everything that's happened he's going to leave you?? Just like that?? what an absolute asshole of a guy.

After a few awkward seconds Fowler continues to let out a small chuckle quickly rushing towards the elevator, and hurriedly gets inside, as he presses the button to the top, he gives a stern salute to you and Optimus before the pair of doors close on him.

As the sound of the elevator fades, you can't help but sway where you stood, like a little kid swishing their arms around as they wait for their mom to stop talking to the cashier at the register. You continue to sweat, looking around to say something, ANYTHING to keep this conversation between you and the big boss bot going. Finding nothing to say, you sigh before you turn to look up at him.

"So uh Optimus, I don't assume you have a bed I could possibly stay in for the duration of my time here? I'm sorry if it's rude to ask or if this is against your rules of hospitality but-" You pause momentarily, not wanting to get caught in a long rant you just sigh. "-I'm sorry that was rude, I just need to rest if that's okay." you admit, the lack of sleep hit you like a bus since you found your home in ruins. You had to rely to sleeping in your Jeep of all things, a bed was all you could really ask for in this case.

Optimus seems to be in deep thought, looking around the base searching for somewhere comfortable he could keep you, somewhere where he wouldn't have to worry about. It was this, that made you realize he did not in fact have a place for you to stay. Not a bed nor anything comfortable for you to rest on.

"It seems that Special Agent Fowler has not yet informed me that you would be in need of furniture to rest. If you need, I'll call him to let him know of the complication and we'll soon get it figured out. My apologies." He proceeded to put his finger to what you assumed was a com link of sorts. Not wanting to hear the complaints of the man of many words himself you tell him there's no need to bother him at this time so soon, that you'll easily find a place to lay.

The giant seems almost unsure, as he gives you a short apology. you reassure him and allow yourself to walk around in search of somewhere to safely snooze.

God this is gonna be the worst few months of my life.

__________________________________________

GOT ANY ONE SHOT IDEAS OR THOUGHTS YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE ON THE STORY!? My inbox is open feel free to ask or say anything I’m all ears! Everyone’s Welcome!

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT, After every saga I will be making an animatic based off of the story so once this ends feel free to look out for it <3 links will be posted at appropriate times

!!STORY IS ONGOING PLEASE BE PATIENT!!

-Jen

[emsromanoff]

The fire in her eyes | part 2

She was Hydra’s secret weapon—firebound, nameless, and controlled. When the Avengers storm the last hidden base, Natasha Romanoff comes face to face with the girl behind the flame. A mission becomes a rescue. And maybe… something more

pairings: Natasha romanoff x female OC

Word count: 1,6 k

Chapter two | Ember

Wrapped in a thermal blanket, secured to a med-stretcher in the Quinjet, she looks deceptively peaceful. Her face, though young, bore the quiet weight of something ancient—like a storm long held back. Even unconscious, her skin radiate faint warmth, and her fingers twitch now and then, like sparks trying to reignite.

Natasha sat nearby with crossed arms, watching over her. There is something innocent about the girl in front of her, despite the dangerous fire that almost killed them a few minutes earlier.

“She is stable.” Bruce speaks up quietly, double checking her vital signs. “Vitals are strong. But her neural readings are…all over the place. Like someone scrambled her brain and hit repeat.”

“Hydras version of a lullaby.” tony murmured from across the cabin, face lit by the hologram in front of him. His eyebrows are tensed in focus. “Jarvis is still decrypting the files we pulled from the base. Her name is Amaliya Morozova. 25 years old. Victim of an Hydra experiment called project Hecate with the purpose to create a mutant with fire related powers.”

The team is quiet for a moment, processing the information. Natasha is still staring at the young woman. Amaliya Morozova. “She is russian.” she says softly. Something about her face and the name was familiar, not to Natasha personally, but in a cultural, almost painful way. A memory of home. A reminder of what has been stolen both of them.

The jet hummed steady in the sky. Outside the world turned slowly dark as they cut through the atmosphere of new York.

“Do you think she will remember anything when she wakes up?” Bruce ask the group.

Steve stood beside the cockpit, arms crossed. “I don’t know. She will need space and time. But when she wakes up, we need answers.”

“I will talk to her.” Natasha said firmly. “Alone.”

Tony shot her a glance. “You sure thats a good idea? The last time she was awake she lit up the room like a barbecue pit.”

“I am. Jarwis hacked the mind control. Its save.” Natasha answers.

Steve speaks up, not excited by the idea of Natasha talking to her alone once she is awake.

“Natasha we don’t know anything about her. Maybe she is a sleeper agent, and is ready to harm us even without hydras mind control.”

“I saw something in her eyes. She wasn’t gone, she is still in there. I’ll be careful.”

Tony didn’t argue anymore, neither did anyone else.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical wing

Hours later, Amaliya wokes up slowly. Her body aches - burns, really. Her head feels like someone had driven nails into her skull. She blinks a few times. She registers white lights, clean sheets and the faint sound of the beeping monitors. She sats up with a jolt, flames sparkling from her fingertips, but nothing caught fire. Her powers have weakened. There was a glass panel in the wall for observation. Then she heard a soft voice speaking up, the russian accent slightly noticeable.

“You are awake.”

She turned her head. The redheaded spy stands in the doorway, arms crossed and dressed in a black tactical gear. She looked calm, but guarded, like she was ready for everything.

“Where am I?”

Amaliya speaks up in a quiet voice.

“Safe.”

The firebender scoffs and her eyes narrow.

“That word means nothing to me. Where am I?”

“Avengers compound.” Natasha replied. “New York. Far away from Hydra. We shut down the control protocol. You are free now.”

Amaliya lays back again the pillow again, feeling too tired to sit up. She tries to keep her voice steady, not wanting to seem weak. She responds dry:*

“Free? Thats what you call hacking someone’s brain open?”

Natasha sits down carefully on the chair next to the bed. She says softly:

“We had to. You were killing people.”

These words make her silent for a few moments and her eyes dart away from the redhead next to her, the blurry memories of everything she did running through her mind. Natasha speaks up again:

“It wasn’t your fault. You were being mind controlled for months.”

Amaliya voice sounds bitter.

“So what - you expect me to sleep better knowing it wasn’t ‘me’? You think that erases what I did? They made me a weapons.”

“I know. I was one too.” Natasha said gently.

Her eyes snap up, suprised. Not mocking, but in a curious way. “And now?”

“Now.. I am something else. Took time. Took people who care about me. I know what its like to wake up and not recognize yourself. And I think you are still in there... Under all that fire.” The spy explains.

Amaliya swallowed hard. She wasn’t ready to believe it, not yet. But for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like burning the world down. After a moment of silence, Nat stands up from the chair.

“I am gonna let you rest now. You need to recover. We will check on you regularly. And by the way, my name is Natasha.”

With these words, she leaves the room silently, leaving her with alone with her own thoughts and surrounded by silence.

[slushie5544]

(1/2) A New Year, Same Old Love

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62014474/chapters/158590699

Yes this is based off @msmimundo ‘s new years comic! It started as a one-shot but then this happened so enjoy the first part of this Perryshmirtz New Years two-shot (If you squint enough this could be a song fic..)

Word count: 2,508

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

A bright purple blast from Heinz’s disguised inator blasted over the crowd of excited partygoers as they blissfully watched the New Year ball drop; not even registering the unknown light that flashed over them. However, Perry didn’t move from his spot, with arms crossed over his chest and a neutral expression he merely watched as his long-time nemesis finally ‘defeated him’. Even when Heinz gloated about his success and tried to get everyone to follow him to take over the Tri-State area, the platypus stayed in his seat. He knew this plan wouldn’t work out as someone mentioned, -no one ever keeps their New Year resolutions!

Hey, it was a New Year, and even an ‘evil’ scientist deserved a win occasionally. It was a short-lived victory, but seeing that wide, crooked smile and hearing his boisterous laugh made it worth it for the platypus. Perry had to fight back his smirk when he noticed how frustrated Heinz was becoming at the realization that his plans were once again foiled; it was a silent joy the agent took pleasure in. That is until he was called out for still throwing his usual punches and over-the-top cartoony violence despite knowing what would happen. His eyes softened and shoulders raised with a grin curling the side of his beak- because that’s what they do!

Finally, figuring his job was done here, Perry hopped down from the stoop and b-lined it for a side door before any of his family members noticed his presence. Just barely making it to an exit, he looked over his shoulder at the large monitor broadcasting the kids celebrating together back at home. Heinz was gone from the stage, something panged within his chest, but the platypus shook his head and turned to the mob of people near the dancefloor- He couldn’t have gone far.

Couples, friends, and family were all gathered together too enthralled in each other’s company to pay much mind to anything else around them. On the other side of the room were three familiar faces he had been trying to avoid all night- Oh, the irony.

However, instead of turning away, Perry paused and watched his family members enjoy their night together. Candace and her boyfriend were almost like a couple from a fantasy, their sways and spins had them completely take up the room, but their focus was solely on the other. It was as if they were in a fairytale just like the stories Linda would tell her daughter on nights when the little girl couldn’t sleep. Though he’d never admit it to himself, Perry enjoyed the stories as he curled up at the end of her bed to keep company on those especially hard nights. Seeing Jeremy dipped and twirled, Candace brought back that strange tightness to the agent’s chest, but he quickly shook the feeling with a roll of his eyes. He had to remember this was reality, not some made-up fantasy world! Besides, Perry never saw himself as any of kind ‘prince charming’ he always preferred the idea of being a knight instead; plus Heinz would never accept being the ‘damsel in distress’!- Maybe some kind of mischievous alchemist or a warlock.

As both teenagers continued maneuvering through the crowd he spotted Linda and Lawrence dancing together. With interlocked fingers and slow steps together, the married couple leaned their heads against one another while blindly guiding each other. They didn’t need to open their eyes though, having done this dance hundreds of times all they needed was to trust one another. It was as if they were completely cut off from the party’s loud and lively atmosphere; instead, they were lost in each other’s presence and went at their own pace. It was a type of love that only bloomed after years of knowing and accepting one another from the inside and out. From the smallest quirks to even the downright insane ideas they come up with because they were meant for each other as husband and wife. The two embraced one another in a kiss which Perry had to tear his eyes away from to look at his empty teal paws which clenched then opened against his chest- What color would look the best if that ever happened? Wait…

Before his thoughts could get the best of Perry he turned to the exit door that had been his escape route only to be met by a pair of legs that blocked the path. However, his mind only spiraled back to the images he had been trying to shake off as the person in thought stared him down with those midnight hues. A smirk twisted on the man’s lips as he stepped closer and adjusted his bowtie.- OH NOW HE SHOWS UP!?

“Well, well, well, Perry the Platypus… Leaving so soon? The party’s just getting started!” the agent took a step back with fists raised, but Heinz quickly stepped forward with his hands in the air. “No seriously! It’s a New Year’s party and everyone is so busy mingling that the buffet is completely up for grabs! I was thinking about taking a dish or two home honestly and…” Perry lowered his paws and arched an eyebrow, to which his nemesis let out a sigh and started rubbing the back of his neck, “Listen, my plan may not have worked out quite like I thought, b-b-but I still technically won a-and every time you win you always just up and leave, well not this time! New year, new me baby!! Now as the official winner, I do believe a reward is in order!”

With a half-smirk that rivaled Perry’s, Heinz extended a hand out for his nemesis to grab. The agent took a slight glance over his shoulder, his family was on the other side of the wave of people, though he figured if they hadn’t seen him on the stage then perhaps the other was right.- They’re so busy with one another that they wouldn’t even notice.

“Oh come on Perry the Platypus, are you cold feet, or should I be the one to lead this ti-eaahh-!?”

Heinz hadn’t even finished his tease when the small platypus jerked him forward with enough force to cause him to stumble into the crowd. Thankfully, Perry was able to catch the back of his suit before he hit the ground, with another forceful yank backward the platypus caught the taller man with both of his paws looped under his slim back. Thankfully Heinz's heightened reaction time always came in handy as he quickly maneuvered and balanced in the mammal’s grip by bending his knees and encircling his arms around the agent. With wide eyes, Heinz tried to chuckle over the rising lump in his throat as half-lidded chestnut orbs stared back at him. The flush of red started from his ears and he could feel the rush make its way to his face. Heinz started thinking maybe he should’ve found an outfit with fewer layers.

Perry gave a chirr of satisfaction and brought the other back up to his feet, but just for added flair he also took the man’s arms, spun him in a circle then caught his hands again. Once he finally got his balance, Heinz realized he was already following in step with the platypus. Paw in hand, the two mirrored one another and kicked to the beat of the music. However, all they could hear was the thumping of their hearts against their chest as the duo kept up with one another no matter the surprise. When Heinz took both of his paws and crouched to his level, Perry saw a glint of mischievous delight which he quickly understood. Always one step ahead of his nemesis the small mammal hopped in the air so he could be swung once, then twice before somersaulting in the air so he could land on Heinz’s arched back.

“You always have to show off in some sort of way, don’t you? I bet you wouldn’t be as flashy if we were similar heights! Well no matter, because no one can resist the ultimate dance move, the bee’s knees! Muahaha, I guess you can say this is my plan Bee! I’m just buzzing with all kinds of plans this year! Oh, I’m sorry are my amazing puns bugging you? Didn’t know you were such a Buzzkii-aack! Hey!!” With a roll of his eyes, Perry flipped over Heinz’s shoulders and pushed his tophat down further, till it covered his eyes and put an end to his spew of puns. “Alright, alright, I’m done! Yeesh, some just can't appreciate a good joke every so often! Curse you Perry the Platypus!”

While the smug platypus watched the other struggle wriggling the tight brim off of his head, Perry couldn’t fight the silent chuckle any longer. Had his nemesis been able to lift the hat up he would’ve seen the dopiest, most lovestruck smile that overtook his usual nonchalant neutral expression. However, instead the two stopped when the music came to a scratching halt and a voice spoke overhead.

“Alright Ladies, Gentlemen, and Everyone else in between! It’s time to slooooww~ down a bit as we start wrapping this wicked New Year’s party up! So grab a loved one and enjoy the next couple of tracks to start your year off right! Our first song has been highly requested, this goes out to all the couples who’ve been going through it, but are still preserving together! No matter the differences or trials their love is put through, but at the end of the day know it's all worth it for them!!”

Perry was the first to react as he looked up and noticed the lights dimmed to a softer purple and blue with magenta hues that reflected from the spinning disco ball above. From the speakers, a reverbed autotuned voice repeated the words in a language he had learned years ago while in the academy. Just hearing the first handful of lyrics before the beat picked up made the platypus grateful his fur covered his heated face.- I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you.

“UGH! Verdammt, dieser blöde Hut!” Perry glanced back to Heinz who gave up on taking off the tight hat. “Great, now I’m stuck annnnd… Perry the Platypus left..” his shoulders sank, “again.. Fantastic, truly, just what I wanted! Ditched, in the middle of a slow-dancing crowd that I can’t even see to get out! I can barely even hear the music. Is this French? What even are some of these lyrics, ‘Better than alone, is to be in bad company’? That’s not even how the saying go-WOoAH!”

Amidst his blind rant, Heinz’s hand was grabbed and tugged to the ground which he hadn’t expected leading to his knees quickly buckling under him. Thankfully, and to his surprise, a small frame caught his fall with short arms wrapping under his armpits.

“P-Perry the Platypus? You’re still here, wh-what are you doing?”

He didn’t get an answer, not even a chitter back; instead, Perry guided the other’s neck down to help him out of this predicament. However, as the small mammal reached up to grab the tophat’s brim he hesitated as the lyrics before the chorus quietly repeated in his mind- Stay close to your dearest friends, but also even closer to your adversaries.

For a split second chestnut brown eyes trailed down to the thin line of Heinz’s lips and trailed up the sharp edges of his jawline. He hadn’t missed the faintly darker shade that slowly rose up his high cheeks partially hidden under the cap. Perry looked straight ahead only to realize how close their nose and beak were. However, no matter how much Heinz complained about his nose constantly ‘being in the way,’ the billed mammal merely saw it as another feature of the scientist that he could easily kii-ck… Kick! Nothing more!

After forgetting his thoughts, the agent gave the top hat a quick yet forceful tug which managed to at least free his face from the confines. Well, this was a bad idea on Perry’s end as the grown man looked down at him with wide eyes that matched the dark sky. The magenta-accented lights only made them shimmer like he held the stars in them, but to the other, he held the galaxy.- What kind of emotion, is it hatred, or pure sweetness when I hear your name?

“Er… Perry the Platypus, are you ok? You look like you’ve either seen a ghost or considering punching me in the.. I haven’t even done anything! You’re the one holding me down here! A-Anyways, thanks for the help I’ll go ahead and get back up nn..-ooow!! Will you stop doing that!? I am not just some doll you can drag arounnn… what are you doing?”

Before Heinz made a move to start standing he was pulled back down by his nemesis who stared up at him with a narrow glare, but something seemed different. Perry didn’t move, his eyes were locked onto his, but he seemed lost in thought. Was there something on his face? Maybe the hat left an awkward indentation across his face, his cheeks were definitely becoming warm from the blood circulating back up, that was all it was, surely! Raising a hand, Heinz went to rub the irritation from his face, but his palm was caught by a small paw.

Perry could do this, they’ve danced together numerous times! This couldn’t be any different than every other time hes led them through it. The steps on how to dance with his nemesis came to his mind as he reached his right paw around Heinz’s waist. However, despite the closed distance when the platypus took the first step back, the hunched man didn’t follow along. His knees barely had room to move forward comfortably, not to mention it seemed the other wasn’t sure what was going on.This wasn’t going to work, this was a stupid idea to begin with! It was like the song was taunting him at this point.- But my best enemy is you.. Flee from me, the worst is you and I.

A small irritated growl escaped from the agent as his shoulders dropped, but he didn’t let go of the scientist in his small hold. He took one more glance up and down his face before sighing and pulled Heinz up from his knees.

“Wh- You pulled me down to the ground just so you could help me back up!? You know Perry the Platypus, sometimes you’re a real mystery to even me..”

Perry could feel his eye twitch at his nemesis’s obliviousness, it truly was a blessing and a curse for the platypus. Quickly though he turned around while pulling his fedora down, the once mild warmth that started under his fur was making its way down his bill. Was it from frustration or the embarrassment? Honestly, Perry wasn’t entirely sure himself. But the last lyrics of the song only hammered in how truly felt.- I hate you, I love you, I hate you, I love you..

Well thank you guys for reading this far! If you’ve seen the next part of their comic then you’ll know where this is gonna lead, but I just gotta work out the kinks and knots and stuff lmaooo!!!

I’ve been really wanting to find an excuse to write these two dancing and this is the closest imma get until I get to the ball scene in my Cinderella au, so this shall suffice!

Like always thank you guys for even reading this far and much love to all of you!!! Hope you guys enjoyed and uh… yeah.. 🤎💙💕

[queen-honeybee-stories]

Hydra Baby

James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes X Female Reader When Bucky, Steve, and Natasha are raiding a Hydra base, Bucky finds a baby and decides to take her home with him 2.7K words A/N- Hello, everyone! Here's my first Bucky Barnes fic! I really hope you enjoy it and take a look at my masterlist to read my other fics TRIGGER WARNING- guns, hydra messing with things they shouldn't be messing with, medical environment, needles, blood, unethical medical experiments

Request are open

Bucky held his gun against his shoulder, his finger resting just above the trigger, ready to move at a moment's notice. He swiveled to the left and right, then walked out of the room and into the next hallway. Clearing the next room, he tapped the button on his comm unit just as he walked into the room at the end of the hall. 

"I'm not finding anything over here, guys. It looks like this wing has been abandoned for some time," Bucky told Steve and Natasha, the only two with him on the mission. At the end of the hall, he saw a door, slightly ajar. He pushed the door open with the barrel of his rifle, sweeping the room before venturing into the lab further. "I've just entered the lab. There's a room at the back; I'm clearing it now." Bucky tells the other two, padding into the attached room.

The first thing Bucky sees when he enters the room is an incubator. The light above it is on, set on a low setting. A heart monitor is set to the right of the incubator, beeping quietly. The heart rate displayed is slow, too slow for a human. Bucky quickly walks to the medical setup, looks down into the incubator, and sees a small baby sleeping peacefully. It's only wearing a diaper, with tons of leads and sticky pads covering its small body, trailing to the monitors crowded around the small area. He scans the incubator, looking for any paperwork; he finds a sticker stuck to the container's plastic, reading what it says. 

Test Subject Baby-girl 4296 Blood type A+ 4 months

 "Shit, what do they do to you, little one?" Bucky questions quietly. Slinging his rifle around his back, the supersoldier slowly starts to unhook the wires from the baby, carefully pulling the stickers from her skin. He silences the frantically beeping monitors as he pulls them off. Searching the room, he finds a blanket, draping it over his shoulders as he walks back to the baby. He carefully picks her up, wrapping the blanket around her small body, and then he pulls the IV out of the back of her tiny hands. Bucky carefully presses her to his chest, stepping away from the incubator and closer to the door. 

"Steve? Where are you right now?" Bucky asks his best friend through the comm. 

"I'm not far from you. Why? Is everything okay?" Steve asks quickly, grunting as he swings the shield at a Hydra agent. "My section is secured." 

"Everything is not okay! They've been experimenting with babies, Steve. I've got a baby right now; I need both of you with me so I can get her out of here safely," Bucky says, resting his flesh hand on the baby's head as she begins to fuss slightly in his arms. "If you guys could hurry, I had to take the IV out of her hand, and she's coming off of whatever they had her on, and she's not happy." Bucky urges, bouncing the baby softly in his arms, shushing her the best he can.

"We're on our way, be there in two minutes," Natasha says. Bucky can hear gunshots echoing down the hall. He rushes to hide behind the door, listening intently for the sound of Steve and Natasha running towards the room. The sound of a skull hitting Steve's shield is the last sound Bucky hears before everything falls quiet; the only sounds come from the fussing baby held against Bucky's chest. 

Steve and Natasha rush into the room, looking for Bucky and the baby. They find them behind the door. Natasha notices how small the bundle in Bucky's arms is. She's no bigger than a small bag of sugar. She continues to fuss; her cries become more frantic and louder, making Bucky panic. "What do I do with her? What's wrong with her?" Bucky cries, patting her back gently, bouncing her softly. Natasha searched the room faster, trying to find any reports or paperwork about what they'd done with the baby.

"We'll have to look through the flash drive later; we need to get her out of here and get her checked over by a doctor. Natasha, you take point, hand her to me, I'll keep her behind my shield, and you take up the rear." Steve said, quickly opening the top half of his uniform and holding his hands out for the baby. Bucky hesitates, debating if he should give the baby to Steve. "Don't worry, Buck, I'll keep her safe. I promise." Steve says, gently taking her from the other supersoldier arms. He carefully places her against his chest, closing his uniform top around her as best he can, then covers the rest of her with the blanket. He softly presses the shield on her back.

The trio quickly makes their way up through the building, breaking through the door and out to the quinjet. Bucky slams the door button, turning towards Steve and the baby. Steve places the shield on the seats beside him, carefully handing the baby back to Bucky. Bucky rests the little girl against his chest, sitting down on the seats. He wraps her tighter in the blanket, watching as she calms down, drifting asleep. 

~*~

Bucky swipes his hand across the little girl's brown hair. He can't help but think she looks slightly like him. She reminds him of his little sisters. Becca and Elizabeth looked just like this little girl when they were babies.

"Hey, Buck. We're almost home. Doctor Cho knows we have her and will meet you down in the med bay." Steve says, sitting down in the seat next to him. "She kinda looks like your sisters did when they were babies." Steve says quietly. Both supersoldiers are quiet for the rest of the flight. The quinjet jolts softly when they land. The baby whimpers softly but quiets down when Bucky hushes her. Both men get out of their seats and walk down the ramp. Bucky jogs across the landing pad and through the command center to the elevator. The doors close behind him and send it up to the med bay, where Doctor Cho meets him with a few other medical personnel behind her.

"James," She says with a smile. She approaches him, holding her hands out for the small child. "Steve called me and let me know everything. I will run a few tests on her to ensure she's healthy; then we'll see if we can get some DNA from her and hopefully find her family and return her to them." She says, gently taking the baby from the brunette's hands and quickly walking to the waiting bed. She sets her down, pulling her stethoscope from around her neck, and places it in her ears, resting the other end over the baby's heart. She moves it around her chest, nodding as she listens. "Her heart and lungs sound good, nice, and strong." Doctor Cho says, turning to her assistant and saying something Bucky can't understand. The assistant nods and walks off, entering another room to gather a few things. She comes back with a needle and several tubes.

Bucky steps closer, his eyes darting between the two women and the needle, his brows furrowed. "What are you doing with that?" He asks, clenching his hands so he doesn't reach out for the baby. He doesn't understand why he's so attached to the baby; he doesn't even know her, but he can't help the pull he feels towards the little girl.

"We're just going to take some blood to run a few tests and some DNA." Doctor Cho says to the nervous man, all while cleaning the spot of skin and inserting the needle. The baby doesn't even feel it. She continues to wave her other hand in the air and then sticks it into her mouth, gumming at it while her unfocused eyes roam the room.

"Holly is going to take this and run some tests on it, and she'll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, why don't you bathe her, James?" Doctor Cho asks, handing the baby back to Bucky. He nods, tenderly taking her into his arms, and walks over to the sink. Doctor Cho comes up behind the pair and sets a bottle of baby soap, a towel, and a diaper on the counter next to the sink, then pats Bucky's back and walks away.

Bucky runs the water, turning it to lukewarm, and begins to take her diaper off. Once she's out of her diaper, he gently sets her down in the sink, running the water over her head. The baby stares up at Bucky, smiling up at him like nothing else matters to her. Bucky grins back at her, booping her nose. She laughs at him, waving her hands again.

Steve walks through the room, freshly showered, wearing a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. Y/N, Bucky's fiance, comes in behind him, rushing over to Bucky at the sink.

"There you are! I was worried sick about you! I panicked when you didn't return to the apartment when you got home. Steve said you were down here. I came here when I heard," Y/N says, pulling Bucky into a hug. The baby chooses that moment to laugh, reaching her hands up towards Bucky. Y/N gasps, looking down at the baby, smiling as Bucky picks her up and wraps her in the towel. "Who is this little cutie?" She asks, letting the baby take her finger in her hand while Bucky puts a diaper on her.

"We found her in the lab at the Hydra compound. We couldn't leave her there, Y/N/N." Bucky says quietly, pulling the baby closer to his chest. Y/N opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by Doctor Cho entering the room. Bucky turns to her, looking expectantly at the doctor.

"All the tests came back normal; she's a very healthy four-month-old, just a bit on the small side. But her DNA came back with a bit of a surprise. She seems to be your child, James," Doctor Cho says, watching for any signs of distress.

"What do you mean, she's Bucky's?" Steve asks, stepping closer to the others.

"Half of her DNA came from James, but I can't track it back to anyone else." She says, looking through the file.

"What does that mean you can't track the other parent?" Bucky asks, patting the little girls- his daughters- back softly.

"Her father is you, James, but no one is listed as her mother. From everything you guys have recovered and brought back from the Hydra raids, I've been reading that they had been experimenting with creating eggs. They fertilized it with your DNA, James, and made that little girl in your arms. She's fully your child, James." Doctor Cho said. Bucky stumbled back, prompting Steve to catch and lower him into a chair. He tries to take the baby, but Bucky growls and turns away from his best friend. Steve puts his hands up, placating him gently.

"Hey, pal. I don't want to hurt the baby, but you're in shock, and I don't want you to drop her." Steve told his best friend, trying again to gently take the baby. Bucky flew out of his seat, backing away from the others. He cradles the baby tighter to his chest, looking wildly at everyone.

"No, you're not taking my baby. She's mine; no one else can have her!" He says, raising his voice until he's shouting by the end of his sentence.

Y/N walks closer to Bucky, raising her hands to calm him down. "No one is going to take her from you, baby. We just want to hold her so you can calm down. Why don't I hold her? Hm?" Y/N asks, walking just slightly closer to the supersoldier and baby.

"Stella," Bucky says, tightening his hands on her again.

"What was that?" Steve asks from farther back.

"Stella. That's her name. I want to name her Stella." Bucky says again, clearer this time. "Her name is Stella, and I'm keeping her. You can't change my mind. She's my daughter, and I'm keeping her, and you can't take her." He says, adjusting Stella in his arms. He looks down at her, smiling back at her when she smiles up at him, grabbing his shirt with a tiny fist. She sighs loudly, closing her blue-grey eyes and drifting off to sleep.

"We would never ask you to give her up, Bucky. Never. She's yours; if you want her, you'll keep her. I'll even help you if you want me to. I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal." Steve says, stepping closer to the father-daughter pair, smiling softly at them.

"She'll be ours, Bucky. Even if she's not mine, I'll raise her like I was the one that gave birth to her." Y/N says, smiling at Bucky and walking closer to him. She rests her hand on Stella's back, smiling down at her.

"She's ours, forever." Bucky says quietly, gazing down at her lovingly. He raises her up, placing a kiss on her forehead.

~*~

Steve quietly talks to the rest of the team, explaining everything about the baby before Bucky enters the room. He sits back in his seat when he sees Bucky and Y/N walk in, Stella resting in Bucky's arms.

Bucky smiles softly at everyone, walking closer to the table full of the other Avengers. He adjusts Stella in his arms so she's facing everyone. He tilts his arms down so everyone can look at her as she sleeps in her father's arms. "Everyone, I would like you to meet my daughter, Stella." He says with a smile on his face.

Pepper and Wanda cooed at Stella, gently letting her take hold of their fingers. Tony and Clint look over the women's shoulders, smiling as Stella blinks her eyes sleepily. She rubs her eyes with small fists. When she moves her fists, she looks up at the people above her, grinning at all of them, grabbing Tony's hand, surprising the genius with her strong grip.

"She's got quite the grip, there, Robocop." Tony turns towards the father, smiling softly.

"Doctor Cho said she's got the serum running through her veins. She'll be stronger than a normal baby. Cho said she wants to keep an eye on her to make sure all the experiments and serum don't have a negative effect on her as she grows, but right now, she's healthy and happy." Bucky says, smiling down at Stella and kissing her forehead.

Steve walks over to where Y/N stands farther away from the group, with a proud smile when she looks at Bucky.

"He's going to be great at this; I know he will." Steve says, turning to look at where Bucky proudly lifts Stella over his head and talks to her in a sweet voice. "He was always so good with his four younger sisters. Ma Winnie always said it was like having a third parent around when Bucky was there. He was always playing and taking care of his sisters. When Esther came around, Bucky was a pro at balancing caring for two toddlers and a baby. He always said, 'What was one more baby?'. He really stepped up when George had to go back to Shelbyville when his parents got sick to take care of the farm with his brother and sister. Isabella always said they didn't realize when George would leave 'cause Buck was always there." Steve says, smiling at the memory. "He talked about settling down after the war and having a couple of kids after he got home. Looks like he gets to have that now." Steve smiles over at Y/N, pulling her to his side, kissing her temple, leaving his arm wrapped around her shoulders as she talks

"We've been going back and forth about having a baby for a while now. Hopefully, he'll want to wait for Stella to be settled in and happy before he even thinks about wanting to add another one into the mix." Y/N laughs softly. Steve chuckles with her.

"Knowing him, he'll want one sooner now that he has one." Steve laughs at the horrified look on Y/N's face.

"We can have another one when he carries it." Y/N laughs.

Bucky looks over at his best friend and fiance when he hears her laugh, grinning at her when she looks at him. She walks back over to him, wrapping around his back, letting him press a kiss to her lips.

Yeah, life was pretty great

[mischiefmaker615]

Use Me (Loki Love Story) Ch.19

Summary: Loki shows up at your brothel with an offer. What could go wrong?

Requested song inspiration: Use Me by Johnny Blue Skies & Dove Cameron & Diplo

A year..

A year was all it took to get to where you were today.. and you still couldn’t believe you made it..

Midgard was truly different that you expected. Much of the books on Asgard didn’t quite cover the details of how hard life here would be. People were cruel, disgusting.. perverted. Everything you needed, you had to figure out on your own. Fight and work. As a woman, you looked quickly just how different the world saw you. Yet that never stopped you from doing what you intended on doing.

Starting a new life.

Through the hardships, it was still the perfect distraction that you needed to try to forget your past. To forget Loki.. and on those quiet nights, you’d cry again.

You found quickly that Midgardians weren’t stupid when it came to the outside world of their own realm, you supposed it was thanks to Thor for introducing them to the capabilities and possibilities. You didn’t dare tell people you were Asgardian though, you knew it would have to be a secret in order to keep your old home safe.

Familiarity was a welcome though and you stumbled upon a group called SHIELD whom recognized how much stronger you were compared to the average female of their planet. Stopping a group called Hydra had been the perfect introduction one day when you jumped into combat when one of the SHIELD agents was about to be shot at.

The rest was history you supposed, and they offered a position in which you literally couldn’t refuse. They had the tesseract, one of the realm’s powerful infinity stones and although you portrayed a mortal, you knew you had to keep an eye on it for Asgard’s sake. So you worked for them now, SHIELD, keeping a close eye on the blue orb and told yourself to do what was necessary if they decided to take advantage of its power.

It would seem they were just trying to study it, and by the way it sparked, told you enough that you all were in potential danger. Especially already finding yourself deep underground at home base and you suddenly felt the sudden urge of claustrophobia with how much energy you could feel radiating in the room. It made your skin tight uniform feel tighter than it actually was.

You stayed behind some of the computers in the back of the room while the other agents monitored its activity. Dr Selvig, one of the mortals who had helped Thor, scared you with how much he knew about the outside world. You never found it impressive, you always assumed everything was a potential threat and hated yourself sometimes by pretending to be friends with these people.

Quite frankly, you could care less if it wasn’t for the benefit of keeping an eye on things.. except Phil..

Phil almost was like a father to you, took you in and recognized your talents of knowledge and strength, though you were sure he hadn’t figured you out as an Asgardian. You preferred it that was and would cause small slip ups just to keep him off your trail before you would turn your attention back to more important matters.

Right now he was on the higher levels, preparing for possible evacuation the more people messed with the tesseract. At least they had put it in some sort of contraption rather than touch the bloody thing directly. Flinching again, it sparked more and raised the attention of Director Fury who joined Erik’s side to see what was going on.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, knowing exactly what was going on but speaking up would cause to much suspicion. ‘you’re messing with forces beyond you, angering It to the point where digging it up might turn out to be a regret’ was what you thought while you glanced at the computers again. You weren’t to tech savvy- to be honest, you were here normally just for backup, undercover but truly the muscle of the operation encase it was needed.

Except Baron.

His skills as a mortal truly impressed you to the point where you questioned if he was a mortal at all. you glanced behind your shoulder while conversations were being held, seeing how he was making his way down from practically the rafters.

‘’got bored up there?” you teased, earning a chuckle while he glanced at you.

‘’figured there was more action happening over here, I’d hate the miss it.’’

You couldn’t help but smile with the friendly banter between you both before he moved to join the head haunches in front. If Clint was calm, you normally knew things were okay.

But you’ve been wrong before.

The tesseract seemed to spark more, drawing everyone’s attention to it while some took careful steps back. Your brows furrowed, feeling it’s energy practically screaming while you tried to figure out what was happening. In all your years, you’ve never seen an infinity stone this active before while no one had been touching it..

‘’sir- I think you might want to take a step-‘’

You nearly jumped out of your skin while suddenly the tesseract spat out a beam towards the opposite side of the room- thankfully not facing all of you. Your eyes widened, following your own advice by taking a step back while your body seemed to be in awe at the sight you had never seen before. The orb seemed to be spreading out amongst the platform, taking a ‘O’ shape while you squinted to try to figure out what it was.

Space..

Your eyes widened with recognition, having been so long since you’ve seen the galactic sky, you almost found yourself stepping towards it while your lips parted with no words. There was almost a familiar feeling that washed over you, something you had hoped to have forgotten but it forced it over your mind and body. Home.. Asgard.. although you couldn’t see beyond the darkness and stars that provided its light amongst its distant colors, there was something now taking shape just onto the platform.

Before you could try to recognize it, the portal suddenly shut with a forceful snap, causing all of you to turn or raise an arm instinctually to shield yourself from its waves of energy that faded off amongst the room. Your eyes quickly moved to the tesseract, body relaxing to find it safe and quiet while the computers made quiet sounds to indicating they were rebooting up.

There was a figure left on the platform, ice and smoke from it’s body warming up, making him seem like he had just stepped out of the fridge. The mental image was almost fully if the stranger hadn’t begun rising from its kneeling position. The movements of the other agents made you instinctually place a hand on your gun by your side while you leaned forward to make out what you were seeing.

No.. oh gods.. it’s impossible..

You slowly moved yourself behind the computer, heart racing while you felt like you couldn’t breath. This was impossible.. there was no way that was who you thought it was.. you stayed out of sight, your fingers gripping the edge of the computer table on rollers while you shook and tried to concentrate on your breathing.

‘’sir- please, put down the spear..’’

Fury’s voice rang out and your body tensed. Loki was armed.. these people weren’t a threat as long as you cooperated- however he got here, he must be so confused.. your eyes widened and felt your body come to life again. You knew you couldn’t let Loki hurt these people out of instinct, very little times did any Asgardian ever venture out on Midgard, let alone with a weapon so if he did so happen to have a spear, it would raise danger.

Taking a small step out from behind the computer, your hand rested on your own weapon while you drew in a breath ‘’don’t-‘’

Suddenly Loki moved fast and sent a blast in your general direction, causing you to quickly dive towards the nearest agent and take cover before all Hel went loose. You used your hands to cover your ears when the sounds of gun shots, screams and crashing all around filled the room. You army crawled it towards one of your comrades, heart pounding against the floor while you stayed on your bells and reached over, checking for a pulse.

He’s still alive..

Tensing your body, you focused your eyes and drew your gun, getting to your feet before you took aim, eyes searching for Loki with shaky hands. Suddenly a man’s body got flung at you, making you get thrown backwards as well so you both hit the wall, your head taking on most of the impact.

You yelped, sliding down with the maybe dead man across your lap on the floor. Your vison blurred, silence filing the room while you blinked to try to clear your vision. Your head throbbed, making you reach a hand to apply pressure while you winced and tried to stir. There was muffled sounds, blurry shapes of movement while the color blue seemed to dance in spots before you.

Fuck..

You slowly blinked, feeling the gun slip limp from your hands before your eyes closed and slumped down where you were. You were slipping out of unconsciousness, hearing whispers and deep, muffled sounds, much like when a grenade goes off in movies. You felt a cold hand rest at your chin, turning your face up in a gentle grip while your eyes remained closed and your body began to abandon you.

The weight of the man on you was quickly removed and the hand at your chin vanished, making your head fall back to your side where it promised a kink later.

‘’bring her..’’

Note: TBH i was debating on ending this book at the previous chapter LOL but i promised a happy ending. I'm not to keen on following movies such as this chapter, hope it wasn't to boring for you- it was just something to bring the characters back together so we can continue their relationship LOL plot now can get started!

Tag List: @comehomecomehometous @trash-panda-kitty @kuroturo @lovinglimerence @kathren1sky-blog @soulpiercing @ildflue-17 @navs-bhat @ririsasaki @allbymyself17 @howl-and-midna-smeltser @blackquartzsstuff @xanax-orig @maleficmilk @kimvolturicullen

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Scott Horton‬ ‪@robertscotthorton.bsky.social‬ :: Bill Bramhall, New York Daily News

* * * *

Another week of resistance, another week of success.

June 21, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

Jun 20, 2025

[I will host my regular Saturday morning livestream at 9 am PT / Noon ET on June 21, 2025. Open to all on the Substack App on your phone or tablet.]

We lurched to the week’s end with many stories seemingly marking time—an illusion that masks the increasingly unfavorable ratings regarding many of Trump's policies. His cruel policy of using armed thugs to seize productive, peaceful immigrants from workplaces and courthouses has turned popular sentiment against him. (As always, he doesn’t care; those who support him will answer at the ballot box.) MAGA is tearing itself apart over a potential attack on Iran. Red states are waking up to the likelihood that their rural hospitals will close and hundreds of thousands of their residents will lose medical coverage.

The resistance is making a difference, even when it may feel unsuccessful in the short term.

For example, on Thursday, ICE agents attempted to raid Dodger Stadium. The gun-toting, masked agents were turned away at the gates by LAPD. Until that provocation, the Dodgers had remained silent about the military occupation of LA and the militarized ICE raids. On Friday, the Dodgers announced that the organization would contribute $1 million to support immigrant families affected by the ICE raids. See KTLA, L.A. Dodgers pledge $1 million to support immigrant communities after ICE raid backlash.

Approximately 40% of the Dodgers’ fan base is Hispanic. I wish that the Dodgers acted out of concern for the families of their fans, but the sad truth is that the Dodgers were forced to take action by a coalition of Latino organizations. Those organizations--Little Latin America USA, California Rising, El Salvador Corridor Association, CD1 Coalition, and the L.A. Youth & Family Foundation--held a press conference in front of Dodger Stadium earlier this week, demanding that the Dodgers act. The team responded to the pressure.

The Dodger example shows the way forward. Corporations are nervously monitoring events—especially those events that affect their bottom lines. A boycott of Dodger home games by a Latino community fearful of ICE raids would quickly impair the value of the franchise. Just ask Tesla. And Target. And Elon Musk.

Trump knows he is losing the battle for the hearts and minds of the American people, especially in Los Angeles. Trump sent Vice President J.D. Vance to Los Angeles in hopes of creating raw meat to feed to the grumpy base. Vance failed spectacularly.

Vance is under the misimpression that he has a sense of humor and can tell jokes. He tried to make fun of the arrest of US Senator Alex Padilla for asking a question to the Secretary of Homeland Security, Kristi Noem. But Vance referred to Senator Alex Padilla as “Jose Padilla,” because in Vance’s bigoted mind, all Latino males are named “Jose.”

Senator Alex Padilla is an accomplished person of dignity and integrity who is highly regarded by most Californians. Insulting Senator Padilla by resorting to a racist trope will accelerate Trump's unfavorability in the Latino community in California and nationwide.

Equally bad for Vance (and Trump) is Vance’s statement that “[t]he “rioting has gotten a lot better” in Los Angeles since Trump sent in federal troops. Of course, ten million Angelenos can tell you that there is no rioting and hasn’t been for more than a week. Even then, “rioting” is a false characterization of peaceful protests where a few bad actors engaged in a handful of acts of violence and vandalism.

Speaking of “a handful of acts of violence and vandalism,” a three-judge panel of the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals overturned the order of Judge Breyer, holding that Trump must relinquish control of the California National Guard to California Governor Gavin Newsom.

In reversing Judge Breyer’s ruling, the three-judge panel ruled that a handful of acts of violence and vandalism constituted the inability of the president to “execute the laws,” justifying the federalization of National Guard troops.

The standard adopted by the three-judge panel is preposterous. It would allow the president to federalize the National Guard any time a fraternity party resulted in drunk undergraduates throwing beer bottles at police. [That was sarcasm, but just barely. The panel did concede that there was a de minimis limit that would not qualify as “inability to execute the laws.”]

Despite the ruling, there is still reason for hope, as explained in Democracy Docket, Appeals Court Upholds Trump’s Control of California National Guard.

First, the panel acknowledged that the president’s federalization of the National Guard is subject to judicial review. Second, the panel’s ruling related only to the temporary restraining order issued by Judge Breyer, but leaves open the possibility of a different result on a factual record developed on the preliminary injunction hearing—including the possibility that Trump violated the Posse Comitatus Act. Finally, the ruling is subject to review by the Ninth Circuit in an en banc hearing and by the US Supreme Court.

[Robert B. Hubbell newsletter]

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Maanvi Singh and Will Craft at The Guardian:

Jorge, a 22-year-old asylum seeker from Venezuela, reported in February to the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (Ice) field office in Portland, Oregon, for what he figured would be a routine check-in. Instead, he was arrested and transferred to a detention center in another state. Alberto, a 42-year-old from Nicaragua who had been granted humanitarian parole, checked in with Ice using an electronic monitoring program that same month. Three days later, he was arrested. Sergei and Marina, a young couple from Russia with a pending asylum case, went into an immigration office in San Francisco in March, thinking they needed to update some paperwork. Agents arrested Sergei and told Marina to come back in a few weeks. For years, immigrants of all sorts with cases in process, pending appeals or parole, had been required to regularly check in with Ice officers. And so long as they had not violated any regulations or committed any crimes, they were usually sent on their way with little problem. Now, as the Trump administration pushes for the mass arrest and deportation of immigrants, these once routine check-ins have become increasingly fraught. Ice does not appear to keep count of how many people it has arrested at check-ins. But the Guardian estimates, based on arrest data from the first four weeks of the Trump administration, that about 1,400 arrests, or about 8% of the nearly 16,500 arrests in the administration’s first month – may have occurred during or right after people checked in with the agency. The Guardian reviewed cases in the arrest data, which was released by the Deportation Data Project from UC Berkeley Law School, where people who had previously been released on supervision were now arrested, as well as cases of people with pending immigration proceedings who were arrested in their communities. According to immigration lawyers, these types of arrests are most likely to match arrests that are occurring during or shortly after check-ins – though the actual number of cases may be higher. “Essentially, these people are low-hanging fruit for Ice,” said Laura Urias, a program director and attorney at the legal non-profit ImmDef. “It’s just very easy to arrest them.” Under the Biden administration, immigration officials had been instructed to prioritize detaining and expelling people who posed threats to public safety, and had criminal records. There were arrests during Ice check-ins during the Biden administration, too. A Guardian analysis found there were 821 arrests a month, on average, in 2024 that appeared to have occurred during or right after check-ins. But officials often used their discretion to allow immigrants who were not considered a priority for deportation to remain in their communities, on orders of recognizance or supervision.

One of Donald Trump’s first actions after he was sworn in for his second term was to broaden Ice’s mandate – now all immigrants without legal status are prioritized for arrest, including those who have been checking in and cooperating with authorities. “Under this new administration, all bets are off,” said Stefania Ramos, an immigration lawyer based in Seattle. “So anyone with an Ice check-in appointment is frantic, looking for a lawyer, trying to figure out what they can do to protect themselves.” Attorneys and advocates cannot advise clients to skip check-ins because doing so would mean violating immigration regulations. And because these immigrants have been complying with Ice requirements, the agency knows their current home and work addresses. Many under Ice supervision had been ordered to wear ankle monitors or use facial recognition apps to check in – and allow the agency access to their real-time whereabouts.

In the 2nd Trump Administration, routine ICE check-ins are now being used for arrests and deportations.

[james-liam-walker]

Experiment 01⁚ The New Avengers

I think this is the first time I've done a story with chapters about these things…So I hope you like it. P.S. Here will also appear some new characters…such as Gail Richard…former agent ( S.H.I.E.L.D.)…troubled past…Bucky's girlfriend…and with Nathaniel Connor….Val calling the new Taskmaster….his anti-hero name is Ghost Agent.

Chapter I

It all starts with a mission that the team received from Valentina. Everything had to be quick, so only Yelena, Bucky, John, Ava and Alexei were there, while only Bob, Nathaniel and Gail remained at the tower, of course they checked on the team through their monitors and the headsets that the team had.

Gail ⁚ Okay team, based on the information we received from Val and I'm surprised she helped us with this, there is some stolen data related to something top secret.

Bucky ⁚ We understand, doll. I'm glad you're helping us. How are you feeling?

Gail ⁚ Still like that, nothing has changed. I feel like I can't help you with this.

Bucky ⁚ Don't say that! Where is the agent who fought side by side with me?

Gail was smiling. Bucky might not be able to see it, but she was glad he cared. Everything was broken when Walker's voice broke the conversation...

John ⁚ If you could finish your sweet talk on this line, we have a mission to complete. You two can continue in your bedroom. (he said sarcastically annoyingly)

Ava ⁚ I can't believe I'm saying this (sighs). I agree with Walker.

Yelena ⁚ Me too, and I don't really agree with anyone sometimes.

Alexei ⁚ I'm sorry comrades, but it's true. (he said sighing in his Russian accent)

Gail turned off everyone's microphones so she couldn't hear them, but instead she heard Nathaniel giggling on the couch next to Bob who was reading a book. He was also supposed to go with the team but hadn't left.

Gail ( turned her gaze to him ) ⁚ Why didn't you go with them on the mission, I hear?

Nathaniel ⁚ I had to go home, because I have a better life than everyone here, to see my mom, but she canceled because of my dad….

Gail ⁚ What happening?

Nathaniel ⁚ Well…..let's say dad is trying to deal with a beehive in a tree, but he realizes that they weren't bees and were actually wasps and he falls off the ladder and…..

Bob ( Which looked up from the book, looked at him ) ⁚ Auch! And is it okay?

Nathaniel ⁚ Yes, he's in the hospital but he can't sit on his ass anymore, so…..yeah…

Gail tries not to think about what she said, turns to the monitor and turns the microphones back on.

Gail ⁚ What's the mission status, team?

Yelena ⁚ I arrived at the indicated place, but it's strange…

Gail ⁚ What is?

Ava ⁚ The data Val gave us was supposed to take us to some kind of control room but instead it took us to a rather empty bunker. It reminds me of when we all first met.

Gail was puzzled. How could that data take them somewhere that wasn't right? Nathaniel, hearing everything, also approached the monitor and checked the information.

Nathaniel ⁚ Impossible! It shows us that it must be here…only if…

Gail's eyes widen as she realizes what's happening in the middle. She turns to the screen.

Gail ⁚ GET OUT OF THERE NOW!

John ⁚ Why?

Bucky ⁚ Gail, what's going on?

Suddenly the bunker doors slam shut. Alexei tries to force it open… but it was locked tightly.

Ava ⁚ Come on, I'll try.

Ava tried to go through the door, but the door had given her a shock that shocked her and made her fall to the floor.Bucky goes to pick her up from the floor and check if she's okay.

John ⁚ This is not good.

Gail ( continue through their switches ) ⁚ This is a trap! You have to get out of there.

She hadn't even finished what she was supposed to say when white smoke with a strange smell came out from under the bunker door, making everyone dizzy and coughing.

Yelena ( cough ) ⁚ Try....for...don't breathe....( cough )..

John ( with sarcasm, but still coughing ) ⁚ This is what we do...( cough )

Bucky ( cough ) ⁚ Resist!

But none of them lasted 2 minutes as the first to fall was Alexei who had previously said he was holding on like a Russian bear, after that Ava and John fell, followed by Bucky and then Yelena. In her helmet Nathaniel's voice could be heard shouting.

Nathaniel ⁚ Yelena! Yelena! You hear me!? (he quickly looked at Gail who was typing quickly on the tablet ) Doesn't answer. Neither do the others.........

Bob also came closer to see what had happened. Gail, agitated, tried to save the data to find out where they were. But suddenly, their data on the screen had disappeared, their headphones had broken and there was no sound.

Bob ⁚ What happening? They are ok?

Gail ⁚ Hard to say, Bob. We don't have their signals anymore, their switches aren't working, we just know they're somewhere Val had given us information about a possible theft that apparently was false and didn't even exist.

Nathaniel ⁚ We have to go there and save them, they might be in danger. Bob, call Valentina and have her come to the tower and explain this to us. Gail and I are going there.

There was no need to inform Gail that she was heading towards a jet. Nathaniel was following her and Bob was trying to find Val. He was worried and agitated but it was because his friends who he now considered his family (especially John) were in danger.

To be continued.....

[kteezy997]

6 Months- Part Twelve, Epilogue//t.c.

Warnings: okay this one just gets filthy, like tit sucking, female receiving oral sex, missionary, doggy, very possessive Timmy, light breeding kink, breast milk kink? Idk what you’d call it really, oh yeah and there’s cursing, and a cumshot

A/N: This is mostly sex I hope no one is disappointed.

18+ readers only, please

Two Months Later…

Hayden called Cameron to apologize for his behavior when they met for lunch. He sounded sincere, and genuinely embarrassed by the way he acted. He even told her that he was monitoring his drinking and that he was happy for her in her new relationship. To her, he seemed to be doing a lot better.

Cam responded by inviting Hayden for dinner one night, after getting Timmy’s approval. She didn’t need Timmy’s permission for anything, of course, but she didn’t want to make her boyfriend uncomfortable in any way, especially in his own home.

She was thrilled that Timmy welcomed the idea, because she had a new idea in mind.

Hayden, like Timmy, was a good guy with some emotional issues that he was working on. He had the potential to be a great partner for someone. And Cam had someone in mind for Hayden: her agent, Darcy.

Darcy had met Hayden a few times through working with Cameron. She agreed with Cam that Hayden was more like a good friend to her, rather than a lover. Cam had no qualms about setting them up. She would have bet money that they would be compatible.

Cam decided to invite Nova over for dinner too, so it didn’t seem too much like a set-up. But that didn’t really matter because when Hayden came in, he saw Darcy and they locked eyes, it was like instant chemistry. They smiled at each other, exchanging kind hellos. Everyone in the room could feel it, their connection. Cam was satisified.

Even Timmy was impressed by Cam’s matchmaking skills, “I gotta admit it babe, you’re kind of a genius.”

She shrugged and added a little smirk, “I just knew that they would hit it off tonight. I’m so glad that Hayden is doing better and doesn’t hate us anymore.”

“Yeah, I’m glad he came around too. He’s not a bad guy. I'm sure he was just hurt, but that's in the past now."

A little while later, Timmy got settled in bed, and waited for Cam. As she was coming over to the bed, he said, "So, you promised that you'd tell me what the book is about tonight. Spill it, Reese." he smirked.

Cam sighed with a blush, "Okay, here goes: it's inspired by us."

Timmy was taken aback. "How?"

"Very loosely, it's based on our story. Me and you. But he is a mafia boss and she is an aspiring fashion designer. He kidnaps her and gives her six months to fall in love with him."

"Oh, shit." Timmy didn't know what to say. He felt kind of guilty. The bad feelings that he wished away came crawling in, but Cam brought him back.

"You know, it's kind of funny to think of how scared I was in the beginning, and how much I hated you. That was only four months ago, but now I feel like I've known you all my life."

"I only hoped that we would be like this, I feel like you're my soulmate, Cam. I want to do everything in life with you. But I'm sorry for how our story started."

"Don't apologize for it anymore." she leaned over the bed, cupping his face in her hands, "I'm here with you, there is nowhere that I would rather be." She then kissed his lips. When she pulled away from the kiss, she said, "I have the first draft on my phone, want me to read something to you?"

"Yes, please." he implored her.

......

Cam read a bit of her smut from her unpublished book, Six Months, to Timmy. "'Don't provoke me', warned Nicholas." she read, "'I'm not used to being gentle'."

As she continued to read to him, Timmy got turned on. He started to undress himself and his girlfriend as she kept her eyes on the screen and stimulated him with her words and her voice. "I can't believe you write this stuff. You're just as perverted as me."

Cam grinned and then bit her lip as Timmy started to leave kisses on her thigh. She cleared her throat, reading on, "Sienna looked down, his cock was growing hard, but she paid his desperation no mind." Cam let out a soft moan when she felt Timmy's hands on her breasts, "She turned away from him, but he caught her aggressively by the throat." She did her best to stay focused on her words.

Timmy piped up, "So it seems that Sienna doesn't mind provoking him." he smirked up at Cam. "What happens next?" Without any warning, he latched onto her breast with his mouth.

"Fuck!" Cam whimpered, not expecting it. But she kept up the conversation, knowing that it was fueling her man's libido. "Well, he fucks her in the shower."

Timmy hummed on her tit, letting her know that he was listening. He wanted her to keep reading, all while he sucked her tits.

"Ooh, mm." she moaned as he squeezed the breast that was not occupied by his lips. He pinched the free nipple as he suckled the other. "'What are you gonna do?' Now Sienna was the one daring him. Nicholas was astonished at her disobedience, and he answered, 'I'm gonna wait until you want me, and then I'm gonna fuck you so hard, they will hear you moaning in Nevada." Timmy then bit down on her nipple. "Ahh!"

Timmy chuckled as he popped off of her tit, "You fucking whore. Stealing my line so blatantly for your book, huh?" he nestled between her legs, touching her wet pussy with his deft fingers.

Cam laughed, laying back to let him have his way with her.

"Fuck, just listening to you, I get hard. But that fact that you wrote those words makes me want to fucking impregnate you."

Cam moaned, and he slipped his fingers into her pussy, “Oh? You want me to have your babies, Timmy?”

“Fuck yes, you’re having my kids.” He pumped his fingers in and out, and rubbed her clit with his other hand.

“Mm, yes, of course as many as you want.” she rolled her hips, meeting the thrusts of his fingers.

“I’ll fill you with my cum, my love, and you’ll swell with our baby inside you. I’ll make you a mommy. I want my children to be as smart and beautiful as their mother.”

Wow, he is so into this, Cam thought. “Yes, I want that so much, baby. You know my tits will be huge when you get me pregnant, right?”

“Oh, god yes.” Timmy stopped what he was doing and leaned down, grabbing her breasts, “I want them full of milk for the baby, and for me to try, if you’ll let me?”

Cam giggled, “Okay, only if you’re such a good daddy, I’ll let you suck them for milk.” She was surprised how delighted she was at thought of her man drinking from her. “But the baby would come first.”

“Yes, I know.” He then kissed her, then he caressed her face. “I want to ask you something and you can definitely say no because it’s so fucking weird and possessive of me, but I’d like to be the only one to drink your milk from your boobs. You’d pump milk for the baby, and we’d bottle feed him or her. I just want your tits for myself.” He bit his lip, anxious for her response.

“Hmm, you are oddly possessive. But I kind of love that about you, babe.” Cam touched his cheek. “We can do that. No one has to know, it’s just for you and me. I love how much you love my boobs. It’s a way for you and I to bond too.”

“I don’t want to overstep. It’s your body. You decide what to do with it, not me. It’s just an idea.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I’m not even pregnant yet, so we don’t have to think about it right now.”

“Okay. I want you, now, Cameron.” he said plainly with a grin before he climbed over top of her to kiss her. He then backed down, burrowing between her thighs to lick her pussy.

“Mm.” Cam cried, shoving her hand in his messy hair.

Timmy lapped steadily on her clit for a moment before taking the sensitive bundle gently in his mouth and moaning, making her body vibrate.

She gasped, accidentally squeezing his head with her thighs in response.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he grabbed her thighs, locking himself between them and assaulted her clit some more, holding it in his mouth and rubbing it with his tongue.

“Yes, I’m gonna come, Timmy, don’t stop!” she shrieked, tugging on his curls with one hand and gripping the sheets with the other.

Just another minute more of his tongue fidgeting over her clit, and her knees were knocked together as she came for the first time.

Timmy came up for some air, finally. He panted as he grinned at her, pushing his curls back out of his face. He slid his cock into her before she really had the time to come down from her orgasm.

Cam writhed and arched her back as he pounded into her. His balls slapped her wetness with each thrust.

He put his hand on her, his thumb resting on her pussy and he rubbed her clit that way. His other hand snaked up her body and he squeezed her throat.

She put her hand on his wrist and they locked eyes as he choked her, all while he bucked his hips against her.

He moved his hand from her neck to her jaw, and she sucked on his thumb suggestively, moaning around his digit. Timmy pulled his cock out of her, and picked her up, turning her over with her ass up.

Cam gasped, then bit her lip as he grabbed her by the hips and stuck his cock back in her pussy. She snuggled into the pillow as he took her from behind.

Timmy thrusted hard and began to sweat. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer with his view of Cam’s ass bouncing on his waist. He kneaded the softness of her butt as he stopped moving and he smacked her cheek.

She moaned and steadied herself to back her lower half onto Timmy’s cock.

“Yes, baby. Fuck me. Fuck your future baby daddy’s cock.” He kept his hands on her, running them over her ass and hips as she gained some strength and fucked him back harder.

Cam threw her hips back hard, leaving loud smacks on Timmy.

Timmy shook his head, loving what she was doing to him.

She moaned, growing tired after a moment.

He took ahold of her hips, knowing that she was almost through. He gave her a round of steady thrusts. Gently, he tugged on her hair to raise her head up and she obliged him. He leaned forward and kissed her on the head.

Cam cooed lovingly at his sweet kiss. She whimpered as she felt his fingers on her clit, slow at first, then a little faster. He made her come just a minute later.

Timmy rolled her over, stroking his cock over her stomach.

She panted as she watched him, eager for his cum on her skin.

He groaned softly as his cock spurted out several drops of his cum onto her belly. Once he was finished, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

A/N: I may or may not have an idea for a sequel to this, if anyone would be interested?? Or should I move on to something else?

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @tchalamss @softhecreator @chalametbich

[masterserris]

Submas Fic: "We Will Meet Again" CH.3

My friend @eusouomar (Ingo) and I (Emmet) have been working together on an rp timeline!

This timeline is based on the concepts of Yin (Ingo) and Yang (Emmet) reincarnating through the ages, much to the surprise of the twins, and how to move forward knowing this and getting their lives back to normal after bringing Ingo home from Hisui. Shenanigans and fluff and angst ensue. Let it be known a happy ending is always the goal and the inevitable future. Enjoy!

Notes: NO SHIPPING in this fic.

General Warnings for the fic as a whole: strong language, depictions of mental illness, addiction, grief, violence/gore, character death, self harm, suicide mentions

MASTERPOST (TBD)

START

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER

Emmet doesn't play nice with nasty people.

Yes, for the first time in a long while people were smiling genuinely. Emmet could perk people up but only so much. Ingo was the heart of the railway; Emmet was more of the brains. Or logistics, rather. He had a lot to do. Employee reviews later, but first he had a queue of battles to run through while he was on the tracks. Sometimes he would be in the HQ room monitoring the stations from the screens, other days he had to do the leg work. This was definitely a leg day. Emmet pulled out Electross and Archeops and tipped his hat at the first trainer. 

“You’ve done verrrry well to get this far, but I’m afraid this is your last stop. All aboard!” The doors shut and the crowd watched from the seats as the first battle of the day began. Emmet was…. Merciless. He didn’t go easy on anyone, not anymore.

Thankfully one had to beat 20 depot agents before earning a fight with a subway boss so no beginners could get totally destroyed. Still, Ingo felt like something was off. His brother liked winning, sure, but there was something wrong in the air around him as the next challenger stepped forward to fight him. Ingo looked at the rest of the passenger's faces to see what they thought of the fight.

Emmet smiled fiercely and hit the opponent with thunder wave to pin them in place, then followed up by ferocious rockslide to slam into their poor paralyzed Pokémon. The crowd winced at the impact, Archeops often got carried away in battle and Emmet was not leashing him back. The opposing trainer

's Wartortle was no slouch but even it couldn't take the barrages of attacks. It, the last pokemon in a varied team, finally fainted leaving Emmet the winner. Ingo carefully watched Emmet's face. Was he really enjoying this?

A thunderbolt fried it silly. Truthfully, even with a smile on his face, the joy did not reach his eyes. He was not being challenged here and this was just going through the motions. He had much more volume since only the double lines were open for a boss challenge. Everyone wanted to try and beat the undefeatable Subway Boss Emmet. He was notoriously challenging and had only grown more so as he had to face everyone all of the time. Still, he clapped for the boy. “You tried your best! More hard work like that and you might just come back here someday for a rematch! This is your stop, have a nice day!” The doors slid open to let the passengers out. 

Everyone exited the train. Ingo stood up to talk to Emmet. "Are you okay?" He tried to keep his voice down so that others wouldn't hear. "I just have a feeling."

Emmet glanced over at this brother. He could just tell him he was fine, but he had been doing that for years now and it got him nowhere but strained relationships with family and friends. He couldn’t lie to Ingo either. It was time to heal and be honest. Like his therapist told him to do. 

“You’re not wrong brother!” He said shyly. “I haven’t been myself for a long time either, like you. These battles… aren’t much fun anymore. Not like this at least. I’m sure things will get better when you start working again, yup! It’s just a lot of routine and going through the motions. Sucks the life out of everything, you know?” 

Ingo was glad that Emmet could feel honest with him. "You know that never gets old? I thought it would but it doesn't." He told Emmet truthfully.

“What doesn’t get old?” Emmet asked not fully understanding what he meant.

"You calling me 'brother'." Ingo answered truthfully. "I like when you call me that."

Emmet snorted loudly. So silly. “Well, get used to it!! You’re gonna hear it forever now!” He patted his back and smiled broadly. For real this time. Emmet would have more challengers after this, but his Pokémon didn’t tire. He healed them after every battle and they were used to this by now. They always trotted over for pats and nuzzled up to Ingo as well for praise. 

Well, he could be a little too sentimental for people's tastes. Ingo sat on the chair and watched as a shadow. When one of them, Eelektross, came over he smiled and stroked his head. "Hey boy. How are you doing? You're getting quite the workout today, aren't you? You usually work this hard?"

The eel nodded and snuggled against his leg until the next challenger would come in. Yes, this was their new normal. A stern looking trainer was next and tossed out their Hydreigon and Leipard without saying anything. Emmet just smiled more as a “bring it on” kind of vibe, but his smile faded quickly as the battle grew fierce. He knew that fighting style. “Shouldn’t you be in jail?” He asked kindly. “Not many Ex-team Plasma members run free anymore.” She froze, ah shit. Caught.

Ingo froze at the mention of Team Plasma. There were painful memories that name brought up for him. Those people had tried to kill his uncle, tried to kill them, and had killed a few of their depot agents. He clenched his jaw at the sight of them.

“Galvantula, bug buzz!” The spider knocked the Hydreigon down with a powerful sonic blow and she was finished as Eeletross hit both of her Pokémon out with discharge. He would let her run off the train, but she didn’t seem scared, “I did my time.”

 “Hmm. Was it enough? For everything you all did? Or is this a way to vent your frustrations? This is your stop.” The doors opened and she glanced back at him before departing. Sometimes dangerous folks came aboard. Or just lost ones.

"At least I didn't murder my own brother." She spat back at Emmet before turning and leaving to get off the train car. 

Oh no, not with that attitude. Emmet scruffed her and hoisted her off her feet. He was stronger than his thin frame looked. “Oh really? Wanna eat those words?” He made her face Ingo. 

"Let go of me!" She growled at Emmet as he hoisted her. When she came face to face with Ingo, part of her stiffened at seeing his unsmiling face. "Nice Zoroark." She told Emmet in defiance.

“Nope! Wrong! Eelektross? Do me a favor and use thunder wave on this one. She is banned from the premises and I would like for the police to check her record in case she has not, in fact, done her time.” The eel glared at her when Emmet dropped her before it and gave her a hell of a shock. “Sorry brother! Unruly passengers! Boss has to take out the trash!” 

"What a shame for your beautiful train." Ingo had an urge to kick her while she was down and paralyzed but he was too professional for that. Zoroark indeed. Bitch. 

"But I suppose it's one of the few downsides of the job. Does that happen often for you?"

One of the agents came to carry her away, "Not often but vandalism is common. There was another this morning before you two showed up." 

"Vandalism?" Ingo asked.

“Ugh, again?” Emmet rubbed his brow. “They like to write verrrrrry nasty things about me, brother. And they take it out on the subway itself. Awful, really. Defacing such wonderful trains with their paint. Blech.” 

"Why!?" Ingo demanded standing, "What has Emmet ever done to them?" 

The agent looked uncomfortable but answered, "Everyone thinks that White Boss killed you. Everyone blamed him for that." 

"The news said that the police cleared Emmet of that crime." 

"Well, yeah officially." The agent nodded, "But most people believe, unofficially, everything the Unovan Enquirer tells them. The story is that White Boss got rid of you and stuffed you in a tunnel somewhere to be the only Subway Boss."

A memory flashed in Emmet’s mind as he frowned. Back to when he had gotten ahold of that damned paper. 

This was a little dramatic, even for her. Sarah got up on the train but it was empty save for two depot agents: Stefan and Isabelle and the man himself. The White Boss Emmet Kudari Gray of the very illustrious Gray family. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Made for an excellent paper. 

"Very smart." She complimented, "Getting two witnesses here with you. Very, what's the word? Strategic, but then again, I've been told you're a very calculating man, Mr. Gray. Have to be to get so good at doubles battles."

“Enough snark, miss. I’m here for business since your secretary keeps dodging my calls and tossing my letters. I thought I would go straight to the source. I want you to retract those headlines. It’s verrrrry rude, you know. Verrrrry mean. And verrrrrry much wrong. You could get sued for such things, you know! It could end your very paper if you aren’t careful!” He held up his finger with a smile at that, “I’ve had a verrrrry rough time because of you! Two trips to the hospital in fact!!” It was hard to keep his voice under control. Oh yes, he definitely blamed her for the riot and the incident. 

"Well that truly is unfortunate." She replied, "But people have a right to the truth no matter how unpleasant it is. Unless you have actual evidence stating that any...theories the Enquirer prints are wrong, there's no compelling reason for us to print a retraction."

“The truth. Hah. So verrrrry rich coming from you. You also have no evidence for any of these accusations, no one has ever found any bones down here and yet here you are claiming someone saw them. Fuck. You.” He wasn’t smiling. He was done with her shit entirely and didn’t care the mask was gone. 

"Look, I'm just trying to get by, same as you." She replied unfazed by his anger. This wasn't the first time someone had been pissed about an article her company published, "These things fade with every new scandal. People will move on but positions don't. I'm still the Queen of the Gossip Scene and you're the sole ruler of the Subway. The unbeatable Emmet Gray. As soon as some celebrity gets arrested for dope or some politician gets caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar you'll get everything you ever wanted. My sources tell me you like winning more than anything else. If that's not winning, I don't know what is."

“You just can’t help yourself from LYING, CAN YOU!?” His fists balled in rage. “You bring up this ridiculous story all the time, you can’t stop beating a dead horse for every worthless penny! You don’t care who gets hurt, who even gets killed because of you! A man is DEAD, Sarah, because of your bullshit! We are not the same! I serve the public, I work hard to make life easier for people, and all you do is spread lies and misery! You could get money by sticking to the facts just fine, you don’t need the rage bait, but your greed demands it! You and your diamond earrings and Kalosian handbag, you make me sick!” Never had the agents seen Emmet fly off the handle at someone like this. It was different from a scolding, different from an emergency or an attack. This was personal. This was rage. “Retract those damned stories or I will sue you into the ground. That’s an Emmet Gray promise.” 

"Boss." Stefan put his hand on Emmet's shoulder in case he tried to take a swing. That wouldn't help their case at all and would just give those bastards more ammunition.

 "Those are dangerous words, Mr. Gray. Dangerous and unsubstantiated. My paper just prints theories. You're the one who knows this subway inside and out. You're the one who's killed people. You're the one who benefits if your loud, obnoxious, idiot of a big brother suddenly disappeared off the planet. We don't espouse or encourage violence of any kind. As for calling me a liar." She got up right to his face when Isabelle stepped in to get between them. Isabelle was daring Sarah to even try it. 

Sarah just stopped and smiled before looking over Isabelle's shoulder, "Why don't you prove it?" After a beat she added, "This is my stop. Thanks for the ride." Sarah moved to get off the train.

“Cunt.” Emmet was so mad it didn’t even register on his face. He needed to be away from people right now. What she said about his brother made his blood boil unlike anything else. If there was one person in this world he wanted to actually kill, it was her. Not even the man who attacked him deserved his fate as much as this bitch did. The doors slid shut and the car moved on. “Isabelle, could you do me a favor?” 

"Yeah boss?" Isabelle asked, turning to Emmet, "You want us to put her on the no ride list?"

“Nah. She’s going on the Shit List.” A rare list. One where nothing was done to the passenger, but everyone everywhere in the service industries knew of. They were all connected. And knew to give that person hell everywhere they went, and not just the subways. Diners, stores, hotels, everywhere. People hated Emmet, but the Shit List was a cut above. An unspoken rule, a line not to be crossed. “Please make sure she gets on the most packed rides with the people coming home from the gym. Good and smelly. Oh, and I’d hate for her lovely white handbag to get hit with coffee. Or maybe pomegranate juice. Perhaps Megumi could help with that.” 

Isabelle nodded, "On it Boss." People may hate Emmet but he wasn't the only one in the service industry. If it came from her, the others would be more likely to uphold it especially when Isabelle repeated what she had said about Ingo. 

Stefan let go of Emmet's shoulder. "Boss, you okay?" He asked.

“No. I’m not. I need to be left alone tonight. Radio me if you need me, but I will be in the maintenance tunnel for now.” 

"Got it. We'll cover." Stefan said. 

"But." Isabelle wasn't so sure if leaving Emmet alone was a good idea or not. 

"Izzy. Give him some space. He'll pop up again." She looked at Emmet worried as the car pulled into the maintenance station.

He would salute to them with a frown and disembark. Emmet waited for the car to pull away before going to the cans of spare parts and kicking them with all of his might and screaming at the top of his lungs. He pulverized a few tins under his boot with ferocity, pretending it was that bitch’s skull. Oh how he wished to crush her into pulp beneath his heel. Pistol whip her. Grind her nose against Ingo’s tombstone. Her fault! It was all her fault! He was so mad, so angry. Hot tears ran down his face and he set up some target practice to shoot. He pretended it was her, silently. In an enclosed space like this the gunshots were so deafeningly loud and the bullets ricocheted around if he wasn’t careful. He emptied all six chambers into the can and threw his gun at it to knock it completely over, stand and all. 

“Fuck you..” He cried as he slumped against the far wall. He tucked his legs into his chest and hugged them. Emmet buried his face against his thighs and sobbed quietly, letting it all out. Alone in the dark with only the lights above him for company. He would kill her, one way or another. Maybe not physically, but he would ruin her reputation and business so far she would never find work ever again and go bankrupt. If it gave her even a fraction of the pain she had given him, he would make sure it would happen. Emmet would return to the main station an hour after this, his hair combed and his attire back to normal. He would be quiet as he worked and his eyes puffy, but that was all. It was all he could do. 

In the present Ingo stared at the depot agent, "Emmet would never hurt me." 

The agent nodded, "I know, Boss." 

Ingo shook his head, "I'm not your boss."

Emmet walked over and quietly put his hand on Ingo’s shoulder. “Relax brother. Everything will be alright. I will get my name cleared soon enough. And you will earn your job back. I know we can do it together, yup.” His voice was low and soft. Distant, but still full of care. Emmet glanced up as the train approached the next station. “It’s break time brother, why don’t you go on with Peters to get something to eat?” 

"Come eat with us." Ingo said, turning back to him trying to get a hold of himself, "We can all get something together."

“No can do. This train must keep running. I brought a snack, now all aboard!” The doors slid shut and the train rolled onwards without Ingo. Peters went to Ingo’s side. 

“C’mon boss. This way. White Boss has it covered.” The agent would lead him to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. There were new faces who had never met Ingo before. How was everyone reacting to him?

Of course, they knew the story- that he had disappeared for five years. And they knew the rumors- that Emmet had done it. Killed him and hid the body in one of the tunnels. Maybe chopped Ingo up and fed him to his Pokémon. So of course, they stared at him like he had come back from the dead and speculated what could've made him leave for five years. It made Ingo feel like he was under a microscope. He reached in his pocket and squeezed the Light Stone for self-comfort. Turning to another agent they were with, Ingo asked, "Does Emmet seem different to you?"

“Shoo, ya Mandibuzzes, can’t a guy take a break in peace?” He made the more annoying folks piss off for a bit. “Different? You mean compared to before? Yah. Way different. But you seem out of it, so I guess it’s hard to tell huh?”

"Yes." Ingo confirmed, feeling grateful for less people, "Could you tell me in what way please? I've got a bit of an idea but I feel it's been the more censored version. But then again it could be my brain trying to fill in gaps that aren't really there. 'Not everyone is a major character in a story'." That last bit was a quote someone had once told him in Hisui.

“Hm. Well. He is short with people. He used to love to yap, but now he always has to go from one thing to another. He doesn’t always mean it, but he can be verrrrry stern, hah!” The agent grew serious again. “Some people called him Killer Boss, at first it was part of the rumors but only us old hands call him that now. We’ve reclaimed it from the gossipers. Buncha twerps.” He took a drink before continuing. “He doesn’t ask for help but we know when to step in. It’s a lot more body language. Some days are worse than others. Like he’s just a passenger in his own body going through the motions.”

Ingo took a drink from his own cup as the depot agent spoke. "Did a lot of people give him problems? Like any old Plasma team members?"

"Boy, you don't know the half of it." He said wide eyed and adjusted his cap. "Shit, I damn near got killed one day. Plasma didn't go softly after being defeated, there were always groups of them running around, especially in the big cities. Especially in the dark corners. So bingo, that means here. You and Emmet kept 'em pretty far off but when ya... vanished, they got bold. Reaaaaaal bold. They tried hijacking the trains a couple of times. Boss had to pack heat so he wouldn't get jumped and we got batons and tasers."

Hmm, interesting. Could this be a power play or was there something more to this? Suddenly, Ingo saw someone over the depot agent's shoulder. No, impossible. "Excuse me!" Ingo said a little too loudly standing up and rushing out the door. A turn down the corner and he was gone.

The last incident with Plasma was over two years ago thankfully. They ran outta steam for the most part. The depot agent followed him. "Huh, what was that about? See someone?”

"I thought I saw..." But that was impossible, wasn't it? He'd have to be over two hundred years old by now, "Apologies...I thought I saw someone from long ago but it appears I was mistaken. It must be the stress from returning. I didn't mean to disturb your break."

“It’s alright boss, you have it too, huh?” He sat back down with Ingo.

"It?" He asked, sitting back down again.

He glanced around and lowered his voice. “You know… seeing things? White Boss was real bad with it.” 

"Emmet had hallucinations?" Ingo made sure to keep his voice low but he had a tendency to go loud if he didn't consciously think about it. Emmet had mentioned it to him, but it was different coming from someone else now. It was sinking in how far it went.

The depot agent clammed up, realizing he had put his foot in his mouth. "Er... Well." Shit. "Y-yeah. He does."

There. He knew people were keeping things from him. "You say 'does'. Is it still current?"

"Well, yeah. It never went away, he just is... better with it than before." Cat's outta the bag. "He even smoked for a stint there, he would go to a slow station and take a break, muttering to himself as if someone was there. It was.. really sad. He would say he would see you and go running off. We would take care of things until he came back a half hour later looking like a mess. It was... bad."

Ingo made no face or noise of judgement. He just nodded his head listening along.

"Is that why that one depot agent thought that I was Emmet?"

“He sometimes dressed up as you, Boss.” He confirmed and looked down. “He would try and mimic your mannerisms but it was really bad. Sometimes you’d think he really fooled himself to play the part, but he would come back the next day sullen and in his white clothes. He would always apologize and just wanted to keep spirits up, but it did the opposite. That and it made the gossipers go wild. Thinking he was feeling guilty for gutting you. He broke, he went completely mad. I don’t know how else to say it. Sometimes he never left the station for days. He would wander the tunnels a lot looking for something. For you, I guess. He would wander the same routes over and over like some ghost possessed him. Really spooky when he was wearing your outfit.” 

"He looks so put together." Ingo gasped. He had a feeling that Emmet was trying to hide his hurt, that he was shielding Ingo from something, but he had no idea how bad it had gotten.

"You know I'm not upset? I'm just sad he felt the need to hide this from me." He admitted, "I wouldn't judge him for it, ever. Emmet's been through so much because of me. Thank you for being honest with me. I will keep our conversation confidential. I don't want to reopen any of Emmet's old wounds. I do have one final question and I hope you will continue to be candid. Did Emmet...did Emmet throw himself in front of the train?" They had talked about it this morning. He had seen the notes. Ingo wanted confirmation.

“Well, he has been doing better this past year and especially in recent months, so there is that. And… I don’t know. He always looked so worn out, I wouldn’t be surprised if he fell, but the timing was spooky. Maybe he was so tired he was even tired of living. I dunno. White Boss is strong, so very strong. Anyone else would have keeled over 6 months in. And he really cares about everyone. He’s tried so hard to hold everything together, he lost hold of himself. It’s good to have you back, Boss Ingo. We all… really really missed you.” He offered his hand to shake before it was time to hop back on the trains. Emmet’s train. 

"Thank you." He gave him a good firm handshake and prepared to put on a happy face when he boarded Emmet's train. Well, as happy as Ingo looked anyway. To the untrained eye he always looked like he was frowning. He smiled at Emmet. His brother had been so strong and went through so much.

"You sure you don't need a break? I wouldn't mind battling. It's all I did back in Hisui."

“You’re not on payroll yet, bro.” He laughed and shook his head. “Not allowed! Against the rules! I don’t want to throw you off of my train, now do I?” Still, he welcomed his brother aboard. “Refueled and ready? All Aboard!” The doors swung shut. The battles were almost over, they had a set cut off time at 5pm, but he still had to man the car like a depot agent might. Ticket checking, general presence to keep hooligans from running amok, and a smile for the passengers' sense of ease. Well. As much ease as they could get from him. “After this, it’s time for some safety inspections.” 

"Your train?" Ingo teased back, feeling himself chuckle despite it all. Still, he remained at Emmet's side like a shadow. He nodded at the mention of safety inspections.

"Make sure everything's in working order and that the tunnel tracks are cleared."

"I am the Boss, aren't I?" He gave Ingo a coy look. "I'm in charge, and don't you forget it!" 

He had to push and tease him around a little bit. Though some people would shift uncomfortably. Ya know. Because that's why Emmet killed him in the first place. Were they hallucinating a dead man too? No.. it was just so awkward. 

"Precisely," Emmet nodded. As the last passengers disembarked, the train went down a separate track for daily cleaning while they got off and would walk the tracks. He handed Ingo a lantern. "Now don't you dare get lost. Stay next to me, ok?"

"Do we need these?" He asked Emmet, "I remember in Hisui I can see very well in darkness. Can you as well?"

Still, he took one and didn't argue. The tracks...this was where Ingo had disappeared five years ago wasn't it?

"No, we don't. But it will help us see any little bit of debris. And more importantly, someone will see us if they are heading down the track our way. It's for our safety and theirs." Yes, he had disappeared along the tracks, that was true. Which ones exactly? Emmet had a guess but never an exact location. Lots of ghost types like to live down here which wasn't much of a problem because they could just go through walls and not be hurt by the trains. Chandelure liked these walks and popped out with a little sound of happiness.

Ingo gave one of his not-smiles at Chandelure. His oldest and first Pokémon. Even Ingo couldn't remember where exactly he disappeared. Still, he kept by Emmet's side and looked out for debris.

The firelight from the lanterns and from Chandelure made the shadows dance around them. Cling to them. Ingo was Yin, the black, he melded with shadow. Emmet was the Yang, the white, but he emanated shadow, not melded with it. Emmet casted shadow. Ingo emerged from it. Still, they were being watched by Pokémon as they passed. A little Dreepy nuzzled up to Emmet’s side for a pet, glad to see him again and Ingo. They had lots of friends down here. The tracks were clear. No one was lost down here and nothing was broken. All of the sensors worked too. Goody. As they walked the light of the next station came into view slowly. “And here we disembark. Thank you for coming with me. Now I have some interviews to do and paperwork, but after that we are going home. It wasn’t too bad of a day, was it?”

"Not at all!" Ingo agreed, "It was very pleasant. He'd stay with Emmet at the office while he finished up the last bit of paperwork and interviews for the day. He didn't mind the wait at all.

During the interviews he was doing performance reviews for the agents. Emmet had to put his big boss face on. Most were good, some were… not. He went into a separate office to do those, but it was glass so you could see inside. Verrrrrrry serious when he had to be, but when the last person was done, he looked so burnt out. “I was never good with those,” he muttered to Ingo before plopping the paperwork down into the filing cabinet where it belonged and was later saved to the servers. A few Joltiks tried to climb up his legs but he had to shoo them away. He couldn’t play much anymore, unfortunately. 

“I’m sorry, Joltiks, but this train is heading for the maintenance station! All passengers are to disembark here. I will see you tomorrow!” He gave a little salute to the tiny pokemon who skittered away with a happy squeak. He sighed. 

“Let’s go home.” Man it felt good to say that. His days were verrrrrrry long, it was 9pm almost. He worked 6 days a week. Three days of work, one day of rest. Rinse and repeat. That way it was always different days of the week he had off, so he could rotate shifts and keep an eye on all things, never neglecting any one shift. Rarely he did the night shifts. That was more of a bi weekly event. The night air felt so cool and brisk when they emerged from the tunnels. He sighed in relief.  And held his coat under his arm. 

Ingo was by his side walking with him although his coat was still on.

"Is this your normal work shift or did you have to pick up more because of my disappearance?" He asked him as they started the walk home.

“Ah...er... Well! It’s normal for me now, but when we worked together, it was less. We could go on separate tracks and keep an eye on things more consistently, we could have two days off every week and would be done by dinner time.” 

Good, then when he was hired, Ingo could really help take a load off.

"Are you hungry? I could make you dinner." He offered.

"Nopenopenopenopenope!" Emmet wouldn't have it. "Not a chance!" 

"Why?" Ingo asked, giving him a bit of a pout.

"One! It is my treat. You have returned home. I have already planned to make an old favorite! Two! You come from Hisui! I don't exactly trust you around a stove yet! Not until you show me you remember how to use it! Three...! I want to!"

"I'll have you know cooking over an open fire is a lot more difficult than a stove." Ingo huffed but relented, "Oh you do? And what is my old favorite?"

“You have several! I’m not going to tell you. You will have to guess it while I make it! You can help, if you want.” They reached their building and took the elevator on up. Emmet unlocked the door and tossed his coat and gloves on a chair. Ahhh it was nice to be back. He washed his hands and would get started right away. Most of the Pokémon came out to relax too. They had lots of Pokémon food and berries for them all the time, they never went hungry. 

Ingo let out all of his Pokémon to relax, even his friends from Hisui that were still new to this place.

“Hello, I am Emmet!” He waved happily to all of them as he got out the flour, some eggs, and a bit of salt. A little olive oil and some water too. He was busy, yes, verrrrry busy, but he was happy! So many new friends. And Ingo! Thankfully their condo was plenty big enough for all these Pokémon. Emmet… had a lot of cash. He didn’t do anything with it except pay his bills and research. Not until now at least.

Things seemed to be going well. The three groups of Pokémon, Ingo's old team, his new team, and Emmet's seemed to be getting along well so that was one thing they didn't have to worry about.

"Are you making a cake?" Ingo asked moving into the kitchen and watching his brother go this way and that with ingredients.

"Hahahahah, nope. This is dinner, silly." He playfully flicked a little flour at him and kneaded the mixture together with such force and vigor. He had to.

Ingo took a little flour and flicked it back again laughing. "Okay, you're mixing the dough...are you making pizza?"

"Hm, closer! I'll give you a hint. It's potato flour."

"You do like to keep me guessing...Gnocchi?"

Emmet blinked. "How the fuc-" Well shit! He got it! "Yes, yes, it's gnocchi. Now would you mind making the sauce for me? Recipe is in the book."

"I thought you didn't trust me near the stove." He teased but got out the book anyway.

"I trust you enough now that you have an idea what we are doing," he smirked. He was doing the hard part at least. He had strong arms. Emmet was lanky and thinner than before but it was all lean muscle. Ingo however... he was a real survivalist now.

Climbing cliffs and battling off alpha Pokémon did that to man. Ingo began to hum a tune as he worked Crustle rubbing up against his leg like a cat. She had really missed him.

Galvantula had a web hammock in the corner of the room she liked to nest in. They all had their special spots. Archeops wasn't small but he liked to park his ass on Emmet's shoulder and watch him cook. And beg for scraps of course. Emmet hummed with Ingo. Man it felt like the old days. Even though it was getting late, making good food always did lift the spirits. It would be ready and it would be so good.

"Perfect! Bravo!" It was so good too. Emmet hadn't felt this happy in... Well, he couldn't remember! He kept waiting to wake up, for this all to be just a dream.

It was no dream. It truly was him and Ingo and all their Pokémon reunited again. The older twin smiled at Emmet's use of his usual phrase.

"Thank you, Alakazam." He told the psychic Pokémon as he poured the sauce on top of the gnocchi. Alakazam had been using his mind to set the table.

"Smells delicious." He told his brother.

One last pokeball wobbled on Emmet’s belt. Dialga. It whined a bit, wanting a taste of gnocchi. “Even immortal dragons cannot resist pasta.” He laughed. 

"Will Dialga and Palkia be able to fit in here?" Ingo asked. It wouldn't be fair to give some to one and not to the other.

"Not really!" But the dragons were pushy and they pushed out of their pokeballs, instead emerging outside, hovering by the window.

"Hey! You're gonna scare someone!" Dialga chirruped and nudged his arm. Emmet relented and let them have a portion, which they gratefully accepted.

Not wanting Palkia to feel left out, Ingo put some in a little bowl for the dragon to eat as well.

"Thank you again, for taking us back home." He told the pink one. Despite being embodiment of concepts in many ways, the two legendaries were like any other pokemon. Then again, Ingo supposed he didn't have any room to talk about being an embodiment of a concept. 

Palkia reached down and placed their hand on his head gently. Their claws were like steak knives, but the water dragon was as gentle as could be. After their little snacky, the dragons returned to their pokeballs, satisfied. It was getting late, real late, so after a little cleanup they had to go to bed.

Fine with Ingo. He was absolutely exhausted. A quick shower to be clean for bed and he would just collapse in a deep sleep Chandelure hovering at the foot of his bed. How well did Emmet sleep?

He passed right he heck out, he was very worn out from the day and while his brain was buzzing happily, he needed the sleep. Hopefully no nightmares would bother him here, it was the last thing he needed. He would sleep soundly that night. If they did have nightmares Chandelure was more than happy to eat them.

Chandelure was a very well-fed dream eater indeed. But they could rest. Dawn broke and the boys got up. Doing his routine with Ingo again put a pep in his step. It was real, he was really here with him! 

“Alright, Ingo! Ready for round two? Today should be smoother, I don’t have as much to catch up on.” 

It would probably take a business week for the paper work to get through for Ingo to get his job back. Until then he was happy just to shadow Emmet for a while.

"I'm ready!" He told him happily. For now, he was fine with just following Emmet as he did his usual.

“Alrighty, all aboard!” Entering the station, the agents were happy to see him again. Like they needed the reminder that this was real as well. 

“Hiya boss! Boss one and boss two!”

 Emmet smiled and waved. “Alrighty, today, you are going to be in the command center! I will come by after some battles, but these maps will help you get used to the layout.” He would leave Emmet under the care of Peters before saluting and departing on the battle train. 

"Wait! Where are you going?" Ingo asked. If Ingo was supposed to stay in the command center, then what was Emmet doing? What the hell was he even supposed to do in the command center?

“Brother! You must learn the train routes again! And keep an eye out for hazards on the tracks through the monitors! Don’t worry, Peters will give you the tutorial! See you later!! All Aboard!” 

Oh dragons. Hopefully Ingo could remember this. Thankfully Peters was a very patient teacher. The cheat card he made Ingo helped as well. By midafternoon Ingo was beginning to get some confidence when...there he was again. How?? 

By about two pm Peters hit Emmet up on the phone sounding like he was going to piss himself. "Um...Boss? Could you come back to control? Please?"

“Hmmm?? Peters, I am in the middle of the battle. It’s verrrrry rude to interrupt! Is something wrong?” Emmet hoped not. 

"I've lost Black Boss. I can't find him anywhere!" Peters told him. The others could hear that over their work radio and the noise that came over was like all hell broke loose.

Emmet froze entirely as his heart literally stopped for a few beats. “You… What!? How!? He didn’t just wander off! You’ve checked the cameras, right?? Where was he seen last??” Emmet pulled away from the radio quickly to apologize to the trainer and cancel the double battle. He would award them their allotted BP as if they won as a consolation prize and hopped off the train towards the command center at once. Everyone was going to cycle their shift to cover him as he left his post. Someone to cover him, someone to cover the person who left, someone to cover them, so on and so forth. This… was a common occurrence when things happened.

Most of the agents were shaking as Emmet came in. Peters stood in front of them ready to report. "Boss, he went out one of the side exits. The cameras lost him after that. I thought he just went to lunch, but he never came back."

Emmet swore loudly. “Get a hold of city surveillance and see if they have seen anything. DAMN IT!” He clenched his fist in frustration but then let out a breath. Breathe. “We will find him. We will. He probably just got lost on the way back, yup!” Emmet forced himself to be positive, to smile, even if it clearly pained him. His silver eyes were not happy at all.

 “I will go up top and see if I can spot him, okay? I trust you to keep things running smoothly down here.” He placed a gloved hand on Peters’ shoulder. “I trust you.” 

Was that sincere or a threat? It was hard to tell with his mask on so uncannily. Emmet trusted you, Peters, and now Ingo was gone. Again. He is trusting you to keep things on track too. It would be good for Emmet to head up, away from the others as he was clearly distressed. He didn’t want to take it out on his agents, he had worked so hard in therapy to keep a lid on things. Emmet marched to the surface with his radio still on. He had been trying to stay on the bright side about Ingo just losing his path, but as time ticked by, he grew more and more frantic, and his composure was leaving him quickly. He grit his teeth. 

“Not again. I can’t even have two days of my life back, can I?” He muttered to himself. Emmet was clenching his fists now and then he got an idea. “Dialga!” 

He summoned the god of time in the alleyway, which was thankfully large enough to accommodate it. “Show me the past, where did he go?” Dialga’s eyes shone brightly and their crimson glow dominated the light as their gem began to emit light as well. Like a ghost, Ingo was shown: his exact movements as he had left the station. What happened to him? 

"Boss..." Peters face said it all. He didn't mean to lose Black Boss like that. He saluted in response.

Ingo had seen a man, a blonde, and followed him out of the station and onto the sidewalk, "Excuse me, sir!" The blonde ignored Ingo and continued walking, weaving through the crowd. "Sir! Volo!" 

Ingo called out but he lost him. Maybe...maybe he was mistaken. After all, if that was Volo, he'd be well over two hundred years old by now. Ingo should head back. As Ingo turned around he felt something strike his back shoving him into the road. He froze as he looked at an oncoming truck but then fell backwards into his own shadow as the truck slammed onto the breaks. 

From the sidelines, the vision showed Volo watching with a serious look on his face. "So it's true. You were right there under my nose the whole time. Guess I'll have to wait until you can crawl out of your shadow world. Don't leave me waiting, Warden. We're gonna change the world together." Then the vision ended.

Emmet ran after the spectre and saw his brother get pushed in front of the truck to his horror. 

“NO!” He reached out, but it was just a mirage, it was in the past. He stared at the ground. Oh dragons, he was killed! But…. There was no blood here. What the fuck? He would radio his team about what he saw and had the cameras pull the footage from this street corner for the police as well. 

“Agents, I want the man in blonde put on the no ride list. I want him found, if he shows his face in this city again, have him arrested. Our search continues, but if I see him again, I’m going to…” He was going to say kill him but he couldn’t be doing that over the radio. “Apprehend him.”

He would make sure the security systems AI would flag him with a red alert if he ever came back. Emmet marched down the streets for a while before returning to the tunnels. “How did he just… vanish!?” What was all this about? He had his hackles raised like nothing else and his aura ran foul as he returned to the station. What else could he do other than alert the authorities and keep a look out? 

As for Ingo he found himself in what looked like a dark tunnel littered with stars. No, not stars, windows. Catching his breath after that close run in with the truck he began to explore looking for a way to get out. These windows of light looked out into different sections of the world covered in shadow. He didn't know about Emmet's aura but he felt a pull to a particular window...the station! Gear Station. He could see Emmet and the other depot agents!

Emmet had friends in high places. If Volo showed his face in Nimbasa City again it would be known.

"Yes sir, White Boss!" 

Emmet was storming about with a frown on his face. He would not leave the station until he found Ingo. He had called Elesa and the whole subway was on high alert. No one liked this. It wasn’t the first time White Boss had gone off his rocker with a red alert, but if it was true that Ingo had been there yesterday and this morning… Maybe he had a reason to. This was bizarre. Ingo going missing twice out of the blue. Emmet wouldn’t let it happen again. Well… it had happened again, but he hoped this time he could do something about it and save his brother from years of isolation like he had gone through in Hisui. Dragons… Ingo had been gone for 30 years then. Would he even survive another round of that? Emmet tried to shove these paranoid thoughts out of his mind, but the fact of the matter remained that they were surrounded by supernatural events whether they liked it or not and he had to deal with it. Fix it. Emmet would march down the tracks with his lantern, clutching it with a death grip. He was furious. 

The track tunnels were nice and dark. "Emmet!" Ingo called out his voice echoing off the subway walls.

The boss whirled around at the sound, casting the light and searching through the darkness. There was nothing. He was about to call out to his brother, but the realization struck him and he felt sick and angry with himself. How was he supposed to search for him like this? When he could hardly trust himself. Emmet stopped in the middle of the tracks and picked up a rock, throwing it with all his might against a wall with a scream that tore his throat. The rock shattered into tiny bits on impact. He clenched his teeth as hot tears ran down his face. He tried to stay calm. He tried to keep it together, but he couldn’t right now. He breathed heavily and glanced at the far away track to see if any train was coming, not that he would be willing to move. 

A few days. He had Ingo for only a few days and then he was torn from him again. Was this some sick joke!? Bile rose in his throat and he slammed his fist against the wall. Ow. He could hardly feel it over the roaring in his heart and mind. His soul. He wanted to tear every brick down in his path to Ingo. If he was gone again, he just wanted to die. And that man. He wanted to watch the life leave his eyes as he strangled him to death. He crouched on the tracks for a moment, putting his arms over his head and wailed out his frustrations into the empty air. Vent it, then breathe. Breathe. Remember your lessons. He would have to up his dose for sure today when he got back to his desk. He caught his breath and stood again, adjusting his tie and mask before continuing his patrol down the tunnels. 

"Emmet, listen to me! I'm stuck in here!" Ingo called out. He remembered what the agent had said. Hallucinations. He thought that Ingo was his own brain playing tricks on him. "Emmet, go get Stefan or Isabelle and bring them here! If they can hear my voice you're not hallucinating!"

No one else could be the subway boss, no one was better at it than the twins. But still. It made some people wonder if the city should fire Emmet for all of this chaos. Not that Elesa would allow it, but she couldn’t protect him forever either. He wasn’t in much danger of losing his job, but if he really cracked publicly, he might get suspended again. Emmet paused again and listened. This was…. Hnnnrrrghhh. He turned and looked again, dreading what he would see, but there was nothing there. 

“Stuck where!? I can’t see you! I-if I leave how will I know where to find you again!? Wait!” He pulled out his radio and called for the two agents to meet him here in the tunnel. No. Emmet would not wander off. He would stay and wait. “Ingo, what the hell is happening?”

All of the usual ghost Pokémon fled from Emmet when he was like this. He scared them. His aura bled pure hatred for the blonde man and sorrow at the loss of his twin. Again. Reopening a fresh wound just recently stitched together. Still, Emmet didn’t give into it. Not completely. He still had hope in him, somewhere. That tiny light that would never die. 

"Someone pushed me in front of a truck. I thought I saw someone from my past so I went to track him down but I fell down here." Ingo knocked on the window with a frustrated growl. Stefan and Isabelle met Emmet on the track. 

"Boss, what's up?" Stefan asked, "You find Black Boss yet?" 

"Agent Stefan! I'm here!" Ingo cried out. 

Stefan whirled the flash light, "Where? I don't see you! You in the walls?"

Emmet was stunned. Holy shit, he wasn’t just tripping. That changed everything. Emmet had texted Elesa to track down the blonde man and get any information she could on him. From his past, eh? From Hisui?? This was a meditated attack. This was some bitch who knew Ingo back then and then came here to stir up more shit. Oh, he was extra dead now. Volo. From the Gingko Guild. Emmet palmed the dark orb in his pocket as a stress relief. What do we do? 

“How are you on the other side of the wall? The sewers don’t run through this area at all. Still, we will shut down this section of rail, yup.” Hearing Ingo’s voice was at least a comfort. 

"No, don't do that. I don't think I'm physically on the other side of the wall." Ingo explained, "I'm somewhere dark with lots of these pockets of light-" 

"Oh no! Boss! Don't go into the light!" Isabelle called out.

"Ah, I don't think it's that kind of situation. All these pockets look out onto the world. I can see the three of you for-" Ingo cut himself off as Isabelle turned her flash light towards him and the window disappeared. "Boss? Boss?"

“Ingo? INGO!!” Emmet yelled and pounded at the wall. He swore in anguish as his brother had been cut off from him AGAIN! How many times could a man take this? He waited for a response but there would not be one. Not while Isabelle had her flashlight pointed at the wall. Bitter and angry he turned on his heel. “He HAS to be somewhere! Keep searching the tunnels!” 

Isabelle moved, going to continue to search with Emmet. "That's it!" Ingo's voice called out again, "It's connected to light and shadow! Emmet, remember when we went to the temple?"

Emmet whirled around again at the return of his voice and trotted over to the wall, leaving his lantern behind. He pressed himself against the wall where his voice was the loudest. Ingo had always been a big mouth, heh. 

“Brother! You…” He shook his head, it was all so crazy. “Well, what the hell are we supposed to do if you’re stuck in a shadow??? Can’t you reach out from it?” 

"I'm trying!" Ingo huffed. Honestly if Ingo could, wouldn't he by now? "This might take me a while. Emmet, you and the others have to get out of the tunnel and get back to work."

Emmet belted out a laugh. “Yeah right! As if we are gonna leave you behind, brother! Nope! Not at all, I am staying right here, yup! Stefan, Isabelle, go head back to the command center and brief the others on what is happening. And no, it’s not a case of the white boss days. It’s real this time. You know that.” Emmet, despite wearing all white, plopped down against the wall and sighed. “I won’t leave you,” he promised. 

"Emmet." Ingo sighed but Stefan shook his head, "It's no use. You know once White Boss makes up his mind there's no changing it."

"We'll make sure the trains reroute so that this tunnel isn't used." Isabelle said, "But Black Boss, you need to figure this out as fast as possible! We need you both back." The two would turn to head out unless Emmet had anything more to say.

No, Emmet would nod to them, grateful for having such good agents. No. Friends. Hours would pass. Elesa had told him who this blonde was and now he had a name for that damned face. But Emmet was not much for words right now and cut their conversation short. It was approaching 2am now. He was still sitting there with Ingo, lantern on the ground and bags in his eyes as he rubbed them. He felt himself getting dizzy and nodding off. 

Emmet heard his name and his head snapped to her direction hoping to see... Well, you know as he awoke.

 “Ah Elesa. I suppose you’ve come to collect me like last week’s trash, hm?” 

Something was wrong, he was no longer in the tunnel, he was in the maintenance station and it felt like days had passed. Like he wasn’t himself. A passenger in another body. His memory was all jumbled too. Ingo was missing, they had no trace of him, none at all after he vanished. Three days had gone by. 

"Emmet, have you eaten anything? Have you slept at all?" 

He just blinked at her and sighed. "We both know the answer to that one." He put his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do, Elesa. I can't do this again. I can't. Dialga showed me where he went and I'm... I'm too scared. I feel like I'm dying all over again, Elesa." He lowered his hands and stared forward unfocused into the darkness. His back was hunched and his hair was frazzled. "You don't have to put up with me, you know. You have plenty to worry about other than coming down here." He rubbed his knuckles, still sore from when he smashed them days before on the tunnel wall. 

"Don't say that." Elesa said going to his side, "You're my friend. I stayed by your side then and I'll do it again. Ingo would want you to take care of yourself. What happened to your hand?" She asked looking at it. 

“Busted it on the wall. It’s not broken, just the skin got scraped." He let it go limp in her hand as he stared forward. If Ingo was there, he would be choking on the rancid aura of Yang here. It was like a miasma. “Ingo, where the fuck did you go..?”

She didn't know about Ingo but Elesa could sense something was different. Emmet's whole aura seems to drag this place down. "Emmet, don't do this to yourself." She sighed. His hand didn't look too messed up. She would let it go for now. 

He reached into his pocket for his smokes. He still had some in his desk from a long while ago and decided he needed a light.

 "You are not smoking again." She glared at him. 

He flicked on the lighter to ignite it. “I know you don’t want me to, Elesa. I’m sorry to disappoint you, again and again.” Maybe she should just leave the man to his demons and not get dragged down by him. 

“I’m afraid I’m not much of anything without Ingo.” He blew a cloud of smoke away from her. Emmet couldn’t help it, his mood was in the gutter. He didn’t want to hurt her seeing him like this. She really was a good friend.

 She was very quiet, "Promise me that you'll call me if it gets too much, Emmet." 

He glanced up at her. He didn't want to scoff, it was so mean. "I'm.. I'm sorry Elesa. But it already is. Please, I don't mean to bring you down. I want you to be happy." 

"Okay, then how about we see the doctor again?" She suggested, "We can have him adjust your meds." She wasn't going to touch on how she couldn't be happy seeing him so miserable like this. 

"Later." He showed her his bottle of meds. "Don't worry, I'm still on track. I haven't fallen off the wagon or done too much. Only the prescribed amount.” 

"Okay, I'm going to check on you later. The book I special ordered is coming in. Emmet, don't go where I can’t follow, okay?" 

“I’ll be right down here if you need me.” He gave her the thumbs up and would finish his cigarette as she left. Once she was gone, his dry eyes bled themselves of a bit more tears, hitting the concrete at his feet. Fuck, man. Just. Fuuck. He doused the cigarette and picked up the lantern. He had burned down the candle to the stub, so he needed to get a new one. That meant walking the tunnels alone in the dark. Whatever. If it happened it happened. He just hoped the sensors would do their job. 

Then he felt something else. A rumble. Shittttt. He ran in the opposite direction, booking it as fast as he could, tripping almost on a few of the tracks. He narrowly escaped getting run over by a train as he dove head first back onto the station he had been resting at earlier. His heart was pounding and sweat beaded down his face. The train kept going onwards as if nothing happened, of course. He screamed a curse and hurled the empty lantern against the far wall, shattering glass all over the tracks. He was having a breakdown. He was on his hands and knees sobbing and crying out in pain, his body wouldn’t let him do anything else. Thank God this was a maintenance station that no one went to. Christ. 

"Ingo, where THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" He screamed and sobbed. His body was tired. He was tired. He laid on the ground for a bit as he tried to breathe. The world around him was irrelevant to him. The night would wane on into the next day.

The depot agents knew White Boss was alive because he would update tasks and respond to work emails like normal, but they knew he was far from normal. They never hardly saw him besides the office or locker rooms or vending machines. He kept going to the tracks. One day he wouldn’t come back, they knew it. He would be gone, somewhere in the darkness, split to pieces. They were just worried about when.

 He lit a cigarette in the shadows, his only light for now. He hummed a tune as he walked in the dark, his ears on keen alert for any sounds of trains. He had his gun, yes, but he wasn’t going to use it. He had no intention of that, really. It was too easy if he did. No, he walked and then he stopped. He was crying but no tears were there. After a moment, he continued walking, shakily continuing to hum from where he left off. 

Ingo felt weak. It was part from Emmet's distress, part lack of food, part lack of water. That didn't stop him though from finally crawling out of the hole in the wall. He stumbled onto the track in front of Emmet finally clawing into dirt. No, he had heard everything. This was his. His darkness and it wasn't going to control him. He was going to control it. He crawled until he felt the cool metal and saw a distant light up ahead, small like a cigarette?

"Emmet?" 

What the fuck was that? Emmet pulled out his gun. 

“Who goes there? These tracks are off limits to the public.” Ingo swallowed. His throat was so dry. 

"Ingo." Ingo replied, trying to push back on his legs so he could sit up properly. 

Emmet squinted in the darkness and continued walking. And walking. And walked right past him with a glance. 

"Hnnngh," he sighed. 

The hell? Ingo wasn't expecting that. Maybe for him to yell at him or shoot him but he just walked past. 

"W-" He coughed, "W-wait." He pushed himself up to stand. Ingo wasn't going to give up. He started to follow his brother. "Wait!" 

Emmet ignored him and would keep going. There was a station ahead at least, he could sit there for a bit. He must really be having a bad day. Everyday was a bad day without Ingo.

Ingo still wasn't giving up. Even if he had to follow Emmet all the way to that station. Were there other people in that station or was it just them? 

It was just them. The maintenance station. Emmet hopped up onto the platform and sat on the bench in a sad heap. He kept his eyes on the darkness waiting for the figure to emerge. 

Ingo then crawled up onto the platform. This must be the hallucinations he was talking about. Maybe Emmet thought he was just seeing him and not that Ingo was right there. "You...you're a hard man to get to." Ingo chuckled darkly but continued to head towards Emmet, but he didn’t move. He just watched Ingo walk. How he just materialized from the shadows. He didn’t respond, he just… watched. That was fine. Ingo could come to him. He knelt down to Emmet and placed his hand on his knee. 

"Emmet, it's me." 

“No,” he muttered. “You’re not real,” he sighed and pulled out another cigarette to continue his chain smoking.

 "You were so strong for me." Ingo said not bothering to argue with him, "I'm going to be strong for you now." Fuck but he couldn't lift him not as famished as he was. Maybe he didn't have to. Ingo drew out his pokeball and tossed it out.

"Come to me Haxorus." The Pokémon popped out looking between the two twins. His human and his brother looked like a wreck. 

That was it, huh? Emmet stood up and began pacing around. He started giggling, then laughing like a madman. 

“It was never real, was it? I just. Imagined this! I never went to Sinnoh, I never found him, it’s all just been in my head, I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, I’ve really lost it, huh? I’m gone! Gone!” He held out his arms and swung his head back as he paced in a circle, his hat hitting the floor. 

"Haxorus, go pick him up. Try to be gentle." Ingo said going over and picking up his hat. Haxorus made a sound and went over to try and scoop up Emmet bridal style. 

"Nuh uh!" Emmet dodged away and pulled out his gun. "I might not know what is real or not, but I won't be ushered away." His hands shook as he aimed between Haxorus and Ingo. Haxorus growled at the gun pointed at his human. 

"Okay, okay." Ingo said both to Emmet and Haxorus. Any sudden wrong moves might end badly for everything involved, "We'll do this your way. What do you want, Emmet?"

“I... I want… I want my brother back. I want my life back. This is my, our subway. I just want him b-back...” He cried miserably, but didn’t lower the gun. “B-but… but I caaan’t! He’s gone! He’s gone and he’s been gone and I’m never g-gonna see him again. He’s never coming back, I’ve just been lying to myself all this-this time.” He hiccupped. “I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to live without him. I don’t… I don’t!” He put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

…But nothing happened when the gun was fired. It was unloaded. He must have known that too as he slowly pulled it out and holstered it. He stood there, wavering, staring at the ground. Silently, he walked forwards and took Ingo’s hand to go walk back to the main station. He didn’t say another word. In reality, he hadn’t trusted himself with his firearm for a long while and unloaded it. It was just a show of force, even if there was nothing in it. They would come back to the main station.

 "NO!" Ingo shouted but it was too late and there was the terrifying sound of the 'click' from the hammer and nothing more. Oh thank Arceus. Emmet slowly put it down and took Ingo's hand. The two walked back to the main station in silence but Ingo kept a tight grip on Emmet's hand like he might lose him at any moment. The agents froze when they suddenly saw the two of them together. 

"Black boss? Wh- Where-" One of them began to ask but Ingo cut him off. 

"Could you please go and call an ambulance?" Ingo asked before pulling on Emmet's hand to come sit with him on the bench. Nobody said anything but one of the agents ran off to do as Ingo requested. Ingo sat with him and rubbed his hand with his thumb. He would get taken to the hospital and have time to recover. 

The dream faded and Emmet found tears on his face. What was that just then? Another world? Another timeline? So similar and yet it was different. Yin and Yang… so much to consider. Time and space. Light and dark. The existence of powers that could bend reality. It was so much to try and understand. He was just a subway boss! Him and Ingo! And yet, this was their lives. There was no turning away from it, only accepting and moving forward armed with this new information. It felt so real. Deep in his heart, Emmet knew it was real. A real possibility if Ingo never had called out to him in the tunnel, never heard his brother’s voice. Yang was time, and so he saw a vision. It wasn’t just madness. It was something trying to guide him to a better future. Maybe himself even? Bah, now was not the time to ponder such thoughts. Emmet was still sitting there alone in the tunnels. Well, not completely alone. “...Ingo?” He called out softly to his brother, hoping he was still there in the shadows, just out of sight. He was never scared of the dark, in fact he found it rather comforting, even as a child. It reminded him of Ingo.

———————————————————————————

End of chapter 3

[korkorali]

I have Feelings™️ about Beakley

She’s a grandmother she’s a spy she’s an agent she’s a director she loves Webby she’s the worst guardian in the manor she judges everyone she’s extremely good at taking care of kids she’s terrible with children she lies like its second nature she’s barely remorseful for her actions she feels terrible about everything she’s done she’s traumatized she’s the most well-adjusted person in the room she’s one wrong move away from blowing up she’s calm and collected but most importantly she’s a hypocrite.

She’s the biggest hypocrite in the mansion and I absolutely love her for it.

She judges everyone. If you exist in her line of sight, chances are she’s going to look at you and think ‘I could probably do X better than you’ to herself. Especially when it comes to parenting.

And here’s the kicker- she’s wrong. She’s so wrong about that. Without a doubt, she wins the ‘worst of the mansion’s parental figures’ trophy by a landslide. She did terribly by Webby.

She kept her in the manor, alone, and trained her to defend herself from much too early an age. She told her not to bother Scrooge, the only other person in their home, which means that the only person Webby every really had was her.

I mean this woman was ready to straight up kick her ass on the roof of the manor for saying ‘hey maybe traumatizing Huey and Dewey isn’t the best form of training’

This woman, on multiple occasions, looked Webby right in the eyes and lied to her without even thinking- twice! And that’s after knowing that Webby hates being lied to!

She’s had quite her fair share of fuckups when it comes to parenting, and yet she still freely judges Scrooge, Donald, and Della whenever they try to parent.

She’s one of the biggest hypocrites in the show.

And the thing is, it makes sense.

All of her actions so much sense, even the judgement.

She’s a thoroughly traumatized secret agent who’s probably never opened up about herself to anyone (well, maybe Scrooge, but that’s another post for another day), found a child kept in one of their secret bases, and made the impossible choice to abandon her mission (her entire life) to go into hiding and keep the child safe.

She used to be a secret agent, so of course her modus operandi is to lie. Of course she keeps her cards close to her chest (even when nobody else is playing), of course she waits to reveal anything until she’s deemed it absolutely necessary to do so.

She essentially kidnapped Webby, the top-secret project of an evil organization. Of course she never let her leave the mansion (or at least, go anywhere besides the mansion and the Money Bin, because she’s been there before), she had every reason to believe that their agents may one day show up to find and take her away.

Of course she trained Webby relentlessly, of course she reacted so harshly to the idea of not training the boys in the same way. In order to survive, she was treated as a soldier instead of a person, after all. So in order for them to survive, she’s got to treat them like soldiers too.

Of course she judges everyone around her and refuses to admit when she’s wrong, she’s been through hellish experience after hellish experience, took over as director for SHUSH after the previous director was kidnapped by FOWL. She’s learned to hide her weaknesses, bury them so deep that even she wouldn’t be able to find them if she tried. She’s had to lead others, monitor agents, make absolutely sure that no information leaked which meant running the tightest shop possible. After doing that for so long, seeing others not do that is grating (what do you mean, other people got to be safe? What do you mean, nobody else has dealt with the things she has? What do you mean, she doesn’t have to treat everything like a secret war is brewing just under the surface? Preposterous).

She’s been through more than anyone else will ever know, more than she’ll ever say, and she refuses to admit that it’s caused her harm. She refuses to believe that what happened to her may have been wrong. That it shouldn’t have happened at all (It ended up giving her Webby. How could anything that gave her Webby be wrong?)

She’s a bitch and an asshole and a jerk and a hypocrite and a badass super spy and a housekeeper and a grandmother and anything she needs to be to survive and is maybe just starting to allow herself to live.

But there is one thing she most certainly is not:

A secretary