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impossiblesuitcase · 4 months

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Acts of Service

The five love languages are five different ways of expressing and receiving love: words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch.

Carswell likes coffee.

Cress knows this. He always wakes up earlier than her—when one lives in a satellite, keeping track of day and night is unnecessary; Cress would wake and sleep by her natural body clock, except for those times Mistress Sybil would force her to pull all-nighters tracking down some unsuspecting Earthen politician. Thorne has evidently not rid himself of his military training and wakes up at 6 a.m. sharp despite all claims of needing his beauty sleep. She’s more of a quarter-past-8 kind of gal.

At least, that’s on the days he lets her sleep in. When they are on duty for an antidote run, he knocks on her door and calls her name sweetly at 7. It’s never a rude awakening.

No matter the time she finally rises, Cress comes out into the galley rubbing sleep from her eyes, inhaling the aroma of coffee that he has already drunk for the morning. Even when she has a cold or allergies and can’t smell a thing, she can always taste it on his lips.

———

“Stardust, it’s starting!”

Cress’s sleepy mind startles at the nickname. Somehow the resounding pops and crackles of fireworks painting the sky are not enough to keep her awake, but Thorne’s crisp voice can jolt her upright.

Maybe it’s the way he says it so excitedly. Maybe it’s the way she still feels giddy that—a tentative four months into their relationship—he’s already come up with names reserved just for her. This is her favourite—arising from when they’d been marvelling at the view of the stars from the Rampion’s orbit and he’d traced his thumb over her cheeks and told her that her freckles looked like a constellation.

Cress peers past heavy eyelids at the 9 p.m. sky. Blues and reds and oranges explode above her. It’s her first fireworks display. She’s been bursting about it all day.

She can’t keep awake.

She yawns for the umpteenth time and Thorne’s chuckling reaches her ear. He takes hold of her shoulders and guides her down to the grass. This is nice grass, cool and pillowy, she thinks as she lets herself be laid. Her thick coat cuts the breeze, and she’s so, so warm. It’s a poor view of the fireworks—only tails of the bursts are visible in the bottom left corner of her vision. Then none at all as she closes her eyes contentedly.

Thorne hovers over her and something warm settles on her lips. He pulls away. “Is that how you wanted it to go?”

“Mhmm,” she hums.

Cress told Thorne of one of her most treasured fantasies aboard the satellite, back when he was a mere crush: the two of them on a river bank, fireworks above and violins around and lips joined together. Tonight, the absence of swooning violins or singing rivers cannot steal the magic of his kiss. Now with her goal achieved, it seems her mind can finally rest.

“Wolf? Make sure she doesn’t get kidnapped while I’m gone, will ya?” says Thorne, voice drifting as he stands up high above her.

A grunt, and rustling as feet move behind her head. There’s lighter movement in the grass as more follow; Scarlet calls after Thorne, “You work her too hard with those shipments, Captain.”

Thorne doesn’t respond for a long, long time. Cress gives up on waiting for his answer. It will be a twenty-minute walk back to the Rampion, except Cress doesn’t have the energy to pick up even a butterfly. I’ll just rest my eyes for a minute, she thinks vaguely, two minutes and I’ll be stronger.

Something nudges her arm. She’s pulled upright.

“Hey, Stardust,” Thorne whispers, husky and low. “Drink this.”

He puts something to her lips. It’s warm and steaming. She opens her mouth and sweet liquid pours in as he tips up her chin.

She wills her eyes to open. He’s right before of her, crouched on the grass. The sky has darkened.

“Weren’t you going somewhere?” she murmurs between gulps.

“I already went.”

It takes a while for the coffee to kick in, even longer to realise that she’d been asleep for at least twenty minutes. Though the firework display is long finished, the afterimage lingers behind her eyes. Stunning, vibrant and infinitely better than in the netdramas.

She offers him the rest of the coffee, but he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pushes it back into her hand.

———

“Which one?”

“You choose.”

“Carswell.”

It’s 8 o’clock, and rather than enjoy his morning caffeine from the comforts of his ship, Thorne decides to venture out for his fix. New Rome is the perfect place for breakfast. It’s bright and dazzling with its winking fountains and fathomless ancient buildings. It’s more spacious than the claustrophobic streets of New Beijing or Los Angeles, but populated enough to tell them that they’re in the right place.

Every café is crooning their names in a soprano’s aria.

Cress can’t enjoy it. Six months post-revolution, Cress and Thorne are now under a contract beyond the American Republic to distribute the Letumosis antidote. They had an extra large shipment order in Manilla yesterday, and right as they were packing for a leisurely trip to Italy, Thorne Shipping Inc. was summoned for an emergency outbreak in Shanghai. They could handle a short detour.

It took six hours. Neither slept until 3 a.m. And yet Thorne decided to wake her up at bright and early 7:15.

“Crescent,” he mimics her reprimanding whine, “You decide.”

They’re situated in front of two cafés. They’ve stood here for a good three minutes mindlessly arguing their points. It’s an hour later than he likes his coffee, and Cress isn’t used to a grumpy Carswell.

(She isn’t used to getting annoyed with him, either.)

“I always pick! You’re the one who dragged me out here so early—you decide!”

“I want you to.”

Cress balls her fist. Glares up, up, up at him—is he straightening his back just to make her seem shorter?

“I’m serious, ba–” she catches herself before she calls him ‘babe’ as an insult. She’s attempted all manner of endearments—dear, babe, darling—but they all turn into popping candy on her tongue. When Wolf calls Scarlet ‘dear’ it sounds so tender. From Cress’s mouth, she worries she’ll sound like an old granny berating her curmudgeonly husband for tracking mud through her kitchen.

One thing is for sure, she won’t let the first use be in anger.

Thorne must interpret her pause for something sinister. He raspberries his lips, turning away from her, muttering, “It’s not like I’m asking you to leave the crown jewels on my doorstep…”

Her distraction slips back to irritation. “The last three places I chose, you hated!”

“I didn’t hate them—”

“‘An abysmal attack on my innocently-underserving palette,’” she air-quotes. “I don’t want to sit through another meal of your complaints.”

“Oh come on! You made bad choices!”

“I chose you, didn’t I?”

The ire flees his expression. “I’m tired, Cress." He rubs at his eyes, frustrated from this ongoing pull and slack. “Aces, and here I thought this would be a nice morning activity…”

Cress reels back on the stone pavement. She is ruining this nice morning? What about him? He woke her up when he knew she’d be exhausted. And when she agreed to come along even though she didn’t want to, because she loves him and chooses to look past his indiscretions, he’s nothing but difficult! All he had to do was choose one blasted café and—

Murmured Italian breezes past her ears. A posse of locals is seated under a pavilion ten paces ahead, witnessing the whole spectacle. They hide behind ceramic cups and focaccia and conspicuously gossip about the “lovers’ quarrel in the street.” These are the only words said in Universal; clearly intended for the lovers to hear.

Cress refocuses on Thorne, who has folded arms and bags under his eyes and an etched-in scowl.

Stupid. They are so stupid. They’re standing on public street in one of the most beautiful cities in the world nicking each other over coffee.

Without warning, Cress seizes his elbow and yanks him away from the onlookers, blindly crashing through the closest door.

Thorne almost bangs his head on the awnings. “Cre—!”

“Two large coffees, please!” she yells.

The door chime tinkles, the only other sound in the establishment. Her voice is much, much louder than she’d realised.

Only one table is in use. The patron snarls a condescending, “tourists,” and returns to his port and cappuccino. The green-haired, bored-eyed barista glares at them.

“Uh, two large coffees, one black, one with milk and sugar, per favoure,” Cress stammers. She all but drags Thorne to a quaint corner table and collapses into a chair, hiding her face behind her hands.

The netscreen is quietly murmuring a morning newsfeed. Thorne sits opposite her with a heaving sigh, apparently not pleased to have won the argument.

Or, now she’s thinking about it, maybe he is just tired.

Cress lowers her hands. Breathes deeply. Her exhaustion sloughs away to make room for embarrassment. Yes, she had been irked to be woken so early. Now his intention—“a nice morning activity”—makes her heart ache. She scavenges her mind for something to say to ease this ludicrous tension they’ve boiled up as Thorne stares blankly at the netscreen.

Part of her wishes Scarlet and Wolf hadn’t left the Rampion to return to their farm. Scarlet would’ve straightened the two of them out by now.

Minutes pass in contemplation. Shaking her head to clear her inhibitions, she begins, “Carswe—ah!”

Cress gasps and clutches a hand to her chest. The barista has materialised beside her.

“Your drrinks-ah,” she says, her accent heavy and laden with apathy. The cups are dropped carelessly onto the table.

“O-oh,” Cress emits shakily. “I didn’t see you.”

A slight curve to her lip makes Cress wonder if the woman did that on purpose.

“Thanks,” Thorne says before sticking into his drink.

Cress reaches for hers, sips, and hisses at the heat. The barista stares at her.

“It’s lovely,” Cress compliments. Another scorching sip. The barista knocks the table with her leg. “Y-yes?”

The woman holds out an ID scanner. “You pay?”

“Oh!” Cress places down her cup and flashes her wrist under the scanner. After double-checking the transaction, the woman raises an eyebrow and clips away.

Cress leans over, whispering: “Don’t you pay after?”

Thorne chuckles, already brightening with only a few sips. “At restaurants, yes. Cafés, you usually pay before.”

“Oh.”

Steam wafts up to her face. Cress tentatively blows on her coffee and risks a gulp. The heat paralyses her tongue. Frowning, she returns the cup to the table and leans back in her chair.

A beautiful, lilting voice reaches her; the woman on the netscreen is showering them in an operatic solo. If Cress closes her eyes, it’s just like her time in her satellite. L’amore mi fa dimenticare ogni cosa brutta, she sings.

“Too hot?”

Her eyes flutter open. Thorne has his thumb pointing at her cup.

“A bit.”

Thorne takes her hand; she entwines their fingers, but he laughs, says, “Hang on,” and pries away. He ties her fingers around the creamy beige handle of his cup. “Mine’s cooler.”

There’s at least half left. After a cautionary sip, it is indeed a safe lukewarm. She expects him to take hers in turn. Instead, he holds the corners of the mahogany table with his hands.

“Look, Cress,” he says suddenly, anxiously, “I’m sorry I woke you up. I just thought…I don’t know. I was thinking with how excited you were to come here, I figured you’d want more time to explore before we’re sucked into antidote runs. It was inconsiderate of me.”

Her feet curl in her open-toed flats.

The singer is reaching the crescendo, her words muddied with vibrato and indistinguishable. One word, though, pierces through—clear as a firework in a cloudless night sky.

Like stars from her satellite but brighter. He’s here, with stubble on his chin and milk foam in the corners of his mouth.

Heart blazing, she leans forward, forgets the exhaustion, forgets the petty arguing, the onlookers' scrutiny or the massive shipment to deliver after lunch.

“Thank you,” she tests, and with a breath to prepare, “amore.”

His hands fall. He’s startled—a raised brow, a slight gaping. Where has that smooth man of hers gone, who can match any cliché flirt with a money note that will ring in the lucky woman’s head for years to come?

(She likes this version better.)

A breath later, Thorne grins. He takes her hand under the table, squeezing.

In all her favourite Italian operas, there are only a few words she can recognise or translate. But always unmistakable is love.

He’s pretty unmistakable to her, too.

———

“Ugh, you’re so annoying!”

All their friends are laughing, but Cress’s laughter has a head-on collision with her heart.

It’s their first reunion on Luna since the revolution ended—all nine of them here. Everyone except Cinder and Iko is heavily jetlagged. That, and gorging themselves on Scarlet’s decadent chocolate cake has done a number on their solemnity. Exhaustion and sugary drinks and dancing and party games makes them all act like a litter of five-year-old’s.

Thorne is the worst of the bunch. He ties Jacin’s shoelaces together and writes ‘Captain is King’ on Cinder’s dining table for the maids to discover tomorrow. But he focuses most of his efforts on his sweet, unsuspecting girlfriend. Stealing food off her plate, balancing coasters on her head. It’s once he picks her up and tosses her onto his shoulder during her delightful conversation with Winter that she knows to exact vengeance.

She whines until he sets her down and races over to the drinks table, grabbing the slippery cubes from the ice bucket. Then she approaches him all nonchalant and taps his shoulder, and when he leans down to meet her, she shoves the ice down his shirt.

His girly shriek makes them all howl with laughter. And then—staring at her, something indiscernible but strong on his face—he says it.

You’re so annoying.

A day later, Cress pulls Iko into her guest suite.

“How do I fix this?”

After five seconds of observing her anxious pacing, Iko takes Cress’s wrists and eases her onto a futon. “Fix what? You were messing around, Cress. He isn’t mad at you.”

Her hands come up to claw through her hair. “He said he hates me!”

“He didn’t say that.”

“He meant that.”

“Not in that way. It’s an expression. I tell Cinder I hate her when she switches the stilettos I chose for her to boots. I don’t mean it literally.”

Of course. Even Iko, an android, is better at deciphering human interactions than Cress is. Her formative years of total isolation are becoming less and less recurrent in her memories, not when she has skyscrapers and thunderstorms and kisses and best friends, but in moments like these, one thing is certain. She is a total dunce.

“Hey,” Iko says as if hearing her thoughts. “I didn’t think he was upset. He was smiling and laughing!”

“That could be a sarcastic smile,” she grumbles. “A ‘what did I get myself into?’ smile.”

Iko’s sympathetic look is definitely a ‘you’re overthinking it’ smile. “Why don’t you just ask him? I don’t think your relationship is solely contingent on you not putting ice down his shirt.”

Ask him. Yeah, because Iko probably thinks he’ll tell her that he didn’t mean anything by it. That he’ll say he still loves her. But a creeping vine of insecurity grows around her heart. What if this event is just part of a build-up of little things, quirks and idiosyncrasies that a socially inept, awkward satellite girl can’t rid herself of and a reasonably-minded Earthen can’t become accustomed to?

You’re so annoying.

Iko fists her hands on her hips, surveying the pristine suite. “Listen Cress, I know I’ve sold myself as a relationship expert. ‘Truth is, my romantic education is mostly from netdramas.”

“Mine too.”

“And so you would know how often characters have misunderstandings that are blown way out of proportion. Can you say that you’ve never said anything to him that he could have misinterpreted?”

She wants to snap a “No,” but her conscience brings one remark to mind.

“I chose you, didn’t I?”

Iko sighs (which is apparently something she can do). “I don’t know what Thorne meant. I don’t live in his head—don't want to; I imagine it’s a lot of ‘Rampion, Cress, ‘I’m amazing’.’ But maybe he’s meaning something different than what he’s saying.”

Cress buries her fingers in the plush futon, willing this hopelessness to leave her. “Like what?” she asks, voice small.

Iko crosses the room and plucks the singular pink rose from the vase on the windowsill. Thorne brought it along from Earth so Cress would have “something from home” while on Luna. How peculiar that her place of birth has become foreign soil. Thorne knows that about her. He knows a lot of things about her.

“Maybe the meaning is lying right in front of you,” says Iko, twirling the flower between her synthetic fingers.

You are so annoying, Cress tells her brain. Why can’t you figure this out?

———

Netsearch: which napkin does one cough up their stomach into when fine dining—the left or the right?

“Are you all right, Cress?” Kai asks, brow furrowing.

It doesn’t matter how sweet and sincere he is, those words are arsenic coming from emperor-high-spice-tolerance. Lunar shells didn’t get flavourful food. They got nutritious sustenance necessary for continued existence. Spice was a luxury.

Her response is something akin to a wheeze, frantically shaking hands and blind grasping for liquids.

Something lukewarm and heavy is placed in her hand. The green tea, fresh and steaming from the pot mingles poorly with her already burning mouth. She downs the entire stock anyway.

“Pace yourself,” Thorne coaches. He’s ready with the teapot when she relinquishes the china cup and refills it.

“Could’ve used that warning earlier,” she croaks out, wiping her mouth with the satin napkin.

Kai is genuinely apologetic, if a little amused under that congenial placidity. “We can get you some ice water or milk if you’d like.”

Don’t mock me further.

With a terse, “No thank you,” she picks up the noodles with her chopsticks and dumps them into Thorne’s bowl. She’s only a little comforted by the fact that it’s only the three of them in the dim yet stunningly ornate dining hall. At least her dignity will die quietly.

Thorne returns the pot to its setting. “You should really consider changing your menu, pal. My girlfriend will forgive you for burning her guts ‘cause she’s so nice, whereas your girlfriend…”

“Cinder is”—a cough—“lovely,” Cress reprimands. Thorne nudges her hand towards her cup. She dutifully takes a sip, placating the embers in her throat.

“I will take that into consideration,” Kai acknowledges regardless. His hands fold over one another a little uncertainly and he mumbles, “I don’t want to scare her off…”

Thorne darts his attention away from watching Cress drink to watching the emperor. A glint forms in his eyes. He flagrantly leans across the immaculate place settings, wrinkling the tablecloth and asks, “So when is the lovely lady coming here?”

Kai picks up a prawn and sheds its shell. “Next month.”

Thorne picks up a prawn in tandem, but tears the shell away with his teeth and spits it onto his plate. A little snark towards Kai’s perfect etiquette, maybe to establish himself as Captain and therefore the one in charge, though he isn’t the one seated at the head of the table.

When Kai isn’t around, Thorne is the paragon of proper prawn etiquette.

Cress giggles at Thorne’s little power play but plays it off with a, “I’m so excited! We haven’t seen her in so long.”

Thorne swallows loudly and wipes his mouth on his white sleeves. “Are you excited, Kai?”

Kai tenses, just briefly. The nearby servants approach the table and remove the dishes, even those untouched. A new line of servants set delicate sashimi before them. The pots of green tea are whisked away and replaced with fresh ones.

“Your Majesty,” Thorne drawls, hands cupping his chin. “I’m waiting.”

Mr. Immune-to-all-levels-of-Scoville is furiously red at the mention of the moon queen. He unhouses the pot of jasmine rice and forks up a large bite, eating it too quickly for an emperor. He swallows and grumbles, “That’s one way to describe it.”

Catching Kai’s notice, Cress picks up her tea and tosses an indicative look between him and the drink as she sips. Kai blushes further, seizes his own cup and swiftly downs it, tempering the redness. Well, sort of. He then becomes remarkably interested in spearing salmon onto his fork.

She tries to hide her grin. Something tells her that Kai is as desperate to see Cinder as she is to see him. It’s never voiced, but when Cress and Thorne go to-and-fro from Earth and Luna to drop off and pick up the Letumosis antidote the first thing out of either monarch’s mouth is to ask about the other.

And Thorne is plucking the teapot from the table and…refilling her cup again.

———

Carswell does like coffee, doesn’t he?

He consistently orders a large, even an extra large, wherever they are in the world. Cress sticks with a small because too many jitters make her stomach roil.

Soon a pattern emerges. He orders these drinks this size and drinks half, a third, sometimes even just a quarter, and then he’ll set it in her lap and ask her to finish it for him. It absolutely stumps her that he doesn’t just order a medium. One time, she offered to swap her small with his large just to see if he could get through it. Even then, he saved most of it for her.

(She begins to ask waitresses for sugar packets in advance because there’s only so much bitterness she can take.)

And it’s not just coffee! At restaurants the rim of his cola glass gets smudged with her lip-gloss when he insists he’s quenched. At his parents’ house his favourite maid Janette tells him that she still stocks the raspberry lime cordial that he guzzled in his childhood. He drinks it with nostalgic reverence and then insists Cress tries it. She can’t fight the disgusted pinch in her nose when she dares a sip, yet the proud look on Janette’s face guilts her enough that when Thorne leaves it to her, she gulps down the rest.

She wants to tell him it’s an egregious waste of money. It has to be a leftover earmark from his abundant upbringing. Cress wants to ask and starts to ask and doesn’t. She doesn’t want him to think her ungrateful—after all, he’s giving them to her, not throwing them away. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. As they pass the seven month threshold of their relationship she gains more confidence; she’ll tell him off for his shameless humour, or his attempts to evade responsibility, yet this never manages to leave her tongue.

How can he read her as easily as his favourite net-toons, and yet he’s illegible to her?

———

Thorne is beet red. That’s what Cress would say, although she’s never actually seen a beet before.

She can hear his feet scraping along the rocky terrain. The path was smoother at the start of the hike—now, two hours in, only the most intrepid explorers attempt this winding, steep route.

Her satellite workouts hadn’t prepared her for the desert, but the desert prepared her for this. She’s in better shape than she thought if the lack of wheezing and steadiness in her calves means anything.

Laboured breathing travels behind her. He’s given up trying to disguise it.

Cress glances back. Thorne is watching her each step carefully.

“Amore—” she begins.

“I’m fine,” Thorne pants, rough and breathless.

“At least let me take the bag—”

“It’s heavy. It’ll tire you out.”

His curtness makes her face forward again, pondering over some other excuse she could use to get him to take it easy. Looking ahead allows the scenery to recapture her attention.

Yosemite National Park is the most awe-inspiring breath of nature she’s ever seen. Every blink of the eye is too long; she just wants to stop and paint canvases of every angle of the towering peaks and glittering lakes. The high-definition panoramas that used to spread over her satellite walls are pathetic when compared to the plant-perfumed air and rich soil.

Thorne set a whole day aside for it. They’re well prepared—caps and full-length clothes to cut the glare, hiking boots and nutritious snacks for the journey. Thorne had reminded her repeatedly that morning to fill up her water bottle and had done it for her while she busied herself applying sunscreen.

“Did you fill up yours?” she’d asked, meeting him in the galley. She caught her reflection in the mixing bowl on the counter and jumped. The white cast of the sunscreen rendered her a ghostly geisha.

Thorne had been busy stuffing a third muesli bar into her rucksack. “Last night. It’s already packed.”

She scrubbed at her cheeks. “Where’s your bag?”

“In the podship. I’ll carry both of them.”

His backpack had been in the podship, and he was carrying them both. But thirty minutes into the hike, they’d taken a pit stop and he found no drink bottle at all. It had fallen out of his bag in the podship dock.

They are nowhere near a store of any kind, passing travellers have no extra bottle to spare, and their podship is parked a forty-five-minute flight away from the Rampion.

He refuses to drink any of her water. It’s a four-hour round-trip, and they’re only just halfway through.

Cress fiddles with the buckles on the straps as they crest a hill, thoughts overtaken when a trickling catches her ears. She screeches to a halt.

“Whoa!” Thorne lurches up behind her, arms spread out to catch her. “It’s steep, Stardust,” he warns. “Don’t go stopping that quickly.”

Cress beams, too distracted by what lies ahead. At the bottom of this bend is a sparkling blue river.

She darts her eyes back at him again. Drops of sweat are joining the redness.

“Time for a break?”

The river is cool and rapid under her hands. She uses the drops to slick back the strands of hair annoying the side of her neck. Thorne quickly dumps the backpacks onto a tree root and falls to his knees by the river. He cups water to his hands and splashes his face.

Cress nudges him with her water bottle.

“It’s yours.”

“Amore,” she intones, “I’m not thirsty. I’ve been drinking as we walked. You, on the other hand, haven’t had a drop since breakfast.”

He sighs deeply and sits up. “How much do you have left?”

“Half.” Actually, more like one-third.

“And we’re halfway through. Save that for the rest.”

She scoffs, disbelieving. How could it be so frustrating for him to be so considerate? Why couldn’t he just take her drink when he obviously needs it more than her?

Cress unscrews the lid and holds it up to his mouth. “Carswell.”

He bats it away sternly. “I won’t have you getting heat stroke again.”

They hold a staring contest for several seconds. Three. Four. Five.

“Fine.” She stands, brushing twigs from her knees. “I think I heard a spring up that hill. This water is muddy, but it’ll be clean up there.”

The water sloshes around the bottle as she trudges away. She realises, with a start, that the lid is still unscrewed and now some is spilling onto her fingertips. She hastily seals it.

Can’t waste a drop.

The spring is hidden behind a tree and requires a rather impressive uphill jump past a boulder to reach. She crouches by the burbling stream and tips the bottle to it. It’s clear and cold and she crosses her fingers that it’s not full of parasites. Their water bottles have in-built filtration, so she doesn’t worry too much.

Questions hound at her. Despite his stubbornness, she’s always known Carswell to be self-preserving. His skincare products are all fragrance-free, paraben-free, alcohol-free. He drinks soy milk because it’s better for his digestion and he only buys high-grade 90% cocoa chocolate because the cheap stuff is “for weaklings, Cress.” He cares about his body, he takes care of his health, so why won’t he now?

The water overflows in her bottle, trickling down her arm and soaking her long-sleeved shirt.

“I won’t have you getting heat stroke again.”

She still remembers it. Out in the desert, consciousness slipping away, the burning soles of her feet and unshed tears from his rejection. He’d given her all the water, and that was truly the only reason she was still breathing today.

Drink it all.

I’ve had my fill.

Her knees sink to the mossy ground.

He asked Wolf to guard her while she was off-guard. He carries both backpacks so it’s not heavy on her shoulders. He walks behind her in case she trips and falls.

He always gives her his drinks, even when he’s in desperate need of water.

Cress screws on the lid and scurries down the hill, not even taking caution on the boulder manoeuvre. Thorne is still by the river, flushed even to his neck.

“Carswell!”

He startles. “What’s wrong? Did you trip?”

She collapses in front of him, one leg drawn into the water. It takes a moment of panting to catch her breath. “Thank you.”

It takes him a moment to process her words. “For what?”

“For always taking care of me. For always making sure I’m safe. But, Cars—you can’t take good care of me if you aren’t taking care of yourself.” She picks up his hand and holds out the bottle in the other. “I’ve had my fill.”

Recognition flits past his eyes, and finally, finally, he accepts the bottle and drinks.

Cress leans forward, resting her head on his sternum. His free arm encircles her. They’re still both hot and sticky. They don’t separate.

He polishes off the bottle. “I just…” he starts, voice smoother than the parched before. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know. And I am.”

Her hands curl into his, tightly intertwined. She presses a kiss there. “You’re still hot.”

A surprised snort. “Um, when have I ever not bee—”

Steadying her core, Cress springs to her feet, gripping him fiercely and using all her well-watered strength to fling him forward. He cries out as he somersaults right into the water.

“Wha—Cress!”

She jumps right in after him.

———

Cress stands behind the countertop in the galley, humming as she breads chicken and sliced eggplant. She dips them first in the flour, then the eggs, smothers them with crumbs and lays them on a baking tray.

Arms wrap around her waist. “Dinner?” Thorne enquires.

“Yep!” she chirps. “Scarlet’s recipe. You know, I never knew cooking could be so fun and rewarding!”

“Mm. Remind me to teach you how to make my world-famous L.A. sub.”

A scoff. “You have a world-famous recipe?”

“I am famous, and therefore any dish I make is—by relation—famous.” Then he cranes his neck, peering over her shoulder. “Wait, eggplant?”

“I like it!”

“The chicken is right there.”

“Eggplant is a great meat alternative, it’s healthy and low in calories,” she parrots, remembering Scarlet’s detailed instructions. Some notes on the recipe she had to translate from French—Michelle Benoit’s cursive script.

“You’re so weird.”

She glances up at him. His nose is scrunched in disgust, but—seeing the shift in her eyes—softens.

“Hey, I don’t mean that in a bad way. You’re weird and I love you, and I love that you’re weird.”

Her mouth parts in an o. Then he’s pecking that mouth, squeezing her shoulders and trotting off to the cockpit. “Here—let me switch Darla to standby. I’ll come help.”

She returns to her work, trying to recall the process. Was it eggs first, then flour? No, flour first and…

Maybe the meaning is lying right in front of you.

Cress smiles.

(Loved,

Loved,

Loved.)

———

Cress likes coffee.

They’ve synchronised their body clocks and now both wake at 7:45. On weekends, he’ll sleep in well past 10 and she gets to be the one doing the waking up. They have their morning coffee together, and she’ll stick with water and tea for the rest of the day. Carswell still brings her refills, but he now orders medium-sized drinks and finishes them himself.

She thought him impossible to read, yet Carswell, more often than not, speaks through his actions. She learns that when he rests his hand on the bench next to her thigh he wants her to hold it. Realises how needlessly grateful he is when she restocks his hair gel without him asking.

Maybe he’s starting to understand her a little better too. He starts to explain why he does things. He tells her now that he wants her to choose the restaurant even if he won’t like it because Sybil never let her have any control over her life. He tells her that he’ll say things sometimes by instinct that he doesn’t mean, and sometimes, the things she says hurt him too. He tells her he doesn’t regret a second of being with her.

It’s an equal rate of exchange: she’ll take a sip from his cup because it puts his mind at ease, and he’ll assure her that he loves her because she craves the reminders.

Cress loves coffee, and more importantly, him.

———

Notes

Thanks for reading. Just a note: I have adjusted Cress's age in this fic so that she is 18.

Read a deleted scene from this here

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @cosmicnovaflare @kaixiety @wassupnye

#tlc #the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #carswell thorne #cress darnel #cresswell #prince kai #emperor kai #linh cinder #tlc fanfiction #the lunar chronicles fanfiction #cresswell fanfiction

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clatoera · 9 months

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Always Remember We're Burned for Better Chapter 17: What Doesn't Kill Me Makes Me Want You More

Heeeeey guys. I feel like I apologize a lot for delays. Full transparency is that as we enter the final act of this fic we are also entering my application season. Things are going to be irregular until October when my apps are submitted. At the same time I expect thats when I'll be starting the sequel so! Exciting things ahead! Thank you for your patience and understanding and love. I appreciate and love every one of you.

I quite literally went on a mission to revisit every thing Jack Quaid has ever done to get an idea of how I wanted Marvel to sound. I'm posting this 26 minutes before I see oppenheimer the third time.

The title is from Cruel Summer (tswift)

AO3

Masterpost

As always, thank you to my friends. @ohhowwehavefallen who quite literally is the reason for the very last scene. IT was her. Give her credit for it existing. @kentwells for literally letting me bounce EVERY idea off them (I literally the other day said I just want people to be happy and had to be reminded I cause the suffering), and @crookedlyniceperson who keeps me going with the thought of memes.

Thank you as we enter this last segment of chapters, where we end the war and start the rest of their lives.

“Do they ever stop looking at you like you killed their dog?” Johanna is the one who asks, glancing around half heartedly at the dozens of wary stares being sent their way at any given moment.

In perfect, offhanded unison, Cato and Glimmer give a resigned “No.”

They had grown used to it. The distrustful looks, the pitiful side glancing, but frankly there was not as much fear or respect one would think these once great victors would garner.

Then again, they were quite a sight to behold these days.

Johanna, with hair like a peach fuzz and various track marks from IV after IV for that Morphling hit.

Clove, who had flayed more than one man alive on television, with skin like violets and nightlock berries from her neck down, bruises blossoming on every inch of that pale canvas.

Cato and Glimmer, who they had long since deemed as crazy and unstable, but now less of a threat with the return of the carrot they had dangled on the stick before them.

Really, the only one who even resembled his old self was Marvel. And what threat was he, anyway?

Finnick did not grace them with his presence, nor did Annie, as they were playing peacekeepers between Katniss and Peeta across the room after his attempt on her life not all that many weeks ago. After all, someone had to keep Miss girl on fire’s embers glowing. Without the supervision of Finnick, Gale likely would have taken Peeta out by now just for his own opportunity to get ahead in the name of protecting Katniss.

“We kinda did kill their dogs. Well. We killed their kids.” Glimmer reminds her, back to her earlier habits of pushing food around on a tray, slipping hard and fast into her old ways.

She sits directly next to Clove on the opposite side of Cato, across from Johanna. Next to Johanna is Marvel who still cannot look at her for longer than a second, so far as Glimmer knows at least.

It’s Clove, of course, who catches him looking when Glimmer is not.

“We didn’t kill their kids, they weren’t in the games.” Clove rolls her eyes, but stabs her blunt spork into the overly-cooked but under-seasoned green beans. She couldn’t even raise her shoulder parallel to the floor, but they were still unwilling to give her (or Cato, for that matter) a knife. At least someone in this godforsaken place was still scared of her and didn’t see her like a bird with a broken wing. “The twelves mostly finished themselves off every year anyway- for fucks sake would it kill someone to get some salt down here?”

“I would commit a literal war crime for a pizza right now.” Marvel admits, and the tone of his voice sounds like maybe he’s only half joking, that maybe he really would dig a knife into the president of District 13 in exchange for extra pepperoni.

When the eyes around them firmly land on him, and some of the armed guards tense and take a step forward he puts up a single, defeated hand. “I’m joking. I’m not here to take out the rebellion for a stuffed crust.” When the guards step back and the weary looks turn away, he does cock an eyebrow and gives a slight nod of his head. “Extra cheese on the other hand..”

Glimmer gives a quiet giggle, though she does not look up from the swirls she makes with the potatoes before her.

Cato actually laughs, though, in a way he had not in the many months of separation of him and Clove. It was like something in him had come back to life, and it clearly had something to do with the dark haired girl he currently had his arms draped around the shoulders of. “If you’re going to get us shot over pizza we may never have again, at least make it something good. At this point I’d lead this fucking war if it would get me back to a burger.” He gently nudges Clove, who is furiously attempting to stab at whatever they were trying to pass off as a balanced meal. “Come on. What do you miss?”

“What don’t I fucking miss? Our bed. Fabric softener. The use of my arms..” Clove starts to complain, but she looks up and catches the teasing shine in his blue eyes and can’t help but play along. “...half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the peanut butter half. And an orange. If we make it out of this, I never want to go a day without real fruit ever again.” She nudges at Glimmer’s knee with her own, before doing the same with her free shoulder. “What about you Glim Glam? What’s your death row choice here?”

How is she supposed to say, oh, nothing, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy food, the thought of eating makes me nauseous? How is she supposed to say that she isn’t quite sure there's anything out there in the world that she’s interested in these days. There’s a memory, though, of a night before Clove became victor officially, of late night snacks in a bed that was not her own but belonged to the man across from Cato. Back when there was still potential and love in her world, that little bit of good that she had had taken from her yet again.

“...those little cake slices, not cupcakes, but the individual slices so you can try the different flavors. They have them at the parties all the time. And maybe fries?” Glimmer smiles to herself at the memory of salt between bed sheets and frosting on the tips of noses. “And there was this pasta, with like…cheese sauce and It was so so good but I can’t remember what it was called but it was just so good I’d kill to have it again–”

“...mac’n’cheese. That’s what it’s called. You like it with the toasty little breadcrumbs on top of it.” Marvel finishes for her, briefly lifting his head and giving ever so slight of a nod. “I remember it from when-”

“Yeah. I do too.” Glimmer agrees, and is the one to break eye contact as she refocuses down at the scraps of borderline dog food they’re being fed.

A heavy, powerful silence falling over the table full of victors, a haze no one quite wants to break. Cato taps his thumb on Clove’s shoulder, and she settles into his side contently. Marvel clears his throat and looks around the room awkwardly, not quite focusing on any point or face in particular.

“...well!” Johanna announces, finally breaking through the silence that permeated their shared space. “I don’t know about you, but the first thing I want, is a fucking drink.”

—————

“Where’s Cato? I haven’t seen you two apart…actually at all, since you got back?” Glimmer invites herself to the foot of Clove’s bed, hands full of bed sheets and thread. “Off in that silly little meeting of boys?”

“Finnick showed up and practically begged him to go.” Clove confirms, pulling herself to a more proper sitting position and tucking her feet back to sit criss-crossed underneath her. “I don't know if it was actually a meeting or if he was just trying to make him go get his allotted thirty minutes of fresh air.” As she sits she tugs at the newly replaced IV in her hand, bringing forward the poll that was attached to the long bit of tubing in her hand, reminded of the inconvenience she thought she had escaped.

Glimmer reaches out a hand to brush over the back of Clove’s, immediately calling attention to the new intrusion. “Clove! I thought you were done with these?”

“Eh. A small setback. Turns out part of my lung just like..collapsed when I was trying to throw this morning. It was filled with blood, it got pretty nasty. I guess I still have some internal bleeding and bruising.” She pulls down the top of her hospital pajamas, showing the literal tubing coming out from below her clavicle, which is filled with fresh ruby blood. “Shoved this in me, the IV is for the pain. I don’t think I need it but–”

“Your lung collapsed. You have a literal piece of plastic sewed into your skin. And you don’t think you need the pain meds?” Glimmer cocks a blonde eyebrow, before mirroring Clove’s cross legged posture. “You’re stronger than anyone else I know, Clove. Stubborn, but strong nonetheless.”

She offers Clove a bit of thread and one of her stitching needles, along with the upper half of some shredded fabric. It had started off handedly– a story of how Clove used to stitch up Cato, how they had been taught in the academy and how she didn’t want to lose that skill too when people were here to baby her. Someone, Primrose Everdeen maybe, had suggested it may be a good therapeutic exercise for her to use the fine muscles and tendons in her hands, to work on stitching and maintain her fine motor skills.

Really, though, it was more of a therapy for Glimmer, who desperately needed to feel needed, who desperately needed a friend to distract her brain for a few hours a week.

It worked out for both of them.

“Any other injuries you wanna admit to, Clove?” Glimmer inquires, absentmindedly beginning to run a new type of fabric stitch on the opposite end of the fabric from Clove. “You know I have no one to tell.”

“Nope. Just the usual. Broken ribs. All my major joints are useless. A lung that gave out. Oh, some internal bleeding…” Clove tries not to reveal her frustration when she cannot thread the needle, cannot keep the intrinsic muscles of her head steady enough to connect the two pieces. The shaking of her right hand betrays her as she drops the needle, grip strength so diminished she can't even keep hold of it for long enough to throw an anchoring stitch in the fabric. Clove throws down the fabric in defeat, running her hand now over her face instead.

“But hey. My skin is coming back together. Just ugly fucking scars for the rest of my life–” Clove reveals the skin of her thigh to Glimmer, the puckering of stitches and the greenish-yellow hue of a bruise starting to dissolve under her skin. “Just fucking great, Glimmer. I’m just great.”

Glimmer drops the fabric, and immediately pushes up the sleeves of her District Thirteen issued henley shirt. Her own scars are not as angry red or freshly bruised, but rather a raised, pink granulated tissue in rivulettes from her elbows to right where her wrist meets her hand. “We all have scars now, Clove. No more magic Capitol tricks to take them away. I clawed my way out of handcuffs, using blood to lubricate my way out.. We all have scars now that we’re going to carry for the rest of our lives. You are alive. You have Cato. By all standards, you’re dong pretty fucking great compared with the other option here.”

Glimmer picks up the little fallen needle and wordlessly threads it for Clove, saying nothing nor expecting any gratitude from the other woman for the act. “You have Cato. Who will not leave your side, who shoves into a twin-sized hospital bed with you somehow–”

“We slept in a twin sized bed at the academy when we were sixteen until he won. We’re used to it, is all.”

“It’s still sweet. How he is so insistent on being near you all the time, all he thought about that whole time was you Clove, I’m shocked they even got him away from you now.”

“Yeah well.. I made him go with Finnick, too. It’s not good for him to sit here and treat me like a porcelain doll all the time. For either of us.” Clove takes Glimmer’s offering with no words of thanks, as the exchange would prove too embarrassing of a hit to Clove’s fragile confidence.

Her confidence being the only truly fragile thing about her, may she add.

“He sleeps with me and he is always touching me but it’s like he’s scared to touch me, you know?” Clove explains, hoping it is not too much information for what had become her closest friend. “He thinks I'm fragile.”

“He doesn’t think you’re fragile.” She nearly scoffs, giving a half hearted laugh. “He thinks you’re anything but. He just doesn’t want to hurt you.”

It’s Clove’s turn to scoff and laugh at that. “He has never given a fuck about hurting me. He broke my collarbone the day we met. After he won, he used to push me so hard at training that I couldn’t walk the hundred steps to my room at training. One time he picked me up by the throat and slammed me against a wall until I could escape myself. Our entire lives have been hurting each other–”

“Well you’re not the one getting choked against a wall now, are you?” Glimmer deflects, and a wicked smile floods Clove’s face at the realization of the lighthearted change in topic.

“I wish I were getting choked against a wall in a different way, you know?” Clove teases, laughing as they fall into a comfortable silence as they work on different types of stitching– human skin or low thread-count sheets.

“You know Marvel is going to come around, right?” Clove offers out of the blue, seemingly coming from nowhere with the topic change. “You said that all Cato thought about was me, well, that was him too. We shared a wall. Lots of conversations were had through six inches of concrete and all….he’ll come around. He just needs time to remember–”

“Clove, he won’t even look at me. He won’t come around, because he remembers it all just fine. Do you know what he said to me that day? That I used him, that he was just another client to me. He said that…that..that I just picked him because he was there! He doesn’t believe that I love him, Clove. He thinks I just..faked it all.” Glimmer catches the skin of her finger in her needle, and quickly brings the blood drop to her lips to staunch the bleeding. “I didn’t fake a thing. Not with him. He is the only person it was ever real with and I just- I just…I miss him.”

“He loves you too, Glimmer. He never stopped.”

“Yeah, well, he shows it just like every other man I’ve ever met, now.”

—————

“There's my favorite cellmate!” Marvel’s voice pops out, a goofy grin on his face as he lets himself right into her room.

“Let me guess, it’s your turn to babysit me?” Clove slams shut the book she had been reading, some silly novel from long before the dark days in a language that was English but also so much more complicated. The only type of enrichment activity she got these days was mental, it seems.

“Huh? No, no of course not, no...yeah, actually. Yeah. But! I came because I wanted to see you, not because It’s my turn to keep you supervised.”

Clove swings her legs over the side of the bed, placing her feet firmly on the ground before pushing herself to a standing position. She had quickly discovered if anyone was going to let her get away with something it was going to be Marvel– he was not going to keep her in bed with crafts or insist she not move too much at risk of re-angering an existing injury or worse, making a new one. Maybe it was because he had been there when she was at her absolute worst in the Capitol, right alongside her, but he didn’t quite treat her like her skin was made of glass. “Let me guess, another meeting of all the victors but us?”

“The privilege of being the special ones who got pulled out of the arena apparently comes with a security clearance.” Marvel shrugs, nodding his head enthusiastically towards the door. “Peeta bread down the hall is in therapy, Johanna went backwards today in terms of progress with water, and Annie is..well she’s Annie. Oh but us, we’re the big scary careers remember? We’re the little captiol plants, that's why they tried to kill you, makes it more believable you know?”

Clove hops off the bed and practically scurries towards the door, at the chance to escape her sterile prison at any slight opportunity that arises. As she gets closer to her chaperone she notices the permanent marker writing on his arm. “Look at you, you got slave to district thirteen privilege, what are you blowing off right now?”

“History of Nuclear Defense. It’s pretty cool, but I can’t look at that guy from twelve for more than fifteen minutes-”

“Well you are the one who threatened to stab him for cheesecake, Marvel.”

“I was kidding! Mostly!” Marvel gestures to the left to turn out of the hallway, the long way away from the fellow prison (hospital) cells of their friends and fellow victors. Other than Annie, he has had the hardest time accepting what has happened to them, and even more so why he was left without the physical scars of his friends. “Apparently Cato and Glimmer have both gone after him, I think our turn is long overdue.”

They take their government mandated stroll up and down the hall, back and forth, as they do any day that Marvel gets assigned Clove duty. It’s the most exercise anyone will let Clove have, the most autonomy, even.

“Have you heard anything about back home? Noone will tell me shit, and I don’t know if they don’t know or if they’re trying to spare my feelings like I'm a child who can’t handle the reality of war.” He half whispers, all too aware (and maybe even a little paranoid, after their time in the capitol) that someone is always listening for something even the littlest bit treasonous to slip their lips so they can be hung in the proverbial town square.

“Glimmer knows nothing about Gloss and Cashmere. They can’t tell me anything about Enobaria. I thought asking every day would break them but-” Clove gives half a shrug, kicking her feet along the concrete floors. “Noone can tell me anything about her. We don’t know about Brutus, either. All Cato wants to know is about his sister. I don’t think anyone knows. Or if they do, they’re keeping it from all of us.”

He doesn’t respond, just gives a nod at the reality of their situation. If anyone knows anything, it is well hidden from all of them. “You know, I’m not glad you’re still in the hospital, but I’m glad Cato sleeps with you, he’s supposed to be my roommate. We have fucking roommates, what is this, war boarding school? Between this and the classes, I feel like they left some gaps in our education in the districts. Who knew we should know how to do nuclear fission by eighteen.”

“I literally don’t even know what those words mean.” She half-laughs, shaking her head in disapproval. “Other than the games and then, you know, the capitol, I have barely spent a night away from him since we were sixteen. I think you’re safe to push the beds together to make yourself one big one, because he won’t be there anytime soon.”

Clove supposed that meant that Glimmer was meant to be her roommate when all was said and done. In another life, they probably would have switched in the dark of the night, Clove and Marvel or Glimmer and Cato, rearranging the sleeping arrangements in a way that would scandalize the upper-administration of thirteen and they would not have cared. All they would have cared about is having been together, at whatever cost. Things are different, now, though.

“You need to talk to her.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Marvel I do not know what they said to you in those last couple of days before we got out, but a week before all you wanted in the entire world was to see her again.” Clove reminds him in a voice that can only be described as lecturing. “All you have to do is talk to her, you’ll know she meant it all.”

“I just can’t get it out of my head, Clove. That all along she was just using me. Over and over and over again, I just hear them telling me that it never would have been me. Why would it be me?” His eyebrows are just slightly knit together, and there's a hesitation in his voice that Clove can recognize as doubt.

Doubt. The strongest force in the world, like a spell that needs no more than a drop to permeate every inch of your being, to consume you. To burn you to the ground.

“Because you’re you. And she’s her. And I’m Clove, and he’s Cato. It makes sense just because it does. Some things just…are. And this is one of them.” She has nothing better to say, because there is no stronger answer.

Somethings are just meant to be because they simply are.

They pace in a peaceful albeit tense silence, for about five more minutes before the overhead alarm signals to them that a change in activity will happen in exactly five minutes, and her other supervisors will return.

“...you know that Glimmer and Cato got to go to the armory, right?” Clove informs him with a heavy, heavy sigh. “Cato gets target practice and I’m barely allowed out of bed. How’s that fair? I’m going fucking crazy, Marvel.”

“You almost died, you psycho, I think they’re just being cautious. Besides, you were already crazy.”

“I’m not made of porcelain or glass or ceramics. I trained in the best training academy in the country for ten years, I won the fucking Hunger Games.” Clove slams her hand into the door, blocking their entrance back in. “Do you think I'm some little broken winged bird?”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Clove. I was there. I know what you survived. I wouldn’t have. I don’t think anyone else would have.” He gently nudges her hand out of the way so he can make sure she actually goes back to her room. “You know, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if you had just given them the screams they wanted.”

Clove scoffs. “That's rule number one. Never show weakness. That gets you killed. And besides, I only scream for one person.” She gives him a playful nudge with her shoulder as she pushes past him.

Who would have thought. At one time she saw him as one of the most annoying victors she had ever met, and now, he was the only person treating her like she had her own two legs to stand on.

Damn. Maybe trauma bonding is real.

“I don’t need babysitting, you know, Marvel.”

“Trust me, I Know that. Convince everyone else.”

—————

“It’s okay, Clove, you’ll get it back–”

Clove lets out a frustrated scream, throwing the knife to the ground. Finally, finally, she had gotten a knife back in her hand in the training room, a moment she had been working toward for weeks. She had expected it to be muscle memory, truly her second nature, and come back to her as easily as it had back when she was five years old and threw for the first time.

Apparently muscles lose their memory when they are severed.

“No, Cato, it isn’t fucking okay!” She grabs another one of the knives– albeit not the best quality, but she cannot blame that. She could kill with a plastic butter knife, before– and as soon as she raises her arm she nearly drops the knife from the sharp pain that runs through her shoulder. “This is all I fucking have, this is all I am, and I can’t do it. I could do this when I was five.”

The couple of throws she had managed to succeed in executing failed in other ways, each three feet away from even hitting her target. A failure, by academy standards.

“Baby, this is not all you are.”

“How would you feel? If the only thing that has ever made you remarkable was just..gone? This is all I have, yes it is. This is as close as I’ve ever felt to my mother, who chose the games over me, this is the only thing that kept my grandmother choosing to keep me alive, the hope that i’d actually win. I was tiny and frail looking then but I was good. I was the best. This is all I have, Cato. This is all I am, and now I'm not.” Clove tries, again, to bring her arm past parallel with the floor, and the pain is nearly unbearable. She does not cry. She does not show it. But god, god does it hurt deep in her bones.

“If this is hurting you, you need to stop, Clove.” Stupid Cato. Stupid Cato and his ability to know even the slightest change in her face, to be able to notice even her slightest tells. “You just need time and that's okay.”

“And what the fuck got into YOU Cato? What the fuck is this ‘you need to stop’ shit?” Clove snaps, stepping forward to grab him by the center of his shirt, pulling him forward with a jerk of her arms. “What happened to the person who broke me, and ran me until I threw up, and never once, not a single time, took fucking pity on me? What happened to the person who wanted to make me a better tribute, who wanted to make me a better fucking victor even when we were going to kill each other? I’m not broken, Cato, don’t treat me like I am.”

Cato shakes his head, and drops his hands to his side, before very very gently grabbing her upper arms. “Clove, I don’t want to hurt you, it’s not worth it.”

“Oh since fucking when don’t you want to hurt me? Pick me up by the throat and make me fight my way out, Cato!” Clove practically begs, deep eyes searching his face in desperation, pleading for understanding,

“That was to make you survive, Clove, not fucking kill you.” He tries, gently tightening his grip on her arms. “This isn’t all you are, Clove, not anymore. Not ever.”

“Cato, stop! Treat me like your fucking partner. Treat me like me, Treat me like you’re Cato and I’m Clove and we have spent our entire lives making each other better. I am begging you, treat me like me.” Clove sees the hesitation in his face, in the way he looks from her eyes to her nose to avoid the desperation in her eyes, and knows she has him. She grabs his right hand and pushes it up to the top of her shoulder. “Brace my shoulder, and do NOT let it go. If I cry or scream. Do not let it go.”

Something snaps in Cato, or maybe something reawakens, but he gives a firm, hard squeeze at the junction of her arm and her shoulder, feeling the tendons separate and slip underneath his fingers. Clove’s legs nearly give out, and it takes all she has not to whine in the true agony at the feeling of her joints sliding over each other again. He does not let go, or loosen the grip he has on her swelling shoulder joints. Cato twists her in his arms, facing her out towards the targets. “Go. Throw.”

His other arm is wrapped around her waist, and holds her up as her legs beg to give out and bring her to the ground. As her throws hit closer and closer to the target, Cato doesn’t comment on how he can tell exactly how hard she is struggling to breathe, or how he can feel her other hand shaking at her side.

“I have an idea.” Cato begins, finally letting go of her arm and her body and trying to ignore the soft whine that she lets out when he does. “Not that they’re letting us anywhere near a war but,”

He reaches for the same deep silver gun he had picked up all those weeks ago, when he and Glimmer had been given free range for an hour with Beetee taking pity on them. “Easier to hit with this.”

Cato slips it from his hands to hers, and notices the way her hand nearly falls at the weight of the weapon. Before the frustrated look can even befall her face, he has her back in front of him, with both of his hands on top of hers. He raises her hands in his, holding them out infront of her. “You’ll like it, at least until your arms are better.”

“Easy now, baby.” Cato whispers in her ear, “You’ve got it.” He promises, and when she finally pulls the trigger, he catches her back against his chest when the kickback reverberates through her and sends her a few inches backwards. “There you go,” Cato kisses right below her ear, just before she twists in his arms to face him.

The smile stretched across her face is worth it all in that moment, the wicked, dark energy she is so known for all but painted in her eyes.

“I knew you’d like that.” Cato teases, only slightly off guard when the metal falls to the ground with a loud cling and he feels her pulling him back. It’s effortless when he naturally lifts her by her waist onto the armory table, in a spot between the guns and knives and various weapons of choice for the assorted victors in thirteen.

Clove threads her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and oh she is alive, alive alive again. As she pulls him down on top of her, she pauses only for a moment before catching his lips with hers.

“Remember, I’m not broken.”

“I know, Clove.”

#arwbfb tag #the hunger games #clato #cato and clove #clato fanfic #cato hadley #clove kentwell #glimmer thg #marvel thg #always remember we're burned for better tag #the hunger games fanfic

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leenikgeelofromthemynock · 4 months

Note

blease I want to know your x-men opinions

Oh that is a HUGE question dskjafhsdjkfh

Okay so first off I should say almost everything I know is from the Krakoa Era, from House of X/Powers of X up to roughly Sins of Sinister (I’m a lil behind rn), but I have read ALL of that period.

Idk how much I have in specific opinions off the top of my dome but I will say Krakoa was always kind of wack to me. Old friends Xavier and Erik just decide that this MUST be the solution based on Moira’s promises but as soon as she suggests that “hey maybe this plan I came up with based on VERY limited data might not be the best?” they kick her out of the club and wipe their only chance at a reset when everything (inevitably) goes bad!

Also like. Hey Krakoa isn’t infinitely big. Even Arrako isn’t all that big. Did you ever have a plan for when your country of immortal idiots with a commandment to Make Babies outgrew its resources? Or did they just know this plan would either collapse or lead to The Worlds Most Self-Righteous Genocidal Empire (Hi Sinister)?

All that being said. I’ve really loved all the different tones and approaches that the different series have taken to these books. Its the first time I’ve felt like a comic universe really clicked for me and I think its because there’s so many creators all working around a central pillar that is so compelling, and I’m going to be really sad when Krakoa finally falls apart in earnest. I don’t know what comes after this for the X-Men - this has changed the status quo so much that its hard for me to imagine a post-Krakoa storyline that is half as compelling. That being said, the books have suffered a little with the loss of their focused graphic design leadership - that was what really held the line together for me and its starting to feel much looser. I’m still incredibly excited to catch up and I already have my orders in for the FotHoX and RotPoX.

Anyway best Krakoa stories are:

anything by @kierongillen (listen. I’m a Phonogram fan, okay)

@charliejaneanders run on New Mutants (I had dinner with Charlie Jane once, it was great, she’s very cool) (the other New Mutants stuff is also good but I gotta rep my girl Escapade okay)

the Young Cable run by Gerry Duggan and Phil Noto

Mauraders also by Duggan and 5 separate artists (hey Marvel? wtf)

X-Terminators by Leah Williams and Carlos Gómez

obv all the Exacalibur/Captain Britain stuff by Tini Howard, Marcus To, and Robert Quinn.

Oh and Fallen Angels isn't as bad as people think. It isn't good either but it's fine. It just seems extra bad bc its surrounded by some of the best superhero comics in a generation.

#X-Men #Krakoa #Answered #I'm sorry I didn't ID all the artists here #It's hard to keep track when marvel still acts like the only thing that matters is writers 🙃#Seriously 5 artists in one writer's run on Marauders? Wtf

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heartmix · 2 years

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Compliment Me (Druig X Reader)

Pairing: Druig x eternal!reader

Word Count: 600+

Warning: dying of cuteness (I was cheesing mad hard, ngl)

A/N: I haven't written for Marvel in years. I always feel like I need to make it detailed if I do. Here's a shortie.

Masterlist \ Marvel Masterlist

"I need someone to go with him." Ajak said as we watch Druig's figure get smaller and smaller as he leads the people away from the burning town.

"He will never get mad at y/n." Kingo stated which everyone agreed.

"Yeah, I'll go. I'll see you guys soon, hopefully." You smiled hopefully at the group before following the direction in which Druig went.

You didn't keep track of how long it has been since that day. You stopped thinking about it after a couple hundred years has passed. The only person you've seen since then was Ajak, she couldn't help but reach out which you couldn't deny her. Other than that you haven't seen anyone else. You missed them dearly but it was relaxing to not feel like an Eternal and being reminded you were one.

Druig made sure that life would go as smoothly as possible for the both of you. Finding a place and settling in the Amazon was the best decision you both could have done. He wanted to keep you away from harm, from the cruelty of humanity and the dangers that always seemed to be happening in the world. The small village of people you lived with was perfect. No one wanted to be at each other throat, well part of it was because they were mind-controlled but still.

Since day one when you both first met on the Domo, Druig was drawn to you. Nothing like Ikaris and Sersi, this was different. He felt like his mission was to protect you in this long life, whether that be as friends or more. It was weird because they were not humans, they were Eternals. They couldn't have the luxury of acting like how a human would, no, they were sent to earth for a mission. That was their purpose and the only reason for their existence. But deep down he knew that you were always going to be the one he was going to watch over no matter what.

You knew this, but it took you longer to realize what was happening between the two of you. You felt the connection when you first met but what did you know about anything in existence. You pushed it away thinking it was nothing. You pushed it away longer because you were too stubborn to believe that you had someone to get through this life with.

Even after all these years in the amazon, you and Druig didn't get married like Sersi or Ikaris. You guys weren't even in a relationship. You guys were just there for each other in every way possible. You were in love with each other and that was it. None of you spoke anything about it even though you slept in the same bed. It wouldn't make sense to anyone but it works for the both of you.

"Why are you so infatuated with me?" You queued as both of you sat by a pond not too far from the village. Something you both did to relax when one would overthink about something.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I could give you 7,000 years' worth of reasons." You joked but at the same time you didn't, there really was a list of reasons you could have given him.

"Everyone has someone that compliments them in life, Bonnie had Clyde, Hades had Persephone, hell Thena has Gilgamesh. You my darling, you compliment me in life. It's you and me in this world. And I will do everything in my power to keep you safe even if it's the last thing I do. I love you my beautiful, beautiful y/n." He smiled lovingly at you, his hand coming up to find the familiar spot on your cheek which you leaned into every time.

"I didn't think I could love you anymore, I guess I was wrong."

#marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel #eternals #druig x y/n #druig imagine #druig blurb #eternal x reader #druig x eternal!reader #mcu #fluff #druig #fanfic #mcu phase 4

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

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summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

Sexy

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom has a problem when you get asked a sexist question

Masterlist

“For Robert, how has it felt for you as an actor to see what’s branched from that first Iron Man movie?”

You sat back in your chair and looked around the panel as Robert answered his question. He had been to a hundred of these panels throughout his career, but you were still getting used to them. An impressed smile tugged at your lips as he got the audience laughing with an otherwise well worded answer.

“For Tom, how has joining the MCU helped you to grow as an actor?” Tom was asked by the same journalist. He was seated next to you and sat up slightly when his name was called. He gave an answer that showed his appreciation for the opportunity to act along side these actors as well as what it meant to him to be a role model for kids who didn’t fit in. You squeezed his hand under the table, proud of him for answering the question like a professional. Finally, the journalist looked at you.

“And for Y/n, you’re new to the marvel universe and had to join a cast full of very established, attractive men. Did you have any intimate relationships with any of your male cast mates?”

The silence the settled in the room was painful. Robert let out a loud scoff and shook his head in disapproval while the rest of the cast looked at you knowingly. Tom Hiddleston shot you an apologetic smile as Chris Evans laughed to himself. You leaned forward to get closer to the microphone and looked at the journalist.

“I’m sorry?”

Chris laughed harder, gripping his left side the way he did as the audience let out an awkward laugh.

“Well, being around actors like Chris Evans and Chris Hemsworth all day, surely you must’ve gone after one of them.” The journalist continued. Chris burrows his face in his hands, unable to stop laughing at how stupid the question was. You saw Toms jaw tighten beside you as he gave you a pointed look. You put your hand in his knee to let him know it was okay and he gave you a stiff nod.

“I know I’m not actually Iron Man but do you want me to blast her ass?” Robert leaned over to whisper in your ear. You laughed at his offer and gave him an appreciative smile.

“I got this.” You assured him before looked back at the journalist.

“I really want to thank you for asking me that. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for someone to ask such an important question such as that one.” You sighed dramatically. “And you’re absolutely right. It was super hard to be around these actors everyday since they’re all just so sexy. How could I possibly pick, you know?” You laughed like it was obvious. The journalist opened her mouth to speak but you continued.

“Since I am so notorious for being an alluring, devious slut, I do make it a point to sleep with every single person, cast and crew, that I work with.” You said seriously and the cast laughed. “It’s easy when everyone’s on set and I can just pick and chose who to sleep with next, but it can get pretty difficult to track down all the editors and executives so I can sleep with them too. Of course, I always start with the main stars of the film and gradually work my way down the list. I even sleep with all the interviewers so hopefully I’ll be seeing you later in my hotel room.” You winked after her. “It’s really nice to be appreciated for my hard work so I again have to thank you for asking that question.”

You gave her a polite smile and she immediately sat down. A new kind of silence settled in the room as your answer hung in the air. No one said a word as you sat back in your chair and shrugged smugly. Tom looked down at his lap with a proud smile as he reached for your hand under the table.

“Can we take a moment to appreciate that answer?” Sebastian said into his microphone to break the silence. Anthony started a slow clap and Chris quickly joined. Robert grabbed your shoulders and shook you proudly as the room broke into applause. Your smiled shyly as the cast loudly whooped and cheered for you. You weren’t exactly quiet around them, but you certainly never said things like that. You preferred to sit back and watch them interact with a deep appreciation just to be a part of the cast. Shutting down the journalists sexist question officially solidified your place in the friend group.

“That’s a great answer. That’s how it’s done.” Chris Pratt said into his microphone as he looked at you. You waited for the applause to die down before speaking.

“Thank you.” You laughed. “To answer your question, yes I did have intimate relationships with my male cast mates. My female ones too, actually. Over the course of filming these movies, we’ve laughed together, eaten together, traveled together, celebrated birthdays together, even cried together. I consider all of those to be intimate things.”

You looked at your cast fondly as they looked back at you. A chorus of “I love you”‘s rang from the cast as the ones closest to you patted your back. Tom grabbed your face and planted a big kiss on your cheek, too proud to care about the cameras.

“I think that’s a great place to end the panel. Thank you to everyone who came. Let’s hear it one last time for the Marvel Cast.” The host of the panel spoke into his microphone. The audience applauded and you all began to get up from your seats. Tom let you walk in front of him, keeping his hand on the small of your back the whole way out.

“I have to give Harrison something but I’ll be right back.” Tom told you once you got backstage.

“Okay. I’ll be here.” You assured him. He leaned in to kiss you but you held up a hand.

“Tom!” You whispered as you looked around. “There are cameras everywhere. You can’t kiss me in public.”

“But you did so well out there.” He pouted. “I should be able to kiss my girlfriend no matter who’s around.”

“I know. But we agreed to keep our relationship a secret.” You quietly reminded him. He stared at you for a moment before huffing out a breath.

“Right. Fine. I’ll be right back.” He mumbled before leaving to find Harrison.

You sighed as you watched him leave, knowing it upset him to hide your relationship. You didn’t have a minute to think about what to do as people began to pile out of the panel, all commemorating you for your answer. Scarlett found you backstage and enveloped you in a hug.

“Hey, good job back there kid.” She said as she rubbed your back. “You handled that question like a pro.”

“Is it always like that? They get the cool questions and we get that?” You laughed it off, but you hoped she’d say no.

“Unfortunately, it is.” She nodded. “I’ve had to sit through interview after interview where they ask Chris how it feels to be a hero and they ask me how I fit into my body suit. I’m sorry you have to deal with it too.”

“It’s whatever. I mean, it’s not, but you know. Nothing we can do.” You shrugged. She gave you a look that told you she knew exactly what you were trying to say.

“I know. And between you and me, I’m a little offender she only asked if you slept with the male cast mates. What about me?” She scoffed, making you laugh heartily.

“She probably mistook you as a tree and didn’t see you.” You shrugged, recalling Scarletts infamous tweet.

“You’re so right. I’ll see you around, slut.” She squeezed your arm lovingly and walked away right as Tom came back.

“Did Scarlett just call you a slut?” He asked in confusion

“Yes. But I liked it.” You replied, only confusing Tom further. “Let’s go home.”

“Do you want Chinese for dinner?” You asked Tom once you were back at the hotel. His typically gentle features were hardened as he scrolled through his phone from the couch, not even looking up at you when you asked the question.

“Sure.” He mumbled.

“Or should we just order room service?” You asked as you glanced over the menu provided by the hotel.

“Okay.” He said, still not looking up. You eyed him curiously, knowing he wasn’t paying attention to anything you were saying.

“What I really want to eat is some danimals crush cups right out of Dylan Sprouse’s hands. Let me go see if he has some.” You tested him to see if he really wasn’t listening.

“Sounds good.” Tom grumbled. You walked over to him and pushed his phone down from his face with your finger.

“What’s up with you? You’re not listening to me.” You asked him. He finally looked up at you and sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry. I’m just a little distracted.” He set his phone down and pulled you into his lap, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

“What’s wrong?” You wondered as your soothingly brushed your fingers through his hair. Tom impatiently tapped his fingers on your leg as he thought about what to say. You could tell something was seriously bothering him from how flushed his face. His body was tense beneath you, slowly loosening up with your touch.

“I just can’t believe that reporter disrespected you like that.” He grumbled, keeping his eyes down. You furrowed your eyebrows at his statement, having forgotten about the situation yourself.

“That’s what’s been bothering you?” You laughed slightly. “I handled it, Tommy. The journalist is gonna be dealing with backlash from that question for years.”

Tom shrugged and rested his chin on your shoulder with a pout.

“It’s just not fair.” He stated. “You shouldn’t have to deal with these sexy questions-“

“Sexist questions.” You cut him off with a chuckle to correct him.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with these sexist questions all the time.” He repeated with a huff. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, reminding you of a timid child. You leaned your head on top of his and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“That’s just how it is, baby.” You shrugged, not sure what else to tell him. You wished it was different too, but it just wasn’t.

“It shouldn’t be.” He mumbled against your neck. You rubbed his back to let him know you understood.

“I know it shouldn’t be. But all we can do is educate the people who ask those questions and give them sassy responses. And you know how much I love being sassy.” You pulled away so you could smile at him. He stared at you for a moment before giving you a half smile back. You thought you had assuaged the situation until his pout returned.

“She didn’t even mention me.” He recalled. “You’re my girlfriend and she thought you slept with everyone but me.”

“In her defense, no one knows I’m your girlfriend.” You reminded him, unknowingly making him feel worse. His face faltered and he kept he slumped back on the couch.

“Do you think people would stop asking you things like that if they knew?” He wondered out loud after a beat of silence.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’d get asked even worse questions.” You laughed sadly. “There’s no way to tell.”

Tom seemed unsatisfied with your answer and let out a sigh. He sat up from his seat position and wrapped his arms firmly around your waist.

“It’s getting really hard for me to sit back me listen to people disrespect the women of this cast. Or the women of Hollywood in general. Especially you.” He stated. “I’m your boyfriend. I should be defending you.”

“I understand, baby. But I can defend myself.” You reminded him with a soft smile. “Don’t worry about me, Tommy. I can handle a few sexists.”

Tom reluctantly nodded and leaned back in the couch, pulling you with him so you were resting on his chest.

“It still bothers me.” He mumbled before kissing the top of your head.

“I know.” You tilted your chin up to look at him. “It bothers me too.”

“I should’ve said something.” He cursed himself as he shook his head in disdain. “I shouldn’t have just sat there.”

“It’s alright.” You assured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“It’s not.” He said definitively. “And it won’t happen again.

The conversation you had resonated with Tom and sat in the back of his mind for the rest of the press tour. The incident at the panel did bring some good, which Tom was happy about, as journalists often sided with you when it was brought up. Since Tom was often put with you for interviews, he was able to closely monitor the questions you were being asked. You managed to get through the rest of the press tour without another sexist question, and Tom assumed you had actually ignited some change.

Until the final day.

“Tom, how would you like to see Peter Parker mature and grow in future MCU films?” Tom was asked during your last interview of the day. It was a simple question that he had gotten before, so he answered it simply. You smiled at him as he spoke, proud of all he had done so far and excited for what he’d do in the future. He finished his answer and the journalist smiled at him.

“I’d love to see that too.” He nodded at Tom. “So, Y/n, your suit is obviously very form fitting. I’m sure you’ve seen the comments so I have to ask, can you wear underwear under the suit?”

You blinked in surprise for a moment as you processed the question. You could hear Tom suck in a sharp breath, practically feeling the heat radiating off of him as anger pulsated through him.

It had happened again.

He was asked an intelligent question about his character and you were asked about your body.

“I’m sorry?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to give the journalist a chance to redeem himself.

“I’m asking since there are plenty of shots from behind but never any panty lines.” The journalist smirked at you in a way that made you deeply uncomfortable. “Fans wanted to know if you were wearing underwear under your suit or not.”

“That’s funny, I’ve never had a fan ask me that. Only you guys.” You kept a tight smile as you tried to keep the situation under control. You shot a look at Tom, who was giving the journalist a lethal stare. He was gripping the sides of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. You quickly reached over and took his hand in yours, not caring about the cameras and just wanting to comfort him.

“Well we-“

“She doesn’t want to answer that.” Tom abruptly cut you off as he shot daggers at the journalist. The journalist snickered and rolled his eyes a little as he looked at his list of questions

“All right, moving on.” He said, slightly bitter. “Tom, which Avenger, other than Tony, would you like Peter to train from?”

Tom looked at you, as if asking for your permission to continue. He was ready to walk out of the interview but only on your call. You gave him a reassuring smile that encouraged him to continue.

“I would say Captain America because I think he understands how it feels to be the little guy. Peter and Steve were both picked on before they got their powers, although Peter was still picked on after he got his powers. But neither Captain America or Spider-Man have guns or fire blasters, just fists and strength, so I think they would get along well.” Tom answered, looking at you the whole time instead of the interviewer. You squeezed his hand and gave him a gentle nod.

“That’s a good answer. Well done.” He commemorated Tom. “And Y/n, like we mentioned before, one of the most noticeable things about your character is her skintight suit. How did you train to fit into that?”

You and Tom exchanged knowing looks before you answered.

“Again with the suit.” You laughed awkwardly. “Are you trying to fit into one or something?”

“I just want to know how you fit into the suit.” He shrugged. “Trust me, I’ve studied pictures of you in it pretty closely. It looks like a second skin.”

“Well, they measured me, so it was gonna fit regardless. Because, you know, they made it my size.” You answered like it was obvious, because it was. Your straight cut answer didn’t satisfy the prying needs of the journalist.

“So no extra squats to make it look as good as possible?” He winked at you and Toms grip on your hand tightened.

“I didn’t exactly go into this film hoping my ass looked good, if that’s what you’re asking.” You said flatly. “I was more looking to be a powerful role model for girls to look up to.”

“But your ass looking good would just be a plus, right?” He laughed and looked at you as if you were supposed to laugh too.

“Um, no.” You squinted your eyes and tilted your head.

“I’m about to end this mans whole career.” Tom said under his breath. From the look on his face, you could tell he had bitten his tongue long enough.

The boy was about to burst.

“What was that, Tom?” The journalist asked, not having heard him.

“Stop being sexy!” Tom demanded. You looked right at the camera with the surprised pikachu face as the journalist laughed in confusion.

“What?” He asked.

“He means sexist.” You informed him.

“What is wrong with you? Is that question seriously on your sheet?” Tom asked angrily, letting go of your hand to point at the paper the journalist was holding.

“Tom, it’s okay.” You put your hand on his shoulder to relax him, but he was seeing red.

“No, I want to see it. I want to know if you’re dumb or just the company you work for.” Tom snatched the little blue sheet from the journalist and read it over. “Look at that, it’s just you.”

He held up the sheet and the questions you had been asked were in on it. You looked at the sheet and made another face at the camera.

“I’m not the first person to think she looks hot in her suit.” The journalist defended with his smirk still present, only angering Tom further.

“But you’re the first person to piss me off enough to the point where I’m about to walk out of this interview.” Tom snapped back and your jaw dropped. You looked at the camera and pointed at Tom before giving a thumbs up. You were almost enjoying it too much to interrupt, but you didn’t want him to get too interrupted.

“Tommy, relax.” You said as you soothingly rubbed his arm. “It’s okay. I get it all the time.”

“That’s exactly why I’m mad.” He told you. “I know you get this all the time. We get the deep, philosophical questions and the girls get the sexy questions.”

“Sexist questions.” You corrected with a smile.

“The girls get the sexist questions.” He fixed his mistake. “I’m so sick of listening to people disrespect my girlfriend all day long. The girls aren’t here for you to drool over during action sequences. Girls strong and smart and tough and deserved to be asked about more than what underwear they’re wearing. Let’s go.”

Tom got out of his seat, took your hand, and walked out of the room. He lead you all the way to your dressing room in silence and didn’t let go of your hand until the door was closed. You folded your arms and looked at him as he looked at the ground sheepishly. His anger was gone now and he just looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I know you said you could handle it but-“

You cut him off by throwing your arms around him and kissing him. He stumbled back a little but regained his footing and kissed you back.

“Don’t apologize.” You smiled and rubbed your nose against his once you pulled away. “I loved what you said.”

“I know you can take care of yourself.” He told you. “But I’m gonna take care of you too.”

You smiled in appreciation before kissing him again.

“That’s okay with me.”

Later that night, you found Tom on the hotel couch again and sat on his lap. He wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you in place as you wrapped an arm around his neck.

“Check out this article I just read.” You smiled innocently at him. “‘Tom Holland goes on feminist rant to defend girlfriend, Y/n L/n. Click here to watch.’ Sounds pretty interesting.” You said sarcastically and Tom grimaced. In the midst of his argument with the reporter, he let it slip that you were his girlfriend.

“Oh.” He pursed his lips. “I messed up pretty bad, huh?”

You laughed slightly and kissed his forehead.

“I don’t think my boyfriend defending women like it’s his day job is messing up. I think it’s pretty sweet.” You shrugged and brushed his hair out of his face.

“But I exposed our relationship.” He pouted apologetically. You took his chin between your fingers and kissed his pouted lips.

“A small price to pay for salvation.” You quoted Thanos, making Tom laugh. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re still gonna get asked sexy questions.” He grumbled as he toyed with your fingers.

“Sexist questions.” You corrected yet again.

“You’re still gonna get asked sexist questions. One feminist rant want solve that.” He mocked the article and let out a sigh.

“Maybe not, but at least I know I have a whole defense team to back me up next time I get asked a sexy question.” You teased him and kissed his nose. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you more, baby doll.” He smiled sleepily and pulled you into a real kiss.

“Now that I think about it, what do you wear under your suit?” He wondered once he pulled away. You pretended to be shocked and gasped.

“Hey!” You playfully slapped his arm. “Stop being sexy.”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #iron man #peter parker fanfiction #marvel #spiderman #marvel cast

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barzzal · 3 years

Text

between halls and thin walls → part three

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: fingering, fem and male receiving, mentions of pornography, sexual/suggestive themes, swearing, mat not knowing how to eat pussy, anddd too much sneaking around i’m hating myself for it

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three (8.6k), part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: god is fair, sexy nasty, cinderella, planet god damn by mac miller

note: so sorry for the wait! have been a lot busier with uni :(( took weeks for me to finally sit down and write on my laptop to finish this aaaah anw here’s the update and i’m making it up to yall i hope you like!! happy reading babies <3

“Wait–” you break off, your fingers already weaving through his ever so gorgeous hair.

“What about Tito?” you fret.

You’re sure there was at least a hint of annoyance in his voice. Possibly irked that you had to ruin the one thing you both have been craving for for weeks.

“He won’t come home, trust me.” he says, lips already making its way back to touch your skin, nestling on your jawline, before trailing down to the intricate line of your neck, his movement hasty with a sense of hunger and urgency.

You didn’t mind. It felt good.

“Okay– no. Let’s stop this for a sec.” you try to snap out of it, pushing him away but just enough to keep him within arms reach. You rest both your hands on his broad shoulders whilst he rests his on your hips, just a few inches above your ass.

“We need to clear things out.” you start, eyes lingering on his irises, making you wet your lips at the sight.

“Didn’t we clear things out thrice now?” he quirks his brows, “And it kinda looks like we’re about to clear the same thing for the fourth time. What’s not clear about it?” Mat kids, half laughing as he lets you punch him playfully, “I’m not kidding, Barz.” you say, clearing your throat.

You didn’t mind for any of his double entendres but you did mind the fact that whatever’s about to happen tonight is bound to tip the scales of whatever it was that you were having with Mathew.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” he agrees. He walks towards the bed just as he began pulling his shirt off over his head to undress himself.

“Mathew!” you call him yet again, earning yourself a defensive shrug from him, “What? We’re gonna have sex either way might as well talk while we’re at it, right?” he counters, “Now, take your clothes off.”

Regardless of being annoyed at him for acting like an unreasonable child engaging in too much banter, you let out a laugh in disbelief, letting Mathew’s quirks have a hold on you. You roll your eyes out but do as you’re told and begin taking your shirt off which you then throw his way.

Mat whistles, a smirk sprouting off his lips, evidently in awe of how good you looked half-naked, “Wow.”

You cock up a smirk and shrug to play it off, “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.” you turn the compliment back which Mat only reciprocated with a taunting wink, brushing his shoulder briefly like an idiot.

“So. How do you want to play this?” you inquire.

“Naked, I hope.” he laughs, putting his sweats off revealing nothing but his boxers on. When he sees you roll your eyes, yet again, almost wondering if you’re going to bawl it out at any moment, Mat clears his throat and decides to dial down his terrible jokes.

“Fine. Let’s just say we’re doing ‘Friends with Benefits’ or, you know, what was that movie again?” he thinks for a second, snapping his fingers as he gathers a few romantic comedies he’s seen in the past. “No Strings Attached! The one with Natalie Portman! Yeah, that’s the one.” he marvels.

You look at him quite stunned that he’s familiar with these movies. “Wow. I thought you guys are just into full-on pornography and sports.”

“Hey!” he retorts, defending himself at once, “I’m speaking your language, dumbass. And for the record, I don’t like porn.” with that, you let out a loud laugh accompanied by a scoff, obviously not buying any of his lies. To which Mat jumps to defend himself the moment he sees the mocking look in your eyes, “What?? Not all men likes pornography, y/n.”

With both hands on your hips, you arch your brow at him and reply with a revolting grin, “First rule, no lying. I wasn’t born last night, Barzal.”

“Fine. I don’t like it like it.” he points out just as he averts your gaze, “But I’m certainly not against it. Those girls need to make a living, y/n.”

You meet his cocky remark with an exasperated sigh, “You’re such a pig.”

Mat answers with a shrug, letting your judgmental glares slide, “Call me names, I don’t care. You’re the one sleeping with a pig.”

And as if it had been expected all along, it didn’t take long for the both of you to end up in bed, wearing nothing but your skin, breathing in each other’s breaths, gasping as you let yourselves let loose with the company of a friend.

Mathew marvels at the sight of your heaving chest whilst his head was wedged in between your thighs, going on endless circles as he nibbles on your clit, perhaps trying a little too hard to make you meet your high.

What the fuck is he doing? is probably what every girl has asked herself when a man goes down on her thinking that he already got her all figured out.

Mathew knew what he was doing to be fair. He was there. For the most part. His fingers were nothing but magic but his mouth was a different subject. It was almost as if he was overachieving something. Kind of like the way he does during plays that would eventually cause them the game.

He’s in his head a little too much. That’s for sure. You didn’t want to ruin the moment so you decide to let it slide and put on your best suit. After all, it wasn’t the first time you had to fake your sexual orgasms. You weren’t entirely surprised though. Half of the men you’ve gone out with didn’t know shit about eating pussy. And Mat was pretty, at least he had that going on for him.

You bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the fact that you weren’t enjoying it. Mat was doing all sorts of things at once and it was all too much. Too much that you’d rather finish the job yourself than have someone licking your region like a fucking chew toy.

As much as you didn’t want to, you arch your back and let out a fake moan, curling your fingers on the sheets, the other tugging on Mat’s hair, staging the perfect scene Mat had wanted to see. He emerges from below and hovers on top of you with a proud grin on his face, oblivious of the dramatic pin you’ve successfully put into the night.

“And that, my friend,” he smirks, “is how you do it.”

Oh, believe me, it is not. You try to smile, “Hm. It’s that easy, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Think of it like a scrimmage.” he says as he starts to pepper kisses on your cheeks, his hands roaming around your body, compensating for what his mouth missed. “Or a shootout even.”

“I’m thinking no.” you deny, “Rule two, if talking hockey is your definition of dirty talk, you better zip it.” you stress out as you prop your leg around his waist in order for you to move on top of him.

Mat chuckles, trying to mask how much he longed to feel your mouth envelop his member. There hasn’t been a day where the image of you sucking his length didn’t enter his mind. It didn’t matter where he was. Whether he was in the shower, on the road with the boys, leaving for practice, or just tying his skates. He wanted nothing more than to look down at you as your little tears revolt to escape your doe eyes whilst you take him whole. Indeed, it was a sight for Mathew. And god knows how much he’s willing to give just to see it again.

You spit just as you kiss the tip of his shaft, stroking his length in a circular motion to spread your saliva on his cock before you proceed on pressing gentle kisses on his head; edging him for not letting you cum— unconsciously wanting him to know how to give a goddamn head the right way.

You patiently went your way as you began taking him in your mouth, inching down his thickness without breaking off of his dark and lustful gaze. Mat rests his head on the headboard, his breathing growing heavy and hoarse whilst he watches his dick be consumed by your hollowing cheeks, sucking the life out of him.

“Fuck. You’re so good.” he groans, pulling your hair with his free hand before guiding you further down his dick. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Flattered by his praises which you find undeniably hot, you pop him out of your mouth, letting all your spit drip onto it just before gathering it back once you start licking him underneath, sucking on his balls as your tongue goes on little circles, playing with it for a while before letting it go with a loud pop.

You watch Mat lose his mind with every movement you make but you know full well not to let him come in your mouth. It’s bad enough you didn’t get to come the first time he tried tonight. You won’t have yourself seeing the light of day high and dry while Mat gets to doze off the second you leave for his door.

You climb on top of him. Mat was rather quick to let his hands find its way to your hips, your pussy sitting on his flat stomach just enough to let him know how wet you still are for him in spite of not getting the fun you’ve wanted for your own.

“Where’s the rubber?” you ask him. Mat props himself quickly and carefully shifts towards his bedside table. You feel him on your back, poking on your skin whilst he pulls out one of the drawers. He fishes a wrapped condom straight from the box which he then swiftly opens with his teeth, motioning for you to get off of him first so he could get settled.

“Ready?” you ask him, “Ready.”

Mat rolls over and secures you in between his hands resting on both sides of your head. You feel his head poking against your abdomen as he finally takes his shaft to rub it in between you far too moistened slit just before he takes the plunge and dive deep.

“So,” you struggle to find the words as Mat finally starts making up for his loss a while ago. Your fingers envelop his nape, digging on his skin as you let himself adjust inside you. Stretching you whole with barely half his dick pushing through you. Thank god this was one of the many things Mat definitely did not suck at.

“Wanna walk me through this whole set up?”

Mathew groans, his chest hard against yours as he pumps inside you at a steady pace; one that was pleasurably slow. One that had you closing your eyes whilst you let your head sink into his pillows.

Despite working his way on tending to too many things at once, with his thumb brushing on one of your nipples, his lips attached to your earlobes, and his free hand secured on your hips, Mat whispers in your ear. “It’s like what we’ve agreed on that night.” he breathes heavily, his mind trailing off to that night momentarily before he speaks again, “We’re friends.”

“And?” you whine as you feel his wet lips brush briefly on your sensitive skin just enough to send chills up your spine, making you crave more of his touch; a grave wanting kindling inside your gut like fire.

“Friends…” he repeats in between kisses, “who likes to do this.” his lips travel from the corner of your lips and onto your jaw line. He then lets himself pull away just so he could look you in the eye, all whilst maintaining both your bodies moving in sync as you follow his lead.

“You do know that things like this almost never work, right?” you honestly say, telling him the very same thing you’ve told him when you first crossed the line and threw everything you’ve progressively built with him throughout the years of being Anthony’s best friends.

“Almost is good enough for me.” he counters with a husky voice, feeling constrained by how tight your pussy was around him. It had been a while and Mat was going insane just by thinking about how your cunt was made exactly for him. It was absurd for him to think such a thing but he would not deny the sensation coursing through his veins as if sex had become something entirely new to him. That you have miraculously been able to paint something far better than what he’s already gotten used to for who knows how long; luring him into the worst kind of addiction he could get himself into. And although Mathew wanted to hate himself that it had to happen with you, he knew he couldn’t.

“Let’s not have secrets,” he suggests. You raise both your brows, quite intrigued that he requested such a thing. “We’re not that close to have secrets, Barzal.” you remind him.

“Exactly!” he cheers, voice briefly rising as you let out a moan escape when he pushes himself deeper through your heated walls. Mat hurriedly locks your mouth with his, swallowing all your moans before continuing with his case.

“That’s the point. We’re not that close so we shouldn’t be keeping anything from each other. You tell me everything. Good or bad, and I’ll do the same.”

You shoot him a questioning look, pushing him briefly so you could position yourself on top of him. Your action was very much well-received on Mathew’s end and it’s amazing how he’s able to lift you close to his torso before the two of you roll over the switch-game without letting his dick slip out of you.

“Are you saying we’re going to be in a relationship? You’re way over your head, mister.” you laugh because it was exactly what it sounded. At least for you.

Mat rolls his eyes as he takes a pillow to support his back. His hands then roamed from your thighs before settling to cage your hips to lock it with his, “First of all, bold of you to assume that’s ever gonna happen.”

You scoff.

“Second, it’s more of a mutual agreement and definitely less than a relationship.” he points out to reiterate that having said ‘relationship’ with you was the last thing he wanted.

Your hands take rest atop his chest as you start working on rocking your hips at a gentle pace; the kind that had Mathew at a loss for words for a moment, his body taking over his mind as your physique towers all over him. Mathew meets you halfway while you do most of the work. He angles himself forward so as to reach for your tits, his mouth latching on one of your buds, thirsty like a newborn child. Your fingers find their way to his tousled hair, its disheveled state unbelievably making him much more difficult to resist.

The two of you worked each of your own highs whilst you rock each other’s bodies. Exchanging moans and groans thrown carelessly throughout the room. You were all over Mathew as much as he was with you. His strong and capable hands that moved so well on your body, made you crave for more. Mathew took control of the pace now, his arms embracing your waist closer to his body that no amount of spatial space could ever be perceived by either of you.

“Come for me.” Mat orders, voice almost inaudible as he was chasing his own, the moment he feels you throb rapidly around him, fluttering like butterflies while he watches you shut your eyes. Just like that, you finally reach the ecstasy you’ve been longing for the whole night; one that was specifically shut down by Mathew’s stale mouth.

You let Mat take over. He orders you to turn your back against him before he pulls you rapidly close to his front, your ass perked up close to his skin. His mouth leaves fashioned bites on your neck whilst he held you firmly by your forearm. Mathew begins pounding on you hard from behind, his sharp and abrupt movements painting bruises you know will show up the next morning.

You were all over the place and you didn’t care. It was messy, it was loud. The sound Mathew’s lips leave on your skin, his balls banging against your pussy, your moans— his groans. Everything was off the record book but neither of you wanted to stop.

With one final thrust, you feel his body grow all the more rigid behind you. Mathew’s hand was wrapped firmly around your neck whilst he caught his breath.

“You good back there, bud?” you ask, chuckling.

“Oh, shut up.” he says, finally letting you go.

The two of you gather yourselves. Mat discards the wrapper and offers to clean up after the mess he’d made but you profusely decline.

“I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t have to take care of me.” you tell him with a strong suit as you begin picking up your clothes.

“I know–” he cuts himself off when he sees you getting into your pants, “Where are you going?” he questions.

“Rule four. No staying the night.” you point out, grabbing your sweatshirt from the floor. “You come to my room, I come to yours, but that’s that. No more, no less.” you add.

Mathew looks stunned. Obviously on board with how well you were taking things so easily.

“Alright then, buddy.” he strides his way towards his bed still naked.

“We don’t speak about any of this in the morning.” you warn him for you know how the three of you tend to leave the house almost at the same exact time as each other. Meaning that this new setup of yours is bound to be much difficult if you let anything slip off your hold.

Mathew runs his fingers on his lips as if to zip it before he jumps on the bed, already reaching for his phone that was on his bedside table so he could check the gram.

You were just on your way out of his door when he called you one last time, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, “What’s rule five?”

“No funny business.” you say at once. You look at him one last time with your own teasing smile to mock him from across the room, “No strings attached.” you say, repeating how he used the movie as a reference from a while back before finally disappearing into the hall.

𖥸

Who would have known agreeing to such a set up would mean getting laid almost every chance you get?

It had been a few weeks since you and Mat committed to your foolish escapades after sorting out your mutual agreement. Said escapades involve a handful of times of you driving over to the Coli to pick him up right after his morning skate and get off the back of your car. It wasn’t that big of a deal being that Mathew usually rides with Anthony for work. Of course, there were also times where you would call him into your office just to grab a quick lunch. On those times you always make sure to leave out at least half an hour or so before going home to avoid unnecessary suspicions from Tito and you and Mathew have been mindful so as not to let him notice anything.

Mat had mentioned how he was already looking for a place nearer to yours and Tito’s but farther than his previous complex. The place was half an hour less than the travelling time Tito had to drive to from when they used to ride together going home. And now that you were officially friends and more than just acquaintances, Mat has asked you to come and see the place with him.

You took a lift on your way to Mat’s and let’s just say, that for a man with a whopping 21M at his disposal, the building was grand but it wasn’t as boujee as you’ve expected. It might’ve been your lack of a better judgement but Mathew just didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would be smart when it comes to his finances. You’ve always thought that he was the kind to splurge on things whenever he gets the chance. Although much to your surprise, just like everyone else, he was a simple man.

You knock on the door a few times before you hear the familiar footsteps nearing the front door.

“Hey,” a signature grin welcomes you. He opens the door wider and invites you in. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, I had better things to do, Barzal.” you retort as you start to scan the vicinity.

The flat had floor to ceiling windows so the surroundings were well lit. You were making your way further when you noticed a few sealed boxes laying around what you assumed to be where the living space was going to be.

“I thought you were just looking?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion whilst you look back at him, pointing on the storages with your thumb.

As expected, the entire apartment was painted in white and beige tones. Pretty much like every Islander’s home you’ve been to. It was quite spacious just like his former home. That being said, spacious doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good’ sometimes. For one thing, it didn’t feel home to you. It felt like a cage with huge-ass windows overlooking a scenery you can’t even lay your hand on. You keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to ruin Mat’s excitement for the place. Sure enough, it’ll all come together once he gets settled.

Mat walks towards you, taking a deep breath. “I was. But the offer was really good so I figured signing the lease right away would be a smart move.” he explains. When he sees your gaze trail off onto the boxes again, Mat feels the need to reassure you that he wasn’t going to move out of your apartment just yet.

“I won’t be moving in for another month or two, just to be clear. Those are just some stuff I didn’t want hogging all the space at home.” he says candidly pertaining to your apartment as his home, not even realizing the weight he had tied to his words.

You were quick to dismiss your own unsolicited thoughts and carried on with the semi-tour Mat was starting to indulge you with. “Are you sure you’re gonna live here alone? Feels like a whole penthouse up here.” you honestly say, half-laughing as you make way towards the hallway.

“Yeah. I mean, it would be great for when the team comes over.” he says as he follows your tracks. “The penthouse is actually two floors above mine though.”

You roll your eyes at his subtle remark, “Why’d you made me come here anyway?”

And as if Mat had remembered the task he originally had in mind, he walks right past you to lead the way. “I want your opinion on something.”

“Really? What is it?” you inquire, following after his footsteps. Mat stops and opens a door leading to what you assume is the master bedroom. Situated at the center of the fairly spacious room is a california king sized bed, waiting patiently to be slept on.

Mat looks back at you and says, “D’you think it’s any good?”

He lets you roam around the place, setting yourself down on the foot of the bed. “Bed’s nice actually.” you tell him and you stand at once to look more of his semi-furnished room.

“How nice is it exactly? Like, nice to sleep on or nice to not get any at all?” you turn around, rolling your eyes at his sleazy innuendos. “You’re such a tool. You really made me come all the way here to get me tied down this bed?”

Mat only answers with a shrug. An adorable one to be exact. “What? That’s what friends are for, y/n. Now, come on. Test the bed with me.” he says, taking your hand at once before you could even answer. He lets himself fall onto the bed as he caught your weight in his arms, your bodies dangerously close to each other, feeling your own body temperatures.

His hands roam around your clothed physique just as he starts to cage you in a well heated kiss. Your lips dance with his, letting his tongue slip whenever he gets the chance, nibbling on your tongue as the two of you enjoy exchanging your own take on what house warming gifts are supposed to look like.

Mat’s hands were already gripping on the curve of your ass when the sound of your and Mathew’s kisses were stopped by a sudden knock on the door. Your hand immediately trailed down from Mat’s nape to his chest, “Are you expecting someone?”, he thinks for a second, both of his hands still secured on your bottoms.

“Oh!” he gasps upon remembering who could it possibly be, “It’s probably my realtor. He’s picking some stuff up, I’ll go get it.” he says, propping himself up as a cue for you to get off of him.

“Would you mind getting the door? I’ll be quick, I promise.” he adds, looking back at you as he steps out of the room, heading for the other side of the hallway. He speaks in an apologetic tone, feeling sorry for having to cut off the purpose of your visit. So, in an effort to let him know he had nothing to worry about, you shake your head as you finish straightening the wrinkles off your work clothes.

“No, it’s all right, I got it.” you give him a reassuring smile.

You gladly make your way towards the door, not even bothering to look through the hole. You hand enveloped the cold metal, swinging the door wide open, leaving yourself not a chance at escape as soon as your eyes landed on those all too familiar big blue ones you’ve known all your life.

“Y/N?” a puzzled expression was all you could make out of Tito’s face. You tried stumbling for a few words in the hopes of calming your already racing heart impending to escape your chest at any moment.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in utmost bewilderment. You were still in shock being that you’ve never lied to Anthony before since he’s the only one you’ve told everything to most of the time. Having him here, clearly unexpected, has evidently thrown you off guard.

You maintain your gaze at him and throw the same question back, “What are you doing here?”

“Mat and I are going out with Mikey and Noah for drinks.” he answers quickly so he could throw the ball your way, “You didn’t answer me. I didn’t know you knew about this place already?” he furrows his brows, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his best mate.

“Uhm. Mat called me to discuss a few things. Showed me some stuff too.” you nervously say, tip toeing on the fact that what you just told him wasn’t entirely a lie. You open the door all the way and finally let him in. Your knuckles were wrapped hard around the cold metal knob, wishing that Mat would come out to the room to save your ass.

You must have gotten on a wrong foot and told Tito a lie that’s bound to invite more suspecting queries.

“Really? What stuff?”

His bed, where he was just about to defile me on.

Thankfully, Mat walks out the open room holding an envelope in his hand, immediately halting his tracks the moment he sees Anthony looking straight at him.

“Beau! What–” he tries to remain composed, but you know Tito would definitely pick up on something just by how pale Mat’s face was. Dead and cold like someone who had seen a ghost for the first time.

“What— am I doing here?” Anthony finishes Mat’s question just as he turns his gaze back at you. You try to avert his gaze but you figured it’s best not to. You need to go before him strong and level headed. The last thing you and Mathew want is to get caught in the act by no other than the last person you want to know about it.

“What?” He laughs, brushing Tito’s biting tone off. “I know why you’re here, silly.” he tries to search in his head momentarily, but when he takes long enough, Tito answers it for him. “Drinks, man. You texted me for drinks.”

“Oh– yeah, no. I knew that.” he breathes out an uneasy laugh.

“Why is Y/N here? I didn’t know you guys hung out? The last time I checked you can’t even last in the same room without slashing each other’s throats.” he smirks.

Surprisingly, Mat was fast enough to come up with quite a clever way to sway Anthony from his inkling suspicions. One that made sense, but not necessarily helpful in your end. “Psh. That?” Mat throws a hand towards your way, dismissing your presence in his unfurnished apartment, “She told me she needs money so I hired her to move my boxes for me. She even insisted on listing all the stuff I’ll eventually get rid of online.”

Anthony looks back at you, surprised that you didn’t go and asked for his help instead. “How much do you pay her?” he asks Mat again.

“Uh, five… ten bucks?” Mat scratches the back of his head and your face immediately falls to your palm.

“Ten?” he questions, glancing at you. “Don’t you have your own office and a secretary? What do you need the ten bucks for?” Tito’s tone was now getting more curious and Mat, just like he always was, was dumb enough to forget you were earning more than just ten bucks for a living.

“Did I say ten? I meant fifty— per hour.” Mathew takes it back instantly, following it with a lie that involves you asking him for a job because your publisher ordered you to for a book she wants you to sign for. Not that any of it made sense but at least Anthony seemed to have bought it. When you agree, Mat immediately takes Anthony in his arms as he guides him out to the door, snatching his coat resting atop his kitchen island.

Mat looks over to you once more, both of their bodies already at the other side of the door, “You did great today, y/n. I’ll write you a check in the morning!” he says pushing Tito, who was still asking questions, farther from the door.

Before Mathew disappears, he looks at you with his big doe eyes already thanking you for going along such a stupid make-up excuse. You roll your eyes as you watch him mouth a quiet ‘Sorry’, flashing his ever so gorgeous smile before him and Tito finally went on their way.

𖥸

You’ve gotten used to how lazy Mat and Tito are during their off days. They would rather stay at home and play endless video games with each other than spending it with something less dumb than their stupid Xbox. Luckily, today wasn’t like those days because you happened to have your free day as well. You all agreed to spend the evening binging the entire Fast and Furious franchise.

The three of you were cramped on the cloud couch. To put it in simply, you were sandwiched between two huge hockey players. Your back was leaning on Tito’s strong shoulders as it was laying just above your head. The huge bowl of half-eaten popcorn safely sits in between your middle, hugged by your stomach and your curled up legs, your sock-covered feet brushing against Mat’s thighs innocently. Almost as innocent as how you ignore Mathew’s hands creeping underneath the thick wool covering your body.

Alarmed at how dangerously close Mat’s creeping palm was to your inner thigh, you shot him a warning look which was, as expected, answered by a defensive, and seemingly harmless “What?” look on his face. You roll your eyes, cautious as to not make any sharp movements for the benefit of Tito. You shift your position, angling your body away from Mathew and towards the direction of the screen instead. You let your body sink in your best friend’s shoulder, clueless that your movement had just given Mat the exact opening he was hoping for.

With wide eyes, you give Mat’s thigh a firm nudge as carefully as you can, “Are you being serious right now?” you mouthed. Mat stifles a smirk and moves his hand away, keeping it to himself. You try turning your attention back to the television but somehow, Mathew’s actions left your mind wondering what he was about to do next.

Gently, you stir back to your original position, propping yourself from leaning against Tito.

“Hey, could you please fill this up for me?” you ask him nicely. Thankfully, Anthony reaches out for the bowl without letting his eyes break off the screen. “Thanks, Beau.” you add the moment he starts walking towards the kitchen.

“Why’d you stop?” you cautiously whisper, asking Mathew who was surprised by your sudden inquiry.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” he answers on the same level of your tone, putting his hand back on your shin. The warmth of his palm sends a familiar sensation down your region.

Looking back at the archway leading to the kitchen, you quietly tell him, “I asked if you’re being serious. I never said no.”

Your candidness was met by Mathew’s widening smile, incapable of stopping himself from biting his lower lip, finding your bluntness quite adorable. “Be quiet.” he mutters as he clears his throat, eyeing Tito who was just returning from the kitchen holding a bowl full of popcorn fresh from the microwave.

“Thank you.” you say the moment Anthony hands you the bowl. You scootch over, making you a lot closer to Mat. Tito places his arm back over the couch, allowing extra space for you. Once you got yourself in a position comfortable enough to last for the remaining half of the movie, your mind flies away, briefly forgetting the exchange you and Mathew just had.

It was not even a full minute when you feel Mat’s very much capable hand start creeping underneath the thick cloth again. You swallow a giant lump in your throat, your senses already heightened just by the mere contact of his rough and calloused hand on your skin.

You were wearing a pair of sweat shorts, the kind that were loose enough to let Mat maneuver his way deeper down your thighs so effortlessly. You steal quick glances towards his way but to no avail, Mat’s eyes were nowhere else other than the screen. His fingers, however, told quite a different story.

You did the exact thing as him and put your sole focus on the movie. The sound of Anthony’s breathing was a good reminder to not let anything slip off of you unconsciously, especially now that Mat’s long fingers were inching its way to the thin fabric covered by your night wear.

Mat begins to brush his middle finger over your delicates. You bury a part of your face underneath the thick cloth whilst your eyes are still pinned on the screen. The scene where Dom goes rogue plays and the light of the television flashes before your eyes.

You tried to listen to Tito when he tells you about that time you went to the movies to see the film, trying to space out from Mat’s finger drawing idle circles on the thin fabric of your underwear, easing you just right, evidently taking his time fondling in between your clothed lips.

When he feels your moistness on his skin, Mat sophisticatedly slides a finger in your underwear just so he could feel the wetness of your folds.

You on the one hand, keep your face hidden under the only light flashing from the screen. You manage to choke down your whimpers and instead lean your force towards the bowl you’re holding. However, you fail to stifle a gasp when Mat slides a finger inside you, making you stir just enough to stop your sudden movement from being unnoticed by Beauvillier.

“You okay?” he asks, a concerned tone embracing his voice. You meekly nod, saying that you were just too caught up watching the film. He then takes his attention back, pretty much like the grinning Mathew sitting on the other end.

You shoot a knowing look when you meet Mat’s irises. He casually plays it off just as he remains busy on his own, his fingers curling inside you with ease, pumping in and out at a slow pace, not wanting to let any of his movements show on the surface of your blanket. As Mat continues pleasuring you, you gather all your strength to stay still and calm your breathing. To no prevail however, knowing how good of a fucker Mat was, you knew you won’t be able to hold it in longer than you’re supposed to.

Your heart almost beats right out your chest when Anthony’s phone starts to ring. You prop yourself up, causing Mat’s finger to do just the same inside you. You shut your eyes at the feeling and chose to clear your throat.

Anthony takes his phone and looks at the two of you, “I need to take this. Just watch the movie without me.” he says, already standing to head for the balcony at the other side of the room. You sigh in relief, letting yourself fall back on where Tito used to sit, allowing more space for Mat’s miraculous fingers.

He adjusts his seat, cautiously looking back after Tito’s track just to make sure he was no longer near the two of you. He looks at you, attention faltering from the screen as he slides another finger inside you.

“Don’t make a sound. Stay still.” he orders, pumping his way in just as he glides his thumb to massage your clit. Your hand takes rest on your forehead, your eyes closed at every pleasure thrown your way, almost forgetting that you were holding a bowl full of finger food on your stomach. Mat must’ve caught on and ensured no unnecessary noises would make Anthony come back just yet when he takes the bowl off your middle to set it down the coffee table.

“Fucking hell, Mat.” you can’t help but moan, arching your back once you feel your arousal come close.

“Do it, y/n. Come on my fingers.” he growls in a low register, moving his way into hitting the spot at just the right speed, not wanting to prolong your misery any longer.

You reach for his hands, your grip on him tighter than ever. Mat feels you come around his finger, eyes pinned on your spent up state harder than it was when the two of you were still watching the movie. When he feels your pulsating core starts to die down, he slips his fingers out your slit, eventually taking it in his mouth to suck your far too addicting juices.

You fix yourself up, eyeing Tito who had just ended his call. Mat looks at you, quite proud of himself.

“At least your fingers make up for what that pretty mouth can’t.” you say with a taunting smirk before standing up to get yourself a glass of water just as Beau finally comes back from the balcony, leaving Mathew with his mouth slightly agape and without a doubt dumbfounded.

𖥸

It was an hour before midnight but the house was already asleep. The boys had to call the night early because of the morning practice they have first thing tomorrow. But you still had some energy left so you figured drawing yourself a calming bath would help soothe your mind and maybe even up the chances of having yourself a well-deserved good night’s sleep.

Now that you’re feeling better and getting ready for bed, your bathrobe hugs your body whilst you finish off your night routine so you could finally dip into the comfort of your sheets, the cream white duvet calling onto you as you picture yourself dozing off for the night.

The strides you were just making out of your bathroom were put into a stop by how your door sprung open wildly, revealing one troubled Mathew Barzal entering your room almost a little too carelessly.

“What the hell did you mean my mouth can’t?!” he questions at once, hissing. When he realizes the sudden rise in his voice, (which has also startled you in the process), Mathew immediately looks back just to make sure that Anthony was in his room, or far enough to hear. He shuts the door behind him before he finally turns his attention back to you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask him, putting both your hands on your hips, your body covered by nothing else but a bathrobe.

“The thing you said back in the living room, my mouth can’t what? What the hell did that suppose to mean??” Mat roars like a child’s impending tantrum was about to come. You avert his gaze for a moment, scratching your temple. You couldn’t believe something you’ve said stuck to him. Not that he’d ever do anything about it. Something you most absolutely doubt.

“If you had to come here to ask me that, I’m pretty sure you already got what I meant.” you say, walking towards your bed as you get the bottle of your vanilla scented lotion from your bedside table.

“But all those times it looked like you were having a good time?” he speaks, voice in a lower register as if he was talking to himself all along.

“I was faking it Mat.” you finish off applying lotion on your legs, spreading the remaining on your hands. You met Mat’s gaze and saw that you might’ve tipped him off a little for there was a faint hurt in his eyes.

“You were faking it?” he repeats in a quiet voice.

“You’re still good in bed, buddy.” you assure him with a smile yet to no prevail, Mat didn’t seem to buy any of what you said thinking that it was just a decent effort to save his ego already plummeting to the pit of his own embarrassment.

“How many times have you been faking it?” he asks the moment he gathers his thoughts, his mind circling on the fact that all throughout this time he wasn’t able to get you off.

“You’ve only had the chance to do it twice. So… just those two.” you answer honestly.

Mathew, who was utterly clueless to what was going on didn’t know how to react to such bluntness. He tried to mutter a few words but he was speechless. All this time, he thought he was good at something he obviously wasn’t. And being told something as morally immobilizing as that shocks him to his very core. The horror of all the girls he’s slept with, walking out of his apartment unsatisfied befalls on him.

“You should’ve told me, otherwise this whole setup won’t make any sense, y/n. I thought you said we shouldn’t lie?” he questions, evidently disappointed in himself.

“Look,” you stop, tapping on the side of the bed to have a proper conversation. When Mat finally sits beside you, you continue, “I didn’t think it mattered. And no offense but we both know you’re such a sore loser. I didn’t know how you would react. And I definitely didn’t want to deal with any of the messy stuff just to feed your ego.”

“For your information, I’m a thick faced motherfucker, you should’ve known that by now. This thing between us is going to be complicated if you’ll tiptoe your way around it just to spare my feelings.” he says with certainty, a definitive tone accentuated by how intense he was now looking at your face, still glowing from your night care routine.

“Is there something I don’t do?” he adds, “Or is it something that I should stop doing?”

“Fine. If you really wanna talk about this I’ll tell you.” you angle yourself facing him and Mat does the same, “You’re not entirely bad. You do know your way around. It’s just that— you’re trying a little too hard and it gets really overwhelming at times. And mind you, it isn’t even the good kind,”

“Show me.” Mat cuts you before you could grab the chance to continue, stopping you mid sentence, causing you to stumble on a few words. “What?”

“I won’t leave this room knowing I can’t get you off.” he says, and just like that, Mathew meets your lips with an all too hungry mouth eager to make you come for him even if it takes having to have endless runs at it.

Your body achingly responds to every bit of Mathew’s kisses whilst you let him run the course. His touches are tantalizing, urging you to come near him. He takes you in his arms, one fondling on your robe to pull it free from your body, the other tugging lightly on your hair just as he begins to move his weight on top of you.

“Tell me what you want.” Mat breathes the moment he breaks away, his mouth now travelling down the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, leaving faint bites, nibbling on it just before he makes his way down to fondle on your breasts.

You answer him with a muffled moan when he takes your lips yet again. Mat’s irises unwaveringly gazes on your buck nakedness, your scent just enough to take over his senses. You feel the roughness of his hands graze all over your skin. Pinching on one of your buds just before it travels down your thighs, staying out of the place where he knew you needed him most. You feel him in every inch of your skin but there.

But just as you want him more, Mat purposely leaves it out of his hold. You begin to realize how much you must’ve underestimated what this forward could do. His hands were everything and you couldn’t even put into words how much you need him down there.

“Mat…” you call out his name, groaning. His featherlight touches flowed smoothly on your inner thigh, grazing just your lips but even that was more than enough to tell him how wet you already were for him.

He begins to leave wet kisses in between your breasts down to your stomach. Kisses that eventually made their way to your thighs as he inched his way to your core, the sloppy noise he makes sounds so beautiful in your ears. You look down on Mat trying to compose yourself under all the breathing he’s subtly passing your middle.

“What do you want?” Mat asks again, this time his doe eyes meeting yours, clouded with lust and desire. You buck your hips upward in an effort to meet his mouth but Mat was rather quick to put you back in your place when he cages your hips with his capable arm.

“Use your words, y/n.” he orders, one that has effortlessly made you oblige. You wanted to feel him more than anything else and if that meant submitting to Mat this time, you know full well you’d gladly break before him.

“I want you to get me off.” you surrender, signaling him to take the plunge. Once he did, you let out a whimper at his touch, almost forgetting that Mathew was probably doing this so he could eat out his future girl right.

“Don’t rush.” you breathed as you guided him, “Stay slow and steady.”

Mathew’s eyes never left yours even when you had to look away when you let your head fall back on your sheets with how well he was moving with everything you say.

“Mathew…” you moan, reaching for his hair to take him closer to your throbbing core, “Go on circles, please.”

Mat was obedient and followed your every command. Unlike the times he’s spent trying to pleasure you with his mouth, tonight was a time where he actually listened and gave you exactly what you wanted, exactly how you want it.

Mat didn’t have to do anything else for when he started to slip into your cunt and fuck you with his tongue, you going insane was more than enough to let him know that he was doing it right. He watched you fall before him, your chest heaving, your breathing rapid as if there wasn’t enough air for you to breathe. He entwines both his fingers atop your abdomen, the sound of you calling his name like a prayer doing all kinds of wonders on his end.

You meet his eyes yet again just to see that it never left. Mat looked at you darker than ever before and for once, you feel a firm tug in your stomach you just weren’t ready to acknowledge and care for. As he takes time with his final strokes, knowing that you were close, Mat pulls away, thinking about the one thing he knows will redeem himself.

“Turn around.” he orders with a grim voice. You were in dire need of an orgasm to even care about how he’s the one ordering you. You gladly oblige to his every whim and turned to your belly, your ass perked up so perfectly for him.

He lets your robe fall just above your back, revealing more of your skin for him to enjoy. He takes no second to waste and kneels before your already swollen pussy. Needy and very much heated for him.

Mat’s hands spread your cheeks before he takes you in his mouth once again, letting himself drown in your juices glinting under his all too heavy gaze.

“Oh, god.” you whine, feeling Mat’s grin behind you as you dig into your sheets while your legs begin to shake at your incoming orgasm. “Mat, please.” you call out in a whimper, pushing your ass back further his face.

Mat gladly takes the challenge but maintains at the pace you wanted. As he feels your pussy flutter in his mouth, he deepens it into yours to finally pour you with nothing else but ecstasy and ecstasy alone.

His face was filled with nothing but your juices once he pulled away, leaving you breathless and still caught up on meeting your high. He stands, a hand gripping on one of your cheeks whilst he admires the art that is: your all too spent pussy.

“Next time you lie, you won’t get to fake it at all.” he warns with a firm yet definitive voice masked as a taunting remark.

Mat looks at your still throbbing pussy, eyes lustful and dark. As much as he craved for the inkling fire resting in his loins, it was already past midnight and he had self-discipline stronger than anyone else’s. He couldn’t afford any more scolding from Anders the next morning.

So, even when he wanted nothing but to fuck you right then and there, he lets his hand send a message he certainly wants you to remember instead. One that has left a faint yet stinging mark on your skin. Your legs were practically still wobbling when he finally leaves for the door, this time fueled with the purpose of being the one leaving you dumbfounded in your own post-orgasm shame.

Perhaps, even wanting and more.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal smut #nhl smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey smut #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen

Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right

Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.

Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Next chapter

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

Text

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis.

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased.

He needed a reality check.

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.”

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?”

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?”

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.”

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.”

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win.

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.”

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money.

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!”

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready.

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.”

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?”

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?”

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?”

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked.

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate.

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through.

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two.

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up.

1st: (First initial). (Last name)

1st: H. Zemo

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before.

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.”

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round.

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?”

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone.

“Oui.”

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name).

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you.

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything.

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth.

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress.

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego.

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind.

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce

#Baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #racing au #daniel brühl #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #john walker #john walker is STILL an asshole #multichapter story #chapter 2 #“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Moving On - Chapter 3

Moving On: A Falcon & Captain Marvel Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Sam Wilson x F!Reader, Carol Danvers x F! Reader

Word Count: 2003

Rating: E

Warnings: just a little canon complaint drama this chapter

Synopsis: You thought Sam Wilson was the love of your life. You had planned to do it all with him - marriage, kids, see the world. Even when you’re life gets turned upside down, and you both end up international fugitives, he’s there by your side.

Then Thanos comes.

When Sam is one of the many turned to dust, leaving you alone and pregnant, you don’t think you’ll ever stop grieving. Yet, everyone tells you that Sam would want you to move on and live your life - that he’d want you to be happy. Gradually you open your heart up to another. Carol Danvers has lost people too. First her daughter, then her wife. As the two of you lean on each other, feelings grow and you move on together.

So what happens when Sam is returned to you?

Chapter 3: The Accords

When Sam had left on his mission to Lagos, you had been worried but not in a major way. You had thought maybe he might come home bruised up or with a cracked rib. The last thing you had expected was for a lapse in attention would allow Rumlow to detonate a block leveling amount of C-4, and that when Wanda had tried to contain it and it had taken out a floor of a building instead, she’d get the blame.

Still, while that was bad, it wasn’t something that you had thought would directly affect you. It might mean there was some argument with governments about Wanda being in the custody of the Avengers and how training should be done to prevent things like that from happening again. You were fairly sure the insurance policy the Avengers held for such things was going to be hit hard. But for you and Sam - life and love and wedding plans wouldn’t have been affected.

And then Tony Stark had shown up with General Thaddeus Ross.

Ross had dropped a bomb into the compound and run. Not a literal bomb, but one that had the potential to be just as damaging. The Sokovia accords had been dropped off - a document stating that any enhanced individual would have to register themselves with their country's government and the UN and provide them with biometrics as a way to keep tabs on them. Along with that, anyone working for facilities such as SHIELD, SWORD, or the Avengers as operatives, and any of these enhanced individuals were unable to act on matters of security without the go-ahead from their countries government or the UN.

While that didn’t change too much for you, according to the document, Sam’s wings counted as enhancements. Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff were also both enhanced and would need to provide DNA to the government. Wanda would be registered as a weapon of mass destruction.

It meant you and Sam had to decide what you wanted to do. You knew there was no way Sam would sign. He had already left the airforce, he wasn’t going back to working for the government again so soon. Especially not with the added condition of registering humans with them. You also knew he was unlikely to stop fighting - it just wasn’t in his nature.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have a chance to even talk about it before Sam was out the door again.

“Look,” Sam said as he got his best suit out of the closet. “This is a big deal. It kinda changes everything for us. So maybe decide what you really want to do and what you’re okay with? I mean… worst case scenario I could end up an international war criminal.”

“How likely is that though?” You asked as you watched him zip the suit into a suit bag.

“I doubt it’s very likely but you gotta consider it, babe,” he said. “I love you. I want a life with you, but I don’t want you to end up resenting me because we end up on the run from the law together or something.”

“Right,” you said with a nod. “You wouldn’t consider… I dunno… retiring?”

“Of course,” Sam said, moving on to the underwear drawer. “And if these things go through and they make me sign, that’s what I’m gonna say I’m doing. But you know me, I’m never gonna take some back seat when a big bad goes down.”

“No, I know,” you said. “Me too. You sure you don’t want me to come to this?”

Sam shook his head. “This is Steve’s thing,” he said. “I didn’t even know Peggy. I’m gonna be there for him. I’ll be back in a couple of days. You think while I’m gone.”

“You know I’m just going to do whatever you do,” you said. “Right? I mean, the whole premise sounds a little -” you paused and rocked your hand back and forth “- the whole ‘registering people for being different’ thing? And then to muzzle them and treat them as dangerous weapons. It’s fucked up. And besides. You’re my man. Where you go, I go.”

He smiled and came over and kissed your forehead. “I’m your man, huh?”

“Mm-hmm… my fine man,” you hummed.

He laughed and touched the tip of your nose with his finger. “Stop trying to distract me, woman. I’ve got a funeral to go to.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, zipping up his bag. “You’ll call me when you get there?”

He kissed your forehead again. “Of course.”

You grabbed his t-shirt before he could pull away and dragged him down into a deep kiss. He hummed softly and caressed your jaw, before pulling back and grabbing his bag. “You think on it. Okay? No rash decisions.”

You agreed you would and watched him leave, not realizing how this was the point where everything would change.

You had been watching the news in your room when the word about the attack on the UN at the Vienna International Centre. It hadn’t taken you long to realize if the number one suspect was James Barnes that Steve would be quick to take after him. Sam had been on the trail of the infamous Winter Soldier since the day you’d met him, there was no way that Steve would let anyone else bring him in.

You also knew that if Steve went, Sam would likely go too. Not because Sam was Steve’s shadow, but because they both had their moral compasses so inline that they ended up having the same thoughts at the same time.

Which would mean they were breaking international law and that unlikely scenario where they would become fugitives was a little more likely than you thought.

You needed to contact him, but you knew it was dangerous. You sent him a text. The two of you had gotten into the habit of sending large groups of emojis with little messages hidden inside. Most of the time they were for no reason. There would be a string of eggplants and peaches and then a random egg and milk carton to let the other person know you needed eggs and milk. It was a habit that was built out of the paranoia you had drilled into you as a spy. If something happened and you need to message each other covertly, seeing a string of random emojis would at a passing glance just look like the cute-coupley thing you both always did. It wouldn’t withstand any deep probing, but it would be enough to let each other know that one of you was in trouble or to go grab the burner phone and run.

You texted Sam a string of hearts in kiss emojis with an American flag, a bird, a jogging emoji, and a snowflake mixed in.

He texted back a similar string with a thumbs up in the mix.

You replied with the more sexual emojis, eggplants, peaches, the droplets, the tongue, and among them was the girl with the hand raised in the air.

Sam replied with the same only instead of the girl was a thumbs down.

Yes, they were going after James Barnes. No, he didn’t want you to come.

You didn’t hear from Sam again for two days. Two days that only seemed to make matters worse.

Steve had indeed tracked down Barnes, but so had just about everyone else. It ended with a car chase through the streets of Romania where Steve, Sam, Barnes, and weirdly the new king of Wakanda had been arrested by Rhodey of all people.

Sam called you when they had been taken back to Germany.

“I know you’re antsy, baby,” Sam said. “But you need to stay put. Right now they’ve confiscated my wings and Cap’s shield, but we think we’ll be let go. We went after Barnes. He’s captured. That’s it. Slap on the wrist, don’t do it again, type of bullshit. Worse comes to worst… well, it’s not the first time they’ve tried taking my wings off me, is it?”

“Sam!” You yelped. “This line…”

“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Sam said, holding his hands up in front of the screen. You knew he wasn’t.

“Anyway…” Sam continued. “I think Tony’s trying to talk Steve into signing the accords. I dunno if he will or not. Maybe just to keep the peace. But there’s no way I’m going to.”

“I want to be there with you,” you pouted. “I could help.”

“It’ll just make things messy,” Sam said. “Trust me. You’re better off there. It’s not like I can get in any more trouble now Barnes is captured.”

He was wrong.

The next you heard Barnes had broken out and Sam and Steve had taken after him. You received a text not long after the news broke with a series of hearts and a cellphone emoji.

You went to your closet, grabbed the burner phone, and went out for a run. You were just leaving the perimeter of the compound when the burner rang.

“Sam?” You said, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Yeah, baby,” Sam said. “It’s me. Did you hear?”

“They’re saying you’re on the run with Barnes,” you said. “Please tell me you were just recapturing him.”

Sam laughed. “That was the idea,” he said. “This shit is going deep and we need help. There’s this guy - wanted to get to Barnes to find out about some other Super Soldiers and where they’re kept. So now we might have a bunch of really psychotic super soldiers being released on the world by someone even more psychotic than they are.”

“Where are you? What do you need me to do?” You asked.

“I’m tempted to tell you to stay put,” Sam said.

“Sam, I’m not…”

“No, I know,” he said. “But think about it. You do this - you come after me and we’re fugitives. We can’t go home. All this talk of weddings and babies? It’s not happening. It’ll be you and me on the run from everywhere. Best we can hope for is one day when we’re both too old to run we settle in some country that doesn’t extradite.”

“I heard Montenegro didn’t sign,” you half-joke. “It looks pretty nice there.”

Sam laughed. “See I was thinking Cape Verde.”

You let out a breath and smiled a little. “Always thinking, you are.”

“You know it, baby,” Sam said. “Now, Clint’s coming…”

“What? But his family?” You yelped.

“I know… but like you, you can’t tell him no,” Sam said. “He’s going to grab Wanda. When you get back, go to her, but say nothing. Just a little girl’s bonding time. Okay? I’m sure Vizh will be hanging around her. He always is. Don’t leave her side even if they do make it clear that you’re third-wheeling.”

“Should I pack?” You asked.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “I’m even a little worried you grabbing the burner might be too much of a giveaway to what’s going on.”

“I did it while I changed into my jogging gear,” you said. “Nabbed it with my heart rate monitor.”

“Good. Well hopefully that covered that gorgeous ass of yours,” he said. “But aside from deciding you want to hang with Wanda you’re not doing anything strange, okay? Clint will get there and you go. Tony’s an asshole, but not that big of an asshole, I don’t think he’d burn our things, so we’re gonna have to trust that the compound will act as our storage until this is sorted out. If it ever is.”

“Okay,” you said with a sigh.

“I love you,” Sam said softly. “You take care of yourself.”

“You too, Sammy,” you said. “Don’t do anything dumber than you already have until I get there and can join in.”

Sam laughed. “You got it. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. See you.”

You disconnected the call and shoved it back behind your heart rate monitor and turned to run back to the compound. You had a fight to prepare for.

// NEXT

#sam wilson #carol danvers #sam wilson x reader #carol danvers x reader #falcon #captain marvel #falcon fanfic #captain marvel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #moving on

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mintytrifecta · 3 years

Text

Blood and Whiskey

Summary: washed up actor and a time-warping talk show host who likes disco walk into a bar

Aka: I was getting tired of writing one setting and the same people for forever and wrote this drabble as a break

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If you were to ask the actor standing in front of you why he did what he did, there’s seldom doubt he’d be able to clearly tell you.

A grand finale.

A final show.

A shake of his fist at the cruel fate life handed him.

Just like him, all it became was an extravagant joke.

Actor growls, shoving away the echoing feeling of shadows with eyes burning into his back, grabbing and ripping him apart, pulling him back together vertebrae by vertebrae until he danced to a vengeful tune once more.

The entity, to put it lightly, has not made it easy to escape it’s grasp. A fool, he was, to think he could use its power to his own whim and not face the consequences.

Even so, with a new body and purpose he can see it lurking in the shadows.

Even now, as he trudged through a dimly lit street in the dead of winter he can hear it ringing in his ears.

After all, it takes time to escape from memories.

God he needs a drink…

Actor stops in his tracks and looks to his side. Blaring music vibrates in his ribs, shaking and stirring his insides.

It’s a bar.

A very neon, very bright bar.

A perfect place to sulk, He thinks to himself.

Tightening his grip around the pockets of his red velvet jacket, Actor takes a breath.

And walks in.

The music is even louder on the inside than from the outside. For some unknown reason, that fact surprises him.

All around the hall people can be seen dancing in a frenzied craze. Lights flashing in a showcase of every conceivable color available to the blind eye. Under the lights, a live band was playing some indistinguishable disco with a fervor and passion Actor wishes he still possessed. He scoffs and sharply inhales through his nose.

The air reeks with the familiar stench of alcohol and mania.

Actor squints his eyes and burrows his face deeper into the black scarf tied around his neck and shuffles his way to the leather bar stool. Slamming his hand on the wooden surface of the table to get the bartender's attention.

With a sigh, they dreadfully approach.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Actor mumbled deeply, head miserably laying on polished oak. "Red wine. Any year, I don't care."

The bartender curtly nods and leaves to get the drink. Actor's in no hurry tonight, why should he care if it's taking forever?

"Here you go, sir. Red wine, 1926."

Ah, prohibition wine. Nothing quite like tasting secret rebellion acid slipping down your throat, whispering sweet illegality and chaos in the wake of conformity.

Actor downs the wine in one gulp and haphazardly slams the cup onto the table. Beside him, a man chuckles.

"You sure needed that one, huh friend?"

Turning to face the voice, Actor attempted to hide his widening eyes in reaction to the speaker’s appearance.

A man in a silky pink long-sleeve shirt tucked into… the ugliest shade of yellow Actor had ever seen paired with white shoes, stained and worn from long nights out dancing, no doubt.

The top of his head layed home to the biggest and most extravagant pink afro Actor had ever seen in his life.

And on his face… an eerily familiar, upturned, almost pink-like at the edges mustache.

What a strange-looking person, Actor thought.

“Yeah… hey, aren’t you one of the stage performers?” He questions offhandedly. Actor was sure he’d seen him perform when coming in.

“Oh, not for tonight. Maybe tomorrow’s yesterday though…”

Actor stares at the man, trying to piece together his offputting comment.

“You… what?”

The man grins at him, swishing in his hand a martini that definitely wasn’t there before.

“What did you say, friend?”

“Your-your comment on when you’re going to perform. What did you say?”

He gazes at Actor, brows furrowed in concentration before his eyes glaze over. He sits still on his creaking barstool, focusing on nothing and everything before jumping in his seat and grinning at Actor.

“Bah, who can remember things like that? I know I can’t. Anyways, I don’t think I caught your name, fellow. Or maybe I forgot that too, it’s entirely possible.”

Actor blinks with incredulity. His words caught in his throat, unable to pass.

“My name is… irrelevant.” He finally decides on saying.

“Irrelevant, hm? Sounds french! Have you ever been there? I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

Actor raises his hand to get the bartender’s attention and signals another round. It’s going to be a long night.

“Firstly, it’s winter. Second of all I didn’t even get your name, how am I supposed to talk to you without it.”

The man sits gasps for air, dramatically arching his back in shock before responding with a curt bow in his chair.

“Oh my apologies, Irrelevant, it must have slipped my mind! Name’s Wilford Warfstache!”

“Wilford Warfstache?” Actor echoes.

“That’s what I said!”

Actor snorts, picking up his second glass of wine, inspecting it as if passing final judgement.

“Well, Mr. Warfstache, what exactly do you want with me? Out of all the seats in the bar why’d you sit next to this one, huh?”

Wilford smiles and pats him heartily on the back. “My friend, you looked so lonely sitting at the bar with nobody else around you! I-I figured you could use some good company!”

Actor rolls his eyes. “How thoughtful…”

Wilford nods brightly, looking the Actor up and down with a slight hitch in his breath.

“Say… do I know you from somewhere?”

Actor winces, tirelessly holding on to a shred of hope that tells him he hasn’t faded into obscurity.

“I’m an actor. There’s a good chance you’ve seen me on the silver screen.”

With this revelation, Wilford’s face lights up in wonder.

“An actor! That’s fantastic! What movies have you done, my friend? Was there love? Was there murder? Was there treacherous betrayal at the hands of an ally?” He questions, voice getting louder and louder with each passing query.

“You could say that… It’s been a while since I landed a good role, however.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to stay like that! I’m sure you can find something big to be in soon!” Wilford cheers passionately.

“Yeah right… the last time I did some big movie was… god I don’t even know how long it’s been since then.”

Wilford pats Actor pitifully on the back, softening his voice to the best of his ability.

“Well, whatever role you played I’m sure it was wonderful!”

Actor took a sip of his wine. “I played a detective.”

“A detective! That’s a wonderful role to act! Why, I happen to have a friend who’s a detective and he’s one of the best people you’ll ever meet, trust you me.”

Actor nods solemnly, eyes and throat caught in a crossfire of guilt and rage. “So did I. Met him on set as a professional consultant and stayed friends afterwards. At least until...” he trails off.

“Until what?” Wilford asks.

“I… did something. Something bad that I can’t take back. I got stuck with a shitty hand, tried to use it and it backfired and no matter what I try to do I can’t get new cards. It’s not fair!” Actor growls.

Wilford hums, circling the edges of the martini glass with the paper umbrella. “Such is life, my friend. You can’t always make sense of it’s chaos, hell knows I don’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Actor spits with venom. “Oh, please. What bad thing could you have possibly done?”

“Everyone has some blood on their hands, my friend. There’s no need to dig for specifics.”

“And yet, here we are. Hell, the only good outcome from anything I did slipped out of my fingers and forever from my grasp.”

Wilford held out a finger, motioning for Actor to shut it.

“Never say never, my good man! If I know anything, it’s that things always come back to you. If they don’t you keep looking for them!”

“How inspirational.” Actor deadpans.

“It’s true! I say you should keep looking for the positive, even if it’s hard!”

"I don't know…"

Wilford tuts sotfly. "Come on now, don't you trust ol' Warfy?"

"Not really, no."

He shockingly gasps, bringing a shaking hand to his chest and spilling his martini on the floor. "W-well whyever not? I give pretty good advice, why not trust me?"

"I met you tonight."

"But it feels so much longer than that, doesn't it?" Wilford sighs, leaning his head on Actor's sunken shoulders.

He shakes the afro-d man off and takes a swing of his wine.

"Whatever you say, Will."

The two sit in silence, taking in the music echoing in the hall with comfort.

"You know, I did get an offer for this television series a while ago."

"Did you, now?"

"It was for some kind of choose-your-own-adventure thing. It seemed silly at the time and I didn't say anything yet but maybe I'll give it a shot." He mumbles.

"Wonderful idea, my friend! That seems marvelous to work on."

Actor sluggishly smiles. "You think?"

Nodding brightly, Wilford responds. "I do! And if it's any consolation, my friend," he pauses and shuffles through his afro, pulling out a small, pink flower. "I think you'd make a wonderful hero."

Actor lightly picks the flower from his hand, petting the rosy petal. It's soft and delicate, smooth under his touch.

"Whatever you choose to do, you'll be great at. I'm sure of it."

He gazes at his newfound friend, eyes shining with reinvigorated light for the first time in years.

"Thank you, Will."

"Anytime, good man! Anytime."

Actor stands up and brushes his jacket, smiling at Will. "I think it's time I left. I've got a friend to pay a visit to."

"Good luck! And remember you always have a friend here!" Wilford raises his full martini glass high into the air.

"You got it, Will."

And with that, Actor left. Perhaps it's time to resume his search for a certain Mayor.

Back at the bar, Wilford chuckles into his glass.

"What a strangely familiar person…"

#Markiplier #Who Killed Markiplier #Fanfiction #My Writing #WKM #Actor Mark #Actor Mark WKM #Wilford Warfstache #William J. Barnum #Wilford Motherlovin Warfstache #dude why is wil so fun to write

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greekgeek21 · 3 years

Text

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - they steal an old pirate ship

I'm alive!! I'm so sorry for just ditching you guys, but I was in Shasta for a week and didn't have any internet access so I wasn't even able to say that I was gonna not update. But I hope this nice, semi-long chapter makes up for it! Reminder that this is also available on FF, Inkitt, Ao3, Webnovel, and Wattpad

On a completely different note, I'm going to be starting to write a book. Like, a real published book. It'll take a few years but I'm determined and I love the idea I thought of so if any of you are interested, email me at [email protected] and I might be willing to send some samples. I want input, badly. And all the people in my life are biased. Total strangers on the internet are totally made for this, right?

I recently got into readers marauder era fanfics and I'm already in too deep, gays (and yes I meant to say gay, we all know it if you're reading pjo fanfiction). There is no escape.

Anyway, I'm running out of prewritten chapters, so I have to get to writing that while preparing to write a book. Wish me luck! Happy pride month! 🏳️‍🌈✨

- your author

Ω ♆ Ω

"Run it by me again. Just one more time," Steve asked, still highly confused.

They had made it to Florida and were now at a private dock. Percy had just briefly explained his control over any water vehicle and the Captain was not getting the point.It was understandable. Percy still barely got it.

However, they didn't have a whole lot of time, and every second they wasted discussing Percy's weird powers was another second Annabeth's captors had to hurt her. They did not have time for this.

"We are going to steal a boat, and I'm going to sail us the rest of the way," Percy sighed.

"Ok, but, how are we going to sail it if only you know how to do it?" Steve asked.

Even Piper was getting frustrated now. "He can control the boat! We won't have to do anything! The boat will listen to his will! Oh my gods!"

"But how is that possible!?" Steve shouted.

"How would I know?! I was just born with the freaky powers!" Percy yelled right back, getting fed up with this never-ending conversation.

Jason decided to cut in before things got too out of hand. They had to save Annabeth.

"Guys! This doesn't matter! What matters is that we save Annabeth, and we can't do that if we're stuck here arguing over something that is out of our control," he said.

Percy huffed. "He started it."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "How does Annabeth put up with you?"

"Honestly? No idea," Percy smirked.

"Let's just get going, team. We have a boat to steal, right?" Tony asked.

"Yep. And I think this place has the perfect one for the job." The son of Poseidon then started walking away, apparently following his weird sailing powers.

I guess we're supposed to follow him, thought Piper.

Ω ♆ Ω

"This is supposed to take us through the most cursed waters on the planet?" Bruce asked, looking the boat up and down.

"Yes. Isn't it beautiful?" Percy said and smiled, running his hand along the side.

Tony leaned over to Frank. "Is he seeing the same boat we are?"

Frank just shrugged, used to Percy's weirdness by now. Honestly, it was a little hard for him to imagine the team taking what was in front of them to Polyphemus' island. It seemed like it wouldn't survive the normal ocean.

To be clear, what Percy was suggesting they take was an old pirate ship, currently on display inside of a warehouse at the dock. It was covered in dried-up barnacles, and the mast was split in half. There were also holes all along the sides. It was a miracle the thing hadn't crumbled already.

"Yes, Tony, I am. This thing will run for me. It doesn't even need to be repaired, I can handle that. The only thing that matters is that it is built to withstand the type of waters we're going out in," Percy said. "We need all the advantages we can get."

Natasha, to everyone's surprise, spoke up, "I think we should trust Percy. If he says it'll work, then it'll work. He's the son of Poseidon, right? Nothing can hurt us while in the ocean. Am I correct, Percy?"

Jason cleared his throat and gave Percy a significant look. The Avengers needed to know that they were basically powerless in the triangle. The older teen looked ready to explain, but Frank spoke before he had the chance.

"Actually, no. The Sea of Monsters is outside of Poseidon's realm of power, hence the name. Percy won't have the same access to his father's domain as he does out here," he said, "So, basically, we're entering a dangerous situation, with no backup, and an inexperienced team. Should be fun, right?"

The Avengers were shocked, to say the least. Not at what the boy had said, but who had said it. As far as they had seen, Frank wasn't as confident as his physical form portrayed. They were wrong. Frank was confident, and his friends were proud of him for it, too. It had been a large transformation from when Percy had first met the son of Mars.

"Well, I think we should start heading out. We want to get as far as possible before the sun goes down, right?" Piper asked.

"Right," Percy nodded.

She wasn't really certain about all of this sailing stuff. Sure, she had been on the Argo II, but that was different than an actual boat. For one, it could fly and was controlled by a gaming console. She hadn't really bothered learning how to actually run a ship for that.

But now, she had to act like she knew what she was doing, and that was scary. The Avengers may put on a confident front, but she saw the insecurities in all of them. Some were harder to find than others, but finding insecurities was her specialty.

They really were going into a completely unknown situation. At least Piper and the Seven had been in this world for a little while, but the Avengers hadn't even encountered a monster before. It would sure be a shock when they were faced with some of the worst ones for their first fights. So, she and the rest of the demigods had a responsibility to be the examples, no matter how much the "adults" liked to point out that it was "ethically wrong" for them to do that.

Ω ♆ Ω

Turns out, the kid hadn't been lying about being able to sail the ship. Tony would be the first to admit that he was skeptical of the structure of the vessel, but he was proved wrong when, after the group had gotten the thing into the water, it had started to magically prepare itself for departure. Not a single drop of water leaked into the interior; it was like the water simply moved around the holes.

It was spectacular!

Before he knew it, the group had settled into the boat and were moving away from the dock. The Avengers were marveling at everything around them, considering that Percy wasn't even steering the thing, and yet it was supposedly moving in the right direction. To add to the shock, the ship's parts were moving themselves. It was not logically possible, and yet there Tony was, watching it unfold like some kind of acid trip.

"This is...amazing," he muttered, leaning against the rail with Leo, who he had taken a certain liking to. They were a lot alike.

The son of Hephaestus grinned, "Right? I told you guys Percy had cool powers. You should see him with Blackjack or Arion. It's wacky, man!"

"Who's Blackjack and Arion?" Tony asked, noting the new names.

"Oh. Right, I forgot. Blackjack is Percy's pegasus, and Arion is Hazel's horse. Percy can talk to them because his father created horses," Leo answered.

And just when the man of iron was getting used to all of this, he was pulled back into astonishment.

Ω ♆ Ω

After a couple hours of mingling and exploring, Percy called the team up to the deck. He had started to feel it a while ago when he knew it was still a distance away, but now he knew that they were approaching the Sea of Monsters.

It was a blank spot for him. Everywhere else, he could feel the ocean's power thrumming, waiting for him to control it. But here, there was nothing. Considering they were in the middle of the ocean, it was pretty obvious what it was. That was how he had tracked the place down without a map. It was his blind spot. He would just follow the blankness like it was the North Star.

Once everyone had gathered, he told them the news, and to say the atmosphere changed was an understatement. What smiles they had had disappeared, and their expressions turned serious.

"It's time, guys. Get ready. The first thing we're going to come up on is Scylla and Charybdis. We have to go through them to get into the sea. Now, I've planned this so that we should hopefully be able to pass through without any problems, but with six demigods' luck, we shouldn't rely on that too much. Charybdis only feeds three times a day, so if I planned this right, we should be able to pass over her without a fuss. Everyone got it? Be prepared for a fight, but don't expect it, please. We don't need any more reasons for the Fates to curse us."

Hazel stepped up, "Should the Avengers help us if we end up fighting something? Or should they just observe how we deal with monsters first?"

"We can handle ourselves," Steve defended.

Jason sighed, fed up with the same old arguments, "Alright, that's it! The Avengers will let us take the lead in any fights we may or may not end up in. They will not do anything without one of our approvals because we have actual experience with these beings. They will not be put on the sidelines, but they will also not be on the front lines. Does that work for everyone?"

Percy sent a thankful grin to his cousin, "Thank you, Jason. And yes, it does."

Jason just nodded in return.

"Alright, gang! Buckle up! Make sure to keep your hands and feet inside the ship at all times, and remember, the sword points away from you. It's showtime!" Leo cackled.

Just as he finished, they entered a wall of mist, which was unsettling to say the least. The temperature dropped almost three degrees as they passed through it.

Percy pulled out Riptide before steering the ship towards Charybdis. Hopefully, if everything went to plan, they would be out of this Hades-forsaken place by sunrise.

But, of course, nothing ever went to plan on a demigod's quest.

Ω ♆ Ω

Maybe it wasn't the best idea for me to come, was Bruce's first thought as he got his first glimpse at a greek monster. He had taken refuge inside the sleeping quarters of the ship, practicing his breathing exercises. He was really hoping this didn't turn into a Code Green. This was definitely not the place to let the Hulk loose.

So far, it had been silent upstairs, so Bruce concluded that it was going good so far. He had researched the Greek and Roman myths before they had left and on the plane, and everything that he could find on Charybdis was not reassuring. It was true what Percy said, that she only ate three times a day, but nobody really knew when those times were. Until Percy, apparently. He had survived the Sea of Monsters, so everyone on this ship had to trust his judgement in everything they did here. Bruce could tell that the other Avengers were struggling with taking orders from a "child." But Bruce had learned to not underestimate anyone on his travels while in hiding. Plus, look up any demigod's name and there was a whole list of accomplishments to find.

If Percy said that he knew when the monster liked to eat, then he knew when the monster liked to eat. It was as simple as that.

So, ten minutes into their first obstacle, and things were going fine. Everyone was eerily quiet, but no sign of Charybdis or Scylla yet. Of course, as soon as someone thought about it, an outline of a serpent appeared in the fog surrounding the boat.

Frank was the first one to spot it. "Guys..." He looked up at Percy. "We have a problem."

He pointed into the fog and Percy cursed. "Oh schist. I knew she couldn't just leave us alone."

The Avengers had figured out that something was coming and were unsure what to do. The demigods seemed to be just waiting like sitting ducks for the thing to attack them, and that was not a good plan. The Avengers don't wait for their opponent to strike first.

"Alright, that's it. I'm going to see what it is," Tony mumbled, activating his Iron Man armor.

"No, Tony! That's not a good-" Piper got cut off as the billionaire flew off, "...idea."

If she couldn't yell at that idiot, she was gonna yell at his teammates. She turned around, prepared to cuss out some idiot "superheroes," but Hazel beat her to it. "What was he thinking?! Why didn't you idiots stop him?! He has no idea what he's getting himself into! That monster is NOT something you guys can handle without our help! Mortalium tam stultus!"*

Natasha appraised the small demigod. She sure was a young spitfire. And from what she had seen already, a powerful one.

"Ok, let's just calm down, alright? Tony should be able to hold his own until we can go save his stupid ass," Leo sighed. Working with mortals was draining.

They were always so brash about things. And yes, coming from a greek, that statement was pretty hypocritical, but it still wasn't a lie. He idolized Mr. Stark's work, but man if only the guy could learn some restraint and he would be perfect.

Just as Leo had spoken, an explosion was heard, followed by a muffled string of curses. Only Tony Stark could come up with those creative swear words, so at least there was proof that the guy was still alive. For now, at least. The group needed to get that soon.

"Alright, hold on! This is gonna get bumpy!" Percy shouted, steering the ship towards the sound of fighting.

He willed the vessel to move faster, and it, of course, obeyed. In his head, Percy was just thinking rush rush rush. They needed to get this fight out of the way and get to Annabeth right after. Percy was praying to any god that would listen for there to not be any more disruptions to their journey. He just had to be confident in his skills. He had done this before, so he knew what lay ahead of them.

And it was going to be a challenge.

Ω ♆ Ω

Tony would deny any claim of him being held in the mouth of a sea serpent by his leg. Cuz that didn't happen. Totally.

But if it did, then the rest of the questing group would have worked together to fend off the monster until they could get away. Percy would've used Riptide to stab the monster in the leg, while Jason flew up and used his gladius to cut open her eye. The rest of the group basically just put on a full-frontal assault until Scylla released their idiotic teammate. Leo blew some fire, Hazel manipulated the Mist so that the Avengers could all see it for what it was, Piper made it loosen its grip with her charmspeak, Frank and Clint released some well-placed arrows, Natasha fired some gunshots, and Steve sliced into it with his shield.

All in all, the thing realized quickly that it was outmatched.

Then, after Tony received a very stern reprimanding by Piper and Steve, the group carried on. They didn't have time to dilly-dally. Saving Annabeth was their top priority.

Ω ♆ Ω

Meanwhile...

"Let me go, you skatá!"* Annabeth screamed, kicking her captor in the knees.

She had been knocked out as soon as they had shadow traveled, so she hadn't woken up until an hour ago. When she had, her wrists and ankles had been shackled to a stone wall with imperial gold shackles. The terrorists had stepped up their game.

There was dim lighting, but from what she could figure out before, she was in a cave of some kind. They had completely cleared out the area around her, so there weren't any visible location markers. That is, until they moved her.

The people who had grabbed her were strong and bulky and covered in black. They had black combat suits with black ski masks covering their features. Stereotypically, Annabeth would've figured the goons to be stupid, but they kept her shackles on and put a sack over her head so they at least has someone smart on their team.

Annabeth was getting really sick of not knowing anything, though.

So that's where she found herself at the moment: as a "defenseless" hostage. It was quite comical, really. Did these idiots really think that she would go quiet?

She felt one of her kicks come into contact with a kneecap and heard a satisfying grunt of pain from one of the thugs. Good, she thought, I hope that hurt.

Then, she was thrown onto the cold, stone floor and forced to hold her head up. The whole situation was so stereotypical that she wanted to laugh. But then she also didn't want to come off as more psycho than her captors, so she kept it to herself.

"This is quite interesting," a voice said, "The prideful daughter of Athena, reduced to a simple mortal's hostage.

The sack on her head was yanked off, so Annabeth spat down at the man's feet, glaring at him with a burning hatred. Taking a quick survey of the room, Annabeth found that she was being held captive on Polyphemus' island. The room was the main room of his cave; the one where she, Percy, and Grover further blinded the cyclops.

"If you had actually gotten me on your own, it might have been impressive, but having to use monsters is just pathetic," she said.

The leader growled and kicked her in the jaw. It didn't have enough power to break it, but it did cause her to bite through her tongue.

Annabeth spit out the blood produced in her mouth, dirtying the man's shiny shoes. The guy would have to do a lot worse than that to scare her.

"Hmm... I like your spirit. It's going to be that much more fun when I break it," he hissed, kneeling down to her eye level.

"I hope you rot in Hades," is all Annabeth responded with.

The guy laughed. ACTUALLY laughed. So, he was a crazy sociopath hades-bent on tearing down the natural order of the universe, Annabeth decided, how nice.

Ω ♆ Ω

I kinda really love this and I hope you did too. Now, to get into some unasked political shit: Love is love. I like all genders, and I still don't want to see any of them practically having sex in front of me. So just, accept yourself and others for who they are and move on. Is that so hard? Happy pride month & happy Father's Day!!

- your author

PS Remember to comment, like, and reblog!

other chapters :)

Ω ♆ Ω

Bonus scene!

The group was spending time in the dining room of the ship when all of a sudden, Percy remembered something truly horrifying. Like, beyond disgusting!

“Oh, my gods! Guys!!!” he exclaimed.

Hazel rolled her eyes and said, “What, Percy?”

“Charybdis is my half-sister! Ew ew ew ew ew EW EW EW EW!!!” Percy shouted his answer.

Everyone simultaneously gagged.

(Inside, Steve was starting to get seriously concerned about these kids’ chaotic family.)

#happy pride 🌈#pjo #fanfiction #fanfic #pjo fanfic #ao3 #the avengers #mcu #marvel #superheroes #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #wattpad #inkitt #webnovel

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havenoffandoms · 4 years

Text

Geralt x Female!Reader - Jealousy

This is my first attempt at a Witcher fic, more specifically the first attempt at writing Geralt. Hope you guys enjoy it! I haven’t written reader inserts in a while, so sorry if it seems a bit rusty.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: swearing, hunting (just in case someone doesn’t like that kind of topic), female!reader insert

Fandom: The Witcher (TV Series)

“… so in many ways, a bard also goes on hundreds of adventures. Only they’re less messy, and definitely safer!” Jaskier argued, causing you to huff in indignation as you tried to hide the amused smile that was tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Is that so? And on what marvellous adventures have you been, Sir Jaskier?”

“I am glad you asked, Lady Y/N,” Jaskier stood up and went to grab his lute, which he used to improvise a new song to impress you, “In a faraway land, many years ago, I was walking on beaches of sand, and dark caves below…”

You leaned back against a tall tree, watching the bard’s performance with a raised eyebrow and your arms crossed before your chest. You knew that Jaskier wanted more than just your friendship, but you never had the heart to tell him that your heart belonged to someone else. You knew it would break Jaskier’s heart to know that Geralt had claimed you as his, especially when the bard felt like he would never be a match for the witcher.

“Then one night as I ventured through the forest, in the dark and the cold, I prayed to the gods of old, and made my way on the path obscurest…”

“The path obscurest? Not your best work, Jaskier,” you told him, laughing slightly at his mock crestfallen expression. Despite your comment, the bard did not give up his spontaneous serenading.

“I’m a bit rusty, but you haven’t heard my chorus yet… ahem… Toss a coin to your Jaskier, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty. Toss a coin to your Jaskier, and maybe add a kiss in there, too.”

“Not in your wildest dreams,” you told him, throwing a stick at him which he managed to dodge. If your words hurt Jaskier, he did a good job at hiding his emotions. “Not to mention that you completely fucked up your rhyme game…”

Just as Jaskier opened his mouth to defend himself, the two of you heard a sound coming from the woods. The snapping of twigs and the sound of crunching leaves had you both on high alert. You instinctively grabbed for your two daggers, ready to defend yourself against your attacker. The gods knew that Jaskier would not be very helpful in case of an attack. When Geralt came into view, you instantly relaxed while Jaskier let out a relieved sigh.

“Geralt, you could’ve announced yourself,” Jaskier chastised the witcher, but you instantly noticed that something about Geralt was off. He had an unreadable expression on his face and acted even more distant than usual.

“Sorry for interrupting your poor attempts at serenading Y/N, but don’t worry I was just about to go hunt our dinner,” Geralt announced, his voice cold and shut off. Your frown intensified when you realised that he was avoiding your gaze.

“I’ll come with you,” you announced more than asked, only earning yourself a dismissive grunt from the witcher, “Jaskier, how about you start a fire while we’re hunting?”

Jaskier looked ready to argue, however his protests died on his lips when he met your glare. Geralt seemed unaware of the exchange, and after feeding Roach an apple out of his bag, he disappeared into the woods again without waiting for you. You grabbed your bow and quiver and almost ran after him, leaving a disgruntled Jaskier behind.

“What was that all about?” you asked him when you had caught up with Geralt. He ignored you, which only confused you more. “Was it something I said?”

“Quiet, you’ll scare away the prey.”

Geralt’s tone was sharp, which took you by surprise. You decided to remain silent as you scanned the area for prey. It did not take long for you both to stumble upon a lone deer who had stopped to drink out of a spring of fresh water. You stopped dead in your tracks and crouched behind a tree as you nocked your arrow as quietly as you could. You noticed how Geralt had taken cover behind a tree as well, and was now watching you. Even though you felt his gaze on you, you made a point to ignore him. The deer suddenly looked up, startled by the nearby rustling of leaves. You and Geralt both held your breaths as you tried not to scare your dinner away. When the deer finally let down his guard, you pulled the string of your bow all the way back and took three composing breaths before letting go. You and Geralt both watched as your arrow wheezed through the air and hit the deer right in line with its left leg, about halfway up its body.

Geralt still refused to speak to you as he got up and went to inspect the deer. He slit the dying animal’s throat with his sword to give it a quick death before lifting its dead body onto his shoulder and walking back towards the camp. You grew more and more suspicious of his behaviour, and you started to feel irritated by his silence. You had done nothing wrong, so why would he give you the silent treatment?

“Geralt, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked him as you jogged to catch up with him again.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me! If I’ve done something wrong, at least have the balls to tell me to my face!”

Geralt unexpectedly came to a halt and dropped the dead deer to the ground. His actions were so sudden that you collided with him hard, letting out a pained groan as you brought your hand to your nose. Despite his grumpiness, your lover still cupped your face and forced you to look at him to make sure that you were not hurt too badly. The thought warmed your heart, but you knew that Geralt still had not forgiven you for whatever it was he reproached you.

“I’m fine,” you snapped as you reluctantly pulled away from his grip, “you need to get your head out of your arse, witcher! I haven’t done anything wrong-“

“Haven’t done anything wrong?” his deep voice echoed you, disbelief lacing his tone, “why don’t you ask Jaskier, maybe he’ll enlighten you.”

“Come again?” It took you several seconds to understand what Geralt was getting at, “Is this what this is all about? You’re jealous of Jaskier?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, of course I’m the ridiculous one here…”

Geralt stared at you, his nostrils flaring as he tried to contain his anger. You easily held his glare, unwilling to back down and lose the argument. Geralt was the first one to look away, sighing heavily as he heaved a resigned ‘fuck’ under his breath. He raked his fingers through his greasy hair before turning around to face you again. His other hand came to cup the side of your face, pulling you closer so he could rest his forehead against yours. His voice was hoarse as he whispered his next words into your ear:

“I hate the way he looks at you. You’re mine.”

“If you want him to stop looking at me that way, maybe we could stop hiding our relationship like it’s a crime!”

Before Geralt could reply, you pulled yourself away from him and headed back to the camp, not heeding him as he called out your name.

OoO

“Hey Y/N, where’s dinner?” Jaskier asked as soon as he spotted you through the trees, but you were in no mood to entertain him.

“Fuck off, Jaskier!” you snapped before retreating inside your tent. You were glad that you had set up your shelter for the night early, for you did not feel like dealing with Jaskier’s shit. Or Geralt’s, for that matter. As soon as you were out of sight, you let the tears of frustration run down your cheeks. You angrily wiped them, hating how weak you felt when you let your emotions get the better of you.

“Geralt, what happened out there? Y/N seems pissed…”

“Y/N?” Geralt called your name, ignoring Jaskier’s question. You refused to acknowledge him, but Geralt was stubborn. “Y/N, please…”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you…”

“Jaskier, do us all a favour and shut the fuck up” Geralt snapped at the bard, which was what made you come out of your tent.

“Leave him alone, he’s done nothing wrong!” You coming to Jaskier’s defence was what pushed Geralt over the edge. Without a word, he took several long strides towards you and grabbed your wrist in his large hand, pulling you close to his chest and crashing his lips onto yours in a hungry and possessive kiss. Your eyes widened comically at the public display of affection, but your arms instinctively wrapped your arms around Geralt’s neck for support. The proximity of his warm body, and the feeling of his taunt muscles under the layer of clothing he wore drove you crazy, and despite the anger you felt, you found yourself melting into his embrace. You were about to deepen the kiss when you both heard Jaskier clear his throat loudly. You felt slightly guilty when you broke away from Geralt, but the way the witcher held you close to his body as he acknowledged Jaskier made you feel giddy inside.

“So, how long have you guys been a thing?” the bard asked, not allowing his voice to betray how hurt he was, but you knew better. You gave him an apologetic look, and even Geralt looked slightly contrite.

“A while,” you finally admitted, sensing the way Geralt’s hold tightened around you possessively, “I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop, Jaskier.”

“Just…” Jaskier took a deep breath and managed a forgiving smile, “Just don’t hurt her Geralt, okay? If you do, I’ll… I’ll hurt you back… somehow!”

You were surprised when you heard Geralt chuckle at the comment.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

“And if you guys ever get married, I’ll be singing at your wedding,” Jaskier told them, and it was your time to laugh when you heard Geralt utter another ‘ ah, fuck’ under his breath.

END

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x female!reader #female reader #reader insert #geralt x you #dandelion #jaskier #ficlet #jealous!geralt #requests open

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minniepetals · 5 years

Text

flowers & tattoos

— summary: you own a flower shop right next to the tattoo parlor your boyfriends own.

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: fluff, poly!au

— word count: 2.3k

— warnings: none

"Wake up, sunshine. I can't wake up until the sun's awake."

Hoseok grunted at the call of your voice but he held onto a smile waiting to reveal that softness he had behind that bad boy demeanor.

"Baby, sunshine, my sweet hope and angel," you cooed, poking at his face at the place where his dimples were located. Finally, he cracked a smile at your sweet nicknames and you giggled at the sight, quick to call him out on it. "I know you're awake," you said, getting up to move yourself on top of him.

"Five more minutes baby," he groaned at the weight but made no effort to get you off, instead rearranged his body so that you were lying in a more comfortable way.

As much as you loved staying in that spot with him and any of the boys, you knew that couldn't happen. Wiggling yourself, you moved yourself a bit forward so that your face came directly face to face with him, peppering little kisses on them. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."

"Baby-"

"I won't stop until you wake up," you said through the kisses.

Hoseok grinned. "I won't complain."

"Hobi!" Your whines reminded him of how Jimin would get when things didn’t go his way and he laughed aloud. "Come on baby, the others are waiting."

"They can wait a little longer," he shrugged nonetheless, not caring one bit as his hands touched your back, pulling your body down so that you were resting on his chest once again.

"Maybe they can for you but I've gotta open up the flower shop. I work alone, remember?"

"Why does it matter if we close up business for the day?"

"Nuh-uh, that's not happening." Both your heads turned to the source of the voice, smiling at Jungkook who walked through the door. "Hyung come on, let's get going," the maknae urged.

You grunted at Hoseok's strength on holding you back from trying to get up. "He's not letting me go," you huffed to Jungkook.

He rolled his eyes at your words before walking towards you both and landed his lips right onto Hoseok.

"Morning hyung," he greeted and Hoseok laughed.

"Alright, alright, I'm awake."

"Hey, I want my morning kisses!" You pouted, making grabbing hands at both the men. They let out knowing chuckles before each giving you a kiss.

"Morning baby girl." You giggled at Jungkook's nickname for you. "Now go brush your teeth and get dressed. We can't open up late," he ordered, leaving the two of you to stumble into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

It was always fascinating to see these "bad boys" whom the locals have came to see as, being so soft around each other and you. Sometimes you'd forget that they could be dark and dangerous because of how they were behind other's eyes, but seeing the tattoos painted almost all over their skin, you were always reminded of how they looked in your eyes before you fell in love.

You didn't know how long time passed as you and Hoseok brushed your teeth while he plopped you onto the marble countertop of the sink and the two of you played along, laughing at the lame jokes he'd throw at you. But you guessed it was probably a bad idea to lose track of time early in the morning because you found yourselves rushing away to get dressed a moment later, leaving quickly while missing breakfast.

"What were you two doing?" Yoongi asked grimly and you silently gave Hoseok a knowing glance, subtly — not so subtly — hiding your desires to laugh. The male rolled his eyes but draped his arm around you as the van began departing. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"Love you too, Yoon."

Owning shops that were right next to each other was a great convenience. You got to open up the shops together and leave at the same hours, and whenever one of them was less busy and without a client, they got to visit you just next door.

You owned the flower shop and they owned the tattoo parlor. Sometimes you'd find yourself envying the local girls that would always go into the shop just because of them and not about getting a tattoo. And sometimes they'd envy the guys walking into your flower shop just to see you and not for buying some flowers. Unlike you, however, they had no problem showing the world about who you belonged to.

Like that same morning when Seokjin came to visit you and found a guy talking to you.

He snuck up behind your back to wrap his arms around your waist, causing you to jump, and proceeded to kiss you on your cheek.

"J-Jin!" You gasped, suddenly a blushing mess because he was acting that way in front of your customer.

But Seokjin paid no mind. "You skipped breakfast so I brought you some. Let's have it now, hm?" You couldn't see it but he was giving the man in front of you the silent death glare, inwardly tell him to screw off and that you were his.

"Jin, there's a customer here-"

"Actually, I'm okay now," the man said, suddenly afraid of Seokjin.

"Are you sure? I can-"

"Come on babe, let's go," Seokjin whined, leaving your back to drag you away before you had time to say any more to your customer. As he dragged you away, he looked back at the man still standing at his spot and smirked. Mine, he silently told him before turning back to you.

"You really gotta control that, Jin," you sighed, rolling your eyes as the two of you walked into the back. "Yesterday Taehyung almost started a fight because some dude looked at me a little too long and now there's you, displaying pda in front of my customer."

He grabbed your arm before you could walk any further, forcing you to face him as he held you close. "They should know by now that you're ours and only ours. We're just looking out for you, love," he smirked then met your lips in a searing kiss that left you almost breathless when he finally pulled away.

"Sorry for being late by the way," he said, paying no mind to your short breaths as he took his spot on the stool. "Hoseok had his breakfast but none of us could find the time to bring you yours."

"That's alright," you assured, smiling while taking your own seat. "Thanks for this." Seokjin watched you open the bento he made and picked up your chopsticks to feed you. You rolled your eyes. "I can feed myself."

"Just let me take care of you," he said. You hesitated for a moment before obliging, knowing the stubborn man wouldn't take no as an answer. A look on the clock was fast to have him cringe. "Damn, it's almost your lunchtime."

"That's fine," you shrugged. "I was planning on skipping lunch anyways so this can be both my breakfast and lunch."

His hand paused in midair, scowling at you. "What do you mean skip? Are you trying to die?"

You laughed aloud, the sound he always loved. "I won't die if I skip just one meal, you're dramatic."

"I'm looking out for you," he corrected right before his phone went off and an annoyed huff left his lips. "Work's calling, gotta get back."

Part of you didn't wanted him to leave just yet but you nodded anyways, knowing he couldn't leave a client hanging. "See you later."

"Eat all of this, okay?" Seokjin ordered as he handed you the chopsticks. "I'll see you later." With one last kiss, you watched his back as he left to his side of the shop.

You lost track of time.

Even with your last customer leaving, you found yourself working away with the flower arrangements into the night, not even hearing the chime of the door opening as your seven boyfriends walked in, wondering what was keeping you up.

They found you sat behind your counter, softly humming a song while your hands stayed busy picking out flowers for each bouquet. You looked so beautiful amongst the flowers but the way your eyes dropped a bit told them you must have been tired.

A flower fell from your hand, dropping onto the floor and they heard you grunt. "Clumsy idiot, gotta work faster, not slower. Are you trying to get behind work? You've only made like one or two bouquets, you can't slow down already," you mumbled, speaking to yourself as you groaned, getting off your stool to pick up the flower but finding someone else picking it up for you instead.

"Actually, I think you can take a break now," Jungkook said, putting the daffodil on the counter.

"There's like fifty bouquets already, love, pay attention to your hard work," Namjoon said.

"Holy heck," you marveled, mouth opened a bit at the sight of your hard work before looking up at them with sleepy eyes. "Home?"

Jungkook chuckled. "Time to go home, love," he said as you let out a yawn, letting you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. "We'll close up for you, you've worked so hard today."

"Sleepy," you mumbled, nuzzling against the crook of his neck.

"I bet you are."

You woke up sick the next day.

It was at 5:30 when your alarm went off since it took a long time for all of you to get up and ready by the time it was time to open the shops up by seven.

Namjoon got up to hit the snooze button and you were second to follow, though it was due to the pain that had you waking up. You stood up, shrugging off the signs because it wouldn't be right to be sick. You were the owner of a flower shop after all, you couldn't not open up business for even a day.

You were usually the one to wake the rest of them up but you didn't feel too good so you got up to head to the bathroom, only going so far before things got too overwhelming with a severe headache that had you collapsing onto the floor.

"Y/N!"

Hearing the thud, they were all quick to get up and run to your side.

"Now that's one way to wake them all up," Namjoon commented before giving you those worried eyes as he held you up while the rest of them crowded around, some still half asleep. "What's wrong baby?"

"I'm fine," you tried to convince, waving off their worries to get up yet failing to do so.

"You're not fine," Taehyung stated while Seokjin held his palm against your forehead to check your temperature.

You pushed his hand away stubbornly, a little pout forming at your lips. "No, I have to be fine. I have to open up the shop."

"Not in this state you won't."

"I have to!" You argued, getting a little annoyed even though you know you shouldn't be. But you loved your job and you couldn't afford taking a day off no matter how sick you were.

They sighed at your stubbornness, brows furrowed because as much as they loved how hardworking and sincere you were, it hurt them to see you pushing yourself each day and risking your health.

"We're not going to say this again, Y/N." They hated using that tone on you especially when your eyes began to brim with tears. It must've been the sickness making you weaker than you usually were, but Namjoon knew he couldn't help it. "You're not going to that shop today or even tomorrow if you're still not too well."

"No, I-"

"Give it up, love," Yoongi sighed, "you're not even strong enough to walk right."

"We'll stay too," Seokjin said and you quickly shook your head.

"You can't do that. Business has to open up, working is more important than me."

"Oh, love," Jimin called as they all gave you that same face of a gentle painful expression. "You are more important to us than anything in this world."

"And if we want to take care of you then we'll take care of you," Hoseok said.

Jungkook nodded. "You're our precious girl, Y/N. Ours to love and to take care of."

"Plus what's the harm in closing up shop for a day?" Taehyung shrugged. "Our customers can wait and so can yours. Your health is more important."

Namjoon picked you up before you could protest, walking you back to the bed while Seokjin announced that he'd make you soup and Jungkook followed the man to help him.

"I don't like being sick," you pouted as Namjoon placed you under the covers.

"We know, love. We don't like seeing you like this either." Jimin went to lay beside you, wiping away the two tears that fell from your eyes. "You'll be alright. We'll take care of you."

You hated the sickness that overtook your body but perhaps it wasn't all that bad to see seven usually calm and collected males fussing over you. Especially when you were the only one who got to see that side to them. The local girls were probably wondering why both your shops were closed that day, possibly envying you even more.

You smiled widely knowing it was you the guys chose to love.

"Hey."

"Yes baby girl? Anything you need or want?" Yoongi asked, waiting to go fetch whatever you asked of him.

"You."

"Which one?" He smirked.

You grinned. "All of you."

A hand slid along your waist, another caressed your head, while two pairs of lips peppered kisses on your face and neck. You tried to push them away but someone else held your hand back. "Stop, I'm still sick."

"You wanted us, baby girl, and you'll get us."

#btsboulangerie #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts polyamory #poly bts #poly bts au #bts poly au #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts scenario #tattoo!bangtan #bts fluff #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #jungkook

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

TLTNL- OWLS

Sirius straightened up prime and proud, forcing that good mood of Gryffindor winning the match to be the only thing they all heard. Grawp certainly had been, unexpected, but with any luck Umbridge would be ousted from the school before Harry even had to deal with him again. Never mind that pesky, nagging question that had been bothering him since Dumbledore's departure, if in fact being Headmistress would negate the curse upon the DADA position. But no, she was still teaching that class, which meant she'd be leaving very soon...he hoped.

Ron's euphoria at helping Gryffindor scrape the Quidditch Cup was such that he couldn't settle to anything next day.

"Considering Prongs was that way for whole weeks, you got off easy," Remus smiled fondly.

All he wanted to do was talk over the match, so Harry and Hermione found it very difficult to find an opening in which to mention Grawp.

"Exactly how hard were you trying?" Sirius snickered, he knew he couldn't relate the two subjects easily.

Not that either of them tried very hard;

All four burst out laughing, though Harry hardly looked very chagrined.

neither was keen to be the one to bring Ron back to reality in quite such a way.

"There really isn't a way to ease into this one," Lily grudgingly agreed, "I don't blame you for putting it off."

Lighting on this fine day made the grounds outside rather inviting, and though Ron was enjoying his time in the common room as random bursts of Weasley is our King were still sung,

"Who came up with the revision of that song anyways?" Remus asked curiously.

"Lee Jordan," Harry grinned. "Even after Ron saved his first goal, the Slytherin's tried to keep going, to throw him back off, but then he said, 'he sure saved that ring,' and it just sort of spiraled out from there. Neville told me later he swears even McGonagall was singing along."

"That's fantastic," James cackled at Malfoy's dirty little trick being so flipped by that.

but finally they convinced him to spread out their revision books under a beech tree, Ron still not paying much mind as he walked them through his first save for the dozenth time.

Sirius certainly hadn't gotten to hear this yet! He was squirming with such excitement the words weren't flowing at a normal level and no one seemed to care.

He'd already let in that first goal of course, but as Bradley had come flying up to him, Ron had been watching for it, and he'd seen him fainting so Ron had just, followed the true throw, and well, they'd seen the rest, he concluded modestly.

Remus rolled his eyes, finding that the perfect opening Ron had provided, but he'd feel heartless admitting right there that he had no clue what had happened and dampen Ron's marvelous achievement.

"Good on him," James threw his shoulders back in pride. "I knew if he just held a bit more confidence he'd get it!"

"I can't believe we didn't get to hear more about it!" Sirius groaned as he glared at the pages but just couldn't bring himself to keep that look on Harry, it was more pouting. "Hagrid couldn't have waited just one more hour to finally tell you what was going on!"

Harry honestly agreed, he wished he had stayed at the game more, but it felt wrong to say so about his friend.

He swept his hair back and glanced hopefully at a group of passing girls.

The four of them burst out laughing while James just looked bemused and ruffled up his own hair to further their point.

Then he caught Harry's look and asked why he was grinning like that?

"Never thought my best mate would remind me of my dad," Harry chuckled softly, sure that was the first time in his youth he'd found some way to think better of his dad after that disastrous memory.

Harry denied he was doing any such thing, looking back to his books and not admitting Ron had reminded him of another Gryffindor player so many years ago doing the exact same thing.

The five of them smiled wider than ever, pleased beyond words Harry was finally able to look back at the lone memory he had of his father in his youth with some actual fondness.

Harry instead fibbed he was still just happy they'd won.

Ron savored those words, curious if Harry had also enjoyed watching Chang's face when Ginny had got the Snitch right from under her.

Harry bitterly muttered he supposed she'd cried.

"I really can see why you wouldn't want to put up with her if that's her response to everything," Sirius rolled his eyes.

Ron frowned in surprise that she had while chucking her broom away, hadn't he seen?

Remus let out a low whistle. "There's a temper we haven't seen yet."

"Ron's starting to get suspicious," James said in a sing song voice.

Harry stalled on answering, so Hermione finally admitted they'd only been there for his first unprotected goal.

Even Ron's hair seemed to wilt with disappointment.

Sirius couldn't help a surprised laugh at that description, even as he felt truly awful for Ron.

He looked from one to the other faintly, asking they hadn't seen any of it?

"Neither did we," James pouted, "so if you could just let him keep telling you about them-"

"James," Lily sighed, "Ron'll have pounded it into Harry's brain by this time, he can share it with us later."

The boys pouted, but didn't argue the point.

Hermione pleadingly tried to explain they'd had no choice, Ron interrupting to demanded to know why?

"I'd be miffed to," James huffed, even knowing the reason.

Harry finally explained everything to Ron, whose indignation quickly switched to incredulity.

"That's a kinder reaction than anyone in here had," Harry muttered.

Then he said 'no,' as if saying it would make it true.

"That has yet to work for us, but good luck trying," Sirius muttered.

Hermione firmly said oh yes he had, Grawp was a sixteen foot tall giant who enjoyed ripping up twenty foot trees and calling her Hermy.

"Well at least she got the highlights," James couldn't help a little twisted smile for that.

Ron stated Hagrid had lost his mind.

"At some point, seeing the depth of the truth is quite awe inspiring," Remus sighed.

Hermione agreed with that, but reminded they had promised to help.

Ron at once said they'd just have to break that promise!

"He's already done that once this year," Lily grumbled with a sideways look at Remus they all ignored no matter how true it was.

When had they ever come out better from messing with Hagrid's monsters?

"A detention really wasn't the worst thing in the world for that, even though the detention itself wasn't any fun,' James shivered in remembrance of the first time.

"Aragog was a bleeding nightmare, but at least fascinating," Remus shrugged.

"They stuck their necks out for Buckbeak," Lily said fairly, "I think that one warrants something."

"One out of five, as I count the Skrewts as no good at all as well," Sirius said deadpan. "Hagrid's not got a very good track record."

Ron took a breath and tried to sooth that at least they didn't have to worry about this until Hagrid was sacked, hopefully they wouldn't have to go near him again.

"Lucky Ron," Lily rolled her eyes while Harry got a pained look on his face no one wanted to question why.

OWLs were upon them at last.

Sirius gave a heavy sigh, but settled himself in preparation for some boredom, and honest curiosity. He wanted to hear how well Harry did even if he wasn't going to enjoy the flashbacks of his own.

Teacher's were no longer assigning homework but spent whole classes doing rapid fire review questions. Harry spent many of these in Potions wondering if Lupin had ever come talk to Snape about his Occlumency lessons,

"If so, then we're likely to never find the body," Sirius said uneasily.

"I'm really hurt you two don't think I can handle him," Remus pouted.

"Oh we know you could match him in a duel-" James waved off.

"We just don't think you would," Sirius kept frowning as he pictured all the ways that conversation would go, and none of them were good.

Lily wondered if his two friends underestimated Remus too much, he had just as much fury at these circumstances at Snape if Remus really thought Harry should be doing these.

but if he had, then Snape had ignored Lupin as thoroughly as he was now ignoring Harry.

They all decided to let the matter go uneasily though, clearly nothing was going to be done about it anytime soon.

Harry was plenty relieved with this, he had enough extra work without Snape adding in. To his relief, even Hermione hadn't brought it up again she was so busy studying.

"Hallelujah!" Sirius cheered.

"You and Hermione finally agree on something, and you still can't agree," Harry shook his head, trying to laugh instead of letting that headache rise again.

"I don't know what's crawled up my arse to think you should be spending extra time with Snape," Sirius shrugged without remorse. "So until I actually get a long over due explanation, I'm on your side pup."

Harry beamed at him, knowing he'd never get tired of hearing that, feeling such a thing flowing through him that would never just be a simple emotion to him.

She spent so much time pouring over books she hadn't even laid out elf clothes for days.

"You know, I've just thought, how was she paying for those?" Lily asked, wondering if her parents were really sending her extra knitting supplies.

"I think she used whatever money she pulled together from that SPEW campaign last year," Harry shrugged. "After that ran out, yeah I imagine she used her own money."

She wasn't the only one acting slightly off, Ernie had developed the habit of interrogating others on their amount of revision.

"Fascinating," James said in surprise.

"I'd have decked him," Sirius rolled his eyes at once at the idea.

"Then you'd have gotten detention and still had to do more studying," Remus pleasantly reminded.

"I'm sure it would be worth it," Sirius shrugged.

"Least he wasn't in your house," Harry said sadly, imagining Ernie's dorm mates had it far worse.

Beginning to interrogate Ron if he was doing more or less than eight?

Ron said less while looking alarmed.

"I would be to," Lily said with a slight grin, she knew she'd been frantic during her exams, now with the added stress of not speaking to her best friend on a permanent basis. She'd been as likely to murder someone as a Death Eater if she'd been crossed wrong at that time.

Ernie prattled off his own recital until he was cut off by Sprout.

"There's something deeply wrong with the lad when he's memorizing literally how much he's memorizing," Remus said with a touch of concern.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had found a different way to induce panic.

"Of course he has," James said in disgust.

Telling anyone who would listen, Crabbe and Goyle, that his dad was very good friends with all of the examiners, he'd just had Griselda Marchbanks over for dinner the other night.

"From all we've heard about, I can't even say I'm surprised," Sirius with a crinkled nose.

"I'll pay whatever Malfoy gives them double just to flunk him in everything," James snapped.

"Don't waste your money Prongs," Remus scolded, "he'll do that all on his own, and if someone does pass him otherwise, get them fired instead."

James happily accepted this alternative with a wicked grin while Harry started snickering at the lot of them.

Hermione got a bit panicky when she heard this one, Ron didn't help by reminding if it was true they couldn't do anything about it.

Neville stepped in and offered he didn't think so, as his Gran was friends with Griselda Marchbanks, and she'd never mentioned the Malfoy's.

"Guess it is some relief half of what that ferret turd says is a lie," Sirius grinned.

Hermione eagerly turned on him asking what she was like?

Neville said like his Gran.

"That was not encouraging," Lily blanched a bit at remembering that woman's few appearances and mentioning's.

Ron tried to encourage at least Neville had a slightly better start than them knowing the person.

Neville disagreed, telling that his Gran told Marchbanks and everyone he wasn't as good as his dad.

"Glory that woman!" James spat in outrage. Clearly Neville needed his own Sirius around to remind him he didn't have to be like his parents for them to be proud!

"Someone needs to tell that woman in detail what she's doing to Neville," Lily said in disgust, more than happy to volunteer if so given the chance.

He tried to say they'd seen what she was like in St. Mungo's but stopped awkwardly there. The three weren't sure what to say, it had been the first time he'd brought it up.

Meanwhile,

"Wait, that was it," Remus yelped in surprise, his pale face having lost an extra few shades at the reminder.

"Yep," Sirius muttered, trying not to glance at Harry, but curiosity won out.

He sighed and admitted, "yeah, we just kind of awkwardly stood there until he went into Potions. Apologizing just doesn't feel right, it sounds empty when people say it to me anyways, but, you know, couldn't think up anything else to say."

There was an awkward silence as they all agreed there wasn't anything to be said after something like that, so Sirius kept going loudly for this meanwhile change of subject.

a flourishing black-market trade in aids for mental agility had sprung up among the fifth and seventh-years.

"I remember this!" James bounced eagerly onto chatting loudly even if his voice did sound a bit too high pitched.

"Weren't you the ones who spread that story sleeping with black dog hair would give you luck?" Lily demanded with a raised brow.

James no longer bothered to deny this as he had back then, "yeah, even got Padfoot to 'try some' for a day and he answered every question any teacher threw at him the next day. We made a killing in profits for a few hours before this Hufflepuff Prefect Gabriel Truman got us in detention with McGonagall for spreading the story."

"Be thankful she didn't ask where you were getting all the dog hair," Remus rolled his eyes.

"How'd you fake getting all the answers right?" Harry asked curiously.

Sirius looked affronted as he said, "I actually knew them!"

While Remus rebutted, "we all took turns whispering the answers he didn't know. Between all of us, he got there."

"See if I ever do your Potions homework again," Sirius grumbled.

"I'll take you up on that," Remus rolled his eyes, while Sirius winced at his own stupid comment.

Harry and Ron were much tempted by the bottle of Baruffio's Brain Elixir offered to them by Ravenclaw sixth-year Eddie Carmichael,

"Oh Harry," Lily sighed. "Didn't you learn your lesson in second year with this nonsense."

"I really didn't want to fail all my exams," Harry said without remorse.

who swore it was solely responsible for the nine "Outstanding" OWLs he had gained the previous summer,

"I'd want to see that paper myself before I believed that," Remus sniffed.

and was offering a whole pint for a mere twelve Galleons.

"Oh is that all," James chuckled. "We only demanded a galleon a bag."

"It was my fur," Sirius frowned, "I think I should have decided how to charge when Remus tried to shave me bald."

"You should have let Prongs offer some then," Remus smirked.

"It was my idea, I wanted the credit," Sirius huffed.

"There's no pleasing him," James informed the other two.

Ron was just assuring he'd pay back Harry his half if he split with him, when Hermione showed up and flushed it down the toilet.

"Hermione really is handy to have around some of the time," Lily chuckled while the boys stopped their bickering.

Ron tried to protest her, but Hermione scathed they may as well buy Harold Dingle's powdered dragon claw while they were at it.

"Oh, now there's something really worth buying," Remus grinned.

"You couldn't pay me to eat that for any reason," Sirius crinkled his nose in disgust.

"I'll bet it was doxy dung or something mixed with water," James smirked. "People try to pass off a ton of things like that, a little color changing charm, bam. You've got those fifth years fooled."

"Thank you so much," Harry muttered, agreeing with his mum and thankful Hermione had stopped them if that was the case.

Ron begged Hermione to give him just a pinch of that, but Hermione told them it was just dried Doxy droppings like the rest of this garbage was when she'd tested it.

"Some things never change," Sirius said nostalgically.

This information took the edge off Harry and Ron's desire for brain stimulants.

The four laughed at Harry's relieved look, though they had full confidence he wouldn't really need them.

They were given the time tables of all their exams in their next Transfiguration class, along with McGonagall's anti-cheating lecture.

"We got this speech every year," James groaned.

"Clearly it was needed, as someone tried something every year," Lily rolled her eyes.

Banned from the examination were: Auto-Answer Quills,

"Those are banned from the school," Remus reminded.

"Doesn't stop people from using them," Sirius shrugged.

Remembralls,

"Those wouldn't even be helpful in an exam," James rolled his eyes.

and Detachable Cribbing Cuffs.

"Those are new," Lily couldn't help her eyes lighting with interest, for the magic of course, not because she'd ever try to use one just to beat out Potter in just one Transfiguration test...

Every year someone seemed to think they could get past these rules, and they were always caught. She hoped it wasn't a Gryffindor, she finished sternly. Then she continued that their, Headmistress,

"I wonder how badly she hurt her tongue spitting that one out," Remus said in sympathy.

Harry watched Sirius' disgusted face and found it a close proximity.

McGonagall pronounced the word with the same look on her face that Petunia had whenever she was contemplating a particularly stubborn bit of dirt,

"Normally I'd shame you comparing the two," James shook his head, "but McGonagall deserves whatever look she has for this."

had stated there would be severe punishment to any cheaters, as of course, their examination results reflected on her.

"Don't tell them that!" Lily spluttered in concern. "We don't need students failing out of spite!"

"We already got them doing that in Potions, no need for the whole school to suffer," Sirius agreed.

She gave a tiny sigh, Harry saw her nostrils flare again before she continued this was no reason not to try their best, they had their own futures to think of.

"Ha!" Sirius barked, all of them smiling just a bit for McGonagall's cheek.

Hermione asked how soon they'd be getting results, and McGonagall said not until July.

"Just what I always wanted for my birthday," Harry sighed.

Harry imagined sitting in his bedroom in Privet Drive in six weeks' time,

Lily blanched in frustration, thinking surely he wouldn't spend nearly a whole summer there again! Sirius or someone would fight back, get Harry out of there!

waiting for his OWL results. At least he would be sure of one bit of post that summer.

"Thank you for that lovely reminder," Sirius sighed, not exactly grateful for remembering that, but it had still been better than Harry living under that webbed thumb and everything else that had occurred.

Their first exam was Charms Monday morning and Harry agreed to quiz Hermione over it, which he immediately regretted as she kept snatching the book away to make sure her answers were word perfect, finally giving him back the book with so much force she cracked him over the nose.

"That'll train you not to be as fast as her," James chuckled weakly, his mind still on his son's upcoming holidays and how not fun that was going to be again.

"Never worked on Sirius, so don't hold your breath," Remus shrugged.

Ron was seen reading two years' worth of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly;

"How did he turn the page?" Sirius asked innocently.

"You're an idiot," Lily pleasantly informed him.

and Parvati and Lavender, who were practicing basic Locomotion Charms, were making their pencil-cases race each other around the edge of the table.

"Good of them to have some fun with it," James smiled, remembering that's how they'd spent their nights before exams, trying to make up as many games as possible with the spells needed. They'd been kicked out of the common room several times for this.

Dinner was a subdued affair, many people not eating much and instead ducking back down for books to check as well as nip a few bites.

Hermione suddenly let her silverware fall with a clatter as she saw the Entrance Hall.

"That's never a good sign," Sirius shivered a bit, wondering what new atrocity could be occurring just before this.

The two boys turned and spotted what had her so spooked, several extremely old people were coming in being led by Umbridge, who looked nervous, as Hermione whispered those were the examiners.

"I really wish I could see how much Umbridge has been sending to the Ministry about her improvements to the castle," Lily said blandly.

"I really want them to take a peek at the twins swamp!" James smirked.

Wanting a closer look, the three abandoned their meal and slowly walked past the group, pausing as Umbridge spoke to an extremely elder lady.

"Oh I remember her now," Lily snapped her fingers. "Yes, she was a sweet thing, told me even before I walked out I was guaranteed an O in my Charms."

"Lucky you," Sirius made a face at her, "I turned my pumpkin the wrong color and the man wouldn't stop laughing the whole time. The one time I wasn't trying to make someone laugh!"

"What color did you turn it?" Harry asked in surprise.

"It was supposed to be blue," he began grudgingly, "and yet somehow I turned it black," he finished still fighting back a smile years later at his unintentional joke, and Harry was so surprised he burst out laughing as well.

Marchbanks was waving off Umbridge's concern about the journey, instead mentioning she hadn't heard from Dumbledore lately,

"Neither have we," Remus rolled his eyes.

"Does she not keep up with the news?" James asked in surprise.

adding on they still had no clue where he was?

"Ah, okay, now I really like her," Sirius smirked when he realized this Marchbanks was actually just rubbing it in.

Umbridge gave a forced smile as she said they'd catch up with him.

Marchbanks just laughed and told how much she doubted that, she'd examined Dumbledore during his NEWTs, and he'd done things with a wand she hadn't seen since.

Lily felt her mouth go dry with shock as she realized the same person who'd marked her had also done Dumbledore! It really put into perspective how old their headmaster was, how old this woman was!

The boys were just laughing raucously for what they considered a very good return.

Umbridge shot a nasty look at the trio as she passed them, before encouraging her guests up to the staff room for some tea.

"Not with you in the room, I doubt I could breathe through your fumes," Remus snipped.

Harry went to bed that night regretting his career consultation,

"McGonagall hasn't seemed to be living up to that one yet," Sirius said conversationally.

"She didn't have any doubts he'd pass Charms," Lily reminded. "Mostly it was just Potions."

"Then it's a good thing Snape's not allowed to set the exams," James huffed, "otherwise Harry would have to beg Merlin himself to get a pass."

and wishing he'd told McGonagall a more realistic option.

"Harry, this is plenty achievable," Remus wouldn't let his spirits fall if this was something he really wanted. "I can already tell you've shown an aptitude for it."

Harry smiled appreciatively for the praise, something warm inside him saying he agreed with Remus.

Breakfast was no better than the meal before, students still trying their hardest for last minute studying. Parvati was practicing an incantation on a salt cellar that was only twitching,

"I'm sure that wasn't encouraging," Lily winced.

and Neville kept dropping the marmalade with nerves.

"So he was practicing the Evanesce charm," Sirius offered.

They had their written in the morning and practical's in the evening, so when breakfast was over they were all milling around waiting to be let back in. Harry stepped through to find the Great Hall exactly as it had been from Snape's memory, all of the desks set up and McGonagall waiting at the front.

"Why isn't the teacher of the lesson there?" Harry asked, recalling wanting to ask this last time, but he'd been a little distracted.

"Takes pressure off I suppose if the regular teacher isn't there," James shrugged.

"I thought it was another method of anti-cheating," Remus offered. "Teacher of the class couldn't show favoritism and possibly slip an answer if they aren't even there."

Harry flipped his paper over to begin, and found the first question asking for the incantation and wand wrist movement to make objects fly.

They all released a very surprised burst of laughter as they recalled a club knocking a troll out, nothing more memorable about that spell.

Harry had a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing loudly on the thick skull of a troll . . . smiling slightly, he bent over the paper and began to write.

"I hope that's a good marker for the rest of these," Sirius kept chuckling. He never would have believed he could look back on that as a fond memory, but considering everything that had happened in the meantime, it was almost hilarious they'd once been afraid of a troll around Harry.

Hermione walked out saying that wasn't as bad as she thought.

"This coming from the girl who once got a perfect score on Charms," Lily sighed. Charms had come naturally to her and even she'd never achieved that.

She was worried she hadn't done enough justice to it, she hadn't added the counter-charm to cure hiccups for the Cheering Charm-

"What exam was Hermione taking?" Harry shook his head in disbelief. Even after five years, he still felt exasperated at her over achieving ways no matter how many times they saved his life.

Ron cut her off before she could keep going, telling her he did not want to sit through the examination again, it was bad enough the first time.

"I don't know, I'd probably let her," Remus said fairly. "I'd instantly be getting my results back on what I put down."

"Not worth it," James agreed with Ron, "I'd smother her from stress after the third answer I didn't put down as detailed as her."

The house tables were returned for lunch, and then they entered for practical's in alphabetical order. Harry entered with Flitwick at the door telling him who he would be examining with.

"I can see why they were allowed inside for these though," Remus kept explaining without a prompt from Harry. "They get to see your work in class be put to the test."

Harry smiled at his eager tone, the way his eyes shone with just a hint of what they would if he'd been in the back of a DADA hall like he should.

Harry went over to a tiny little man who was only a space away from where Malfoy was halfway through his test.

James let out a surprised snort of laughter, saying, "how slow was he going? He was three letters off and still in there!"

"I always said these should be timed, students can't stall and make themselves feel worse for not being able to think," Remus said with just a touch of sympathy.

Professor Tofty greeted him by his full name in surprise, confirming the famous Harry Potter?

"If there was more than one, Harry wouldn't have nearly as many problems as he did," Sirius said in disgust.

Harry saw Malfoy throw him a dirty look and the cup he was supposed to be levitating fell and smashed.

All of them got a righteous giggle out of that considering the prats own earlier boosting and knowing it wouldn't help Harry at all even if he'd needed it.

Grinning to himself, he felt his exam went much better, his Levitation Charm had certainly been more smooth, though he wished he hadn't mixed up Color Changing and Growth, he had his rat swell to twice its size before he figured out how to correct it.

"There you go Sirius," Harry said swiftly, as just the mention of the little animal had set his teeth back on edge. "At least you stayed in the right spell!"

Sirius put up a smile for Harry's attempts.

He failed to tell Hermione this, but admitted it to Ron after he told he'd somehow mutated his plate into a mushroom with no clue how.

Then they all got a genuine laugh for that one, fondly remembering Ron's broken wand in second year and wondering if the poor kid had been thinking the same during some spell.

They had not a chance to relax after the one, moving on to Transfiguration all evening. During the written part, Harry forgot the definition of a Switching Spell,

Harry frowned sadly, still wishing more than anything he'd taken a liking to one of his parents old subjects, but still smiled pleasantly as both kept beaming fondly at him and all of his progress being so heavily described it was worth whatever grade he got for the attempt.

but thought his practical could have been a lot worse. At least he managed to Vanish the whole of his iguana, whereas poor Hannah Abbott,

Sirius frowned in genuine concern for this poor girl still being in there when Harry was! He'd have honestly passed her just out of pity for clearly freezing up for so long.

somehow managed to turn a ferret into a whole flock of flamingos, and the hall had to be emptied until they were all caught.

"Oh, were you in there for that?" Sirius asked in surprise as he fixed his thoughts.

"No, she just told us what happened while crying," Harry winced for the poor girl who hadn't even wanted to go back in and finish until Neville had took her aside and calmed her down.

They had their Herbology exam on Wednesday, and other than a small bite from a Fanged Geranium, Harry felt he had done reasonably well there.

Sirius kept reading very loudly before his friends could have another go at him for that subject.

On Thursday, Defence Against the Dark Arts.

All five of them winced hard for the last time this had come up, but thankfully Harry had very clearly put that in his past where it would stay this time, even Lily didn't go as pale as usual upon thinking of this day in light of watching her son relive it.

For the first time, Harry finally had full confidence. He knew every question on the written and gave in-detail answers, and the practical was just as much of a breeze, performing every requested jinx and counter jinx while smirking at Umbridge watching.

"Always good to have your target in sight," James said with relish as he pictured a variety of things he'd cast at her too.

His examiner proclaimed him as done, unless he'd like to try for a bonus point and do a Patronus?

Harry raised his wand, imagined Umbridge being sacked,

"Happiest memory I'd conjured in ages," Harry's smirk only widened in here what it had been at the time.

and shouted Expecto Patronum.

The whole hall stopped in surprise as the stag cantered around, and Harry was released with a hearty congratulations.

As he passed Umbridge, there was a nasty smile at the edge of her mouth and Harry didn't even care.

James was in such a giddy mood for Harry's clear overwhelming happiness at this he didn't even care what was running through her rotted mind!

Unless he was mistaken, and he wasn't going to say it aloud incase he was, Harry felt sure he'd just gotten an Outstanding OWL.

"I have no doubts whatsoever," they all reassured him, Harry never having felt such pride in his life.

They got a bit of a break on Friday as Hermione took her Ancient Runes, and she came back in a right temper to see the two playing chess. She at once furiously told them she'd mistranslated ehwaz, meaning partnership, as eihwaz, meaning defence.

"Sirius, you pronounced those exactly the same," Lily corrected, grasping what words he'd meant by their translations. "Ehwaz is-"

"Prongs, stop your wife before I do," Sirius grumbled, though continued reading loudly before the threat could be carried out and Lily just huffed at him.

Ron tried to say it was only one mistake-

Hermione told him to shut up.

"Ooh, snappy," Remus chuckled, Sirius did a rather good impersonation of that.

It was the difference between her passing and failing!

"I honestly can't imagine her failing any class," James said lightheartedly.

"She could still take Divination and pass it," Harry agreed.

What's worse was she'd passed Umbridge's office and another Niffler was in there trying to take a chunk out of her leg.

"What kind of jewelry has she got-" Remus blinked in surprise, before they all blanched in disgust and did not want to ask further.

Harry and Ron said good together.

"Not really," Lily sighed, remembering the last time this was mentioned.

Hermione heatedly said no it wasn't! She thought Hagrid was doing this!

Harry gestured out the window where Hagrid was teaching a class and pointed out he couldn't have done that, and Hermione called Harry naïve.

Harry frowned in reproach, wishing he'd quit forgetting to avoid Hermione right after an exam.

That wasn't going to stop her!

Then she stormed off to the dorm and slammed the door behind her.

Ron noted what a lovely, sweet-tempered girl she was while turning back to his game.

They all burst out with laughter at that one, not at all blaming him for waiting until the echo faded before he'd said this.

Hermione's bad mood lasted the whole weekend, and Harry wasn't feeling much better come the following Monday. He'd spent every spare second trying to study for Potions, the one exam he was sure would be his downfall in becoming an Auror.

"Now where's McGonagall when I need her," Harry sighed.

"You'll do fine," Lily insisted. "I've seen proof already you can do this if you're not under pressure, and Snape can't do anything to you in there."

"It doesn't mean I'll be getting that O though," he said morosely, not feeling remotely better at how true he felt that was, but it was of some comfort it didn't make the vision in his head of this job dim any less.

Sure enough, he found the written paper difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion;

"That's a sixth year potion!" Sirius protested this.

"It was a bonus question," Harry shrugged. He got a much more forced laugh from that experience, they remembered this too vividly being a problem last year.

he could describe its effects accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year.

"Thank you for the pleasant call back," James shook his head, still having the urge to be sick at mention of that Basilisk for too long and grateful Sirius didn't linger.

The afternoons practical wasn't as bad, even with Snape at the back, the whole environment made for a far more pleasant feel than Harry had ever felt while over a cauldron. Neville seemed to be feeling the same, both potions came out the right color.

Lily gave a pitiful sigh, having wished more times than she could count her son wouldn't suffer in that class, that he may even have been able to flourish in it if not for that arse hole treating him the way he did.

Parvati sighed with relief they only had four exams left, but Hermione would not be soothed, shouting she still had Arithmancy, and that was the hardest one!

Nobody was foolish enough to snap back,

"So you lot do have a sense of life," Remus chuckled.

so she was unable to vent her spleen on any of them and was reduced to telling off some first-years for giggling too loudly in the common room.

"Hermione's a real peach, don't let me ever say otherwise," Lily shook her head for the poor girl so stressed.

They had Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday, and Harry felt he did reasonably well, getting all the points right on what the different creatures ate and how to identify them, only managing to get one serious bad burn from a fire-crab while cleaning it to really catch him off.

"I didn't get a single one, but thanks for asking," Sirius grinned at Harry, who gave his obligatory laugh as he watched his godfather, but hated how strained it sounded for his gut tightening inside him every second. He could feel something approaching him, some mark that left him as unhappy as Hermione at the thought of the end of the OWLs...

The others were just hoping the joke was finally wearing off of him.

Their written Astronomy took place Wednesday morning, and while Harry hadn't remembered all of Jupiter's moons, at least he was sure none of them were covered in mice.

"It's good to know Hermione's tutoring had some lingering effects," James snickered in remembrance.

They had to wait until evening for their practical Astronomy;

Harry twitched hard at that, and they gave him sympathetic looks for his exams starting to get to him by this time, he'd lasted longer than others.

so they did their Divination that afternoon, which was by far his worst yet.

"How?" Sirius demanded as a boyish laugh erupted. "You've had loads of practice by now just to make it up."

"Trelawney's not even the one there, you can reuse old ones," James agreed.

He described his tea-leaves as a soggy old man, and informed during the palm reading that his examiner should have died last Tuesday.

Harry felt a shot of relief as everyone laughed around him for this display, forcing himself to relax as well and convince himself nothing worse could happen during an examination than that.

Ron's had not gone much better, as he'd spent quite some time giving a detailed account of an ugly old man with a wart in his crystal ball before looking up to realize it was his examiner.

'Or even that,' he mentally conceded as the laughter doubled.

Harry said they never should have taken it in the first place, Ron now agreeing at least they could drop it. From now on, he didn't care if his tea leaves spelled out for him to die, he'd just put them in the trash where they belonged.*

Sirius slumped in his seat he was laughing so hard by now, and Harry watched him affectionately trying to force this feeling of nausea to recede rather than increase like it was. It took his godfather a moment to collect himself and brush his hair back out of his face before he could continue, and Harry had gotten nowhere.

Harry laughed until he saw Hermione approaching, so quickly stopped.

Hermione wasn't in too bad a mood, saying her Arithmancy had gone well, and now they had some time to look over their star charts before dinner.

Harry wrapped his arm around his torso in pain, smothering a groan as the pressure kept building in his head and his gut. What about an exam would cause such a feeling of panic to rile him up?

The others finally noticed what Harry was trying to repress, but Sirius didn't hesitate in going on very loudly now. Surely it was just exam nerves scaring the boy senseless...

They were up on the Astronomy tower with a perfect cloudless night. Harry was looking for the constellation Orion,

"Don't be ridiculous Harry," Sirius rolled his eyes. "It's June, you won't find that one unless you've found a way to look through the sun."

Harry did indeed look chagrined, but didn't have very high hopes for passing this class anyways.

when the doors below open and six people walked out of the castle across the lawn.

Harry shivered deep in his seat, fighting back the urge to close his eyes in pain and instead they were watering up. He just knew he did not like this, it was going to cause something so terrible to happen...

Harry glanced over the parapets, watching their movement before he was reminded of the exam going on.

Lily hummed at this, no one in any delusion this was what was causing Harry such a stir. It was beyond odd though, what was going on in the grounds at that hour, and why would it cause Harry to look as if in fear for someone's life?

In the poor lighting though, he was sure he could spot a squat figure amongst them.

"Oh boy," James broke the heavy silence with dread.

He could not think why Umbridge would be taking a stroll outside after midnight, much less accompanied by five others.

"Got turned around?" Remus offered, a proper joke failing him as they all watched Harry's twitching frame.

Then the night's silence was broken by a large dog barking.

"Oh dear," Lily managed a soft whisper of unease as now they were all as tense as Harry. This couldn't be good...

Lights turned at Hagrid's place, and the six figures seemed to be welcomed over the threshold.

"No, no, no, not again!" Sirius burst in frustration.

"They're, they're not really trying to arrest Hagrid!" James bellowed in protest.

Harry's mouth was cotton dry, he couldn't find air to breathe. He was worried for Hagrid, but there was something more, something that wasn't having him question Hagrid's safety, but some member of the Order's...

Harry felt uneasy as he watched shadows threw the window, but still tried to put his eyes back to the sky.

"Oh I've long since forgotten about this," Remus snarled in frustration, he knew he'd have marched down there and said something about this.

Then there was a roar of outrage echoing from the ground, and several people ducked down to look now.

Professor Tofty gave a dry little cough to keep their attention.

"Excuse him!" Lily spluttered. "After that kind of noise, I'd be dismissing the lot and seeing what was going on!"

Sirius' foot was tapping in agitation, his eyes peeling words away so fast he wasn't sure what he was actually saying until he felt the reactions of the others and he had to pause for breath and take it in, he couldn't imagine Hagrid going back to that place anymore than him!

He encouraged them to concentrate, and most people did turn back to their work, but a glance over showed Hermione was still transfixed on the cabin below.

"That should really be saying something," James tried to say obstinately, but it fell flat, even poking fun at Hermione held nothing for anyone right now.

With the twenty minute warning, even Hermione gave a regretful jump and tried to put some more work down.

"Oh, well, never mind then." James hardly more than mouthed the joke, his every attention focused on Sirius to find what had happened to Hagrid.

Not moments later though, several people poked themselves in the eye in surprise at the BANG that wrenched the night, now everyone watching as Hagrid was storming out of his cabin with red lights flashing around him, they were trying to Stun him.

"No!" Lily cried in frustration, her arms automatically curling to shield her infant from the outrage around him before she gratefully remembered he wasn't down here.

"They can't do this to him!" Sirius howled with fury.

"As if that's ever stopped them before," Remus said in disgust.

"Hagrid's fighting back this time though," James grimly reminded as the scene was put together in his mind.

Hermione shrieked no, but Tofty curtly reminded this was an examination.

"Nobody cares," Harry said through gritted teeth, his thudding heart promising this still wasn't the worst to come.

Nobody even noticed, as someone shouted at Hagrid to be reasonable, and Hagrid told Dawlish reasonable be damned. Harry could just spot the outline of Fang jumped around at Hagrid's feet, keeping himself between the wizards and his owner,

"A fearsome sight in itself," Sirius said grimly, even if Fang never attacked a single one of them.

until a Stunning Spell caught him and he fell to the ground.

Remus made a blistering noise of outrage, that was more than uncalled for.

Hagrid gave a howl of fury, lifted the culprit bodily from the ground and threw him; the man flew what looked like ten feet and did not get up.

"I'm wondering if he ever will again," Lily said through numb lips as that kept replaying in her head.

Hermione gasped, Harry and Ron were terrified. None had ever seen Hagrid in a true temper.

"Wish we never had," James whispered, never wanting to have been there more for a friend than when he was being attacked on all sides.

Then the front doors opened again, and someone else came marching across the lawn in the Entrance Hall lights.

Harry felt it, that ratcheting fear reaching a crescendo, this was not going to make things better!

Tofty tried to pull back attention, reminding there was only sixteen minutes left.

"No one cares!" Sirius burst in outrage, hurriedly trying to skip past that interruption.

Nobody paid him a mind as McGonagall shouted how dare they!

"Oh now they're in for it," Remus said with a predatory smile. Even without raising a wand, suddenly they were all confident McGonagall would somehow find a way to set this right.

She kept up her shouting at them, demanding to know what grounds they had to warrant such-

The girls upon the roof screamed as four Stunners were shot at McGonagall.

Sirius' heart thudded, and actually came to a stop for several moments. He only kept reading the results of this with the last of his air,

Only halfway there, the beams collided with her, and for just a moment she glowed red before the spell took and she flew back, landing without further movement.**

before his tightly drawn face went slack in shock.

"Oh my gosh! Oh, my goodness! No, she, she can't have," Lily was a babbling mess, suddenly on her feet and running forward to snatch the book away from Sirius' numb fingers. Her eyes nearly burned a hole through the pages, all she could see was red and their head of house-

James hadn't realized he was doing it until the spell burst from his lips, and apparently his aim was quite off as he set a bit of the wall on fire. While the flash of heat went quite unnoticed considering how incensed they all were, James was also forced to extinguish it just as fast before his shaking limbs didn't allow another spell.

Their outrage was ceased by Harry, and for once not the baby. That he was angry was as clear as the rest of them, his face was an eerie calm of a storm the likes of they'd last seen on Privet Drive when he'd thought he was being attacked by Death Eaters, but now it was much more personal. The truly scary part though came from his trembling lip, that fear leaving his pupils blown so wide. They just couldn't believe it, McGonagall was going to live through this, right? Yet that look on his face left the haunting expression someone wouldn't, and they could only hope it was the fools who'd done this to her, what Hagrid had just done would be like Grawp playing with a twig.

Sirius couldn't swallow for several moments, feeling as if his own tongue had been jammed down his throat and he had to fight hard to force his eyes to go back to recognizing mere words rather than the tirade of curses he wanted to rain down on someone as he gingerly took the book back from Lily in fear for his own life. Moony had to come over and guide her back to her seat she was so stunned, but neither could bend their knees to sit.

No one was going to live after what had just been done to his favorite teacher! The first authority figure he'd ever respected in his life because she'd earned it rather than making him fear her! Harry needed him though, his pup needed to get through this first to know she was going to be okay and give them a list of names.

Tofty finally seemed to have forgotten about his own exam,

"Finally," Remus said faintly, casting his wand vaguely to at least stop the hole smoking. Neither him nor Lily could be properly still, too frantic and needing something to do and listening to Sirius talk wasn't helping!

as he called their behaviour outrages.

Hagrid clearly felt the same, calling them all cowards as he used his fists now and two of them fell with each swipe.

James made an unsatisfied noise even as he put a tight hold on Harry's shoulder as a reminder he was here, it was all going to be okay.

Umbridge shouted at the last Auror standing to stop him, both trying to send one last stunner. For a moment Hagrid stooped, as if he'd finally been felled, but then he got back up with something over his shoulder, and Harry realized it was Fang. Then he took off running towards the distant gates and vanished.

"How, could, she," Lily was nearly hyperventilating she was so beyond words to express this.

There was a long, drawn minute of silence before Tofty tried one last time to remind them they only had five minutes left.

Sirius blinked sluggishly for a moment, unable to grasp back the fact that something as mundane as an exam was going on. He wanted to hear someone checking on Minerva!

No one seemed to get any last minute work done, as they were finally dismissed and the students at once began discussing what they'd seen.

Ernie said he wasn't surprised at Umbridge's timing, she'd clearly been trying to avoid another scene like Trelawney's.

Ron was impressed how well Hagrid had held his own,

Harry noticed in a detached way the students almost excitement for this, like they'd just watched a show.

while Hermione explained it would be his giants blood that had made it so hard to take him down, but poor McGonagall.

"She's going to be fine though!" James said hastily as Harry shivered harder than ever. "McGonagall's tough as they come, I'm half surprised they didn't bounce off her like Hagrid."

Harry saw distantly what he was trying to do, but it was hard to concentrate on his voice, he just kept hearing Sirius read and he wanted to plug his ears shut as well as never stop hearing that again. Which was ridiculous, Sirius hadn't even been involved in this...

Ernie gave a pompous shake to his head, saying how dreadful all this was, before he nipped off to bed.

Lily's eyes burned, he could have showed a little more worry for two of the staff!

Ron mentioned at least Hagrid hadn't been sent to Azkaban.

Sirius felt his skin crawl hatefully at the reminder, knowing that was still a horrid outcome, but somehow a worse one had happened!

Then he supposed Hagrid had joined Dumbledore somewhere. Hermione agreed, but she looked almost tearful as she realized she'd expected Dumbledore to somehow come back by now, instead they'd lost Hagrid too.

All four of them were surprised at just one passing comment for McGonagall. They'd been worried for Hagrid sure, but McGonagall was their real outrage, and they weren't likely to settle until they heard of someone taking care of her, though they'd never admit aloud she needed any such thing. Those kids were still young enough though, they were not as caught up in DA as they should have been, perhaps did not even realize four stunners was four times worse than just the single spell. It would knock you back and leave you as injured as any hex with the blow of so much magic.

They got back to Gryffindor tower and saw Dean and Seamus had beat them there, woken everyone up and caught them up, and the whole house was chatting about it as well.

Angelina asked why sack Hagrid now? He wasn't like Trelawney, he was doing good this year.

Remus got a funny frown in place, wanting to protest that but hard to find the words.

Katie reminded about the recent Niffler problem, and Lee said in shame that had been him putting them through her window.

Sirius felt that feeling he'd lived for in his youth, the urge to laugh at such mischief, but it did not carry through into full bloom, not with Harry clearly so worried, not until he knew McGonagall was still going to be around to be exasperated at it.

Dean pointed out Hagrid would have been sacked, he was too close to Dumbledore.

Lavender was still nearly in tears for McGonagall, while Colin informed everyone they'd watched her be brought back inside the castle. Alicia said with confidence Madam Pomfrey would sort her out.

They finally felt a sigh of relief escape them, Harry's loudest of all as some of his worry tried to loosen him, but not enough. Remus and Lily sat back down uneasily as they tried not to picture such a thing happening on the grounds, but the look on Harry's face somehow warned them to keep on the edge, as he kept himself stiff at his father's side and locked in on Sirius, his heart thudding so loud they were sure they could all hear it in his still thumping adrenaline pulsing out.

The common room was up the rest of the night coming up with revenge for Umbridge. None were quite satisfying enough, though Ron's of feeding her to starving Blast-Ended Skrewts had its merits.

That one worked, Remus felt a burst of laughter escape him that died swiftly in the room, but no one begrudged him for trying.

Their final exam was History of Magic.

Harry made a keening noise louder than ever, and it was frightening. What worse thing was going to happen than their real current Headmistress being struck down like that?! James's hand tightened harder than ever upon Harry's shoulder, but he couldn't even look at him, he was solely locked on the key to this problem.

He loathed having to spend his morning going over years of Hermione's notes. He was exhausted, all he really wanted was for this one to be over, to go out onto the Quidditch pitch and have a go on Ron's broom.

"You more than deserve that, honestly I'm surprised I haven't heard of this long before now," Sirius looked up and around at Harry, forcing a smile he didn't really feel into place, and it set them all off greatly he couldn't be bothered to return it for a second. His eyes remained distant, lost somewhere none could see, but still his every attention was riveted on Sirius.

Sirius sighed heavily but decided to stop side stepping around this, Harry wasn't going to be soothed until something changed.

It took all of his concentration to flip his exam over and begin, and it took several moments for letters to appear into words.

Lily shook her head pitifully for this, but she supposed it was the best circumstances that could be offered. At least everyone failed this class.

It felt torturous, he flat out skipped an opinion question over wand legislation and the goblin riots.

"I don't even remember that ever being a topic," Remus shook his head too fast, but still hoping some normal flow of conversation would be of some help.

He tried his hand at the Statue of Secrecy breached in 1749 but knew he'd missed important parts like vampires coming in at some point.

"Now I know you're sleep deprived, it was hags, not vampires," James offered though he had no more clue than Harry, and still failed to get a response.

Finally Harry found one from the notes he'd gone over just this morning covering the International Confederation of Wizards and why Liechtenstein refused to join.

Lily hummed at the lucky circumstance, wishing as much as anyone this would skip already, that Harry would just get a moment of peace before he collapsed on himself like he was so clearly fixing to do.

He began with Pierre Bonaccord's contested appointment,

Remus gave a false yawn, glancing around for a pillow though really his eyes never stopped tracking Harry, looking for just a hint he was going to relax any second, realize the danger had passed at least for one second.

while all around Harry the distracting noise of quills were scratching on parchment like scurrying, burrowing rats.

Sirius gave a heavy shiver, he hated Harry seemed to use that description a lot.

He couldn't remember. He gazed at the back of Parvati's head, wishing he could use Legilimency and remember what he'd done, sure it had something to do with trolls.

Harry went cross eyed in pain, wishing his mind would crack open already and relieve this stress, why had his mind chosen now to bring that up!

He closed his eyes tight to picture it, finally the lines coming back to him of the circumstances involving mountain trolls, that had been it. He got another few lines in but still didn't feel it was long enough, Hermione had four pages on the topic.

"That's never helpful, she tries to remember too much," James muttered something he'd known about her since her first year hoping just for a moment to distract Harry which still didn't work.

He closed his eyes again, straining to put in some other details...but then his eyes didn't open back in the hall, but the long dark corridor. He eagerly ran down it once again, back through the dark circular room with many doors.

"Oh no," James groaned deeply, his hand tightening more than ever on Harry's shoulder, refusing to let go until he knew it was going to be okay. That was getting harder to manage though, as they all finally grasped this must be what had him so on edge, they were all back to that same icy exterior as well. The last time Harry had been so set off, was when Arthur was being attacked...

All the way until he was back in the large cathedral sized room, and now he was sprinting, knowing the thing he wanted most was in here. He turned down row ninety seven, and there at the end was a huddled figure, like a wounded animal on the ground.

Harry tried to recoil away, but James had no clue who he was trying to reach for, so he just pulled Harry back tighter to him. He wasn't going to let him go guilt tripping over this one, no matter who was in there guarding this mystery thing.

A voice issued from his own mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness,

Sirius finally flipped to the last page of this, his hand as slick upon the binding as it was white knuckled. 'Don't let it be Arthur again,' his mind pleaded, 'the man had suffered enough!'

Instructing for it to be taken down. When whatever it was on the floor didn't respond, Harry used the Crucio spell.

"Voldemort's, inside, the Ministry," Lily brokenly whispered, this being the first thing she could think of what to connect to. Her fear intensified, wondering how this had happened, there was no way the man could waltz in there and torture someone for this. It may not even be an Order member now, it was still the middle of Harry's afternoon!

She wanted more than anything to stop Sirius, to try and let Harry collect himself for a moment, but Sirius was fidgeting with agitation on the page and noticed nothing, like he wasn't even aware he was reading anymore, just wanting to finish this and know the latest victim already Harry was going to have to find out about in the worst way possible.

The man on the floor let out a scream of pain, attempted to stand but fell back, writhing.

Harry wasn't breathing, of that James was now positive. He hardly registered his own fear anymore, was hardly watching Sirius. He feared for the life of whomever this was, but he had eyes only for his son.

Voldemort hissed at the newly pained man and told him to fetch it as he could not, then his pain would end fast.

Sirius Black just laughed, and said Voldemort would have to kill him first.

James's hand fell from Harry's shoulder.

HPHPHPHP

* Favorite quote of the whole series! I'm still in awe I got this far! Let me know yours!

** I know not everyone's a McGonagall fan, but this right here is my favorite moment for her, the same reason I would have Crucio'd someone if they'd spat in her face. You can say what you will about her odd behaviour in first year, but the moments of her in this book are just pure and utter brilliance of her very character.

#The life that Never LIved #harry potter #fanfiction #OotP #HP #Marauders #reading the books #James Potter #Lily Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black

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