#on a trip at the moment but I'm itching to draw the kids | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ussgallifrey · 2 months

Text

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 30

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, death, depictions of dead bodies, dialogue taken directly from Captain America: Civil War and the Marvel Civil War comic, language, political discourse, violence.

✦ Word Count: 5.8k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: I'm in my torturing Steve hours with this one. For any fans of the Civil War comic, you'll notice how I tried to incorporate Nitro's death with Rumlow's. Fun fact, I wrote a good portion of the action sequence with "MMMBop" by Hansen on repeat because my kid was obsessively playing it for half the afternoon. I like to think of it as a testament to my writing abilities with that knowledge in hand.

[Master List]

Sea salt stings at his cheeks as the bay's lapping waves crest and shatter against the observation deck's rocky outcrop. Squinting against the sliver of sunlight that dares to peak between the heavy-hanging gray clouds overhead, Steve can almost make out the vague shape of the Statue of Liberty between the haze of fog.

It wasn’t often that he found himself this far south of the Compound on his own accord. But, with the heaviness of the SRA looming over the team, the day out had been a much-needed break from political talk in the lounge.

Natasha’s red hair whips against the side of his shoulder as she lingers beside him, her eyes moving from every person who dares enter the public space. Always calculating the threat assessment for any given situation.

This had been the condition; having the two of them there.

Steve watches as Wanda shoves at Pietro’s arm as he hogs the observation telescope for himself. The two teenagers had been desperate for a day away from their seclusionary residence and even Tony had been easily convinced to allow this little getaway, considering everything else going on around them.

They all knew this could be the last little outing out for the twins.

One day only, limited contact with the public, casual clothes, and simple disguises to keep them protected.

The boy’s signature white hair is tucked away under the cloth of a gray beanie, while Wanda’s red-tinged eyes are hidden by a pair of sunglasses. Steve has his own sunglasses snagged on the collar of his shirt as he pulls back the cap on his head to itch at his hair.

At least these two were enjoying themselves, having a day out in the city. Hell, even Steve had found himself smiling more than he had in the past two days.

The Battery was one of the final stops on their touristy trip.

They had gotten ice cream at Central Park, wandering between the garden flower paths of the more secluded sections of the park. Natasha even let them have their moment in the middle of Times Square. And now, with pretzels and hotdogs in hand, they took their time looking out across the bay.

Steve had never seen Ellis Island so close up before. It was strange, knowing how much time had passed for him when his own mother had gone through the inspection process there after six weeks aboard a ship from Belfast. His connection to his past life seemed to slip through his fingers as each day passed, burning that existence further and further behind him.

“So, you’re actually going to do it.”

Natsasha’s green eyes are dulled slightly by the gloomy sky, but they’re fully sharp and fixed on his face.

Drawing his arms from the metal railing, he tucks his hands away into the pockets of his leather coat. Even he found it strange that the weather had been so abysmal for June.

“Figured it was about time,” he admits on a quivering breath.

While the sibling pair had been across the pathway, getting themselves something to eat from a vendor cart, he had revealed his plan to Nat.

It had been… wearing on Steve for the past day and a half. One too many near-misses and broken chances. He had had enough of it. And even if it made the great Captain America shudder, the supersoldier was finally preparing himself to tell you exactly how he felt.

The perfect moment would never exist for the two of you - not when danger lurked around every corner. Not when the passage of legislation looking to strip away their right to do their job effectively was just a few days away.

No, he had waited and kept his head buried in the sand long enough. It was beyond time.

And even if he laid it all bare to you and you didn’t… couldn’t reciprocate, then at least Steve knew that he had put himself out there. Kept it from swallowing him whole.

You had been so close yesterday on the deck. Your lips a lingering breath away, your chest heaving beneath his own. Everything he felt - everything he loved about you was within his grasp if he could just get over that initial fear and say something. Do anything.

Nat nods, focusing her gaze on the twins for a minute before she asks, “When did she say she’s coming back?”

Easing back on his heels, feeling a flush of heat racing for his cheeks and a smile breaking across his lips, he answers, “Tonight.”

She knocks her fist into his arm, “I’m proud of you, lover boy. So… you got some big thing planned for it or are you just going to get her alone and do a big confessional from the heart? Kinda seems like your style, big spur-of-the-moment speeches and all.”

“Well, I - ”

Steve’s cut off by the shockwave explosion that ripples across the city skyline. The ground under his feet quakes as he grabs hold of Natasha and drags her down low.

“You two, over here!” Nat calls to the twins.

Pietro has a protective arm over Wanda as they jog over.

“What was that?” the girl questions, eyes wide as she takes in the equally shocked and nervous patrons around them.

Steve rises to his feet, looking back at the city behind them. Smoke radiates up into the air from the general vicinity of the financial district, just a few blocks north of the Battery.

“Okay, you need to get these two out of here,” Natasha directs, heading up the path. “I’ll get SHIELD on the line and - ”

“No, no. We are staying here, thank you,” Pietro barks, dragging his hat from his head - exposing his striking white hair.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. It could be… a gas explosion or something,” Steve looks toward Natasha, trying to gather her thoughts on the matter.

It didn’t sound like a gas explosion.

Sirens are ringing out in the distance. And even from here, Steve can hear the screams for help beginning to echo across the streets.

Wanda stands directly in front of him, her glasses pulled into her hand, “People could be hurt.”

With his hands on his hips, he glances from the twins to Natasha, and then up toward the billowing plumes of dark smoke tangling between the skyscrapers like a serpent.

“Steve, we need to move.”

“Okay,” he announces, clapping Wanda’s shoulder tightly with his palm. “But you stay close and you stay out of trouble. We’re going to aid the emergency crews, but that’s it for you two.”

She nods, her expression seeming to note the severity of his tone as she looks over at her brother, “Fair enough.”

“Let’s go,” Steve calls, ignoring the Widow’s less-than-pleased look as he runs past her.

The beige sand is warm beneath the soles of your bare feet as you dangle your legs over the edge of the white plastic lounge chair. Near the water, the breeze is just cool enough that you can ignore the stifling heat of the island’s humidity.

A splash of clear liquid makes its way into your glass. Droplets of Asgardian liquor cling to the yellow, blue, and pink paper umbrella adorning the top of your drink.

“Thank you,” you schmooze as you raise your mojito toward the God of Thunder.

Thor nods in return as he crosses his bare legs over the chair beside yours. He’s wearing a pair of plain swimming trunks and a fabulous floral print shirt, which he leaves unbuttoned. His hair is sun-bleached, wild around his shoulders, as he tips his head back. The plastic sunglasses protect his eyes from the sun and a dab of hastily applied sunscreen protects his nose from burning.

“Yeah, this ain’t too bad.”

You hum in agreement as you turn to look at Bruce.

On the other side of your beach chair, the good scientist is more appropriately covered for the harsh sunlight as he rests under the shade of a large umbrella. Sipping his pineapple concoction with ease, a floppy tan hat on his head, white Crocs on his feet.

This wasn’t exactly where you had envisioned the man to go after Sokovia, but you suppose it made perfect sense.

Bruce had been all across the northern hemisphere, Russia, and the Middle East during his time on the run from Ross and the SOCC. You knew about his lengthy time in Brazil and his short stay in Mexico. Of course, after Harlem, he had moved around along the Indian subcontinent. But Kuto was definitely a new destination for him.

Just north of New Zealand, in an archipelago of islands, New Caledonia was an ideal hideout for the scientist and his companion, the God of Thunder.

Most people here turned an eye to the two tourists and crime was largely different than the alien invasions and HYDRA outbreaks that the US found itself dealing with. Here, he could truly relax.

Thor had only joined him recently, after having enough of life at the Compound. From what you understood, after Sokovia and his admittance that he and the good lady Jane had separated, he had chosen to take a sabbatical in Australia. He told you of his ventures into Midgardian life - securing a roommate and an apartment in the city.

However, as you suspected, Thor was not suited for day-to-day living in the human realm.

You had managed to keep Bruce’s location under wraps from outside sources and, while you did keep in correspondence through Pallas so as not to leak his whereabouts to people who could access phone records, you rarely took the time to actually visit him.

That was one thing you found yourself grateful for, however. After Sokovia, after moving into the Compound with the rest of the team, Tony informed you that during JARVIS’s take-down of Ultron from the web, he had also gone ahead and removed that pesky little formula as well. Fury’s formula - that eventually went on to Pierce and HYDRA - the one that successfully tracked your comings and goings.

Now, you were free to travel without fear of being discovered by people like Ross. This is how you found yourself on a beach resort on a Sunday in the middle of June, sipping fruity cocktails mixed with a healthy dose of Asgardian liquor.

The Promethean flame seems to surge in the locket as you rub the pendant between your fingers. You had yet to take it off; too concerned with your brother’s warning to risk it. But even here, as you watch the ebb and flow of the crystalline blue waves against the sandy shore, you feel that sensation at the back of your mind. Worming its way in further, burrowing down into your cortex.

“So…” you begin, sipping another bit of your drink up through the straw. “What have you heard from the US?”

Bruce tilts his head your way, knocking his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose, “Like that Registration Act stuff or the questionable candidacy stuff?”

“The SRA.”

He hums in reply, folding his hands over his belly as he looks out at the ocean water.

“I try to keep my stress levels to a minimum these days, ‘Thena.”

You can feel the radiating heat of Thor’s eyes upon you as you sit up, twisting in your seat to address Banner directly.

“Even I have concerns over it, Bruce.”

“Think I’m pretty well-off over here.”

Lowering your head, you stare at the smooth grains of sand that rest between your toes.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure… if Ross is at the controls.”

That gets his attention as Bruce stalls, clutching his hands together into loose fists. Sitting up, he swivels his body to face you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ross came right to the Compound and basically laid it out like it was already set in stone to us yesterday. I’m sure there’s more to it than what he tried to sell. And I’m very sure that Tony’s going to try and fight it with everything he’s got. But…”

Your eyes meet his worried ones and without having to finish your thought, he gives a jerky nod.

“Guess paradise isn’t the best hiding spot after all.”

“Never is.”

It’s at that moment that Thor announces he is starving and the three of you head up the beach to the resort.

Blue wooden plank walls wrap around the interior of the building, while open-faced window frames extend around the side facing the water. The floor is made of a cream-colored linoleum and two large fans circulate warm air overhead. In the corner of the room, a small wall-mounted TV rests, playing a game show of some kind.

Before you, two well-topped poke bowls rest within a sea of platters and bowls.

Thor grins as he slurps up the meat of yet another lobster claw, while you mull over the contents of your own food. The waitstaff was kind, though they all seemed to do quite the doubletake whenever they passed by your table. To be fair, you were the only occupants of the restaurant.

Not many people came to the southern hemisphere in the winter, you supposed.

“Have we ever told you, Banner,” Thor begins, sucking the butter from his fingers. “Of our shared battles?”

The scientist nods, swallowing his food before answering, “Once or twice, right? Battle of Heaven and all that stuff that seems vaguely sacrilege.”

You snort in agreeance, fixing Thor with a look, “We don’t discuss that, to be clear.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I was merely suggesting a topic of conversation to lighten the mood.”

“Involving blood, decapitation, death, and Odin’s vengeance against the Judeo-Christian pantheon, correct?”

“Well,” he coughs into his fist before swiping up another lobster claw to eat, allowing the topic to die a merciful death in exchange for more food.

The silence simmers as the mechanical whir of the fans fills the gaps for you. You can hear the sizzle of the fryer in the kitchen and you can smell the aromatic wafts of seafood and fresh-caught delights. The late morning sun bathes the room in warmth, making sweat bead up along your hairline as you take another sip of your room-temp drink.

“So… we gonna talk about it?”

Your brow rises in Bruce’s direction, “Talk about what exactly?”

“Ross; the bill.”

“Not much to add,” you admit as you push together another spoonful of radishes, edamame, and chicken. “He tried to intimidate the team. There’s a good chance it’ll pass through Congress and then Tony plans to persuade Ellis in the other direction.”

Giving the scientist a shrug, you bring another bite to your lips.

“And everyone’s on the same page with it?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Tony wanted to hold a meeting with the press to tell Congress to quote-on-quote suck it, but Pepper talked him out of it this morning. I think even Steve was in favor of that particular stunt.”

“Jesus,” Bruce chuckles.

You share a smile with the man before you add, “I mean, in all honesty, even if the thing gets passed on, it’ll take a while to implement. And, on top of that, it only affects acts taking place on US soil, so… in theory… if the team were to relocate…”

“Ahh,” he beams.

“Exactly,” you nod. “And, you’re technically not part of the team right now since you’re on vacation, as it were. And, hey, the two of us - ” you gesture between yourself and Thor with the curve of your spoon, “ - we’re always going to be exempt from human law, so… there’s that.”

“You know whoever lines the pockets gets the final say.”

With a wry look, you add, “Maybe we should get Tony to start offering up company shares and we’ll get a different outcome.”

Bruce’s smile, however, begins to wane.

You give a questioning hum.

“It’s just… well, let’s be real. This ain’t gonna be the last of it. And… I kinda had my fill of living on the run for a decade.”

Before you can remedy his train of thought, Thor interrupts.

“Then come with me. Back to Asgard. We would be welcomed amongst the halls of warriors, my friend.”

“I don’t know about that, man. I mean - ”

But as Bruce goes to decline the offer, your eyes happen to travel over to the TV.

You’re up and out of your seat, with a screech of plastic chair legs across the linoleum, before the men even register it. Your eyes are glued to the screen as a breaking news bulletin takes over the previous game show.

“Hey, what - ”

“My Lady?”

All you can utter is, “Oh my god,” as a whirlwind of fire encapsulates the camera footage.

You easily translate the news anchors' words as you spin around, capturing the worried and distraught looks of your friends.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Bruce mutters.

“Should we - ” Thor begins to suggest, his posture already straightening up to his full height as he gestures between the three of you with his index finger.

“No,” you immediately reject, your chest heaving as you capture sight of a familiar supersoldier on the screen and was that…? With a shake of your head, you implore your friends:

“You… you need to leave. Yeah, you need to get out of Dodge.”

Thor’s brow furrows, “I don’t understand, what is Dodge?”

“She means,” Bruce supplements for you as he pushes Thor backward with his hands upon the God’s chest, reaching down into his wallet to toss a handful of bills onto the table. “That we need to disappear for a while, buddy.”

“To Asgard then.”

“Uh, no - ”

“Yes, actually,” you return, fists shaking at your sides. “You need to get off planet and I can get you to Olympus or he can take you to Asgard, but you need to be gone, now, Bruce.”

“Come on. ‘Thena. I can manage myself here, I know how to disappear in plain sight.”

But you’re shaking your head, body physically tremoring, “I don’t think that’s enough this time.”

That seems to settle the gaunt reality for Bruce as his face pales.

Thor wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders as he holds his other hand aloft - awaiting Mjolnir.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say, catching the terrified look on the scientist’s face as you try to convince yourself of your own words.

The hammer soars past your face, landing in Thor’s hand as he offers you a tilt of his chin, “My Lady.”

You’re gone in a flash of bright shockwave-like light, the island resort’s restaurant fading around you in an instance.

When you appear outside of the residence building at the Compound, the world around you is silent.

Eerily silent outside of the occasional chirp of a grasshopper looming in the fresh-cut grass. The sky is a swath of darkness and twinkling starlight, purple hues along the deep horizon. The building itself is alight as you reorient yourself.

It’s too quiet.

Walking toward the entrance, then moving to a jog, you rush toward the doors - toward the team. God, why weren’t you called?

Why had no one called you?

That camera footage showed morning light, hours had passed between then and now and no one had called you.

But as your pace slows, as you near the golden-hued entrance, you notice the odd outline resting beside the building. One step after the other, you peer into the shadows. First, you note the height, then the curve of a face haloed by the moonlight.

“Steve?”

The figure turns, and even in the low light of the midnight hour, you can see the darkness around his usually vibrant eyes.

“Hey,” he croaks.

Taking a step toward him, you nod. “Hey.”

He glances away, sniffing indignantly.

Your own expression drops as you move toward your friend, feet teetering on the edge of the ornate landscaping, staring up at his shadowed face. He tries to conceal it from you, tilting his head up to look at the sky above, but you know. Of course, you know.

Another step forward and you wrap your arms tight around his middle, dragging him into your embrace.

Steve huffs out a breath as he balances on his toes before he relents and allows himself to be dragged, nearly collapsing in your arms as he tucks his face into your shoulder.

You can feel the shaky breaths he sucks in through his mouth as he burrows further into your hold. All you can do is tighten your arms, rubbing the expanse of his rigid back with your palms. Unwelcoming smoke clouds his body, besides hints of metal and the all too familiar scent of blood.

Something wet and warm dots your shoulder, but you don’t comment on it as one hand moves up to the soft crop of his hair. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you rub soothing circles into the blonde locks.

“Talk to me, Rogers,” you murmur into the warm skin of his neck. “What happened?”

His arms tighten around your shoulders as he exhales a quivering breath. You can feel the blood racing through his veins as your lips hover in the space beside his head. Something is murmured into the safety of your body, but it’s too gentle for even your ears to catch it.

As your hand stalls in his hair, you ask, “What was that?”

It takes a second, but then you hear it.

“I messed up.”

In hindsight, Steve should have listened to Natasha. Wanda and Pietro should have been sent away. He should have -

Wall Street was blocked off by fire engines by the time they arrived on the scene, with a scattering of armed officers stationed behind two squad cars.

Steve had gone over to get the details down with the officer in charge while Natasha kept the twins from wandering.

There was an explosion in a lower-floor building further up the block. An office suite just across from the Chase Bank plaza. They were already in the process of securing the area and evacuating adjacent buildings, but Steve’s attention fell to a group of men dragging another man into the middle of the street toward a black SUV.

He hadn’t even thought, just jumped the hood of the car and took off running.

Because he knew that one - the one with the metal mask over his face.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” Rumlow hollered, voice permanently shot from the damage he suffered in D.C., “Just can’t keep your patriotic nose out of things.”

“It’s a bad habit,” he agrees as he braces himself, staring down at the quivering man held in Rumlow’s hand.

He has a cloth bag over his head and a gun to his temple to keep him from doing anything too hasty. Suit and tie, overweight, could be any pencil pusher, but he had had to be special enough for Rumlow to take interest in him. Around the man, five armed guards stand ready. Black clothes, simple tactical gear, anonymous, but clearly well-paid.

Smoke is still surging out of the office building to their right, but the structure seems intact - no risk of immediate collapse or civilian casualty.

“Agh!” Rumlow grits as red mists encapsulate his hand - twisting his wrist back, making the gun fall.

Steve jumps up, kicking the guard to his left in the face before grabbing the rifle from his hands - snapping it in half. Pietro zooms past, shoving his hand into another guard’s face - the same technique that Steve had taught him, now in action.

“Get out of here,” he orders.

“Why?” the teen barks back as he spins so quickly around the third and fourth guards that they get pushed together in a tangle of limbs.

“Because there might be civilians trapped up there who need help,” he calls out as the fifth guard fires on him.

Steve has to duck and roll to the side, finding a barrier behind a folded metal street sign.

Not willing to risk never being allowed back out in the field, the boy zooms past - knocking the guard who had been firing at Steve on his ass - before disappearing into the office building.

Natasha surges up and over him, landing on top of the guard - using a wire to encircle the man’s neck.

“Get the hostage!” she barks.

Steve’s up and on his feet, charging at Rumlow just a beat later as Wanda’s powers fade and the masked criminal scrambles for his gun. The supersoldier leaps on top of the man, shielding the victim as a bullet surges into his right flank. He grits his teeth as the white-hot pain temporarily stifles his senses.

“This wasn’t meant for you, Rogers,” Rumlow bites. “But I think they’ll understand.”

Steve twists himself and the man away, rolling him in Wanda’s direction - who quickly secures the man in a shield of red energy.

The supersoldier kicks his foot into Rumlow’s hand, knocking the gun back, but he just shoves Steve away.

“Come on!”

Rumlow smacks his helmeted head into Steve’s before uppercutting him, knocking him back into a street lamp - making it bend from his weight. When he regains his footing, the other man is already coming for him. His punches are large and bulky as they aim for the supersoldier’s head, so Steve keeps himself low, keeping his arms inward, aiming for Rumlow’s torso.

“This is for dropping a building on my face,” he snarks before twisting a knife out of a sheath and attempting to stab Steve in the eye.

He ducks away at the last second, kicking Rumlow in the stomach as he rolls under the groaning man. When he spins around, trying to now throw the knife, Steve leaps up and slams the heel of his boot into the helmet - managing to shove him back into an abandoned car.

Rumlow rolls up onto his knees as Steve stalks closer. The supersoldier clutches hold of the man’s helmet, tossing it to the side - taking in the mangled burn scars that climb up Rumlow’s face and hairline.

He gives Steve a wolfish grin.

“Who sent you?” he questions; voice seething.

From behind Rumlow, he can see Natasha securing the other five guards up as Wanda releases the man from her mist - helping to remove the bag from his head. He recognizes that face, where the hell does he recognize that face from?

“You know he knew you.”

His gaze travels back down to Rumlow.

“Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky,” he bites out.

Steve grasps hold of his tactical gear, tugging him up as he searches his eyes - desperation clouding his features as the hint of a long-followed trail is brought back to the surface.

“What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there - ”

Hope, a sick and worrying thing, clings to his chest as the words sink in.

“He got all weepy about it,” Rumlow breathes out, a half-smile gnarled by twisting pink burn scars. “Till they put his brain back in a blender. He - ”

But before he can finish his sentence, a wisp of bluish-white light comes surging past as Pietro slams the man’s body into the curb. Hovering triumphantly over the criminal.

“Hey!” Steve calls. “You need to get out of here.”

“Not so tough now, are you?” the boy grins, hands on his waist as he stares down at Rumlow.

The man slouches against the curb, looking up at the enhanced teenager with a ragged breath.

“So, you’re one-half of the wonder kids Strucker’s been going on about - ”

“What was that?” Pietro questions, alarm raising as he zeroes in.

Wanda draws near, her hands misting red.

“Oh, yeah,” Rumlow grins, lounging out now as he glances over at Steve, “Wondering who my boss was, right, Pretty Boy? Yeah, you did a real bang-up job torturing a dead guy - ” he fixes Wanda with a look.

“Don’t - ” Steve warns as the teenagers draw closer.

“Fucking useless little bitch can’t even tell when her captor’s not in the room. Jesus Christ, you know how to pick them, huh, Rog- ”

Rumlow lets out a horrific scream as his arms twist backward.

“Wanda!”

“No, let him finish,” Pietro slams a foot into Rumlow’s chest.

But the teens won’t listen as Wanda creeps closer, her eyes turning nearly black as her rage climbs higher. Natasha grabs onto the girl - tugging her back as Wanda screams out. She doesn’t turn her powers on the Widow, thank god, but they barely fizzle from Rumlow.

The man, slack-jawed, stares up at Pietro.

“What you got, kid?”

“I’m going to kill you,” the boy bites out.

Steve clutches Pietro’s arm, tugging him back, “That’s enough.”

“Hah, rich talk,” Rumlow grimaces as he steps back onto the sidewalk, his legs shaking. “Fact is, I’m not one of your bargain basement losers.”

A gun is unholstered before Steve can even react, a bullet landing in the previously masked man’s head. He collapses to the ground, blood pooling around his dome as his unblinking eyes stare out in horror.

“NO!” Wanda screams, trying to entrap Rumlow with her powers once again.

His eyes land on Steve. His thumb twitches in his fist.

“You’re playing with the big boys now.”

Fire engulfs him as the trigger is set.

Steve slams Pietro to the ground as Natasha calls out to Wanda, but the girl can’t hear it as she panics, tears pooling in her eyes as she tries to lift the bubble of flame higher and higher, and then -

It smashes into the building next to the plaza, fire blazing through several floors before it’s tossed in the opposite direction, into the office building that had just been evacuated, and then -

Flames engulf the entire block into a raging inferno.

In the stock-still horror of the aftermath, Wanda had collapsed to the ground - body shaking as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. When Steve managed to clamber to his feet, Pietro took one step back - shaking his head, muttering to himself - and then he was gone.

They had spent the entire day, afternoon, and evening down in the remnants of Wall Street.

The buildings were smoldering ash by the time the main fires were finally extinguished sometime around 11:30 PM. The firefighters would still be battling the rest of the blaze well into the next morning.

Sam and the others arrived just after the news broke. Someone, he thinks it was Tony, took Wanda back to the Compound. At one point, as they assisted the FDNY in search and recovery - using his strength to lift broken beams and concrete - Pallas had arrived.

And as much as Steve wanted to - needed to - call you, the more pressing issue was the missing teenage mutant. So, when the owl fluttered down to his shoulder and pecked at the bits of ash and debris in his hair, he had asked him to go look for Pietro. Someone had to look for and locate him before anything worse happened.

It was too much of a risk to not have eyes on him.

In total, several businesses were now destroyed. The bank had suffered such heavy damage that it would have to undergo major repairs to ever function again. Federal Hall had been blasted in half. The offices of the Consulate General of Slovenia and the Consulate General of Sokovia had been ablaze. A Baptist church at the eastern end of the block had its front wall caved in.

And worst of all…

The International Academy for Gifted Youths had taken the final brunt of Rumlow’s explosion.

The bodies of the elementary-aged children were entirely unrecognizable from the smoldering remains of the building itself.

It hadn’t been evacuated in the initial efforts as the fire department deemed it safe; located at the end of the block, with a clear alley between them and the office building of Rumlow’s initial attack.

Steve had managed to find a girl, her body was blackened and still smoldering when he broke through a barrier of bricks. He had scooped her up and carried her out, eyes wide and red as he searched for someone, anyone, to help him.

He was useless here, he didn’t know what to do.

Captain America saved people.

He didn’t, he didn’t -

He can still feel her brittle body in his hands. Can still smell the burnt flesh and hair and clothes and death. So much avoidable death at his hands.

He was the leader and today… today he made such a series of terrible calls that… god, he doesn’t even know what.

Steve, standing a good distance away from you now, refusing to meet your eye, lets out yet another shuddering breath.

“Are they safe?” your voice is tender, unshakeable in comparison to the broken supersoldier.

“Wanda’s down with Nat. Pietro… we found him, halfway to Chicago. He’s in his room, but… no one’s been... You know he…” he swallows the lump in his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “He blames himself.”

“He’s a child,” you coo, stepping forward. “He shouldn’t have to brunt the weight of a terrible tragedy.”

Your hand, warm and careful, slinks its way around Steve’s wrist, tugging down until his gaze drops to your face.

“Nor should you.”

He snorts, “Come on, you know that’s not true. I was the one in charge, I made that call today to have them there.”

“Is every tragedy your sole responsibility then?”

Steve tugs away from your hold, taking a few steps out into the lawn. Hands poised on his hips as he watches the fluttering dance of the lightning bugs in the meadow.

“You should have called me,” you say, words urgent and pleading.

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t have the paper. And we were all too… busy. I had to send Pallas.”

Steve feels your presence on his left side before your fingers sweep against his own.

“There are things called phones, Steven.”

Gritting his teeth, he wonders why you just didn’t get it.

“Sorry, ‘Thena. Was a little preoccupied.”

“Hey,” you counter, moving in front of him - grabbing hold of the back of his neck so he’s physically forced to look you in the eyes which are searching his own gaze. “None of that. We’re a team, Steve. If I had been there today… we could have shared the weight of this guilt together.”

His lips gape as he struggles to form a reply.

“We do this together. That’s our purpose in this world. Every victory, every failure: together. Not… Captain America taking on another needless weight to his already heavy burden.”

His torrential orbs search your face, trying to find the cracks in your reasoning. But, as always, you are solid in that facet.

“Fuck, come here,” you sigh, frown easing as you tug him back into a tight embrace.

Steve bows into it, surrounding you with his arms as he buries his head into the beach-warm strands of your hair. With the world spinning madly around the two of you, the supersoldier, the man, finds solace in your steadfast presence.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

34 notes · View notes

tilltheendwilliwrite · 4 years

Text

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter Three

Master List / Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Warnings: Canon divergent during Chapter 13 of The Mandalorian, serious pining

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I’m trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We’ll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

The trip to Nevarro was hell.

The Razor Crest now smelled like Baast, and after using his soap, their two scents had blended, and Din was going out of his kriffing mind. He'd taken to sleeping in the cockpit, having given up his cot, but it did little good.

It was like the essence of her had invaded every part of his home.

He'd started having dreams. Dreams of a world with sand dunes and plains of long grass, where towering forests of old wood grew and swayed in gentle, fragrant breezes. He dreamed of walking the rock and sand trails of jagged mountains, of climbing steep cliffs to drink from sweet falls that appeared out of the clouds.

And when he reached his destination, a rocky outcropping high above the world, a cat leapt over the rocks to land before him. She was sleek lines and dense muscle, her coat tawny, darkening to black over her muzzle and legs. Long tufts of fur drifted in the wind from the tips of her ears, and green eyes watched him with a thousand years of ancient wisdom.

He knelt before the regal creature and pulled off his helmet. She padded closer, circled him once, sniffed him curiously, and began to purr. The rumble soothed his soul, and Din closed his eyes as her sleek, furry cheek rubbed against his.

"Mine," he whispered as he reached for her, waking himself from the dream every time.

By the time they landed on Nevarro, he was desperate for air that didn't smell like Baast. A few more parsecs, he may have done something stupid.

He met her at the gangway with a heavy cloak. "Put this on, draw the hood, and try to remain inconspicuous."

She arched a brow before handing over Grogu. The kid stuck to her like glue, eager to be at her side whenever he was awake. It was a relief to know someone else was watching him, but at the same time, he missed the kid's continual company.

Baast shrugged into the cloak and pulled the hood over her hair before laying her hand on his arm. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You have been distant."

"Just busy." He held out a silver bar roughly three inches long. "Extendable staff, at least until the Alor can get you those sabres."

She smiled at him, the light just catching her fangs. "Thank you, Mando."

He tilted his head but tugged the hood farther forward. "Let's go."

They'd landed well after dusk, assuring a quiet, uninterrupted trip through the streets. Those that lingered paid them no mind used to seeing the silver beskar of an unpainted Mandalorian.

The bar was fairing better after the fight with Moff Gideon. Walls had been repaired, and the damage painted over.

He walked in and headed straight for the back booth, ignoring the eyes that followed. They knew better than to mess with him, and the music stayed lively.

Karga, however, wasn't alone.

"Karga. Dune," he stated, tossing three pucks on the table.

"Only three, Mando? I sent you out with four," Karga teased. "Did a quarry finally escape the famed Mandalorian?"

"She's dead; body recovery was impossible."

He watched Cara's eyes flick to Baast and down to Grogu, a smile growing as she pushed from the table. "There's the little womp rat!"

Grogu squealed his happiness, but Baast growled.

The low sound set his hair on end, causing Din to step back, between the woman and his clan. "Cara, not now," he said, no explanation, not sure he had one to give.

Baast placed her hand on the back of his neck, a place without beskar but covered by his cowl. Still, he felt it like a live wire jolt.

"Usenye!" Baast growled.

"Udesii," Din murmured, turning just enough to know he meant Baast.

"Whoa, someone's touchy," Cara muttered.

Mando didn't need this right now. The longer he stayed here, the more twitchy he felt, like something beneath his skin was itching to claw its way free. "Karga. If they ask, you tell them she's dead."

The man stared at him a long moment, assessing, processing before he gave a short nod. "I will log the information myself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an ingot of beskar. "For your trouble and the three on your ship."

"Where did you get that?" Din asked, picking up the ingot.

"Took it off some Imps after that last clean up." A second pile of credits, smaller than it should be, landed next. "Consider us even."

"Done," he agreed, hyper-aware of Baast's hand still light against his neck.

"And congratulations, Mando. It isn't every day a Mandalorian takes a riduur."

He felt Baast's fingers twitch but didn't correct Karga's assumption.

"You got married!" Cara gasped, loud enough to cause the bar to pause and look their way.

One long stare over his shoulder had them minding their business again.

"Baast'mal. Cara Dune, former shock trooper, now Marshal for the New Republic. Greef Karga, head of the Bounty Hunters Guild, and Magistrate of Nevarro."

"A pleasure," Karga grinned. "Is it true wives put off their armour when they decide to have little warriors?"

Baast snorted. "Di'kutla. Anade knows gar ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya."

Din couldn't help but chuckle. "She says, foolish. Everyone knows you train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger. My woman is all warrior."

The words slipped out, and he couldn't bite them back. Baast's hand dropped from his nape, but only to lower and slide in at his waist, sneak past layers of beskar and again find flesh barely covered. She pressed closer, a low rumble vibrating between them, and Din felt approval wash from her like a wave.

"Ibic taap, Ni cuy' bat Kyr'nakil," she murmured, low enough only Din heard, informing him she didn't like it there.

He looked down at her, into the deep shadows of her hood as she clutched Grogu to her and found her eyes. This place had her on edge. With her Force sensitivity, he believed her, but he wanted to know why. "Tion'jor?"

"Too many bad feelings," she whispered. "There are hunters, many of them."

He gave a small tilt of his head. "Vaabir val olaror par gar?" he asked, wondering if they came for her.

A slight negative shake. "For news of the child."

Din was instantly enraged and leaned over the table toward Karga. "You're taking a bounty on the kid again?"

"What? No! Of course not!" the man cried in outrage.

"Mando." Cara laid her hand over his. "He hasn't, I swear."

Baast growled, causing Din to move his hand out from under Cara’s and block Baast in the same action. "There are hunters here for news of the kid. Get your cargo off my ship so we can leave." He swiped the credits off the table and turned to go, Karga already barking orders.

Din wasn't surprised when Baast's fingers snuck to the crook of his elbow. Or, he wasn't as surprised as he should be. A riduur walked where her mate could protect them and any children they might have. Her position kept her secure against him while hiding them behind a wall of beskar and weapons, handled by a highly dangerous predator.

"Mando, wait," Cara said, blocking their path. "Come to my place. You can rest, eat, and I can see the kid. I missed him."

Baast's fingers twitched.

"Cara," he hesitated.

"Please. We're friends. Let a friend toast your good fortune."

Another low warning growl rippled from Baast when Cara touched his arm.

"She has nayc staabi!" Baast snarled.

Din looked down at her. "Technically, neither do you."

Her hand snapped off his arm like he'd burned her, shock and disappointment so profound it hurt, hit him like a rampaging mudhorn.

She took a step in retreat, Grogu clinging to her, the kid looking just as devastated.

What had he done? Kriff! Why would he say that?

"Baast!" he shouted but was too late as she spun on her heel and raced from the cantina. "Kriff!" he bellowed and gave chase, Cara hot on his heels.

"What the hell was that, Mando?" Dune demanded as they slammed through the doors only to find a deserted street.

"Not your concern."

"Mando!" She grabbed him by the vambrace. She had no way of knowing how close he came to putting her through the wall. "What's really going on? Who is she?"

"You wouldn't understand. It's a Mandalorian thing." He shook her off and looked for Baast's tracks.

It didn't surprise him at all when they went up a wall and over the roof.

Din took off after her, climbing as if his armour weighed nothing, leaving Cara behind to curse and swear. He followed long strides for some distance as she ran across roofs, finally leaving the residential district to head into a more industrial area.

Again her tracks went up, and he followed, climbing the narrow ladder to the top of a tower that looked out over Nevarro. He found her there; knees pulled to her chest, the hood thrown back, clinging to Grogu as the kid did his best to stroke the tears from her face.

"Baast."

She jerked but didn't move. "Go away, Mandalorian."

"I can't." He went to her and knelt, intent on taking her in his arms, only to have deadly claws close around his throat.

"You have not the right," she snarled, her eyes piercing him through the beskar.

Grogu huffed and sighed, appearing at once both annoyed and exasperated.

"Nayc staabi. No right, that's what you said about Cara."

Baast snarled. "If you want the shock trooper so badly, have her!" she snapped, pushing him back with strength, causing him to rock on his heels.

"I don't, and she doesn't want me. She would be more inclined to go for you," he chuckled.

She blinked big green eyes. "Oh…" Her hand slowly relaxed until it lay on his chest.

This time when he gathered her close, she didn't resist. "Forgive me. I said something stupid."

"But true," she sighed. "You did not dispute the claim of riduur. I knew it meant nothing but got caught up in my role. You are free to do what you wish with whomever you wish," she sighed.

Din didn't think. He didn't plan his next move. It was like instinct demanded he act, and so he did.

"Baast. Close your eyes."

She did so without hesitation or question as Din stripped off his gloves. The helmet hissed when he released it, causing her brow to twitch. Before he took it off, he wrapped his arm around her and covered her eyes with his hand.

"Din?" she whispered, her uncertainty clear.

"Trust me," he murmured, lifting his helmet free with his other hand. They were too high up for anyone to see, and the moons had yet to rise, leaving them bathed in shadows.

Grogu cooed and sat down a few feet away, apparently content to let the adults sort this out on their own.

Din gave him a last look before setting his helmet down and raising that hand to lightly, tenderly, stroke her face. "I don't want just anyone," he whispered, unable to deny what was written in his heart. "Just you," he sighed and lightly brushed their mouths together.

He'd never kissed anyone before, but he wanted to kiss Baast.

***

Din woke with a jolt and a clang of beskar as he fell out of the pilot's chair and onto the floor.

He lay there confused and disoriented until he realized the entire thing had been a dream.

He groaned softly enough that it didn't leave the safety of his helmet and pushed to his hands and knees before sitting back on his thighs. This trip was going to kill him. The dream had been far too real.

He picked himself off the floor and looked up to find Grogu smirking at him. "Don't start."

The kid gurgled a noise that shouldn't in any way have been cute but somehow still was.

"Hungry?" Din asked.

Grogu waddled closer, arms up.

"Of course you are. When are you not hungry?" he chuckled, picking up the kid and heading for the ladder down into the belly of his ship.

He was just getting Grogu situated when the door to the fresher opened, revealing Baast in nothing but a towel.

She jolted in surprise. "I did not expect… you… I…" A bright blush bloomed darkly across her cheeks. Then, she straightened, lifting her chin like a royal, firming her composure. "You have not joined us for meals as of late. I did not expect you and have washed my clothing."

His mouth was desert dry when he attempted to speak, but no words emerged, and Din was grateful for the helmet that hid his gaping mouth. He stared for too long before stepping away from Grogu and his gruel toward Baast. She stiffened, hand flexing where she clutched the cloth closed, but the Zentari didn't back down.

Din moved with cautious steps to the crates piled against the wall and shoved two over before picking up the third and setting it down on top of the others. From within, he pulled out blue silks. "I have this if you want it."

A regal brow arched, her wet hair sleek and sticking to her now brushed the tops of her thighs. "Why does a Mandalorian have a courtesan's dress in his belongings?"

He flinched, having hoped she wouldn't recognize it. "Because an assassin dressed as a courtesan attempted to kill me, but not until after she'd taken her clothes off."

Baast eyed the cloth a moment longer before gliding forward to pluck it from his fingers. "Did she succeed in the seduction?"

"No. That's why she was naked. She made a poor courtesan."

"Hmm," purred from her as she walked back into the fresher, and the door closed behind her. "And you have simply kept it lying around?" she called through the door.

Did she sound jealous, or was he still dreaming? "It's not something a Mandalorian can walk into the market and sell without garnering a second look."

"You were not, perhaps, keeping it for your riduur?"

The door opened, and Din forgot how to speak. Blue silk fell in sleek lines from the golden band that bared the under curve of her breasts. She swept out and headed for Grogu, sailing past him, her damp hair leaving a dark stain on the skirt.

"I haven't thought much about a riduur." Before now.

He followed her like a Bantha would a Tuskin Raider, and when she sat to help Grogu with his food, Din came to a stop behind her.

She looked up, but he knew the beskar made it hard for her to read him. "Is it that terrible? Do I not make a passable courtesan?"

"More than passable," escaped his mouth, his brain still malfunctioning. "But your hair is dripping."

"Wet hair does that," she teased him with a smile.

"May I?"

She blinked as he began to strip off his gloves. "Din?"

"Let me," he murmured, running his fingers like a comb through her thick locks. He sat on a crate and worked free what few tangles had formed before splitting the mass in half. He began the plait high, working it smooth against her scalp and down behind her ear. When his fingers brushed the pointed tip, a shudder raced through her, but a low, happy purr followed. He made it to the end and used a scrap piece of leather to bind the long braid.

"How is it that a Mandalorian knows how to do a woman's hair with the skill of a maid?"

He froze, fingers full of sand-coloured silk. "My mother," he murmured. "I once did it for my mother."

Her hand closed gently on his knee, Baast reaching back, otherwise staying still for him. "A good memory, I hope."

"One of my only good memories," he murmured, finishing the section close to her skull and swiftly plaiting the rest. Once he tied the end, she turned to look up at him and left him breathless.

He'd never seen a more mesh'la creature. Men would spend their entire fortune for one night with her. But Din looked at her and saw her dressed in the ornaments of a riduur. Beskar bands for her braids, the cuff that would circle her upper arm and proudly display the mark of the mudhorn, proclaiming her part of his clan. The beskar breastplate that would be hers the moment their first child was born.

"Then, I am pleased to help you remember it." She stroked one of the thick plaits. "I am happy to offer myself to your ministrations in the future, should you so desire to assist me again."

Vital portions of his anatomy tightened, causing him to rise swiftly and step away from her tempting allure. "We'll be in Nevarro soon. I'll see about more suitable clothing when we get there."

He climbed the ladder back to the cockpit, knowing damn well he was running away.

***

riduur - spouse

Usenye! - Go away!

Udesii - Calm down.

Ibic taap, Ni cuy' bat Kyr'nakil - This place, I am on edge

Tion'jor - why

Vaabir val olaror par gar - do they come for you

nayc staabi - no right

***

Next Chapter

#star crossed:bound by blood #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x ofc

53 notes · View notes

arqinnovations · 4 years

Text

10 things that I want from FF7 Remake 2

Some of these are a given, but just for fun, others are a bit of a long shot. Spoilers abound, so turn back now if you're still making your way through Midgar as we speak. In no particular order:

Jessie. I'm going to be honest, it took some self-restraint to not make this a 10 things I'd like to do to see from Jessie list. One thing that Remake did incredibly well was flesh out the Avalanche crew, and Jessie was undoubtedly the one who benefited the most, going from ponytailed plot device to forward and fiery courter of Cloud. I absolutely dreaded her inevitable death scene, and nearly jumped out of my chair at the suggestion that she may have actually survived this time around. I won't ask for a pizza and chill side quest, but I would be thrilled to just see her alive and well in the next chapter.

Gold Saucer. It's not a question of if it'll be in the game, but of how it will be presented. I'm expecting that a lot of love and care will be put into this locale, and I want everything: Chocobo racing, roller coasters, a beefed up haunted house, battle square, a potential date with a pissed off Barrett...all of it. Saying that I'm excited to see an updated Gold Saucer would be a massive understatement.

Open world. Or not. I'm fine with either. I remember how massive the FF7 world seemed to me as a kid while playing the original game, and I just can't see how something of that size will scale to the table that Remake has set so far. I loved - loved - roaming forests and taking long road trips with the boys in FF15. But Remake has a completely different world with different stakes. While the idea of a free-roaming epic is indeed attractive, there will inevitably be other games that have done an open world on a far grander scale, and it'd almost be a shame to see Remake try to draw from Skyrim when the reality is that it doesn't have to. Midgar was linear in nature and it was still beautiful and felt massive in its own way. I'd be fine with a series of mostly contained villages and towns with the second installment.

Playable Turks. This one falls into the long shot category, but you can already feel how badly the creators are itching to turn the Turks into good guys. We know that this timeline has forked off into a direction different from the one that we grew up with, so perhaps we can get a few missions with Reno and Rude running point? I'm not holding my breath, but it would be awesome.

Bahamut. And not just one, I want all three back. Vanilla Bahamut, Bahamut Neo, and Bahamut Zero! Heck, give us even more. Omega Bahamut! Ultima Bahamut! Bahama Bahamut! Nobody goes into battle without a Mut!

No more squiggly dust ghosts. Yeah, enough of those guys. I can go as far as to say that I appreciated what the Whispers provided the story, but now that our heroes have apparently ripped through the threads of fate and are playing with a freshly shuffled deck of cards, I could do without seeing them again.

The Highwind. I don't think there's any doubt that we'll be seeing the Highwind, given it's importance to Cid's character and the fact that the airship becomes the party's main mode of transportation towards the latter half of the story. What is in question is to what degree players will be able to control the massive aircraft. While we had the ability to manually fly exactly where we wanted to in the original, there's understandably some doubt as to how this will work in Remake with the game's open world status still very much in question. I'd bet on control being limited to the bridge of the ship with the option to select predetermined destinations from a world map. And I'd be fine with that. Just give us that sweet Highwind music.

More of Rufus in action. Seriously, look at that pimp. A character this cool deserves to be seen in battle more than once.

And less of Zack. Assuming he's alive and well in this reality, I could go without seeing too much of the guy. The original FF7 was such a fantastic story about life and identity because Zack passes on and symbolically entrusts his hopes and dreams to Cloud (who somewhat hilariously takes things way too literally). That story doesn't work quite as well if Zack is just hanging around being...uh, alive and stuff. And if he is, what has he been doing all this time while Aerith was getting harassed by Turks every day? Swell guy, that Zack. Or are we to assume he's alive, just not in this reality? Honestly - and it might just be me - I thought the reinsertion of Zack into the fray was one of the few missteps Remake made.

Aerith has a chance? Square knew what they were doing when they opted to establish a new timeline. I'm not saying that Aerith surviving would make the story better. On the contrary, I'm not sure if it works at all without Sephiroth jumping in and making her into an Aerith-kabob. What I do know is that there's now some definite intrigue to that moment, and they've effectively put all the suspense back into a scene that we had assumed would end in a familiar, heartbreaking fashion. It's a smart move, regardless of what eventually does happen.

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy VII #final fantasy 7 remake #ff7 #aerith #cloud #squaresoft #ff7 remake #sephiroth #Final Fantasy #rufus shinra #jessie rasberry #video games #tifa lockhart

35 notes · View notes

bubblesthemonsterartist · 7 years

Note

How about "I'm not stalking you, exactly. It's just that you accidentally put my notebook in your bag and I'm waiting for a good moment to steal it back before you see the doodles/writing of you I did in it" Obiyuki AU?

Obi jerks his pen from napkin just in time to avoid gouging it through when Torou jostles him, nosing her way over his shoulder.

“Whacha doin there, buddy?”

He sighs, eyes towards the ceiling for guidance, but of course she isn’t looking. She’s snatching the doodle up and holding it towards a better spot of light.

“Oooh,” Torou gushes, looking down the bar at an elderly woman with a tight perm and thick makeup. She’s paying neither one of them mind, her attention glued to the TV monitor up on the wall. “He’s doing a really nice one for you, Josie!”

Josie taps her cigarette against the ashtray without looking down. “I believe it. All his drawings are good.”

Obi plucks the napkin out of Torou’s hands, ears hot. She smacks her gum and grins at him. “Don’t you think he should try to sell his stuff at a first Saturday or something?”

“I tell him that every day.” In his head, Obi groans. “Keeps telling me he needs to practice but he doesn’t have the time.”

“I don’t,” he claps back, coming over and sliding the napkin across the bar. “And paints are expensive. And toxic. And may I remind you both that I have a two year old.”

Josie finally looks down from the screen. “You should get rid of those wrinkles,” she complains.

“Now why would I hide all that beauty?” Obi grins, leaning in.

Her eyes flicker up to his. “Flatterer,” she admonishes, but he knows if her make up was any lighter, he’d be able to see a blush. She taps one cherry red nail against the edge of the napkin. “I should really ask you to draw my granddaughter one day.”

Obi grins. “Bring me a picture. I’d be glad to.”

“Why don’t I introduce the two of you instead?”

His face falls. “I’m sure she has a lot to do. Too busy for my schedule.”

Josie reaches across the way, giving his hand one solid pat. “You’re a good kid, Obi. When are you going to find yourself a nice girl to take care of you?”

Obi clears his throat. “Ah, well, you know-”

“He has one!” Torou chimes in, and honestly- death would be a mercy. “Sorta.”

Invisible eyebrows reach towards the ceiling, and Josie gives him a look. “Sorta?”

“We’re not- she’s not my girlfriend,” he sputters. “She’s my neighbor and she watches Aki a lot and-”

“And she spent Christmas with him!” Torou adds, oh so helpful.

“Oh my,” Josie lifts her drink, smacking her lips. “In my day, that was some serious business, son.”

Obi waves his hands, sweat prickling his temples. “Oh no. Things are different now. There’s nothing-“

“You should draw something for her,” she interrupts, gesturing with her drink. “Then make a copy of it so we can see her. I want to know if she’s fine enough for you.”

“She’s very pretty,” Torou confirms.

His head snaps towards her. “You haven’t even seen her!”

“Have too!” Torou shrugs. “From across the street.”

“You were spying on us?”

Torou pouts. “You texted me to wait in the car. So I, with nothing better to do than watch the door, waited in the car. I honestly don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I don’t need you embarrassing me,” he grumbles.

“Me?” she gasps, palm pressed to chest. “When have I ever done such a thing?”

He glares at her. “Now doesn’t count?”

Her grin grows. “Josie started it. I am putting her worries to rest.”

“Just keep it wrapped up this time, will ya?” Josie comments, eyes back on the tube. “Don’t need a repeat of last time until you’re both ready.”

Obi feels his whole face go hot. “I’m going to go clean the back.”

Torou’s cackle follow him to the kitchen.

~ ~ ~

It’s that point between the dead of night and the crack of dawn when he comes home, the song of the earliest morning birds interrupted by the roar and scream of garbage trucks.

He slowly cracks open the door, taking in the mess of toys littering the floor, the glow of the TV still stuck on cartoon network barely audible in the background, Yuki’s papers and books spread out across the couch, and then Yuki herself, passed out on his recliner. Her eyes are rimmed with deep bruises, jaw slack, and she doesn’t even twitch when he closes the door behind him.

The runt is drooling all over her chest.

A pinch of guilt twists his gut. Aki must have been a real gentleman after he left.

Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, he tip toes his way over the boobytraps left all over the floor, fanning it on top of both of them. Adjusting the cover so it goes all the way up to the neck, he runs his hand once over Aki’s warm scalp, brushing hair away from his face - the boy would need a haircut soon, definitely. He wrinkles his nose, itching it against Yuki’s shirt before settling once again.

Laughing softly, his eyes flicker up to share a secret smile with Yuki. She is still sleeping and her face - it is much closer than he originally thought.

He pulls away, squashing down the jolt of his heart before it could put down another root. It was dangerous, too dangerous, and she had her whole life and a career ahead of her, besides.

Running his hand through his hair, he pulls out his phone and heads towards the bathroom. 9am should be early enough to wake her up so she can get to class on time.

“Obi?”

Her voice is so soft in the way it wraps around him and he comes up short, glancing back over his shoulder. Yuki’s eyes are still closed.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I can take Aki now if you wanted to get up?”

A sleepy smile curves her lips. “No,” she shakes her head. “Leave him. I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

He swallows hard.

“Aki made something for you.” Under the blanket, she gestures with her hand. “I think we left it in the kitchen.”

He glances across the way, to the kitchen table that is just as much of a mess as the rest of the apartment, scattered with broken crayons, one of his old sketchbooks, torn paper, and half empty cups.

In the middle of it all, on top of the crumpled pile, one only slightly mashed drawing of bright colors and random shapes lays, offering itself up like recently unearthed Pollock. Obi smiles, lifting it up, and glances back towards the recliner.

Yuki’s chest rises and falls in the slow, steady rhythm of those lost to sleep, lips parted and hair fanned over his chair like a sunset. The first rays of morning light slip through the blinds, washing them both in gold.

His fingers itch.

He looks back at Aki’s drawing.

~~~

“Oh my God. Aki, no!”

Obi jerks awake just as a blur of blanket stumbles off of the recliner, barely missing sharp plastic toys it crashes to the ground.

It takes him a minute, crusty eyes blinking into the bright sunlight, but the blanket is on the move, crawling across the floor towards a screaming banshee accompanied by devilish songs with an incessant upbeat tune playing behind it.

Wait, what?

“Let me have that,” the blanket says, prying something from the banshee’s clutches and just that alone is enough to snap him awake.

Oh no. Oh noooo.

“How bad is it?” he croaks, unwinding his legs out from other him.

Yuki’s kneeling, head bowed and hair covering her face. Aki is trying to slip the phone back out of her grasp and she lets out a great and mighty sigh of defeat. “It’s locked for the next 523 years.”

Obi groans, head thudding against the cushion. He rubs his face. “Another trip to the Apple Store. Joy.”

She sighs, standing up, and hands him the phone. “Sorry about the mess. I tried everything last night to get him to settle and–”

Obi takes it from her, blanching when he sees the screen. He checks the wall clock to confirm. “Yuki,” he breathes. “Don’t you have to be in class in 30 minutes?”

He looks up at her just in time to see the blood drain from her face. She snatches the phone back and stares at the screen. “Oh. Oh no.” She looks at her papers scattered all over the couch. “Oh no, I have a test today!”

He’s up, gathering her papers and books. “Go change!” he says, tapping everything into neat piles. “Do you need a ride? Wait. No. Shit. My car is still in the shop. Should I call an Uber?”

She’s already halfway to the door. “Not if I am out the door in the next seven minutes.”

She must set some sort of record for quick change, because when he sees her next, she’s charging down the hall from her apartment with a freshly scrubbed face, clean clothes, and her hair up in a messy bun. He holds up her backpack and she finishes shrugging her jacket on.

“Thanks,” she breathes, taking it and sailing past him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck!” he calls behind her, the door slamming in her wake.

~ ~ ~

It’s five minutes after she leaves that he finds his graphite pencils between the seat cushion.

Ten minutes before he realizes that his sketchbook is nowhere to be found.

And thirty minutes before he collapses on the floor of his living room, face planted into the couch cushions.

“Fuck me.”

~ ~ ~

The knock on the door comes earlier than expected.

Obi’s hands freeze in soapy water, heart and breath caught in his throat.

When the knock comes again, Aki turns from his toys. “Dada,” he points Foxy towards the sound. “Dada, door.”

Obi swallows with a hard thunk. “Thanks, buddy,” he says, toweling off his wet hands.

He crosses the room like a man heading towards his death sentence, takes a breath, and throws open the door.

Shirayuki’s face is flushed red, hands tucked behind her back. Green peeks up at him underneath a fan of long, orange lashes, and-

Ah, fuck.

“Hi.”

She shifts, and even the tip of her nose is red. “Hi.”

“How did the exam go? Did you make it on time?”

She nods once, sharp. “Oh, um, yea. There were two or three questions that I wasn’t sure about, but, um…”

Her voice trails off to silence. Obi decides to get it over with.

“I accidentally packed my sketchbook in your bag.”

Yuki’s blush is so deep that it’s almost purple.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Obi blurts. “I used to draw in highschool and I still do sometimes. It gets me extra tips at the bar, but one of my regulars was telling me that I should draw more and I didn’t mean to make anything weird or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just that I came home and you and Aki were asleep and the light was perfect and-”

She holds up one hand, a startled laugh wheezing out of her. “No, no,” she shakes her head. “I should have stopped looking when I realized it was your sketchbook!”

“Don’t apologize,” he breathes. “It was my fault and if you feel like I’ve betrayed your trust or something-”

Shirayuki’s eyes go wide. “Oh, Obi, no!” she says, pulling her other arm out from around her back and- there it was. The yellow covered pad that he spent the better part of his day hoping that he put on a high shelf somewhere. “It was nice. I liked them.”

Obi’s eyes snap from the pad to her face. “Really?”

“I don’t really do art, but you’re really good,” she professes, and then- she wrinkles her nose. “Although… my ears don’t look like that.”

Obi laughs, a tense sharp bark of sound. “Ears are hard,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I have it?”

His face turns hot, disbelieving. “I, um- Do you want it?”

“Mm!” She nods emphatically, although her smile is sly. “Is there an artist fee? I feel like I should pay you.”

“I do it for the exposure,” he jokes weakly.

Shirayuki laughs, a clear bright sound, and oh- this could have gone terribly. He’s so glad it hasn’t. “You should be paid for your work, Obi.”

His heart squeezes. “Do you have any idea of what I should charge?”

She taps her finger on her chin, lips pursed like she does when she is pouring over one of her textbooks. “I can think of something,” she says, eyes tilting shyly. “I’m just not sure if you would like it.”

As if anything she could give him would be less than perfect. “Try me.”

She swallows, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “Okay,” she laughs aarily, looking down the hall one way, then another. “Come here.”

Obi frowns, taking one step into the hall, keeping his foot between the door jam. “Here?”

“No, um, I mean yes,” she brushes her hair behind her ear. “But I need you to lean down.”

He does as she asks, lashes fluttering and nerves closing off his throat. “Here?”

Her lips twitch, free hand coming up to lace through his hair and pull him down farther.

“Here,” she breathes, closing the space between them.

The touch of her mouth against his is soft, charged with the pop of static and they jump back, startled. Her eyes are wide honestly- she looks more surprised than him, and then they soften, leaning back in.

This time, electricity doesn’t snap between them. This time his eyes fall shut when her mouth falls upon his, breath pouring out of his lungs in one long rush. Her lips are soft. And sweet. And lemon flavored. They shoot sparks down his spine, through his blood, and he tilts his head, fingers alighting upon her cheek.

She hums against his mouth and he can’t help but smile against hers.

Josie was going to be intolerable.

She pulls back, nails dragging against his scalp before smoothing down his hair. “Do you think that was fair payment?” she asks quietly, her eyes searching his.

Obi swallows, his throat dry. “I think I may double my fee.”

Shirayuki smiles and it is so beautiful. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I learned from the best.”

She pulls him back down.

#bubbleswrites #obiyuki #HAPPIER single dad au #lookatthemessivemade #200 followers prompts

37 notes · View notes