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yukihime-mikeys-girl · 2 years

Text

Surprise

Warning - mentions of bondage and degradation, cuss words and torture, gore, violence. Please stay away if these dark themes trigger you. Minors DNI.

Tag list is open.

- Yuki❄

Sanzu x OC with a slight Sanzu x Ran

Masterlist

Rindou had loaded Nakahara in the trunk of the car as they drove to the warehouse in Ginza. He did not deem the man worthy enough to be tied and tossed in the back seat of his Lincoln Nautilus. The only place which remained was the trunk. It was agreed upon after a good 10-minute discussion on whether he would survive if he was tied to the back of the car and pulled, just like a trolley. Sanzu was all for it, however, Rindou reminded him that he was scraped too much on the roads, he might not live. The thought that such a stunt would have the cops tailing them never crossed anyone’s minds.

And so, Nakahara was bound and gagged and finally tossed unceremoniously into the trunk. He had heard the entire conversation and was thankful to the younger Haitani, for if not for his reasoning, Nakahara would be equivalent to a skinned pig by the time they reached Ginza.

While Rin and Sanzu were busy tying the pig and loading him into the trunk, Ran received a call from Kokonoi, so he stepped away to answer it.

“So, the kidnapped kindergarten teacher incident which was on the news is also caused by KN Group. See if you can find the woman. Since we’re tying up all our loose ends as is. It’d make for a good cover story to say that we saved her from KN Group. It’s killing two birds with one stone.”, Kokonoi said on the call to Ran.

Ran understood why. It’d was a show for the public that Bonten was clean, as well as a show for the detectives, that Bonten had no ties to KN Group. The front cover of Bonten was upheld to be a company which valued ties with its clients to a fault.

He pinched his eyes together as he felt a headache coming. They were already trying to dispose off the bad cocaine. Saving a woman over that just felt like a chore.

“Fuck, now we gotta save her too. What’s her name?”, Ran asked Kokonoi on the call, while rubbing his forehead.

“Ms. l/n y/n.”, Kokonoi replied.

Ran felt a jolt as he heard the name. ‘It could not be her, could it? There are so many women with that name.’

“Did you say y/n?”, Ran asked cautiously.

“Yeah, that’s her first name. y/n. l/n y/n. Born in 1996, 26 years old. An office worker who left her organization to become a kindergarten teacher.”, Koko responded. ‘Ran seems to be awfully worked up about this woman.’, he thought.

“Do you know her Ran? Is she your ex?”, Koko probed.

“No, but I have heard that name somewhere... Have you relayed this to Rin or Sanzu?”, Ran lied. He wanted to confirm his suspicions before he could tell this to Sanzu. He could not have Sanzu have a breakdown when there were people to kill and cocaine to dispose off. Most importantly, he did not want Sanzu to get his hopes up if she wasn’t the woman, he thought she’d be.

“No, since they’re with you, I thought you’d be able to tell them too. Don’t tell me a fight broke out between the three of you! Honestly, I swear y’all should not be left alone. Why did you guys’ even team up together... This just increases my workload when you guys leave stuff messy as fuck.”, Kokonoi felt like he was the only one responsible in Bonten and so, felt the need to lecture Ran at that very moment.

“No, we didn’t fight, and I just asked if you called them too. I’ll tell them so you don’t need to worry. And shut your whining. You’re the biggest grandma I’ve ever seen. Nagging your ass off. I pity the person who’s gonna end up with you. And your future kids too. Nag nag nag all day long.”, Ran huffed in response. Honestly, Koko would die alone if he kept up such an attitude.

Cutting the call, before Koko could get in a word, Ran sighed audibly. This was too much of a coincidence.

“So, what did the ol’ grandma say?”, Rin asked quietly from behind.

Ran nearly jumped out of his skin. One of these days, he was going to die. What with Rin being quiet as a cat and Koko’s incessant whining.

“Jeez, make some sound, will you? I might die from your scares more than the bullets that fly.”, Ran chided Rin.

“So what did Koko say Ran?”, Rin pushed. He knew when his brother was hiding something.

“Well...”, Ran looked over to see Sanzu smoking a cigarette while taunting the tied-up Nakahara. The trunk of the car still open. He’d put out a couple of cigarettes on Nakahara’s face and was smoking a third one.

“Koko said that the kidnapped kindergarten teacher was KN Group’s work. We need to save her for the press.”

Ran didn’t lie. He would never lie to Rin. He just didn’t speak the whole truth. There was a difference.

Seeing Ran’s guilty face, Rin sighed. He knew his brother was still hiding something. Reading Ran was like figuring out emojis on his phone. It was always easy.

“You’re hiding something. Spit it out. I won’t tell Sanzu. I promise.”, Rin honestly had no time for these games.

Looking guilty at being caught, Ran replied slowly.

“The woman might be Sanzu’s ex. I need to investigate it before Sanzu can see her. I cannot have him lose his shit before I finish investigating...”

With a pregnant pause, Ran continued, “If she is who I think she is, then she is the reason he only drinks Sakura Sake, Rin.”

Rin’s eyes widened. ‘Shit! This was huge! If there was one constant in Sanzu’s crazed drug addled life, it was that he always drank Sakura Sake. Nothing else but that.’ Everyone is Bonten knew never to waste it, for they had seen a crazed Sanzu whip the previous bartender for spilling it.

It was one of those days when Sanzu missed her. He’d ordered Sakura Sake and sat quietly on the high bar stool. Rin was sitting quietly beside him, sipping his Jägermeister while waiting for Ran to complete one of his missions. He was returning today and they’d made plans to hang out in Snowdrop. It was more than a month since he’d seen Ran.

The top floor was always reserved only for Bonten. No one was allowed except for the body guards and the bartenders. If any of the executives wanted to fuck around, then those were the only unknown faces on the top floor. Yet, these people would have had an extreme and through background check done behind their backs before they were allowed on top. Suffice to say, it was extremely low key and private on the top most floor of Snowdrop.

Sanzu sipped his Sake quietly. He was in no mood to do drugs today. Koko and Ran were to reach by 11pm. The top floor looked a little crowded today. A few girls were sitting around a table a few feet away and were noisy, while ordering a lot of drinks. The bartender seemed to have his hands full while serving everyone around. Rin didn’t like him very much as he behaved in a cocky manner any time there were any women on the top floor. He’d shamelessly give them free drinks whenever the Bonten executives weren’t looking. Rin saw this, but he didn’t bother because he wasn’t interested in creating unnecessary fights. His eyes had met the bartender’s a few times whenever he tried to do this with Rin’s date. Rin was not a pacifist. As long as the mutt stayed away from his dates, he wouldn’t bother. Today, Rin hadn’t brought any girl and so was quietly sitting beside Sanzu while sipping his drink. The girls seemed to be here with Kakucho and Takeomi. They were four of them. Mostly, the other two were holes for Koko and Ran since they were coming back after so long. It didn’t matter to Rin. As long as he got to spend a few hours with his brother, Ran could go fuck around without feeling guilty. It was always like this between the Haitani brothers. They just needed to make sure that the other was safe. That was all that mattered in the end. No one entered this business to play it safe. Rin knew this.

The cocky bartender was slipping a couple of ecstasy pills into the girls’ drinks while also popping one himself. Rin saw this, as he was flopped on the counter, his hair splayed onto the top. The only thing between his vision and this incident was a glass which was half full with the pink liquid which Sanzu drank. ‘Sigh’, Rin knew there would be a brawl by closing time. He could see it already.

He straightened and signaled the bartender to top up his drink. The moron grinned while taking the drinks to the girls. He then came back and placed a fresh glass of Jägermeister in front of Rin.

Kakucho and Takeomi got a call from Mikey and went to the Bonten office, while asking the girls to behave. They would be back soon.

The bartender took this chance to get all four girls to dance on the floor with him. He’d asked the DJ to switch the lo-fi music to groovy beats.

Sanzu, who was quietly drinking, only frowned when he heard the music change. These were the days when he loved to drink Sakura Sake and wallow in his own pain while some soft music played. All the Bonten executives knew this. They’d seen such days of his. Unfortunately, the new bartender didn’t know. The DJ assumed that the change was asked by one of the patrons and hence switched the music.

Sanzu just glared into his glass. He was trying very hard to keep his emotions in check. All he wanted was some peace and quiet to fall deeper into the abyss of pain in his heart. Since a quiet bar would be weird, he’d only let the DJ play lo-fi music on such days, so as to keep the vibes of the place in check.

It was about time for the ecstasy pills to show their effect. The girls along with the bartender went wild. They were busy dancing. It all happened so fast, yet it was so vivid. Rin could only stare in surprise and silence.

The bartender’s elbow seemed to hit the bottle of Sakura Sake that was placed on the counter, as one of the girls jumped his bones. They were busy sucking each other’s’ faces while the pink liquid continued to flow and spread on the counter top.

Sanzu’s expression changed in an instant when he saw the Sake fall. He looked up, just to see the bartender busy with one of the girls who had come in with Kakucho and Takeomi. He jumped off his high seat, grabbed both of them and yanked them apart. The drugged woman thought that Sanzu wanted to kiss her, so she whispered, “Hey there hottie, wanna suck face with me? I can suck you off later. How about it?”

Without missing a beat, the back of Sanzu’s hand flew towards her cheek. She fell to the floor, and was shocked to her core. He’d hit her so hard that she bled from her skin being torn close to her cheekbones. Sanzu’s ring had torn her face.

“Keep your filthy paws off me, bitch. I hate sluts like you who come in with one man, snork with another and then suck someone else off.”, Sanzu sneered with a crazy glint in his eyes. He did not seem like he was drunk though, thought Rin.

Bending down to squat in front of her, he held her chin in a forceful grip. Her eyes that reflected fear were forced to look into Sanzu’s; filled with the same crazy glint that he usually had when he was asked to finish off unnecessary trash.

Sanzu leaned into her as he whispered, “Little bitch, do you know what you caused today? You caused my Sakura Sake to go waste. Do you know how it could be avoided? Had you been a good little bitch and sat your ass on the seat while waiting for your master to come, this would not have happened. So, do you want to see the chain reaction of what happens when my Sakura Sake is wasted? Hmm?”

The woman was shit scared out of her mind. It would not be surprising if she pissed herself then and there. She whimpered and shook her head to say no.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, but... Little bitch, you have to watch what happens. So that the next time you think with that used wasted pussy of yours, you would think twice of the consequences of your actions.”, Sanzu sneered as he let her chin go.

He stood up and walked quietly to the counter. Bringing out a clean monogrammed handkerchief, he daintily picked up the bottle which was still littered on the counter and placed it upright. It seemed that most of it had fallen. He dabbed the spilt drink with the handkerchief till it was completely soaked. Walking back to the woman, he stuffed it into her mouth saying, “You wanted to suck on something, right? Suck on this. I want it clean as a whistle. By the time I come back to you, I want to see the handkerchief completely white, just like it was before I dabbed the Sake. Alright? If not, there’s punishment waiting for you~”, Sanzu said in a sing song voice as he grinned at her with his eyes closed.

The woman was shocked to say the least. Was this how Bonten’s famed Sanzu was? Hot one moment and cold the next? Thinking that this was all some kind of BDSM play that he liked, she smiled at him as she started to suck on it. She was the one who was brought for Ran. Sanzu knew this and was disgusted that such a whore would be Ran’s date for the night.

To be honest, Sanzu knew that Ran harbored a crush for him. But he was still stuck on y/n, so he’d always brushed off Ran’s advances so as to not give him hopes. He was not a homophobe, no. Rather, he’d jacked off to one too many male-on-male porn videos. He also loved reading BL and Yaoi. He loved reading it because it was what he’d caught her reading once.

_______________________________

It was summer break. No one was in the library, except for her. Sanzu knew if she didn’t pick his call, it meant that he could find his cute little bookworm in the library. It was too hot to roam outside anyways. So he walked to the library, in hopes of finding y/n there. He had plans to coax some head pats and hugs out of her before he let her continue reading. Why did she read anyways? He never seemed to understand. Yes, the books she read were all fictional. She’d usually read romance, fantasy or thrillers. He’d never admit it to her, but he loved it when she’d go on and on about the latest books that she’d read, how the characters were described, what kind of plot it was, why she thought the story was written like that. He loved it all. Or did he just love listening to her talk? He never seemed to know which it was. All he knew was that he wanted to lie in her laps, while she talked. They’d shared many a dates in the parks nearby; under big shady trees. She sat leaning on the tree, while he’d lay his head on her laps, asking her to read from her most recent book. She’d always smile that sunny smile of hers, kiss him innocently on his forehead, move softly to small chaste kisses on the scars which were on either side of his lips and finally end with a quick peck on his lips. She’d always mutter, “I love you so much, Haru” at the end; before adjusting the book in her left hand. Her right hand would always be busy with his hair, either stroking it, or just playing with it, as she read from the book. Sanzu always felt at peace at such moments. He wanted to be frozen in time with her like this, so that they’d be together, just like this for all eternity.

Just as he had suspected, he found her in the library, however, she was sitting in a sunny spot and the warmth of the sun had made her curl up on the table to take a nap. ‘She’s just like a soft kitten’, Sanzu thought as he grinned to himself. Careful so as to not wake her, he tip toed towards her. y/n's head was covered with her left hand while the right was holding a book. Her right thumb seemed to be the bookmark to the page that she was reading when she fell asleep. On leaning in closer, he saw that her face was flushed red. Frowning for a moment, thinking that she had the nerve to come and read a book when she had a fever, Sanzu was about to scold her when he thought the better of it. He quietly removed the book from her hands. He was careful enough to stick his finger in the exact same place her thumb was so that he could mark the page for her. As he was closing the book, he felt something wrong. Had y/n taken a torn book? Why were some pages slipping out? Curious to know, Sanzu opened the book to the page that she was reading, only to find that there was another book inside. The page that she was holding, had the pictures of two guys going at it. Seeing this, Sanzu flushed red. ‘What was this that his innocent princess was reading?’

He grinned a Cheshire cat grin as he now understood why y/n’s face was flushed red. Sitting beside her, he looked at the cover of the top book, only to see that it was some non-fictional boring book on history. His y/n never read such books. He should have known better when he saw the blank boring maroon hue of the cover. What she was reading was smut manga inside. But he’d never read boy x boy before. He continued grinning as he realized he’d found her weakness. He could not wait to tease her. Closing both books, he placed it between them, as he leaned on side, as his palm supported his face.

Knocking softly on the table so as to wake her, he smiled at her, while waiting for her to regain her bearings. It was cute how she fluttered her eyes open, not realizing where she was. There was slight drool trickling down as she woke up. He found this extremely cute. How fast asleep was she, to have drooled like that? Or was it because of the boy x boy smut manga that she was reading?

y/n saw a smiling Sanzu in front of her on opening her eyes. He looked ethereal. His palm was supporting his right cheek, so his hair softly fell on his hand. In that moment, he looked so handsome, that she spoke without a filter; a filter which was usually tightly in place whenever she was sober and in her senses.

“Have I told you Haru, that you look so gorgeous? I sometimes feel inadequate to be called your girlfriend, but I feel more anger and jealousy rather than the shame I am supposed to feel, if I have to see you with someone else other than me. I’m sorry for that. I know there’s prettier girls out there who are better than me. So, if you ever want to break up with me, all I ask is that you tell me the reason. You’re so pretty that, I’ll accept any reason you tell me. All I ask is, let me know that you don’t want to be with me, rather than running away or cheating on me. That’s all I ask. A clean break up. So that I can have closure. Because, Haru, you are my saving grace, the light in my dark world. I don’t think I can continue living if you’re not in my world, but I will try. Although I know it would be a wasted existence; a liability on the face of this earth.”

Sanzu felt his heart clench. He knew that y/n had problems at home. It was what caused her to be so insecure about everything in life. No matter how many times he’d told her, she was pretty, she’d nod with a fake smile. He knew it was her fake smile, because she used it with everyone in school. He knew she never believed him. And her speech just now proved it.

Pushing the books between them away, he scooted closer to her and kissed her just like she always did. He first placed a small innocent kiss on her forehead as he spoke, “Why do you never believe me when I say that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met? Hmm? You say such things to fluster me, and yet, you are blind to how incredibly cute you are. I don’t want anyone else but you in my life, because sweetheart, you’re my tether; the only one who keeps me afloat in this world. Without you, I always felt like I was drowning and there was nowhere I could swim to. It felt like I paddle my arms and legs, only to be pulled down, deep into the darkness of the cold deep waters. Ever since I met you, that feeling has stopped. I feel that no matter what the world throws to me, I can face it all, as long as you’re by my side.”

Sanzu then went on to place a kiss on her nose, as he continued, “So believe me when I say, I am never going to break up with you. There might come a day that you’ll get tired of me, and I’ll still never want to let you go. And maybe I won’t. I’ll be like a sticky gum to your shoe, never coming out. I won’t ever cheat on you, because there is no one else in this entire world that I want more than you. If you turn into a princess, I’ll lock you away so no one can feast their eyes on you except for me. If you become a fire breathing dragon, expect me to be beside you with a fire-resistant suit and dragon nibbles. If you become a toad, I’ll be sure to create the most beautiful vivarium for you. if you forget me, I’ll spend the rest of my living days, trying to rekindle our relationship so that we can be together again. If I ever got a chance to wish for something, it’d be for us to be together in this life and all our future lives. That’s all I ever want, y/n. I love you so fucking much, that it sometimes hurts.”, clutching his heart, he continued, “Did you know that? I sometimes feel like you’re my drug. And I tend to get withdrawal symptoms, if I haven’t gotten the chance to see you, talk to you, hold you, touch you, kiss you.”

Sanzu then placed a closed mouthed kiss on her lips. He lingered for a few moments, savoring the feel of her soft plump lips. Even though he was tempted to carry on kissing, he ended the kiss by licking her lips and softly biting her lower lip. y/n yelped softly.

He finally said, “So don’t ever say these words again. Instead tell me how I can prove to you, that you’re the only one in my eyes, and I’ll set off on doing that.”

y/n blushed wildly. Her entire face was completely red. She might as well have been a ripe tomato at that moment. Ever since they had started dating, she knew he was goofy most of the times, and a huge flirt with her. She assumed that he was flirty with every girl, and reading the angsty bl manga had given her a nightmare in which she’d found him kissing another girl in front of her. So, she thought she was still in her dream when she uttered those words. By the time she realized it, it was too late and Sanzu was already kissing her forehead. This was also the first time; they both had such an intense heart to heart conversation about their relationship. She still found it hard to believe that she was dating this gorgeous man. She also found it difficult to believe that he was with her because he found her beautiful. But after today’s speech, she’d felt a little more reassured than before about their relationship.

Maybe it was the warmth of the sun, seeping in through the open window, or maybe it was the cicada’s chirping in the distance, loud, yet so full of life; y/n felt like she belonged in Sanzu’s arms.

Her heart burst with happiness, as she moved her chair closer to Sanzu’s. Pushing his head on the table, she too lied on it, as she held his chin and kissed him deeply. She felt more alive in this moment than all her life ever was. His lips felt like home. A home that she’d never had. They brought her comfort. For the first time, she felt that she could be herself and her Haru would accept her, love her and cherish her.

Breaking away from the kiss, she said breathlessly, “Thank you Haru. You mean the world to me. I love you.”

Smiling softly, he whispered, “I love you too, y/n. You are my world. Always were, always will be.”

Giggling quietly to each other, Sanzu linked his hand with hers. Maybe now, she would finally start to understand how much he loved her.

Raising her head, y/n realized that the bl manga was still there. Flushing, she quickly pushed the books away from Sanzu with a blush.

Smirking, yet not letting her hand go, Sanzu spoke, “My bold princess sure knows history.”

Moving closer to her ear, he whispered, “I already saw the smut baby. No use trying to hide it. I now know that you like to watch guys do it~”

Blushing even more furiously, y/n took the manga out as she hit his head playfully, while whining, “Haruuuu~~~ how could you?”

“Hmm, it was interesting though. I do read Yuri manga’s. Maybe we could exchange them sometime? Consider it payment for the information of the fact that my girlfriend is a fujoshi~”, Sanzu teased her.

“Hmph, okay... But that’s a cheap trade. I need you to kiss a guy as well, on top of the manga exchange”, y/n teased him.

“Do you really want me to kiss a guy? Think carefully. I am, but your humble servant, your majesty. If your majesty so wishes, please show me which guy will be suitable, and this humble servant shall fulfill your desires.”, Sanzu continued on with the charade.

“Aaarrgh!!! No! okay! No! You’re too pretty! Knowing you, you won’t fall for anyone, but the guy you kiss, might end up falling for you. I already have enough of a headache with girls, I don’t want to add guys to that list too! Come here, let me draw an ugly ass mole on your face so that no one finds you attractive but me~”, y/n quipped as she magically fished out a marker from her pocket.

“Aaah! Nooo! My girlfriend wants me to become ugly!”, Sanzu screamed as he ran away. Laughing, y/n ran behind him.

They ran a few feet only to be scolded by the librarian and be thrown out of the library for making such a ruckus.

_______________________________

Sanzu might not have liked Ran in a romantic sense, but he still tried to keep a lookout for him. Such a woman was not deemed fit in Sanzu’s eyes for Ran. He might not sleep with Ran, but he knew that Ran deserved better. It was time to teach her a lesson as well as the bartender.

The woman was still on the floor, sucking on the sake soaked handkerchief; her eyes gleaming with lust for Sanzu.

Still grinning with his eyes closed, he motioned with his index finger to one of the guards. After whispering something, he sat back on the bar stool, crossing one leg on the other, while his right fist was closed into a fist, supporting his face.

Rin nervously looked at Sanzu. This was out of the calculation that he’d done. Sanzu was never so quiet the past few times they’d encountered ‘issues’ with Sakura Sake.

The bartender on the other hand, tried to slink away quietly behind the bar. Quick as a cat, Sanzu brought out his Katana. The blade’s swishing sound as it was drawn brought all eyes in his direction, including the bartender’s.

“And where do you think you’re going? Did I say that you could move?”, Sanzu asked in a quiet manner.

The bartender gulped audibly, as he spoke nervously, “Sir, no sir, I was just going to get a cloth to clean up the Sake.”

“Did I ask you to wipe the Sake with the dirty rag that you keep behind the counter?”, Sanzu asked; way too calm for someone with a sword in hand.

“No sir.”

“Then should you be moving?”

“No sir”

“It’s good that you understand. Stand exactly in the place where you were and in the exact same position in which you caused the Sake bottle to fall.”

“Yes sir”

“Did I ask you to speak back to me?”

“No sir”

“Good, then be a good boy and stand there. I don’t want to repeat myself, nor do I want to hear any noise from your filthy mouth.”

By this time, the guard returned with a medium sized black box. It had a padlock on top. He placed it in front of Sanzu’s feet.

Sanzu sheathed the sword and pulled out his gun. He aimed at the padlock and shot. Once the lock was broken, he signaled the guard to open it. The contents inside seemed to be things used in a BDSM sex show.

Rin knew this, because it was Ran’s box.

“So, let’s start with the girl first. Since she was supposed to be Ran’s date, it’s only fair that I use his things. Don’t you agree Rin?”, Sanzu asked with the same sick smile on his face.

Rin didn’t reply, but neither did he object. He knew Sanzu had lost it the moment the Sake bottle had toppled over.

Not waiting for a response, Sanzu looked to the guard and said, “Take the rope from the box and tie the woman to the pole. Tie her wrists behind her and her feet in front of her. She needs to see the chain reaction of what happens when my Sake is spilt.”

The guard obediently tied her to the pole as Sanzu had directed. Still thinking that it’s all part of the play, the woman let herself be tied. She expected to be rewarded with Sanzu’s cock by the end of the night. Ran’s box only helped cement the fact in her head that this was all a part of Sanzu’s twisted kink.

Once the guard had tied her up, Sanzu flicked his fingers to indicate that he needed to move aside. Bowing to Sanzu, the guard backed towards the door to stand guard.

Jumping off his seat, Sanzu rummaged through the box, and finally found what he was looking for. It was a whip. It seemed to have pokey bristles from the mid part all the way till the end. It was one of the articles used in hardcore BDSM shows. Unless a person had a high threshold of pain, one would not be able to endure it.

Uncoiling the whip, Sanzu walked to the woman and asked her, “This seems new. Do you know how I am going to break it in?”

Gulping with lust, she nodded her head no.

“Then watch”, is all Sanzu said as he suddenly flicked the whip towards the bartender.

The bartender yelped loudly in pain.

“Didn’t I say that I didn’t want to hear any noise?”, Sanzu asked in an irritated tone.

Whipping him again, he walked closer to the bartender, as he whispered, “That Sake is precious to me. I have overlooked your stupidity before. I even let you steal my very own ecstasy pills. I bore with the way you cockily changed the music from lo-fi to hip hop. I endured it all. But you! You spilt my Sake!”

Sanzu whipped him a good seven to eight times. The bartender was a whimpering mess on the floor by this moment. His skin blotched with red marks and cracked in some places. Blood seemed to ooze out from the cracked skin.

“Do you know? I ought to straighten you out if you are to work at Bonten. I usually award people by shooting them in the head when I don’t like something. I was especially generous with you today. Ask Rin-chan here if you don’t believe me.”, Sanzu said with the same sick grin on his face.

“It’s true, I’ve seen him shoot a guard on the lower floor once just for wearing the same shoes as his.”, Rin added fuel to the fire for two reasons. One, he was sick of the dip shit’s behavior. Two, he wanted the woman to be taught a good lesson, as she had tried to cheat on Ran so openly. Although she was just a one night stand, her purpose today was to serve Ran, and here she was, being a slut. He hoped that Sanzu would not disappoint when he taught the bartender and the slut a lesson today.

The bartender peed his pants when he heard Rin speak.

Still grinning, Sanzu whipped him till he could see the bartender bleed profusely. He laughed all the time as he whipped him. The same maniacal laugh of his which struck fear in the people who’d offended Bonten.

“Your skin is thicker than that of a pig. I’ll give you that much. It took so many lashings, just to see some blood. Maybe I should wrap this whip on my katana and rub it across your dick? After all, you wanted to dip it in that slut over there, didn’t you? That’s why you stole my ecstasy and put it in her glass. Don’t worry, my whip covered katana will feel exactly like that whore’s pussy.”, Sanzu said. His face, arms, legs and clothes, everything was covered in the bartender’s blood.

By now, the woman who thought this was a BDSM play was close to fainting. This was not what she had signed up for. Fuck how was her luck so rotten so as to anger this devil?

Sanzu drew his sword and motioned for one of the guards to come closer. He then asked the guards for a pair of rubber gloves.

While waiting, he brought out a menthol cigarette. Lighting it up with Rin’s lighter, he placed the whip on the counter as he took a drag.

Turning to the woman, he saw her shivering in fear. Grinning, he walked to her and asked, “Enjoying the chain reaction, slut?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I will reimburse you for the Sake. I did not know that it was so important. Please let me go.”, she kept muttering continuously.

“It’s not about the price of the Sake, slut. And the chain reaction is yet to reach you. This is only half of the show.”, Sanzu said with the same sick grin on his face. Only this time, it looked creepier because of all the blood smatters. Squatting, he put out the cigarette on her knee. She screamed in pain and let the handkerchief fall from her mouth.

“Tsk tsk tsk, bitch cannot even hold a simple cloth in her mouth. I will be punishing you for this. Now put it back in your mouth and sit still. The show isn’t over yet.”

The woman strained to get the handkerchief back in her mouth. Sanzu had refused to touch it since her spit was on it. It was already tainted in his eyes.

The guard arrived with the gloves and respectfully placed it on the counter beside the whip.

As Sanzu walked back to the counter, he turned to the woman and said, “You see, I never promised any punishment to the bartender and this is his state. As you see this show, make sure to get a rough idea about your punishment.” He winked at her and turned to walk back.

The woman fainted from the shock of his words.

“She fainted, Sanzu.”, was all Rin said.

“Aww man, and here I wanted to do some more~”

“Kanra, come here and throw some ice cold water on her to wake her up.”, Sanzu called out to the guard.

“Yes boss.”

Sanzu hopped onto the barstool as he watched the guard throw a pail full of cold water and ice cubes onto the woman. She woke up with a gasp.

“Slut, didn’t I tell you to watch the show? You break my heart, little bitch, how could you do this to me? Here I was, doing my best to show you the chain reaction and you went to sleep?!?!?!”, Sanzu mocked her.

“Kanra, wipe her face please. And stuff the handkerchief back into her mouth. This mutt does not seem to understand human language. She clearly keeps dropping my precious sake soaked hanky time and time again. Stuff it in and tie her face please~”, Sanzu whined to the guard.

The guard did as he was told. As he was about to stand up, Sanzu spoke, “Put tape on her eyelids this time, so that she cannot go to sleep or blink. Use as much as you want. If she blinks, it’s a gun shot for you, Kanra~ If the tape doesn’t work, feel free to hold her eyes open. I’ll give you 30 seconds to decide how you want to do this.”

The guard was a trusted Bonten guard. He’d seen Sanzu’s antics and knew that his life would be in danger if this slut blinked. Forgoing the tape, he squatted behind her and held her eyes open with both his hands, as he replied, “Boss, I shall hold her eyes open for you.”

“Mmm, good boy, Kanra~”, Sanzu muttered as he started to wear the gloves.

After wearing, he wrapped his sword with the whip. The bartender half dead from the previous lashings that he’d received. He’d fallen to the floor and was twitching around, bleeding profusely.

“And now, for you~ bring out that dick which was hungry for the whore’s pussy.”, Sanzu growled.

“I’m sorry Sanzu san.”

“Did I ask you to apologize?”

“No sir”

“What did I ask you just now?”

“T-t-to bring out m-m-my d-dick”

“Then why are you stuttering and wasting my time?”, Sanzu asked impatiently as he stepped onto the bartender’s crotch, pressing down on it with his foot.

Screaming in pain, the bartender used his fingers to unzip his pants. All the time, Sanzu still kept on stepping on his fingers as well as his crotch.

Just as Sanzu was about to poke his dick with the whip covered Katana, Ran and Kokonoi entered from the other end.

“Sanzu what’s happening here?”, he spoke calmly. He knew that Sanzu was not in his right state of mind.

“What do you think Ran-chan? This man spilt my precious Sake while snorking with the woman who was supposed to be your date for tonight. She even came onto me. So, I thought I’d teach the whore and the mutt here a good lesson. You should not have such slutty one night stands. That’s how you develop and STD~”, Sanzu replied in the same sickly sweet tone which matched his sick grin.

Ran knew about y/n and the reason for Sanzu’s obsession with the Sakura Sake. He knew that he was the only one Sanzu might listen to when he’s in this state. Either him or Mikey. But Mikey wasn’t here. Taking a deep breath, he calmly walked over to Sanzu, as he said, “Sanzu, can I get the whip and the Katana?”

“......Okay.”

“Thank you Sanzu.”, Ran said softly, as he placed it on the counter beside Rin.

“Come with me. Let’s take a drag of the menthol cigs that you like and a bottle of Sakura Sake on the roof, okay?”, Ran asked Sanzu in a soft tone.

“.......Okay.”

Turning to the guard holding the woman’s eyes wide open, he signaled him to tie up both the bartender and the woman in one of the holding cells which Snowdrop had. These holding cells were deep down underground. It was where most of the torturous sessions were held, to extract information from anyone who was considered a threat to Bonten.

Ran planned on dealing with the vermin later on his own. What mattered right now was that Sanzu had to snap out of his daze.

Snaking an arm around Sanzu’s slim waist, he pocketed the cigarettes and Rin’s lighter; took a bottle of an unopened Sake and steered Sanzu towards the roof.

Honestly, this night turned out better than Ran had hoped. He planned to stay on the roof with Sanzu till dawn with the cigarettes and the Sake. Cheap thrills were better than pussy, any day.

Rin sighed as he saw how comfortable Ran was holding Sanzu. Knowing that his brother wasn’t coming back down any time soon, he cocked his gun and fired four rounds; two into the sluts’ knees and two into the bartenders’. His brother was a fool in love, but that didn’t mean anyone could take advantage of him. And because his brother loved Sanzu, Rin felt, he owed it to Sanzu to shoot the bartender too.

The show was over much too quickly for Rin’s tastes.

_______________________________

“Yeah, so shut it, until I confirm if she’s the one. Keep Sanzu distracted outside while I check inside the warehouse to see if she’s there.”, Ran said.

Rin agreed. It seemed that Sanzu’s Sakura Sake addiction was because of this woman.

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Accidents

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Even on the simplest of hunts, accidents happen.

Requested by Anonymous: "Don't hurt yourself again..."

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, fluff, kissing

You let out a soft sigh as you slumped back against the seat of the Impala, quiet as you clutched your side. It ached and it burned across your ribs, wrapping around to your back in a way that made it hard to forget it was there. You were aware of the light splotches of a rosy red that stained through your shirt, something you covered with your jacket the moment you saw it. The less Dean knew, the better.

There was a lack of conversation as you drove down the road, one lined with plenty of trees for seemingly miles. The sun had since dipped down for the day, the sky a darkened shade of blues as the clouds started to roll in, the heightening breeze sifting through the half-open windows and it blew cool against your heated skin. There was a storm coming in, that was for sure. Queen played low on the radio, followed by Zeppelin, followed by Dean’s favorite song to sing when he gets the chance to, Cherry Pie.

He hadn’t sung it this time though, not really. You saw the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and the snort that sounded from his lips. You saw him turn the volume up a little and you heard him hum along to bits and pieces of the chorus, but he didn’t sing along just to see your eye roll and your inevitable smile. He didn’t do any of that this time, just hummed.

You didn’t know why, but you didn’t question it either as you wrapped your arms around yourself. You were too busy holding back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks in waves that came and went, the pressure behind your eyes remaining consistent. There wasn’t really anything to cry about, you knew that, but that didn’t stop your emotions from running in every direction and trying to get the best of you.

The hunt hadn’t gone terribly, having been cut and dry unlike most have been as of late, but you couldn’t help but think about the conversation you’d had right before it.

“Dean, why are you looking at me like that again?” You say, a huff leaving your lips as a knowing smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“You know why,” he says, brow raised as he shuts the car door and purses his lips over the roof of the car at you before you meet at the trunk. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. Sam’s got a broken ankle back at Jodie’s, so we’re down a guy.”

You tilt your head to the side, that familiar smile still very much there on your lips.

“We’ll get the job done, Dean. We always do.” He rolls his eyes and lets out a chuckle that was only half humorous, shaking his head before returning his gaze back to you. You shift on your feet, arms crossing over your chest as you look up at him. “What? It’s true and you know it, Winchester.”

“Yeah I know it’s true,” he starts, tucking his gun in his belt before tugging his shirt back over it. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?”

His expression softens for a moment as a flash of vulnerability splays across his face before it hardens just a fraction to try and hide it, watching as he takes a step closer. Your gaze turns more curious by the second as your brows furrow, tipping your head back just a little more.

“Don’t hurt yourself again,” he says, quieter than before.

The sight of your smile has his eyes rolling and his lips pursing once more, those dimples appearing that you loved oh so much despite the fact that they reflected the discontent behind them. But your smile remained, if not widened some, a glimmer in your eyes that eased the tension in his shoulders just a bit.

“Is this your way of caring about me, Dean?” You ask, voice only holding a mere drop of teasing in it as you gaze up at him.

“I’m serious, Y/n/n,” he huffs, but you don’t miss the way he bites the inside of his cheek and inevitably fails at hiding his grin at your words.

“I know you are,” you say, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze as you lean on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek. When you drop back down to your heels you see the way he relaxes just a fraction, your hand dropping from his as you spin on your heel and walk ahead of him as he stands in place for a moment more. “I’ll try and be careful.”

You don’t see the smile on his lips in that moment, or the way it drops in favor of furrowed brows and parted lips as soon as he realizes what you said.

“What do you mean you’ll try?”

To be fair, you did try to be careful. You always tried to be, but it just didn’t work in your favor this time and now here you are, sitting in the Impala with a scrape who knows how bad on your ribs because you’d yet to look at it. You’d yet to even tell Dean about it and you wanted to keep it that way.

He’d walked away from that hunt with an angry red and purple bruise on his cheekbone, and a minor cut in his eyebrow. He was relieved with how simple the hunt had gone without the extra help of Sam and you weren’t about to ruin it by making him worry over an injury you told him you wouldn’t get.

The pain in your side was numbing, it was nagging and persistent, worsening with each rub of your shirt over it. It brought you discomfort that made it all the more difficult to sit still like you wanted to. You knew it couldn’t have been a big deal, not something to panic over. Because with a sly glance downward you’d noticed that the stain on your shirt had yet to get bigger than it was half an hour ago when you first caught a glimpse of it.

Your goal was to slip into the bathroom once you got back to Jodie’s, it was a fair excuse to say you’d wanted to take a shower. You could clean yourself up and stuff your dirtied shirt in your duffel bag and hope to get the stains out later. It was fool proof when you thought about it.

But not this time.

“So sweetheart?” He asks, breaking the near silence.

“Hm?”

It’s quiet for a few moments as you let out a soft sigh, hearing him clear his throat.

“When were you planning on telling me you got yourself hurt back there?” He asks, the knowing tone in his voice having you biting the inside of your cheek, turning your head to look at him.

He can feel your gaze, turning his head to meet it as he raises his brow and quirks the corner of his mouth up ever so slightly. It was a hint of a smile that stayed on his lips as he looked ahead once more, a smile that only held half its humor just to try and lighten the mood, to try and help distract himself from the anger and worry bubbling away in the very pit of his stomach.

He wasn’t blind to the way you’d been holding your side ever since the hunt was over, on and off. He saw the you-shaped dent in the wall from where that werewolf must have thrown you before he was able to step in. He saw what it looked like and he knew you better than to think you’d just get up and brush it off, he knew better than to believe that after that, you’d just get up without a scratch from it. Not with the very way your face scrunches ever so slightly when you move.

He knows.

Your lips purse and you heave a sigh, knowing full well you’d been caught. He figured you out and you knew he would.

“You get all broody, protective, tough guy on me, Dean!” You defend, your need to hide it quickly dissolving in that moment.

“Broody, protective, tough guy? The hell does that mean?” He asks, faux offense weaving around his every word as he turns onto Jodie’s street. “What do I look like, Incredible Hulk?”

“Yes, Dean. That’s exactly who you are. You frown and you huff the moment I get even just a little scratch,” you say, glancing over to see his narrowed gaze and pursed lips.

“So you admit you’re hurt?” You huff softly, turning to face forward as you bite your upper lip. He knows your silence all too well, that feeling that’s bubbling in his stomach moving closer to boiling over as he watches the way you clench your jaw. “Dammit, Y/n.”

He parked the car in her driveway, turning the headlights off before cutting the engine. You’re quick to get out despite the jolt of pain shooting around your side at the action, quiet to close the door because it was far too late for her or Sam to be up.

You know he’s not happy with the way you’re brushing things off, you can see it in the tension in his own jaw from anger that’s not quite directed at you as much as it is at the situation. You can see it in the way he watches you walk, cautious and a bit stiff and it only tightens the clench of his teeth as he waits for you by the door.

You went ahead and snagged the keys at some point or another, and he knows just why it is you did that. He knows it’s because you wanted to walk ahead and disappear off to the spare bedroom you shared before he could keep you from doing so. He knows your stubbornness like the back of his hand. You’re not that hard to read.

The house is quiet when you walk in, dark save for the lamp she’d left in for the two of you to navigate given the hour. You heard him lock up behind you, and you could feel the way he’d been hot on your tail as you made your way to your room.

You could feel the way his hand enveloped yours, at how he tugged you into the bathroom before you could go any further.

A huff leaves your lips when he turns the light on and closes the door behind him, shrugging his jacket off and rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. “Dean, I can do it myself—”

“Yeah, and you hate it. So if you wanna argue and wake everybody up, by all means go right ahead. But I’m patchin’ you up regardless.”

His voice was quiet despite the frustration in his tone, opening the door of the small closet and grabbing the first aid kit on the top shelf. Your shoulders slump and you pull your jacket off, looking up at him with furrowed brows and he only shakes his head, the beginnings of a smile on his lips and your habit of being more stubborn than he is.

“Let me take a look at it, sweetheart,” he says, his words softer.

You make a face then, reluctant for him to see the damage that’d been done because you yourself hadn’t even seen it. But, after a moment you tug up on the hem of your shirt, the fabric peeling away from it uncomfortably leaving you to scrunch up your face ever so slightly. You observe his expression, seeing the way his eyes move right to it, at the way his teeth press tight together behind his cheek when he clenches his jaw.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s…” he starts, sighing as he brushes the pad of his thumb across it lightly. “It’s not bad, but I still don’t like it.”

You turn your body and catch sight of it in the mirror, at the scrape over your ribs that wrapped around your side curving front to back in an irritated scratch. It’d been an angry red color, what little blood there was having smeared across it.

You turn back to him with a quiet sigh, catching the softness taking hold of his expression now that he knew it wasn’t quite so bad. Enough to make worry radiate through him in waves but he knew that’d happen no matter what.

He was quiet as he took a dampened wash cloth and blotted it over your side, gaze flickering to yours ever so often. He recognizes that pout anywhere, the one that pulls at his heart, the one that you’re never aware you have when it sits on your lips.

“I should’ve punched fangs square in the jaw for this,” he mumbles, trying his best to clean it without hurting you too much more.

A smile tugs at your lips then, beaming and bright as the softness of your laughter puffs out through your nose. It has him raising his eyebrow in curiosity, amusement soon following because whenever you’ve got that grin on your lips he finds it hard not to do the very same.

“You put him six feet under, De. I think that’s much more than a famous Winchester punch in the face,” you said, watching the corners of his mouth curls upwards in a smile.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you say, looking up at him as he shakes his head at your words.

“I would say I can’t believe you tried to hide this from me, but I can,” he says, careful as he wipes around the edges.

“I would say you’re not much better,” you counter, pulling a narrower stare from him.

He knows you’re right, you always are, but that doesn’t mean he wants you to do it too. He wants better for you than he does himself and that’s how he’ll always want it to be. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue, because he knows he’s got nothing to argue on that. He couldn’t find it in himself to do it anyway with the smile you’ve got sitting pretty on your lips.

He brings the bandage up to his mouth, ripping the packaging open with his teeth before tossing the crinkled wrapper in the garbage. He’s gentle as he smooths it over your side, hands calloused and warm when they touch your skin. He tugs your shirt back down then, the crease between his brows something you reach up to swipe your thumb over tenderly.

He dips down to rest his forehead against yours, noses brushing softly as you share mingled breaths. “Do me a favor?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me next time,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours softly, pulling away before kissing you once more. “It doesn’t make you any less tough.”

His smile presses against your lips, yours soon to do the same and he knows exactly what that means.

You pull away and look up at him, his eyes bouncing between yours and to your lips before lifting to meet your gaze again in that moment. He can tell by the way you’ve got that grin on your lips that there’s something teasing on the tip of your tongue.

“For the record, you are a broody, protective tough guy,” you say.

There it is.

He rolls his eyes at your words, arms circling around your waist with caution of the wound you’ve got, pulling you in closer.

“Yeah, yeah. Stop pickin’ on me, sweetheart.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, soft as they hold just a little bit of offense as his laughter brushes warm and fleeting over them, just as quickly muffled by the kiss he presses to them.

He knows that’s what he is, and he knows that’s what he’ll always be.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you

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kai-writes-fan-fiction · 3 years

Text

In Hiding Part 6

Author’s Announcement: Hey guys! I really appreciate all of the recent feedback and the patience. My life has been pretty hectic these last few weeks, so as a reward for your patience, this is the longest part yet, and I’m really proud of it! I hope you all enjoy it!

P.S. Doctors scare me so sorry if the “medical” part of the story is shitty.

Word count: 2567

Warnings: mentions of blood, bodily harm, non-consensual medical treatment, reader is StRaNgLeD, tiny OCD routine, slight language, non-descriptive violence, and grammatical/spelling errors.

The Avengers were everything you hated. They were destructive, they took whatever they wanted without a thought about anyone else, and they loved behind a façade. You’d seen who The Avengers truly were; they were menacing, inhumane, and lacked empathy. They could’ve just left you alone; you weren’t hurting anyone. You may have been doing some illegal things, but they were minor offenses! You’d never killed, and you were against terrorism of any kind. You just wanted to go home, wanted to be left alone. Your freedom had been stripped away after you’d made your final decision. You wouldn’t fight with The Avengers; you’d do everything in your power to get away from them.

You looked up from the floor of your cell, into the eyes of Steve and Bucky, and you could tell they knew what was coming next. You were stronger than them; you could easily overpower them. They’d seen it earlier when you grabbed their wrists, and every second you sat in that godforsaken cell, you became more immune to the effect of the material blocking your powers around you.

You intimidated them, and you knew it. You knew that your time in this compound was running out, and soon you’d be free. Free. Free. Free. Free. You repeated the phrase in your head five times to lock it in.

You felt that you were ready to share your decision. “I’d never fight for you people, never. Never. Never! NEVER! NEVER!! You people are killers; you take everything for yourselves! You’ve destroyed cities, taken the lives of so many innocents. How can you live with yourselves?” You yelled. Your eyes had begun glowing, and your hair was lifted off of your head as your volume increased. “How?!” You questioned, your eyes shining brighter.

Steve and Bucky were backing into corners of your room, staring down at you. A blue aura began to form around you, illuminating the room in a vibrate blue. Your crossed legs began to levitate off of the ground, and a strong wind began to sweep through the room in a circular motion.

You didn’t want to fight, this trick took all of your energy, and the two super soldiers were helpless, so you decided this would be the perfect time to escape.

As soon as you turned to the wall farthest from the room, which you hoped would lead outside, a particularly strong wave of fatigue hit you. The wind and your aura began to dim, but Steve and Bucky knew not to lunge at you yet.

A string of mumbled curses fell from your mouth, and you let your feet descend onto the ground. This might conserve your energy so you could put more into escaping this wretched complex.

Being back on the ground and looking less powerful, Steve decided to go for it. He jumped forwards and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you into him; you could only wiggle your hands.

Lifting you off the ground, he tried to make it so you couldn’t use your feet as any leverage.

“Fucking dick!” You yelled, thrashing in his arms.

“Language!” He yelled.

You’d had enough of his bullshit and began thrashing more. His grip only tightened, but you were still stronger. There was a vent located right above you, so you flew out of his arms.

You tucked your legs into your chest after he tried to reach out for them and stretched your arms, reaching for the vent. You swiftly pulled it off its hinges and forced yourself into the circulation system.

The tunnels weren’t dissimilar to a maze, you tried to go in one direction, but after 20 or so corners, you have turned around. The alarms blaring throughout the compound, warning everyone of your escape, were bringing about an awful migraine, and you were becoming more and more fatigued by the minute. You wouldn’t stop, though.

You had heard a few voices in the tunnels with you, as well as footsteps. You made sure to avoid them, and after 10 minutes of wandering through the ventilation, you found an air vent to the outside. You pushed hard, and with the last bit of strength you had left, the vent became dislodged. You tumbled out and plummeted about two stories before hiding the ground with a painful ‘thud.’

You crumpled into a ball on the grass, and you felt blood trickle down your forehead. You could also no longer feel your right foot, meaning it was broken. Everything hurt, but your ribs were also a very obviously damaged part of your body. Every time you moved, you felt a shooting pain.

You slowly sat up and wiped the blood from your face, and the amount of blood on your hand was startling. You looked around other parts of your body to assess the damage and found that your knees and elbows were also bloodied, as well as a few scrapes here and there. You lifter up your blue scrubs to get a better look at your side, where a wide purple and blue patch was starting to form. Hesitantly, you placed two fingers on your side, looking for anything broken. The shooting pain was the response, and you pulled your hand away. It was most likely broken, as was your right ankle. It was also a swelling purple and blue mess, and the pain was begging to hit.

You let your eyes fall away from your body to look at your surroundings. You were greeted by vast green forest on all sides, and behind you stood The Avengers compound. It loomed over you, and you could still hear the alarms blaring from the inside. You struggled to get up, and, to no avail, did you.

So, you lay on the ground, your tribulation had failed, and you were doomed once more. You tucked yourself into a ball and cried.

‘How could you be so weak?’ You thought to yourself. ‘How could you let people like the Avengers-like HYDRA-control you like this?’

It would be best if you found somewhere to hide, and quickly. You wouldn’t let The Avengers control you anymore. You couldn't.

You pushed yourself up, so you were on your hands and knees, but you were weak, and I’m so much agony. You kept pressing on, though. You crawled your way to the forest and let yourself fall behind a tree. You must’ve hit a tripwire or a perimeter alert, as a new set of sirens went off and an automated voice yelled your location. You cursed, but you couldn’t go on much longer. With your injuries and your temporary inability to shift, you had to surrender.

—————Avenger POV—————

“We’ve got a location!” Tony yelled through the team's comms. “Kid’s headed East, and it looks like she’s stopped behind a set of trees. I can see her on cams.”

“Who should we send out there? You saw what she did to Steve and Bucky.” Implored Natasha.

“She looks pretty tired. We could probably take her if we needed to, but I don’t think a fight is in store.” Bucky advised.

“How about we all just go out there?” Steve added sarcastically.

“Oh yeah. Good idea, capsicle.” Tony agreed. “Everyone grab your things and meet me in the common room; we’ll all go out and surround her. Bucky, Steve, you go from the East. Natasha and Clint, you guys, take the North. Strange got here a few hours ago, so he and I will take the West. Loki, you’re just going to ignore me, so Thor, go with him and make sure he doesn’t do anything rash. And Bruce? You stay inside; we don’t want a code green, big guy.”

‘Okay’s and ‘mhm’s sounded through the Comms, and three minutes later, everyone was gathered in the common room, looking at one another surreptitiously, not knowing what would greet them on the other side of the doors. They didn’t know whether or not you’d be putting up a fight, but they were about to find out.

“We’re all here? Let’s go then.” Tony commanded. His suit's helmet fell over his face, and he strode forward, everyone else in close pursuit.

—————Your POV—————

You were weaving in and out of consciousness, and you still lay crumpled on the ground in your ball. You felt weak, and you couldn’t think straight. The world was a spinning vortex, and you almost thought you heard voices and feet. You opened your eyes and were met with the face of Tony once more.

SNAP! SNAP! In your face again, but with metal fingers instead of flesh. Tony likes snapping, it seems. You, however, did not. You attempted to growl to ward him off, but you couldn’t produce any kind of sound.

You turned your head slightly to face the rest of the team. They towered over you, weapons drawn and aimed at your face. Typically, you wouldn’t fear them, but in your fragile state, they were pretty threatening.

This wasn't very pleasant. You, one of the most powerful enhanced humans ever, were lying on the ground, bloodied and broken, at the will of The Avengers. They stared down at you, pity written all over their faces. Pity, not a feeling you wanted to be affiliated with.

Two metal arms reached out and wrapped around you, hoisting you up. A sudden rush of adrenaline caused your limbs to begin thrashing about, and the pain from your ankle and ribs subsided. Your sudden movement caused the metal arms encasing your body to pull you closer to the body they attached to. You felt the metal chest and put two and two together. You were in the mostly impenetrable arms of the Iron Man.

Tony picked you up carefully and began walking back into the compound, and the team followed suit. You tried to summon the adrenaline once more, but it didn’t want to come.

Feeling completely vulnerable, you decided to surrender. Yes, it was the cowards’ way out, but did you have another option? Your body was giving up on you, you couldn’t use your powers, and your opponents happened to be the killers of Thanos, another very powerful being.

There was no hope, so you just closed your eyes and allowed the sleep that had been creeping up on you to take over. Your vision faded into black, and the last thing you remembered was the mechanical hum of the Iron Man's suit.

——————————

You awoke to quiet chatter, and a beeping machine you could only assume was a pulse monitor.

As soon as your eyes fluttered open, your senses were flooded with a bright white and the smell of rubbing alcohol.

You looked up from your supine position to find yourself strapped to a table once more, but stronger and additional restraints were added this time. You still felt weak, and your side and ankle were aching, as well as your head.

An IV was embedded in your forearm, and as your eyes traveled the length of the tube up to the bag supplying it, you found it contained a thick blue substance. It must’ve been combating your powers because you couldn’t shift.

You took in your surroundings and found various members of The Avengers watching you. Creepy.

“Welcome back to the land of the living (Y/N).” Chuckled Tony, “You gave us quite a scare.”

The rest of the team went silent, and Bruce, dressed in a white lab coat, whipped around to face you and ran to your bedside. He whipped out a flashlight and shoved it in your face, his fingers following to hold your eye open while the flashlight shined in.

“Pupils are dilating, so no concussion.” He hummed, moving to your other eye.

He moved to pull a stethoscope from his neck and pressed the bell to your chest. You bit your tongue to stop from yelling out when the cold metal touched your bare skin. You must’ve bitten it when you fell because you sensed a metallic taste in your mouth. Bruce was in spitting distance, so you let the blood and saliva pool in your mouth, and you prepared to launch it towards him.

As soon as he lifted his head, you released your spit bomb. Bruce recoiled and began incessantly wiping his face with gloved hands. A hand flew around your neck, preventing you from spitting again.

Blood dribbled down your chin, and you looked up to the face the hand belonged to. It happened to be the winter soldier, and you grinned up at him, blood coating your teeth. He stared you down, and you did the same. The rest of the team just stood by, wearing “What The Fuck Just Happened” expressions.

Bucky finally released your neck, and Banner walked back over, blood-free and with duct tape.

“Shouldn’t have done that.” Tony mocked from behind Bruce as he and Bucky taped your mouth shut.

You tried to shake him off, but your movements were no use. Barnes had a firm grip on your head that prevented you from thrashing about, and Bruce was wrapping your face.

‘Duct tape is the best they can do?’ You thought to yourself. ‘Do they know that duct tape loses its stick when wet?’

You laughed to yourself, and Bruce and Bucky ceased their actions and looked up at you, as did the rest of the team.

“What’re you laughing about?” Bucky snarled.

You only shook your head and rolled your eyes. If they didn’t know, why tell them?

Banner ripped the tape and stepped back. Bucky released your head, and you stared up at the ceiling, hoping they’d all leave.

“The rest of you can go. Bucky, you stay here. I need help controlling her.”

“You got it, Banner.”

The rest of the team reluctantly left, leaving you, Bucky, and Bruce. You looked over to them and stared them down with undeniable murderous intent.

“So, uh, what’re we doing next?” Bucky turned to Bruce, who was still staring you down.

Bruce snapped out of his trance and looked over to Bucky. “She’s still got some injuries from her fall; I need to check those out. Do you have any medical training?”

Bucky nodded. “A little bit, from when I served. Just basic stuff.”

“We can work with that.” Bruce crossed his arms and walked in the direction of your injured ankle.

You tried to get away, but the power suppressors and restraints prevented you from doing anything, so you just wriggled around uselessly.

Banner pressed two fingers to your swollen and bruised ankle, and you bit your tongue to stifle a muffled scream. He moved his fingers to another part of your ankle, and you hit your head against the table to suppress another outcry.

“Bucky, can you grab some Ace bandage? I think the Talus is fractured. We’ll need an X-Ray to make sure, but I doubt she’ll cooperate.”

“I can make her, or we could try sedation.” Bucky offered.

Bruce seemed to rather like that idea, as his brows raised, and he procured a metal syringe.

Forcing it into your arm, you let out a muffled, yet surprised yelp. Immediately after the syringe was removed from your arm, your world began to darken, and you became dizzy.

You tried and failed to resist, but your body gave in, and the last thing you saw was Bucky and Bruce watching you.

To be continued…

Taglist: @oldtrashbin @fleurlovesbucky @hopefuloperaangelnerd @sevenmorningstars @dev-loves-siri @cinematicfanatic123 @sweetpeaflower01 @kinny-away @mangobangi @cumulonimbus34 @oakiedokie @coollemonsaresour @screechingshepherddeputygoth @trinity-1002107 @padmoonyfeorge @laurenced1l @vaaalexandra @big-galaxy-chaos @thoughtsdrought-blog @the-nonsenseblog @inlovewithjohnmulaney

@play-morezeppelin @hi-i-1 @ohashley101 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @marvelfansworld

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

Text

Batfam Alphabet: I - Injuries

Summary: When an offhand comment gets made about who receives the most injuries a big debate takes place to discuss this. Unable to agree on anything, the Bats decide to keep score of who gets the most injuries over the next 12 months. The results may surprise you.

Enjoy! :D

The blissful silence within his apartment is rudely interrupted by the shrill of his phone suddenly ringing inside his pocket. Jason groans. Five minutes. Why couldn’t he just get five minutes of peace? Was that so much to ask for?

Cursing every god imaginable, Jason digs through his pocket until he finds and receives the device before scowling upon seeing the caller ID. Answering the call, he brings it up to his ear and doesn’t hesitate to snap a greeting, making it clear he isn’t pleased about being disturbed. “What do you want?”

“So there’s been a situation…” a hesitant voice speaks up on the other side of the phone.

Jason reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. That sentence alone is enough to start giving him a headache.

“How the fuck is there a situation? I left you guys not even fifteen minutes ago! I thought you were heading back to the cave?”

“Yeah, we were, but on the way back we heard gun shots and we found a gang fight happening. We intervened but while fighting Nightwing unfortunately got stabbed.”

Being told his brother has been stabbed makes Jason pause. There’s a remark on the end of his tongue that desperately wants to slip out but he doesn’t know if this is the right time for it. The tone of voice on the other side of the line makes it difficult to determine how serious the situation is.

“How bad is it?”

“Oh not that bad!” Tim chirps, Jason could now hear the amusement lacing his tone. “It’s just a stab wound on the thigh, more of a scratch than anything. Won’t need stitches or nothing. I figured I’d ring you to let you know because this now changes the board.”

Jason breathes out a long sigh and feels the tension leave his body. At least it’s not life threatening. This fucking family, he swears to God, if he hadn’t already been sent to an early grave he certainly would be now.

“So it’s enough to warrant a mark on the board?” Jason questions eagerly, already knowing what impact the answer will have. Now he knows it’s not serious he can think about other things.

“Oh yeah definitely.” Tim claims and Jason could easily hear the smile in his voice. “Even when it happened he muttered a curse and mentioned how it’s unfair because that now puts you ahead of him.”

At that Jason cackles. He bids his brother a goodbye before hanging up. Still laughing Jason moves through his apartment to his kitchen, digging through one of the draws he pulls out a large whiteboard and makes the needed changes to it.

This is something they all came up with at the start of the year from an offhand comment about who gets the most/least injuries out of their family. The comment triggered off a big debate and the result of it was to keep score of who gets the most injuries in the next 12 months.

They do not count life threatening injuries, because believe it or not they are not assholes and it wouldn’t be fair or even funny. Any minor injury can count (or at least minor for them). Any injuries done outside of the costume also count.

There are only a couple months left of the year but it’s currently pretty tight between most of them. Surprisingly Steph is winning with the least number of injuries so far. Following her, again surprisingly, is Damian. After him is Harper, Duke, Tim and then Jason. With his new injury today that puts Dick in last place, officially making Jason second to last. They hadn’t included Cass because firstly she didn’t want to be involved and secondly anytime she does get injured, which is extremely rare, it’s usually serious, so they collectively decided to not have Cass participate. Babs wasn’t interested and made it very clear on what her opinions of the competition was.

Before the new injury, Jason and Dick were in joint last place. His older brother now sustaining a new non-life-threatening injury changes the board. Jason couldn’t be happier, now he just has to make sure to not get injured at all in the next couple of months.

That in itself will be a challenge, but one not to be beaten easily Jason is up for it. He doesn’t care where he comes on the board, just as long as he beats Dick that’s all that matters.

---------

Like most of the year, the last few months fly by and before Jason knows it, it’s New Year’s Eve and he’s attending a party with all of his friends and family.

While the party is being hosted at Wayne Manor, so somewhere familiar, there’s tension in the air which can be felt no matter where you go. To most it’s probably the anticipation of midnight approaching, that excitement that comes along with the clock striking twelve and the supposedly start of something new.

To Jason, however, it’s a count down until the results are revealed.

Jason has a vague idea of what the final results are going to be, after all he kept track of everything himself. Then again, it’s vague because he’s been away on a mission for the last three weeks only having gotten back two days ago. He hasn’t yet had a chance to catch up with everything that may have happened in those weeks he had been gone. For all he knows the board may have changed significantly and he wouldn’t have a clue.

Not long before midnight, Jason soon finds himself in the library with his siblings and friends. They’re scattered around the room sitting on the sofas and the floor with the news on in the background.

Cass stands front and center with a white board in hand ready to announce the results of who has sustained the least and the greatest number of injuries in the past year. They asked Cass to announce it as she hadn’t taken part, that way it’s fair and not biased.

Looking around the room Jason could see a variety of facial expression on his siblings faces. Some wearing smirks, like they know exactly what the results are, while other’s wear an expression of anticipation, clearly unsure on where they’ve come on the board.

Cass announces the names in ascending order, starting with last place first. To Jason’s absolute delight, Dick is in last place. He’s so happy to hear that he had beaten his brother in getting less injuries than him in a year. Dick simply sends Cass a tight smile and nod, obviously knowing he had lost before anything was declared.

After Dick is Jason. If he’s being honest, Jason is actually happier about that than the principle of being second to last, he beat Dick and that’s all that mattered. He certainly made sure Dick was aware of his delight.

After Jason is Duke, followed by Steph which was a surprise considering she had been in first for a really long time. Apparently she had a bad couple of months, reckless behaviour and stupid mistakes eventually added to her total therefore dropping her down the leader board.

Taking third place is Damian. Jason looks over at where he’s sat and he finds the kid fuming, clearly unhappy with his final position. In second place is Tim, which seems to surprise almost everyone, including Tim himself. The teenager sits on the sofa looking completely baffled but thrilled at the news. That finally leaves Harper taking first place as the person to have the least number of injuries in the past year. She jumps up to her feet yelling with joy and dancing around the room excitedly.

After the scores are announced Cass gives out little awards just as something extra which makes it all the more entertaining.

The most out-of-costume injuries award goes to Tim, who instantly claims that most of his injuries are because his best friends are meta’s and because he skateboards. No one believes the excuses however they don’t call him out on it.

The most ridiculous injury goes to Dick, who then explains how he got said injury. Apparently he miscalculated a jump when chasing someone and ended up scraping his side on a metal bin. Everyone stares at him after that story, wondering how such an experienced vigilante and acrobat even does that.

The most badass injury goes to Steph. She had gotten into a fist fight in the middle of the mall after some guys started shouting out vulgar language. Not taking any of their shit Steph beat them all to a pulp but not without taking some collateral damage herself. That award felt well deserved though it could have gone to someone else.

After wrapping up their competition they all decide to stay in the library and chill. They cheer for the new year when the clock strikes twelve and all exchange “happy new year’s.” They don’t go adventuring out to the party again which inevitably leads to Bruce hunting for them, out of worry or suspicion Jason’s not sure but when his adoptive father eventually walks into the library he’s met with a loud chorus of greetings

Bruce studies the group with narrowed eyes in suspicion. He meets each of their gazes before straightening up and leveling them all a glare.

“What’s going on? I haven’t seen any of you in a few hours only to find you all gathered in here, not fighting may I add. What have you done?”

Dick’s the first to respond. Being the oldest of the group he probably feels inclined to, especially when no one else offers up an explanation. “Wow Bruce, give us a benefit of the doubt would you, we’re simply enjoying being with one another for a change. New year and all that. Who knows, this may the start of something new.”

Bruce’s disbelieving expression conveys perfectly what he thinks of that explanation.

The room falls silent as they all stare at one another. Gestures and nods are shared between them as they try to get someone else to speak up but everyone stays silent, no one saying a peep. They never told Bruce about the competition; they really don’t know how the man would take the news but they’re all certain it wouldn’t be taken well. He definitely wouldn’t see the funny side of the whole thing, even if they explain the rules to it and how they’re not actually assholes and wouldn’t include life threatening wounds to the count.

In the end it doesn’t matter because eventually Bruce puts his hands up and shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Whatever it is just keep it to yourselves and if you make a mess, clean it up. The less I know the better.”

With no more words Bruce turns around and leaves the room. For several moments after the man’s sudden departure they each exchange baffled looks, silently questioning what just happened. It stays like that for a while until several members of the family simultaneously shrug. The action causes an eruption of laughter and all of them end up cackling until they couldn’t breathe and had tears running down their faces.

#batfam alphabet #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #Stephanie Brown #bruce wayne #injuries #sibling relationship #batfamily #batfam #injury competition #competitive siblings #sorry for the terrible ending #this turned out to be more crack than anything else #fanfiction

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

He Was a Sk8r Boi

Happiest of Birthdays and best wishes to one of my most beloved and darling friends on this earth, the fantastical @hailhailsatan ! May your sass never cease.

modern au - college student Jaskier - the Kaer Morons are all skater punks

tw: mild injury (scraped arm)

---

Jaskier took a seat on what remained of a crumbling stone bench and pulled his black-and-white composition notebook onto his lap, opening it to the closest blank page. He tugged his favorite pen out from its place of honor behind his ear and waited for inspiration to strike.

And waited.

After half an hour of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing written, the frustrated college student stood from his seat and jammed his headphones into his ears. If nature wasn’t going to help finish this stupid poetry assignment then maybe he could find a person or two to observe for inspiration instead. Glancing around the otherwise empty benches and pathways of the public park, Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Fuck this, I’ll try the other side.”

He pulled his MP3 player out from the pocket of his light autumn jacket and painstakingly scrolled through every song available until finally giving up and pressing the “Shuffle” button. As a heavy, angry guitar riff began to filter through his headphones and lighten the load of the world from his shoulders, Jaskier found himself approaching a half-hearted attempt at a skatepark.

There was one cement half-pipe to his left and a few rails and quarter-pipes scattered around the vicinity, bolted into the ground in a seemingly random pattern. Several oddly shaped cement bowls were sunk into the earth, obviously made to work like ramps but with a larger and less predictable surface area.

There were only three skaters enjoying the park on this particularly grey afternoon, zipping back and forth from one piece of equipment to the next like emo hummingbirds. Jaskier took out his headphones again as he made his way to a nearby bench - wood this time - and casually sat himself down. The skater dudes were yelling back and forth to each other as they swanned over and around the equipment on their boards, mostly insults from what the student could hear.

The loudest of the three had springy orange hair that he wore pulled back into a small, messy half-bun at the top of his head. The rest fell down against the back of his neck in an equally messy sheet, reaching nearly all the way to his shoulders but not quite touching them. He was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a catchphrase that Jaskier couldn’t read and plain denim jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel?” he laughed, pointing to the tallest of the group and pulling a face.

“Shut up, Bert,” the brunette shouted back at the redhead, doing a quick kick-flip over the far end of a metal railing. “You can’t skate for shit.”

“I’m better than you!”

The third member of their little gang was the quietest so far and, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, also the prettiest. He had a mass of long white hair that fell all the way to the bottom of his shoulder blades, pointed and stiff in a way that meant it had been straightened and sprayed into submission. The silvery strands were being held out of the stranger’s eyes by a baggy black beanie and Jaskier desperately wanted to know whether or not that hair color was natural (though he heavily suspected that it was not).

The white-haired guy was also the most talented of the three gathered skaters, flying from one end of the half-pipe to the other and landing a few flips in between as if risking his life was as simple as breathing. He wore no knee pads over his ripped black skinny jeans and no elbow pads either; Jaskier noted with a little zing through his nervous system that the skater’s arms were muscled like a Greek statue’s and equally pale.

He was fucking hot.

“Geralt, do a three-sixty!” the redhead jeered, chucking something at the pretty one.

“I can’t land one yet and you know it,” the white-haired guy, Geralt apparently, replied. His voice was low and sonorous and Jaskier nearly fell off his bench in surprise. The student hadn’t realized how far forward he had been leaning in order to listen to their conversation and he scooted back again with a self-conscious little blush. In the distance, Geralt continued. “Why don’t you get up here and try it yourself, asshole?”

“I just fucking might, White Wolf,” Lambert huffed, turning his board back toward the half-pipe and picking up speed. The dark-haired one, Eskel, caught Jaskier’s eye from across the park; the student blushed an even darker shade of red and looked down at his lap to avoid any sort of confrontation. If any of these guys wanted to start a fight with him, Jaskier would surely lose.

By the time the anxious student worked up the nerve to look at them again, Lambert had already climbed to the top of the half-pipe and taken a defensive stance. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed over his chest in a projection of almost childish anger. As Geralt came up the cement incline, Lambert lashed out with his foot and kicked the other man’s board out from beneath his feet.

Eskel gave a wordless cry of alarm.

Geralt wavered in the air for a moment - cartoonishly, Jaskier thought, almost like Wile E. Coyote - before plunging to the pavement and rolling limply down the inside of the half-pipe. Eskel chucked a rock at the redhead and started screaming, “Fuck off, dude! You could have cracked his fucking skull! You could have killed Geralt, you absolute cock-toboggan!”

“Fuck! Shit, I didn't-,” Lambert fell on his butt and slid down the ramp to Geralt’s side, kneeling over him with concern written all over his face. “Are you alright, man!?”

Jaskier couldn’t hear if Geralt replied or not, but he suddenly remembered the first-aid kit sitting right there in his bag. Jaskier was a total klutz and tried to keep a handful of bandages and a tube of disinfectant on him at all times just in case he ever needed them. Thank goodness they would be able to come in handy, and for a far nobler purpose than patching up yet another one of his table-smacked knees.

Without thinking any further ahead, Jaskier grabbed the strap of his bag and took off running towards the site of the accident.

“Hey!” he shouted, coming to a stop a few feet away. “I have - uh, I have a first-aid kit if you want to use it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eskel said, glancing over his shoulder with a curt nod. “Come on over, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Lambert apologized to Geralt once again. When Jaskier glanced over at him, the redhead looked legitimately upset and guilty. Geralt looked up at the newcomer from the pavement, his silver hair spread out around him in mimicry of a halo - the black beanie was lying a few feet away, forgotten or ignored.

Up close like this, the stranger stole the breath out of Jaskier’s very lungs. The man's eyes… His fucking eyes were a gorgeous molten gold in the late afternoon sun, sparking and shining like gemstones. Holding Geralt’s gaze made Jaskier feel as if his very soul was catching fire.

“Do you need a band-aid?” Jaskier asked rather stupidly, holding out the little cardboard box. Geralt nodded stoically.

“I think I scraped my arm.”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said. The student knelt beside Geralt and set the box of band-aids down. He flung open the kit and retrieved some ‘pain-free’ disinfectant, then returned to the box of bandages in search of one without a Disney princess on it. “Do you guys always do this without wearing any protective gear?”

“I’ve got a helmet,” Geralt said. He pointed towards three mismatched backpacks piled near the edge of the pavement; a bright red helmet with several semi-familiar logos stuck to it sat atop one of them.

“It’s very useful over there, keeping your backpack from cracking its skull open,” Jaskier chastised lightly, trying to keep his nerves in check. He was feeling oddly protective of a guy he’d never even met before and it was very fucking weird.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. He was still laying on his back, his topaz eyes flickering between Jaskier’s hands and face. The student applied a thin layer of medical cream to the shallow scrape with shaking fingers and then wiped the remaining goo on his shirt, uncaring of the damage it may have done. He bandaged the minor wound quickly and leaned back, glancing between Lambert and Eskel as if just noticing their presence on either side of Geralt's head.

“Thanks,” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied shyly. “And the loud one is Lambert, right?”

Geralt chuckled from his place on the ground and Jaskier’s heart seized painfully in his chest. What a laugh, ye gods. “Yeah, that’s Lambert. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier could practically taste the name as it melted across his tongue. “Well, not the nicest way to meet you, but I’m glad I met you all the same. Anyway.”

He stood up with a little grimace and took a step back.

“Where are you going?” Eskel asked. “You came to Geralt’s rescue so I think that means he owes you like, at least an ice cream, or something.”

“Yeah,” Lambert piped up. He smirked at the man on the ground and then turned back to Jaskier, mischief clear in his expression, “Let him take you to get an ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Jaskier squeaked. Then he realized he’d sounded rude and held up his hands as if offering surrender (surrender for what, he wasn't exactly sure), “Not that I wouldn’t like to hang out with you more but I’ve got an assignment due and I’m sure you’re very busy doing skater things and I-”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Geralt asked, finally sitting up. He straightened his arms out behind him and rested there, reclined comfortable, a god in his temple.

Jaskier shot the older man a half-annoyed look, beating back his anxiety with a stick. “I listen to Avril Lavigne. I know not to underestimate pretty skater punks.”

“Pretty?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier hid his face behind his hands and turned on his heel.

“Anyway, nice meeting you!” Jaskier shouted, hoping they could hear even if he was facing the opposite direction. He took off toward the edge of the park at a brisk walk, verging on a jog. He needed to go hide behind a tree and cry. What the fuck!? He was terrible at flirting and now he’d gone and ruined his chances with the guy he’d… literally just met. Chill out, he told himself - just before a strong hand clamped down over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“So not ice cream,” Geralt said. Jaskier slowly turned back to face the mostly-stranger. His lip was caught fast between his teeth and Geralt lifted one large hand to gently thumb it free again. “Maybe a boarding lesson, instead? It would give me an excuse to put my hands around your waist and you could put yours on my shoulders.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Jaskier asked. He fluttered his eyelashes and took half a step into Geralt's space.

The broad-shouldered punk smiled down at the Little Mermaid band-aid on his arm and then turned that smile to Jaskier. “Yeah.”

#he was a sk8r boi #anyway happy birthday hailie #geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #modern au #skater punk geralt #skateboarder geralt #student jaskier #JUST KISS

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

home {poe dameron x reader}

summary: poe made a promise to always come home, and it’s one he’s determined to keep

warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries

more hurt/comfort fluff?? i almost sent myself off to sleep writing this bc of the ending and bc i am shattered. anyhoo, enjoy!

- jazz

p.s i skimmed this, but it has not been properly proof read haha oops pls bare with me, i will do it in the morning

It had only been five days.

You’d been apart from Poe for far longer than that; sometimes weeks, sometimes months. It was just part of being in the Resistance, and something you both knew you had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. You must have had some pretty foul luck to have met the love of your life during a time in which the galaxy insisted on keeping you apart - but one look at the pilot, and all that faded away. He always made it home to you, no matter what. He’d made that promise to you pretty early in the relationship, and you knew it to be true. You could never doubt Poe.

The Blue Squadron was due back to base at midday; the mission had been pretty secretive, so the comms lines had been shut most the time. Even after begging Leia to let you man the singular one that connected you to Poe, she’d refused, knowing it would only make things worst. The General only ever spoke from experience, and she had plenty in waiting around for cocky pilots. Whilst Poe was arguably a little less reckless than Han, she knew that you would both act as a distraction to one another’s work. You were equally important to the Resistance, and she couldn’t have you moping about on a commslink for hours a day. The joke was on her for that one, because you still moped, even when you weren’t trying to reach your guy.

‘What time is it?’ You asked Finn.

‘11.56.’ He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised. ‘So the same time as when you asked thirty seconds ago.’

‘I’m just anxious.’ You grumbled. ‘I’ve been so lonely the last five days.’

‘You mean the last five days that you’ve spent with me?’

‘Hey, it’s nothing personal!’ You nudged him in the ribs. ‘You miss him too.’

‘I do.’ Finn nodded. ‘We really are just a pair of simps.’

‘Friends who simp together, stay together.’ You grinned. ‘And if me and Poe ever break up, you have first dibs.’

‘Same for you, if Rey and I ever break up-’

‘- that would require you getting together in the first place.’ You reminded him. Finn could only scowl in response.

‘I’m trying!’ He held his hands up in defense. ‘It’s just complicated.’

‘Nothing’s complicat - they’re here!’

You leapt off the crate you’d been sat on, sprinting across the hangar to where a fleet of X-Wings were grouping. Jess came in first, followed by Snap, and then Kare. Poe’s jet was the last to come in, which was unusual for him. He almost always lead the squad - aside from the time he’d managed to blow an engine and had to call you out to tow him back (it’s how you’d met, actually). Bar a few new dents and scratches, his jet looked to be in decent condition, with BB-8 whirring away from where he was perched in the back. You took that to be a good sign, even if he’d been the last to get in.

A crowd of mechanics reached the fleet before you, tools in hand and ready to repair whatever damage the First Order had thrown at them. You gave Jess a smile and a high five as you passed, but your line of sight was dead set on finding the curly-haired pilot. You had to elbow your way through the crowd, heartbeat picking up as you did. Man, you’d missed him. The last few weeks had been rough for you both and being constantly pulled apart only made it worst. All you wanted to do was to see him, to hug him and-

- You hit Poe with a thud, chests colliding. He immediately wrapped you up in his arms, pulling you tightly against his chest and burying his head against yours. He smelt faintly of jet fuel and smoke, which was fitting.

His lips were on yours the minute he’d let you go, hands tightly gripping your cheeks as he kissed you with all his might. Yeah, he’d missed you too.

‘Hey, baby.’ You couldn’t help but smile, eyes finally meeting - it didn’t last long though, not when you saw the state of his face. ‘Oh my god. Your eye! And your lip! And-’

‘- I missed you.’ Poe brushed it aside, pressing another exhausted kiss to your lips.

‘I missed you too.’ You softly sighed. ‘The fuck happened to your face, though?’

‘Just...First Order stuff.’ He bit his lip, brown eyes falling to the floor.

You sighed. ‘Shit, Poe.’

‘I know. He gently nodded. ‘I’m okay though. I’m here with you. That’s the important thing.’

‘You’re right.’ You agreed. ‘C’mon, I’ll take you to medical-’

He cut you off with a groan. ‘Let’s just go back to my room. Please?’

‘But your face.’ You gently ghosted a thumb across his bruised cheek, flinching when he shuddered slightly. ‘I mean...I have a first aid kit. I can always take a crack at it.’

‘That sounds a lot nicer than those nurse droids.’ He smiled.

‘But you have to promise to get checked over tomorrow, okay?’

‘I promise.’

Poe flung his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you headed out the hangar. His own room was actually in the opposite direction, but he practically lived with you in yours. It always felt so much nicer. You’d managed to make it a lot homier, with photos of the two of you and fairy lights strung up. The scent of your perfume always lingered in the air and sleeping in your bed was the closest he could get to you when you were away on missions. In return, he left his jumpers and hoodies laying around for you to have free reign of. It was a weak form of paying rent, but he hadn’t heard any arguments.

You could tell that Poe was tired from the way he walked. He usually had a swagger in his step, smiling at everyone who passed. Now, he was leaning on you for support, dark eyes staring dead ahead with exhaustion, his brain working at a thousand miles an hour to process what he’d witnessed over the last few days. You’d been on his mind the entire time.

‘Here we go.’ You gently lead him to the bed, helping him shrug off his charred flight suit. He caught your lips in a chaste kiss as you moved it off his shoulders, hands suddenly grabbing yours.

‘You know I love you, right?’

‘Of course. I love you too.’ You murmured. ‘Is something up?’

Poe pulled you down onto the bed beside him, eyes finally meeting yours. ‘I just...I got captured on the mission. Very briefly, but still. It was scary, and there was a moment when I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it back.’

‘Poe.’ Your breath caught in your throat. ‘Is that why your face is all...’

‘Like this?’ He chuckled slightly. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry.’

‘Hey, don’t be.’ You squeezed his hands. ‘It’s not your fault, and like you said earlier, the important thing is that you here now.’

‘I know, but I promised you, didn’t I? That I’d always come home?’

‘And you did.’ You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. ‘Now c’mon, I gotta stitch you up before this scars.’

‘I reckon I’d look hot with a couple battle scars, y’know.’

‘You would, but I’d rather you not bleed out all over my sheets for the sake of vanity.’ You smiled.

Digging out your first aid kit, you grabbed a few cotton swabs and some bacta spray. You weren’t a nurse, but your medical skills weren’t terrible either. After a few too many injuries and close calls out in the field, you’d learnt the basics. Half of the scars on Poe’s body had been from your handiwork after he’d been injured -- some of them were a little wonky, but he hadn’t died yet, so you figured you’d done a decent job. The ones he’d done for you were much neater but in your defense, he was reckless as fuck and had a ton more experience in dealing with injuries.

On the bright side, Poe’s torso seemed fine and relatively uninjured. The white shirt he was wearing was only smeared with soot from the blaster fire, and his bare arms were broad and uninjured, save for one scrape on his left bicep. Okay, maybe the broad part wasn’t relevant to the context, but it was definitely relevant on the whole. He did have good arms. You only ever truly felt safe when they were wrapped around you.

‘This might sting a little bit.’ You crouched between his legs, pouring a little bit of bacta spray onto the cotton swab. You gently wiped it across his forehead, doing a double take when he let out a hiss of pain. ‘You okay, baby?’

‘Yeah, I’m good.’ Poe’s eyes met yours, and he gave you a half smile. ‘Better now that you’re here.’

It didn’t take too long to clean up the rest of his cuts and bruises; they were relatively minor given what he’d been through. The last time he’d been caught by the First Order on Jakku, he’d come home ten times worse than this. You’d spent days by his side in the medical room, mostly chiding him for how funny he looked in the bactasuit, but also to offer emotional support. The duality of love.

You finished up by wrapping a bandage around the cut on his left arm, gently tying it in place with a safety pin. It was enough to keep it clean and safe until tomorrow, when you’d hopefully be able to convince him to see an actual nurse. You knew that for now, he was tired and probably just wanted to rest. His eyes were sunken with tiredness, and his body had become more and more slumped as you’d gone about cleaning him up. Poe never slept well on missions; a mixture of anxiety and your absence always made for a bad night’s sleep.

‘That should keep you in one piece for now.’ You said, running a hand through his hair. Poe leant into your touch, pressing a kiss to your wrist. ‘You should get some sleep.’

‘Mmm.’ He murmured. ‘You’re staying, right?’

'Absolutely.’ You offered him a soft smile. ‘Gotta lose the boots though. These are clean sheets.’

‘Can you do it for me?’ He asked, flopping back against the mattress.

You rolled your eyes at his...Poe-ness, before leaning down and unzipping his shoes, tossing them in a pile across the room. Yours joined them, followed by your jacket and the crumpled flight suit. That was something else to worry about tomorrow. For now, your main focus was him.

Poe climbed under the covers, shuffling across to make room for you. He reached out to you as you joined him, naturally wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. The tiredness really hit him then, and you could feel his body untense as you pressed a kiss to his jaw. His body was warm against yours, which was a welcome contrast after sleeping alone for the last few nights.

‘I love you.’ Poe murmured quietly.

‘I love you too.’ You peered up at him with a smile.

‘And I’ll always come home to you.’ He gave your shoulders a light squeeze. ‘You know that, right?’

‘I do.’

‘I’ll never break a promise to you.’

‘I know.’ You softly sighed, trying to move closer to him (as though it were even possible).

It was hard for him to fight the exhaustion now that he was laying with you -- after a few moments, his breathing became a little deeper, and his grip on you a little looser. You pressed one last kiss to his cheek, before settling back against his side and letting sleep over take you.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron blurb #poe x reader #poe x you #poe fluff #poe imagines #poe imagine #poe blurb #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fluff #star wars imagines #star wars imagine

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shealolz · 3 years

Text

“I wanna be your favorite boy” - Zenitsu Agatsuma - PART ONE

Summary: moments with you and zenitsu <33 also him realizing he doesn’t love nezuko but he loves you

Warnings & Notes: some blood bc demon-slaying,

Genre: fluff, some bits of angst

Zenitsu Agatsuma x Tanjiro’s Agender Twin Reader

PART ONE!!

word count: 4,565

——

when Zenitsu first got a glance at you he was drawn to your eyes. those curious eyes with smile lines next to them. but he could tell by the furrow in your brow that you were just as angry as the boy next to you.

“you know this counts as harassment right?” you said, glancing at the other boy who was apologizing to the beautiful girl he’d been weakened in the knees by.

“harassment?!” Zenitsu stammered. “no, no, no! I’m just trying to find someone beautiful to marry before I die to demons!” he wailed, wiping at his running nose.

you knelt down to sit next to him and he caught sight of the sword tucked against your hip. were you and the other boy demon slayers too?

“Have I met you before?” you asked, tilting your head. Zenitsu shrugged. “I think I saw you at the final selection. it was hard not to miss, there weren’t very many left.”

Zenitsu shuddered. he survived purely out of luck. sure he had gruesome dreams about defeating the demons but it never actually happened, he was weak!

you stuck out your hand. “I’m (name) Kamado. a pleasure to meet you...uh...” you trailed off.

“Zenitsu Agatsuma.” he supplied, feeling a tiny smile creep at his lips. “a pleasure to meet you Zenitsu.”

he shook your hand. it was warm.

the boy you were with walked over, Zenitsu’s messenger buried in the mess of auburn locks. “(name),” he said. “I see you’ve made a new friend. Tanjiro Kamado.” the boy—Tanjiro—introduced himself, giving Zenitsu a strained smile.

so he was your brother. and he was also still upset over Zenitsu’s wailing. “let's get off the dirty ground shall we?” you prompted, pulling yourself up with ease. Zenitsu followed.

before you and your brother could leave, Tanjiro turned around. “would you like to join us Zenitsu? I see you a slayer after all.”

Zenitsu nodded frantically and walked into sync with you guys. he bets you guys are strong, he’s unlikely to die with you guys around.

digging around in his uniform he found a riceball. he split it into three pieces with his hands, handing you and Tanjiro a piece each. “a gesture of my gratitude.” he mumbled, holding the riceball to his mouth.

you gave him a smile and Tanjiro voiced his thank you as he nibbled on the rice.

silence quickly fell in between the three of you and Zenitsu tuned into your sounds to see if either of you had bad intentions. he didn’t want to hang out with the wrong crowd y’know!

but as soon as he did all he could hear was the soft matching melody of your twin-like hearts, beating with sincerity and kindness. you both had a sound so soft and gentle it made Zenitsu want to cry.

he was in good hands, he knew it.

——

“I dont like creepy houses!” Zenitsu wailed, his hand gripping your hoari. you didn’t tell him off for it but you did raise a teasing eyebrow at it.

“Please! you’ve got to save our big brother!” the tiny children pleaded, pointing wildly at the house.

before Tanjiro could speak to calm them down a body is thrown out the window and it’s very bloodied up. Zenitsu let out a shriek.

you and Tanjiro were obviously idiots because you ran towards the body! still, he tip-toed over in time to see the man let out his final breath.

you glanced over your shoulder to look at the terrified child. “is...is this your brother?”

they shook their head. “our brother has short hair. that can't possibly be him.”

Tanjiro nodded. “then we can still save him!” he smiled. you nodded, smiling equally as wide.

“c’mon let’s go.” you hummed, making your way for the door. “ARE YOU CRAZY?! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE IN THERE!” Zenitsu screamed, almost turning white with fear.

“it’ll be fine. we can protect you.” Tanjiro said, slipping off the box on his back to lay it under a tree. “yeah, and here, you can hold my haori if you're so scared.” you stuck out the end of your haori for Zenitsu to grab onto.

slowly he grabbed it, bundling right up into your side, only a couple inches from your back as he peered over your shoulder.

the five of you only made it a couple of feet before the house began to rearrange itself. Zenitsu's knuckles turned white from gripping your haori so the two of you would stay together. just one kamado sibling! please!

once it stops you quickly depart, your haori ripping, a tiny piece of fabric in Zenitsu's palms as you bang your fists against the walls, screaming for your brother. "TANJIRO!"

"c-calm down! the demon will hear you!" he whimpered, biting his nails nervously.

you turned your angry gaze to him. "No! I will not calm down! my brother could die because I'm not with him!"

"do you really have such little faith in your brother?" the little boy, Shoichi, spoke up.

you sighed, the tenseness in your shoulders loosening. "no, that's not it. it's just he's one of the few family members I have left. I don't want to risk losing him."

Shoichi bit his lip. "then let's find your brother and my siblings!"

you gave the kid a smile and patted his head softly, Zenitsu kinda wished you'd do that to him too. just to ease his worries a bit.

"i- um. I ripped your haori." he stammered out, wanting your attention back on him. you clicked your tongue. "it's fine, I can just stitch it back later. or you can keep it, I don't mind."

he nodded, holding his hand to his chest.

"now let's search for an exit and then re-enter the building," you said, clapping your hands.

"aha! I found one!" he chirps pulling open the door he had found.

you sent him a warm smile. "good job, Zenitsu!"

he fumbled with his hands, his cheeks heating up greatly and he was about to stutter out a thank you when he saw a boar in the corner of his eye.

snapping his head to the side it turned out it wasn't a boar but a man with a boar's head. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" he screeched, running over to you to hide behind you.

but the boar-man hybrid paid them no attention and just ran down the hall, dual swords in its grip.

"I don't know," you muttered, hand resting atop your own sword.

the three of you walk in silence, suspense high as you crept through the house.

"Why are you being so cowardly. stop attaching yourself to (name), you got a sword for a reason don't you?" Shoichi insults and Zenitsu lets out a shriek, frightened by the sudden noise.

there's a deep rumbling laugh and loud footsteps before a large demon with a long tongue steps out, licking its sharp teeth that gleam under the yellow lights.

"fuck." you mutter under your breathing, pushing out your arm in front of Zenitsu and Shoichi.

"you're not gonna fight it are you?!" Zenitsu whisper-screams, trembling fingers gripping at his hair. you take in a breath. "as a demon slayer my job is to slay every threatening demon I come across, so yes, I will fight it."

"Zenitsu, bring Shoichi to the back wall, make sure nothing happens to him," you order and Zenitsu practically drags the boy to the back wall.

The demon chuckled. "this is going to be an easy fight." he muttered, cracking his knuckles.

you unsheathed your sword, holding it out to the side as the demon runs forward. Zenitsu's fingers stop shaking and both he and Shoichi wait in bated breath to see what you would do.

you don't move other than a slight shift in your feet and when the demon is about three feet away you gripped your sword harder.

"Water Breathing Seventh Form: Piercing Rain Drop."

before the demon could wrap his claws around you you step forward and stab your sword into its stomach before pulling out and doing it again while the demon stood in shock that you landed a hit on him.

your stab had stopped the demon from moving and before it could try again you pulled out your sword and jumped up, using the tall roof to your advantage.

"Water Breathing Second Form: Water Wheel."

your sword crashed down on the demon's arms that he had held up to shield himself and barely scraped his head. "Wow..." Shoichi breathed from next to Zenitsu and he couldn't help but think that it was an understatement.

but your minor victory was short-lived as the demon wrapped its huge hand around your calf and foot and squeezed.

Zenitsu could hear the loud crack over your scream.

you tumbled for the floor but still managed to tuck and roll before you hit your head, your sword plunging into the floorboard as you gripped at your ankle. it was probably broken.

the demon turned around but gave a quick glance to Zenitsu and Shoichi first. "you two look weak, I can have a quick snack first." the demon decided before picking you up.

the demon's tongue slithered out and licked against your cheek and Zenitsu promptly passed out.

a shocked gasp.

"zen---wake---you---save---(name)!"

a slicing sound along with the squirting of blood.

"Thunder Breathing First Form: Thunderclap And Flash."

a thud.

Zenitsu's eyes flutter open and stare into your own giddy ones. he sits up, rubbing at his head before his eyes snap open at the sight of the decapitated and decaying demon.

"did you and Shoichi do that?" he asks, tilting his head. you furrow your eyebrows and Zenitsu's even more confused.

"What no- never mind, sure, whatever. but I need you to carry me because of my leg," you babbled, laying a hand on his shoulder.

oh yeah, you had broken your leg. does that mean Shoichi killed the demon? his eyes flick down to your leg which was covered but he didn't doubt it looked horrendous underneath.

he stands up and kneels down for you to jump on his back and he rests his hands under your thigh. "Shoichi, could you grab my sword for me?" you ask the dark-haired boy and he nods, plucking your sword from the ground and helping you sheath it.

he hopes Tanjiro won't yell at him for not saving you before your leg broke but he was scared and passed out! besides Shoichi ended up killing the demon anyways.

the three of you walk around again, calling out for Tanjiro and Shoichi's siblings every once in a while and praying you don't run into a demon because one, Shoichi was just a kid. two, Zenitsu was a coward and ran away when he got scared. and three, you, the only skilled one here, had broken your leg protecting them.

suddenly the house shifts again and the three of you scream as your thrown out a window, freefalling for the ground.

in a moment of quick-thinking Zenitsu turned mid-air and wrapped himself around you and Shoichi so he would take most of the damage. he could at least do this one thing to try and keep his saviors safe.

all he remembers is a sharp pain in his head before he conked out again.

----

when he comes to it the boar-man hybrid is back and is storming for the box that you sit in front of, glaring at the half-naked hybrid.

"touch it and you’ll be asking for a fight," you say lowly, the threat was empty of course but the hybrid man didn't have to know that!

Zenitsu recalls back to Tanjiro's words when they had been walking.

"This box is more important to me and (name) than our lives, we'd give anything to keep it safe."

Zenitsu knew there was a demon in the box, it wasn't hard to tell with its irregular heartbeat but if you and Tanjiro cared for it that much he had to keep it safe.

"Shoichi! get (name) away from the box!" he yelled before curling around the box's entrance.

"huh," you mumbled as Shoichi began to drag you away. you couldn't put up much of a fight other than scratch at the boy's hands as you shouted profanities.

he took kicks and punches to the side but he had to keep the demon in the box safe, for you. ahh--um for you and Tanjiro he means.

the boar-man hybrid raised its sword, the metal glistening in the light, and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

except it never came.

"WAIT!" was that Tanjiro?

slowly he peels his eyes open to see the boar-headed man's attention on Tanjiro who had his sword at the ready.

before Zenitsu can process what's happening Tanjiro punches the boar-man (which now that he thinks about it he swears he's seen him before, maybe at final selection) in the ribs and Zenitsu can hear the crack.

"so we're gonna fight bare-handed? fine with me!" the shirtless dude shouts, throwing his swords to the floor. "what? no!" Tanjiro stammers.

the man charges Tanjiro and in a moment of quick reflexes Tanjiro smacks his head against the guy's and he sways a bit.

slowly, almost painfully slow, the mask slips off and a very girlish and beautiful face is revealed as blood drips down the guy's forehead and nose.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" he groaned. "PRETTY YET SO BRUTAL!”

the guy chuckled. "what did ya say 'bout my face? I'll punch your lights out for that!"

but before he could go through with it (Zenitsu is sure the boy would) he collapses, probably due to a head injury.

"wow. I knew you were hard-headed but not that hard-headed," you comment dryly from a couple of feet away, still limp in Shoichi's arms. "my arms are starting to feel numb." Shoichi complains.

Tanjiro walks over to you. "what happened? why can't you stand?"

"broke my ankle trying to defeat a demon. I did some damage though, so good for me." you cheer weakly as Tanjiro helps you stand without putting pressure on your foot.

"Shoichi your siblings are over there," Tanjiro says softly with a jerk of his chin. Shoichi grins and runs over to his sibling's waiting arms, crying with joy. damn, Kaigaku never greeted him with tears or hugs.

then again Kaigaku would probably skin Zenitsu alive if given the choice.

"Zenitsu I know your hurt but could you use your haori as a pillow for the guy on the ground?" Tanjiro wonders. "I need to find something to splint (name's) leg."

Zenitsu nods and shrugs off his haori, shoving it beneath the shirtless guy's head. he really needs to figure out this guy's name.

he takes a moment to listen to the guy's sound and instantly want's to tune out. it's loud and annoying and wild like the guy was always hyped up with energy. it was surely something.

he much rathered you and Tanjiro's shared sound.

Tanjiro managed to find a stick to split your leg and had you watch the box that held the demon.

"c'mon. let's bury this guy's body then find some ice for your bruises, eh?" Tanjiro suggested, hoisting up the long-haired dead guy from earlier. Zenitsu nodded and began to dig a hole for the boy.

----

it's night and honestly, Zenitsu was tired but the crow said they'd bring them somewhere to rest up and who was he to deny that?

Inosuke, the shirtless guy (they figured out his name), kept trying to coax Tanjiro into fighting him but the auburn-haired slayer just wasn't having it. he was too busy fussing over your ankle.

the group ends up at a mansion with a wisteria crest on it and Zenitsu relishes in the calming and safe vibe it gives off.

the crickets chirp in his ears and he lets a smile coat his lips. a warm hand wraps around his own and he turns his head to face yours.

your smile isn’t wide and cheerful but instead fond and small. Zenitsu couldn’t help but think you looked stunning even with the grime coating your arms and cheeks.

his tongue felt dry and his heart seemed to pause and in the corner of his eye, he focused on the confused look of Tanjiro as the red-haired boy’s nose twitched.

“I just wanted to say…thank you for saving me back there. you barely know me yet you still helped and I couldn’t thank you enough,” you said softly, averting your eyes to the cracked ground.

Zenitsu rubbed at the back of his neck. “I didn’t even save you… I just passed out. I’m too cowardly to save someone as cool as you.” he didn’t understand your praise, Shoichi killed the demon, hadn’t he?

you shook your head. “you need to learn to take credit for your feats Zenitsu, even if you don’t remember them.” you clicked your tongue before gesturing for Tanjiro to continue walking.

Zenitsu was thoroughly confused, what had you meant by that?

brushing it off he walked after you, listening to your and Tanjiro’s heartbeats. the beautiful melodies you had seemed to overpower Inosuke’s wild and crazed one but he couldn’t help but think that Inosuke’s sound fit right in with the rest of them.

something creeps out of the house and it was obviously a smiling old lady but he couldn’t help his yell of, “MONSTER!” that really did a strain on his probably broken ribs.

you lightly slapped the back of his head. “be polite!” you scolded, not unlike how his Gramps would whenever they went to town.

he muttered an apology to the lady who just laughed wholeheartedly and beckoned them inside.

“Not that I don’t like your kindness ma’am but why are you doing this?” Tanjiro asked as the woman clattered around to prepare food.

“a while back a couple of demon slayers like you four saved my family from some demons and now we tend to injured slayers to thank them, even if they are long gone.” the woman explained, serving them bowls of steaming udon noodles.

“once you finish your dinner I have some clothes for you to change into and then I’m going to have to wrap your ribs and leg.” the woman said, pulling out clothing for them to wear.

“thank you!” you and Tanjiro say simultaneously, picking up your chopsticks. Inosuke, like the menace he is, eats with his hands, shoving the noodles in his mouth messily.

you grimace but pat his back lightly when he almost chokes. Inosuke squints at you. “you tryna fight or something?”

“no, I just don’t want you to die due to noodles.”

Inosuke huffs and continues to devour the noodles, not caring about the mess he made.

after food and changing a family doctor came to wrap their ribs and your leg along with giving you a crutch to use till your leg is healed.

the four of you head to the bedroom you were gifted, Inosuke plopping down on a futon and claiming it as his.

you sat down on your own, fiddling with the sheets. you were probably bored.

“hey Inosuke, why’d you become a demon slayer?” you asked, kicking your good leg back and forth.

“well, I joined after I beat up a member who came to my mountain! then I heard about demons and final selection from the guy and decided to join to beat up demons!” Inosuke grinned, resting his head in his arm as he stared at you.

you snickered behind your hand. “amazing story, bravo.”

“I know.” Inosuke shot back. Zenitsu almost face-palmed.

“uh.” Zenitsu started, not really knowing if now was a good time. “Tanjiro, (name), w-why do you have a demon in the box you carry around?”

and with stupidly good timing the demon scratched at the box’s door, the thing swinging open.

a clawed palm sticks out and Zenitsu backs into the closet, trying to climb into it.

but when it crawls out his eyes widen. long black longs of hair that lighten at the tips, bright pink eyes, and smooth skin.

the demon was a beauty, that’s for sure.

but comparing it to you its eyes seemed dull, its hair didn’t shine, and no matter how cute it looked it couldn’t compare to the flush on your cheeks when you thanked him earlier.

though the demon was still pretty, and Zenitsu tended to gravitate to pretty people.

wait…was Tanjiro carrying her around to have a cute demon girlfriend?! Zenitsu refused to allow this! even if you were in on it!

“TANJIRO I WILL SET YOUR EXECUTION DATE! YOU CANNOT CARRY AROUND SUCH A BEAUTY AND NOT TELL ME!” he screeched, beginning to chase the boy around as he tried to stutter out a response.

sighing, you crawled over to the demon and let it hug you, thin arms wrapping around your shoulders before tiny hands patted your head.

“did you have a good sleep, Nezuko?” you asked kindly. the demon, Nezuko, let out a happy hum and began to incoherently babble around the bamboo gag.

adorable, his mind supplied, yet his eyes were on you.

“you all talk too much. it takes up thinking capacity.” Inosuke says dryly before promptly passing out.

“Zenitsu!” Tanjiro squeaks, trying to be quiet. “Nezuko’s my sister! not my girlfriend! calm down!”

Zenitsu blinks once. twice. before shrugging and responding with a simple “okay.”

after that fiasco, Tanjiro ‘talks’ with his younger sister before stating he was heading to bed, leaving just you, him, and the demon who perched herself on the end of your futon.

silently he climbed from his futon and crawls to yours, trying to ignore the eyes of the demon.

the grime was still on your cheeks from earlier and absentmindedly Zenitsu reaches out and scrubs at your cheek with his sleeve.

you flush again and look down at your lap. “what was that for?” you mumble.

“there was dirt on you, didn’t want you to go to be coated in dirt y’know?” he laughs but it’s obviously a nervous one.

“Oh. well uh, goodnight Zenitsu, have good dreams,” you say, patting his arm before lifting your blanket over yourself.

Zenitsu retreats to his own futon calmly but his mind was going a hundred miles a minute.

oh god- why did he do that? he was so stupid. what if you think he has a crush on you? no, no, no, he has a crush on your beautiful sister Nezuko, doesn’t he? he has to! he loves pretty people! but he also finds you pretty…does that me he likes you too? no that can’t be possible your just a friend!

and he falls asleep like that, internally anxious.

——

the next day the group is eating breakfast when a kasugai crow appears, annoyingly screaming in their ears.

“TANJIRO MAKE IT SHUT UP!” he yells, resisting the urge to smack the boy with the bowl of food in front of him.

“Zenitsu calm down! I can’t talk to it if you keep screaming!” Tanjiro yells back.

you are glaring at both of them from the rim of your bowl as Inosuke runs around having successfully stolen as much food as he could.

“could you both shut up?” you groan, putting down your chopsticks.

the crow lands on your arm when you stick it out and tweets into your ear, telling you about whatever mission they had to do now.

you nod and pat the crow's head before it flies off. “Inosuke sits down,” you order, pointing at the seat next to you.

He hesitantly does and Zenitsu silently thanks whatever god that’s out there that he does. he really doesn’t want to face your wrath.

“were supposed to go to Mt. Natagumo. apparently, there are multiple demons, seemingly in a group, roaming around and killing whoever comes to the mountain,” you explain.

Zenitsu pales. that sounds scary. he really doesn’t want to die, especially alone.

"We'll do it!" Tanjiro hums. Inosuke gives a boyish grin. "let's kick some demon ass!"

the kind lady walks up to them, taking their bowls of food. "the doctor says your injuries are healed so you're free to go." she smiles. "come back if needed."

"thank you for the kindness ma'am!" Tanjiro bows his head. she waves it off with a laugh. "no need to thank me, deary."

"well," you announced. "let's get changed and head to Mt. Natagumo!"

----

"we've been walking for hours. how tall is the mountain?" Zenitsu whined, dragging a hand down his sweaty face.

"hold on- I smell something!" Tanjiro shouted, holding a hand out. "it smells like blood."

and of course, Tanjiro runs towards the danger. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" he bellowed after Tanjiro who had been followed by not only you but Inosuke as well.

"To fight some demons!" you chirped, hands cupping your mouth. "you can stay here if you want. we'll be back in no time."

"what (bad take on your name) said!" Inosuke grinned.

Zenitsu huffed and brought his knees to his chest. "HAVE FUN DYING!" he snarled.

----

how stupid could they be? who the hell runs towards the danger? what in the...

he will not go, he refuses to go into that hell hole.

they're all gonna die.

wait... they're all gonna die!

he scrambled up. you and the idiots took Nezuko!

when he looked at the sky he realized the sun had been begging to set and he'd sat there mumbling to himself like a mad man.

he has to keep you safe! and Nezuko of course.

Zenitsu runs for the mountain, calling out you and Nezuko's names, hoping one of you would hear him. and for the second time, he wished there was at least one kamado sibling with him.

as he's pushing his way through the forest on the mountain he hears little clapping of spikes hitting the ground and a shiver goes down his spine.

"oh god, I'm an idiot. why did I come here?" he mumbled to himself, turning his head in all directions.

though he froze when he saw it.

a tiny spider with a bald human head.

what the actual fuck.

screaming, he scrambles to get away, getting slapped and scraped by multiple tree branches whilst doing so.

but then he comes across an even bigger spider with a human head. Zenitsu wants to cry. he wishes you were here, you'd be able to slay the demon and protect him.

"I see you've met my creation." the spider demon laughed, a cruel grin growing on its lips. "as the eldest son, I have a powerful ability. I can turn humans into little spiders that must obey my orders. and I want you to be next."

Zenitsu babbles nonsense as he fearfully climbed up a tree, hugging its trunk.

"I'm sorry!" he cries. "I'm sorry I couldn't become the demon slayer gramps wanted me to be! I'm sorry I'm a pathetic and sniveling coward, I don't want to be one! I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, (name)!"

his hands come to cover his head and Zenitsu realizes chunks of hair are starting to fall out as his eyes focus on the bite in his palm.

he bangs his head against the tree lightly.

why couldn't he do anything?

----

it was getting too long so ima have to split this into parts but here's part one!!

@ilyimagines @mychemicalangel @songbird-writer

#zenitsu agatsuma x reader #zenitsu x reader #zenitsu agatsuma #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu zenitsu #agatsuma zenitsu #nezuko kamado #tanjiro kamado

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 1: Hand in My Pocket

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter's not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he'd always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn't want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

—-

The red glare of the setting sun set the City That Never Sleeps in a persistent glow as the last of the golden rays disappeared behind the pillars of the city, outlining every shadow. There was the silhouette of buildings, of cars racing along the road, of people stalking down the street in the usual New York bustle, and there was the shadow of Spider-Man as he swung overhead. Not that it was really his shadow.

Where there should have been a perfect replica of the boy clinging to a web as he dipped low (one that outlined his lumpy goggles and rumpled suit) there was instead the poofiness of fluffed up hair and sharp slacks. The movements of the shadow replicated the boy, like they were supposed to, but nothing else indicated that this shadow belonged to the vigilante swinging through the street.

And Peter liked it that way.

Observing the difference between people's shadow had always been a game to the boy, to watch a thin woman walk around while a curvy figure followed her, or too see a little boy being tracked by the silhouette of a tutu and puffy hair. Until very recently, the teenager had loved to stare at his Aunt and Uncle's shadows whenever he could, always fascinated by the way they reflected each other with a broad smile on his face.

Now, though, neither of them had shadows, and Peter didn't smile as often. He didn't feel like there was much reason to. It had been his fault, after all. His fault they'd never get to see flashes of each other when their shadows disappeared in the dark, his fault they'd never walk under the sun with their shadows in line with the other. It was his fault they'd bled out in an alley so dark their shadows hadn't even been there to comfort them as they left.

Spider-Man rattled an anxious, forced breath through his tight lungs as he propelled himself upwards on his webs. He instinctively looked for the taped together watch he kept on his webshooter to catch the time, though he knew he had plenty. Still, after his last time missing curfew at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, he wasn't anxious to repeat the experience. And he did have to swing across the bridge to make his way back to Queens since he'd branched out to Manhattan for the night.

The cracked watch read that it was barely seven, though, so Peter still had a few hours before he had to be back. Mr. Fowler didn't care much what they did as long as they were back before ten, unless it was one of his "days," which really just meant he was as drunk as a skunk and completely willing to smack a few boys upside their head and be unreasonably dickish about the rules. But other than that, Peter was usually left to his own devices to patrol around the streets of his city and try everything in his power to make up for what had happened barely six months ago.

But it would never be enough.

Peter stopped on top of a billboard that clung to the side of a building, landing clumsily and only barely managing to slip his fingers around the poster for a new movie. His world swam--just a little bit--as he regained his bearings. He shook his head at the dizziness that had become a constant ever since moving to live at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but it wasn't like it was their fault. All the boys were reasonably well-cared for, with regular mealtimes, a generous curfew, and easy access to schools, but they weren't really equipped to deal with Peter.

The teenager held back a sigh as his stomach grumbled painfully. He'd eaten the last of his stash of granola bars that he'd bought after a tourist he'd helped had forced a few bills on him. He didn't like taking money, but he couldn't deny that those bars had helped for the two weeks that he'd made them stretch.

Forcing down a hungry grumble of annoyance, Peter turned to survey his shadow instead, the one that had always been the same. Ever since he could remember. Even when he'd been in kindergarten, there'd been the tall and protective shadow of his soulmate behind him. Despite everything, and despite how selfish it felt, it was comforting to look down and see that familiar crop of hair. He reached a hand up to touch his head, never quite used to the way his fingers brushed up against cloth but the shadow underneath him swept through fluffed up tufts.

His soulmate's hair today was messy, not as poofed up as it usually was. Today must be a casual day for him or something, which weren't very often, but when they did occur they often lasted for days. Other days he could make out the outline of glasses and the sharp angles of clothing that made him think of a business suit, though he couldn't be sure. They were only a shadow after all. Peter wondered what his soulmate thought about his own shadow, if he'd noticed anything odd, but, then again, Peter's shadow probably just looked like he was wearing a hoodie all the time, and maybe what could pass as some pretty obnoxious glasses. He'd used to have those anyway.

Peter tilted his head, enjoying the way the hair on the sidewalk underneath him flopped with him. For some reason, Peter found it very amusing when one had hair showing and the other didn't. It just looked a little ridiculous. Recently, it had been the teenager who had been donning the hoodie over his head, but Peter assumed that his soulmate was usually wearing something too. More often than not, he'd look down to see the hair gone, covered by a sharp outline that really had him questioning his soulmate's fashion sense.

The thought brought a snicker to his lips. He nestled more comfortably atop the billboard. There hadn't been any good action in a while anyway.

"Where do you think we should go next?" he asked aloud, and he didn't know if he was asking himself or the shadow of his soulmate underneath. He didn't know why, but he'd always felt like they'd give really good advice. "There hasn't really been much going on, and I haven't seen any of those alien-weapon guys since the knock-off Avengers robbed that bank. Maybe we could try and find out whoever you are again. That'd be kind of fun."

'Kind of fun.' Yeah, right. It was the only thing Peter looked forward to anymore.

Before, he'd always been excited to graduate, to go through college and apply to Stark Industries, his Aunt and Uncle's smiles egging him on the entire way. He'd looked forward to band and robotics and, while he'd stayed, decathlon too. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, but Ned was still there. Liz too. They were nice, and it was good to see their smiles and hear their occasional pitying encouragement that usually only pissed him off (not that he'd ever let them know, they were just trying to help after all), but they weren't what Peter was looking for.

Then again, Peter wasn't 100% he knew what he was looking for either.

He was pretty sure his soulmate was something to look forward to. Ben and May had always described what it felt like to find your soulmate, to be able to stare at shadows your entire life until you found who you were looking for. You would touch their hand and your shadows would switch, and when you let go, the shadow remained to your universe approved bond again. The satisfaction of finally piecing together the flashes you got whenever both shadows disappeared into the darkness. It was something Aunt May and Uncle Ben had always enticed him about, always encouraged.

Maybe if he could find his soulmate, everything would be better. Everything would be perfect, like May and Ben had always proclaimed.

But that was childish, and Peter knew it. Soulmates didn't fix everything, and meeting his soulmate certainly wouldn't improve his situation. They were a regular person with a regular life. He was a second-rate vigilante that had been orphaned twice. Besides, nothing could really help Peter. Not that he needed help. He just needed to grow out of the system so he could make something that actually felt like life rather than the scraping by that it had become.

By the time Peter moved from his spot, it was because his shadow had dimmed with the entrance of New York darkness. He stood up, barely able to make out the faintness of his soulmate, and flicked his wrist out. He still had a little bit before he had to be back at the group home, so he reckoned he'd be fine. He'd be back in time that Mr. Fowler wouldn't give him another strike and he could still eat dinner. He'd do his homework, go to bed, and the next day would be the same horrible numbness of before.

"Any ideas on where the best crime is, Matey?" he asked his shadow, "Maybe superpowers can leech over to soulmates. That'd be really cool actually. Soulologists haven't been able to prove anything other than memory flashes. We could break that entire field of study if that were true."

His soulmate, of course, didn't answer. But the scuffle of a fight and a warped sound unlike anything the teenager had ever heard, did.

---

Tony glanced around his emptying lab, a tired glint in his eyes as he did. Large portions of the tower had been emptied and organized into large crates as they anticipated the move from the tower to the compound. Most of his lab had stayed the same throughout the process, as staff weren't allowed up here, leaving it mostly up to the billionaire himself to pack up his things. Glancing around at the piles of disheveled work and unfinished projects, he might have to get some help anyway. Or, if he started packing now, he'd have plenty of time to do it by himself.

He turned back to the suit he was working on.

The horribly challenging nanoparticles as part of his newest suit were barely coming together. It was incredibly difficult, which made it the most fun thing he'd worked on in a while, which also meant he'd been working on it for two days straight. It was a good thing Pepper was working in another country at the moment and wasn't there to make him go to bed or take a break or anything worthless like that. Then again, he guessed Pepper wasn't the only one with the power to do that.

"Sir," Friday started, "You are approaching your extent of working without a break. I suggest you go to sleep."

"I'm almost done, girl," he replied at the same moment the gauntlet he was working on sparked. He hissed in pain as he withdrew his newly burnt fingers, his vision swimming slightly. He blinked furiously to clear the dark spots from his sight. "Okay, maybe a break isn't such a bad idea."

"Great choice, sir."

"Don't patronize me," he scolded, grabbing a nearby jacket to throw over his stained shirt and a pair of sunglasses despite the late hour, "I'm taking a break, not going to sleep. Keep the lab running for me, I'm gonna go grab a coffee."

"Might I suggest a calming tea instead?"

"You most certainly may not."

Tony stepped into the brightly lit elevator, staring down at his shadow as he usually did when he was alone. The sight of the usual hoodie brought a smile to his face. His soulmate must have a hoodie addiction as strong as his coffee one, though he usually preferred whenever he could see the kid's curly hair before it was eventually tamed down by what he guessed was a godly amount of hair gel.

His soulmate had turned fifteen recently, he knew. August tenth was the first day he'd had a shadow, one of a tiny baby curled up at his feet. He remembered fondly what it had felt like to look down one random morning and see the dark blob at his feet, the confusion and the joy as he'd realized it moved with him. After thirty-one years, a soulmate of his very own.

He'd loved to watch them grow through their shadows, though his favorite was the little snippets he'd get of their life. Like for everyone else, they were very rare, especially in the bright cities he was accustomed to living in. There was always just a little bit of light somewhere in New York, but he remembered vividly the little snatches he'd managed to get from his soulmate's life when both of their shadows faded into a shade of the dark completely.

A deeply nerdy room with Star Wars posters. The bustling streets of a city. And, more recently, dark alleyways that had made him more than a little nervous. His soulmate was only a kid after all, but it was a bit hypocritical for him to be any kind of judgmental after his own teenage years, and it wasn't like he could do anything.

Other than what he was doing now.

The flashes of the streets he'd seen in his soulmate visions had reminded him deeply of New York (though they could just as easily have been from another city in the States), so Tony had made the effort to go out more whenever he could. Usually he couldn't stay for long, he was pretty busy after all. Still, local coffee shops and street vendors had become frequented by Tony Stark as he'd searched. He knew it was a little ridiculous to parade around the streets of New York City in the hopes that he would stumble upon his soulmate, but after everything that had happened with the team, he could at least try to throw in a little optimism.

The mechanic blinked out thoughts of the broken team as the elevator opened on the empty bottom floor, making his way through the darkly lit lobby and out the door into the streets. Street lamps were lit brightly, and, coupled by the headlight of cars and the alternating colors of traffic light, his soulmate was able to walk alongside Tony as he crossed the road and began down the sidewalk.

"Any recommendations for a good coffee shop, my little shadow?" Tony asked his soulmate. The people on the street paid him no mind, not that it was unusual for people to talk to their shadows. "If you do live around here, you must have at least a few recommendations. Well, I guess you are a kid, but I drank plenty of caffeine when I was your age, so."

He shrugged to himself, stopping at a street corner and pursing his lips as he thought. He'd really only explored Manhattan when looking for his soulmate, but walking across the bridge into Brooklyn and Queens would take much too long. He did want to get back to his project after all.

Tony made a turn, resolving to just find whatever new café he could. Maybe he'd explore Brooklyn or Harlem after the move. Or maybe Queens, he had been wanting to try and meet that Spider-Kid for a while anyway. He'd thought he'd had an opportunity when Rogers and his merry band had taken Barnes and left in Germany, but everything had gone by just too quick and he didn't even know the guy's identity. Not for lack of trying. The guy was pretty good at avoiding cameras, it almost made Tony jealous.

The billionaire walked for about fifteen minutes, passing by every coffee shop he'd already been to in search of a new one. There were plenty in Manhattan, but Tony had been to so many at this point it was a little ridiculous. He stopped, ready to pull out his phone and see where the nearest one he could find was, when he caught sight of a man out of the corner of his eye.

He frowned. How long had that man been following him? A few blocks at least, he recognized that green jacket from when he'd passed by Beany Business.

The light turned from an orange hand to a white silhouette, and Tony hurried across the street. He hadn't brought any kind of weapons with him, and he really wasn't in the mood to cause some kind of scene. If he was quick, he could probably lose this guy and still get to his coffee shop without some kind of annoying disturbance.

Tony allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd of late-goers, moving with them quickly. He let that crowd trickle by and joined another, and then joined one more of a drunk afterparty before finally slipping down an alleyway when he could no longer see the green jacket. He blinked in surprise as he caught sight of a coffee shop just across the street, bright red letters reading 'The Coffee Club.'

He smiled. Perfect.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the alleyway towards the cheap looking café. And then a figure stepped in the entrance, blocking the view from across the street and slapping Tony's easygoing smile off of his face.

The billionaire immediately tensed as his eyes roamed over the green jacket, the covered face, and finally the gun pointed towards him. His eyebrow raised as his gaze rested on the weapon that wasn't really a gun. It was splayed out like a robotic arm, shiny and just a little bit clunky but clearly dangerous.

"Hands in the air, Stark," the man ordered. Slowly, he followed the man's orders. "Phone and glasses on the floor. Now."

"I'm gonna have to move my hands for that," Tony snarked. The man gave him a slight snarl.

"Just do it. Slowly. And throw them over here."

"Sure," he agreed, fishing his phone out of his pocket and taking his glasses off of his face before letting them clatter to the ground. The man kept the robotic gun trained on him as he grabbed the devices, placing them in a pocket in the thick of his jacket. Tony frowned. "So, what is this? A kidnapping? Taking my wallet? Genuinely interested."

"I've been watching you for a while, Stark," the man said, "You go out at night a lot. I knew it'd only be a matter of time before I could get what I want from you."

"And I would love to know what that is. As well as where you got that neat little arm-gun there. Is that Sokovian?"

"Shut up, Stark. I don't need your snark, just some information, and I'll take your wallet too."

"Mind leaving me enough cash for a coffee?"

The gun cocked. "What did I just say?"

"Hmm, I forgot."

"Very funny."

"Thanks, I thought so too," Tony joked. "Anyway, back on topic of what this is all about."

The gun whined and then quickly shot, whizzing past Tony to burn the wall just behind him. Tony turned his head to glance at the large ring of smoke before facing the man in the green jacket again.

"Shut up," he ordered again. "No more words from you unless they're the password into the DODC."

"There's more than just one password. You got a pen? This could take a while."

"No, you're coming with me."

"Oh, so this is a kidnapping."

"I can't have you changing the passwords and alerting anyone of this," the man answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Tony could already count five thousand ways this could go wrong for Green Jacket Guy. One being that Tony wasn't up for being kidnapped at this moment in particular, and he definitely wasn't going to let this schmuck take him while he was just trying to get a decent coffee. "Keep your hands in the air and don't move, or else I'm hitting you with this."

When he gestured to the gun, Tony just gave him a bored look. "You know you're not getting any passwords or anything if you kill me, right?"

The man flicked a switch on the gun. "It's set to stun. It won't kill you, but it will definitely knock you out for a few hours."

"Good to know."

Green Jacket Guy approached, a pair of cuffs poised to slip around his outstretched hands. The man's steps were jauntily hesitant, but clear apprehension didn't stop the man from grabbing his hand and forcing the first cuff around him. He moved to click it around the billionaire's other wrist, but was met with a snapping punch to the face.

Green Jacket Guy stumbled back, a hand pressed against his newly bloody nose in a grunt of clear pain. Tony dove when the man quickly gathered himself and raised his gun, forcing himself behind a trash can as it whined and then fired. The trashcan forced itself against Tony, slapping the mechanic against the wall with a shouted groan, his shoulder barely breaking his fall. That was going to bruise in the morning.

Forced to his knees, Tony scrambled back up only to be faced with the robot-arm-gun pointed directly in his face. It charged up in its now annoyingly familiar warped whine, and there was nowhere to go. He was trapped and he was not excited to be blasted by this thing and if he got kidnapped again Happy was going to have a heart attack, he might as well--

"Hey! Watch where you're pointing that thing!" called a squeaky voice. Tony and Green Jacket Guy both turned as a red blur shot into the alleyway, a thwip! knocking the gun from the man's hand and the red blur knocking into him. The man was barreled to the ground with a pained groan before he was covered in a flurry of webs, the Spider Guy standing over him. "Pointing guns at people is illegal y'know! Sorry to be a party pooper, but I will be calling the police."

Tony blinked, forcing himself to his feet fully as the vigilante turned around, the lenses of his goofy goggles widening in comical shock.

"Oh, whoa."

---

"Oh, whoa," Peter breathed as he caught sight of literally Tony-freaking-Stark dusting off his pants as he stood up. His eyes instinctively fluttered to the man's shadow, expecting the long hair and slim figure of Pepper Potts but catching sight of a short and rumpled man instead. Huh.

"Whoa yourself, kid," Mr. Stark responded, stepping over to where the man was knocked out cold and webbed to the ground. He dug through the man's exposed green jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses and a sleek phone, but Peter's eyes were locked onto the strange gun on the ground. His eyes narrowed at how similar it looked to the ones at the bank. "What're you doing out here? You're a Queens guy aren't you?"

"Oh, uh, yes-yes, sir. Usually, but I was just, uhh, I was just around and I heard the fight and, and yeah..."

Mr. Stark turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in suspicion as he glanced over Peter's ratty superhero suit. He shuffled on his feet nervously, trying desperately to keep himself still and untense his shoulders, not that it had much affect. The teenager choked down agitation, trying his best to not glance at his watch. It was getting late and, while Iron Man was his second favorite Avenger, the last thing he needed was Tony Stark finding out his secret identity.

"What's your name?" Mr. Stark asked.

"Spider-Man."

"And your real name?"

Peter paused. "Spider-Man. On my birth certificate and everything."

Mr. Stark frowned, and Peter thought he was going to demand a legitimate answer, when he shrugged and stepped away from the guy on the ground. "Fine. You helped me out, I won't bother you about it. For now."

Peter let out a low sigh, muttering, "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"I am going to bother you about other things though," Mr. Stark said, "I've been meaning to talk to you, and no time like the present."

"Oh, uhh, I kinda have to--"

Peter was interrupted by the painful rumble of his stomach. His face turned as red as his mask, and he was thankful the man couldn't see his embarrassment, not that that stopped the superhero's teasing smirk. With a wave, the man stepped out of the alleyway. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go--go where?"

"Coffee. I came to get a good black coffee and I refuse to leave without one."

Peter glanced down at the guy he'd webbed. "What about him?"

"My AI already called the police. They'll be here soon. Now, c'mon. I'm not gonna ask you twice."

"Yeah, yeah. Ah, okay, Mr. Stark."

---

Peter shuffled his feet nervously, his arms crossed and constantly turning so that he could peer at the time on his watch. Twenty minutes. Not looking great, but it wasn't like Peter could really leave while Mr. Stark ordered his coffee. That would be rude, and plus it was Iron Man, so, overall a bad idea.

He glanced over from where he was leaning against the brick wall of the coffee shop to stare at the clear door. Like a final answer to his prayers, the billionaire stepped out, a drink carrier in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. The man didn't look exactly like he'd thought he would. Tony Stark had always been almost hilariously imposing in his mind, with a sharp suit and a sharper goatee, but this man was softer. Rougher.

His clothes were stained, his leather jacket rumpled, his hair messy and his face worn with the lines of memories. He seemed almost familiar somehow, and it unnerved Peter just as much as it comforted him.

"Here ya go, kid. Black coffee for me, hot chocolate and a snickerdoodle for you," Mr. Stark said once he'd walked over. Peter blinked in surprise, but managed to accept the drink and the bag with stumbling fingers.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, Mr. Stark, but you really didn't have to."

"Billionaire here, Spider-Kid. I can afford a cookie and a drink."

Peter thanked him again and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled his mask up to just above his nose, starting on the cookie. It was almost impossible to not fork it down immediately with how starved he felt. Mr. Stark waited patiently until he was finished with his snickerdoodle to start speaking, and Peter's ears burned.

"So," Mr. Stark started, "New York's benevolent vigilante that directs tourists and saves kittens from trees. Doesn't seem like a very exciting gig."

Peter narrowed his eyes, shuffling on his feet again nervously. What was his game?

He shrugged, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before answering, "It doesn't have to be exciting. I'm just trying to help out."

"Why?"

"Why--why help?"

"Exactly," Mr. Stark pointed, and suddenly he wasn't strangely familiar, he filled up the whole street. "Very few people help just to help, and even fewer dress themselves up in something that embarrassing just to help a few old ladies across the street. Why are you doing this? I gotta know. What's your MO? What gets you out of your apartment and into that onesie in the morning?"

"It's not a onesie," he muttered. Peter forced his fingers not to grip around the cup as images of a bloody street and dying shadows filled his head, instead redirecting the agitation into the scrunch of his face. He imagined he had his usual and embarrassing puppy scowl right now. He tried to release it with a sigh, but he didn't feel much better as he answered. "Because...because I've been me my whole life, and I've had these powers six months..."

Mr. Stark hummed in confirmation, goading Peter on. He swallowed down sick at the image of his aunt's brown hair drenched in blood before he continued. "I...I tried to move on at first. Just, hey! I have powers and I'm just gonna ignore it and showboat it. But...when you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen..." He took a deep breath as Mr. Stark leaned in closer. "They happen because of you."

"So you wanna look out for the little guy? You wanna do your part? Make the world a better place, all that, right?"

Peter nodded fervently. "Yeah, yeah just looking out for the little guy. That's--that's what it is."

Mr. Stark nodded, his eyes glanced Peter up and down quickly before he asked softly, "And what about looking out for you?"

Peter startled, glaring at the man defensively. Did he just look like shit that much?

"What are you talking about? I'm doing fine."

"You reek of someone who hasn't been taking care of themselves, kid."

"I'm not a kid," he muttered, "And I'm fine."

"Yeah? Your arm's shaking."

Peter glanced down to see that, yes, his arm clutched around the hot chocolate was indeed shaking. Peter switched the drink to his other hand before shoving his arm in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just tired."

"It's barely ten."

"And I've been patrolling for--did you say ten?"

Mr. Stark seemed perturbed by his sudden shift, but Peter couldn't be bothered at the way his voice had lowered and shaken with slight fear or the way his entire self had tensed. Peter tore his hand out of his pocket to glare at the watch on his wrist. 9:57. Shit.

"Shit--fuck!" Peter exclaimed, pulling his mask back down. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Mr. Stark, I gotta go. Thank you so much for the hot chocolate, sir!"

"Kid, wait--"

He flicked out a wrist onto a nearby building, bending to leap when Mr. Stark's hand wrapped around his wrist.

Peter blinked at the odd sensation, holding back a flinch at the unexpected touch and tensing as his vision seemed to leap just a foot to the left before fizzing back to what it had been before. It left him dizzy and disoriented, but he only had a minute to get all the way from Manhattan to Queens. Maybe if he made it home within ten minutes he could get away with it or--

"Oh, my God..."

Peter turned at Mr. Stark's voice, realizing the man's hand was still gripping his wrist. He followed the billionaire's horribly stricken gaze to stare at whatever had left him dumb. Peter's jaw dropped as he caught sight of his shadow. It was his shadow.

The fluffy hair of his soulmate was suddenly gone and, instead, Peter's masked silhouette stood in its place. He glanced down at Mr. Stark's shadow, actions slow and jerky as he caught sight of it perfectly reflecting his own perked up jacket collar and outline of glasses. Carefully, Mr. Stark let go of his hand in a motion that felt like he was testing the waters. The shadows switched. The hooded figure shadowed Mr. Stark while the fluffy hair stood where Peter's shadow once had.

"What the..." Peter trailed off. His breaths felt lighter all the sudden. Fast. Too fast. The street was closing in, the cars passing nearby too loud and too bright and oh God his soulmate was Tony Stark. He swallowed painfully, tears biting at his eyes as he struggled for a breath.

His soulmate wasn't supposed to be Tony Stark. Peter couldn't--Peter couldn't live up to that! Mr. Stark had saved the world and he was an Avenger and he was the smartest man in the world and Peter was just some useless kid who got bullied and had a curfew and Jesus Christ he was going to be so late Mr. Fowler was going to be so mad and--

"Kid?" Mr. Stark asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter flinched and ducked away, the cup he'd been holding clattering from his hands as he stood opposite the man. Defensive. A shadow flashed against the man's face.

Peter read it as disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. He shot a web and leaped away, but he could never escape his shadow.

Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #peter parker #tony stark #spiderman #Iron Man #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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morkleemelon · 3 years

Text

off the ice || chapter 4: don’t look back

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x fem. college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, sports au, college au

word count: 6.5k

warnings: blood, mention of surgery, description of injuries, swearing, financial struggle

author’s note: huge thanks again to my beta readers @writing-frog and @skiimmiilk for being a great help to making this story better! the slow burn fire is finally burning in this chapter and I’m so excited :) if you haven’t been listening already, I highly recommend the playlist for this chapter! enjoy~

“What do you mean ‘it’s fine’?,” you sobbed, gripping the side of her hospital bed. You wanted to give your best friend a hug, but you didn’t want to risk hurting her more. Yuna’s right leg was pinned into an apparatus, the intricate metal carefully holding together the broken bones, her usual perfect skin marred by scratches of red and patches of blue.

“I mean what I said”. Even with a sore voice and her current situation, Yuna managed to speak with dignity.

“And Ms. Kim is right,” the doctor agreed, jotting down a prescription on her clipboard, “the surgeries went well and she is in stable condition. The good news is that with proper rest and physical therapy, she will be able to walk again. Now, it’s my duty to be honest with you. You said you’re a figure skater?”.

“Yes”. Yuna uncurled her fingers, inviting you to hold her hand. You accepted it, bracing both of you for the bad news. Ten sat at the other side of the bed pressing her other hand to his lips.

“While we cannot rule out the possibility, the likelihood of you being able to skate again is very low. Especially for the next few years”.

Yuna’s tough façade started to crumble at the shocking reality and her lips trembled as she choked back tears. You pressed your forehead to her hand as you hid your own tears from her.

“God damn it!”. Ten yelled, getting up and kicking away the stool he was sitting on. The loud bang was followed by the sound of quiet weeping. “I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I shouldn’t have told you to go to the car first. None of this should’ve happened, god damn it”. The older boy cried into his palms as he placed the blame on himself.

“Please settle down and refrain from disturbing the patient,” the doctor warned, “but we would like to talk to you about the details of the accident, Ms. Kim, now that you’re awake and stable”.

Yuna nodded, a few tears escaping and rolling down her scraped-up cheeks.

“Your right leg is broken in three places upon impact with the vehicle: two in the femur and one major area in the tibia. You then sustained minor external injury as you fell to the pavement, scraping your arms and face. We will run additional tests later on to determine if you also have a concussion. If you can remember any details of how this accident happened, please describe them to me and we can notify the police to help find the suspect”, the doctor continued.

“I,” Yuna cleared her throat, “I was at a party last night and I had a bit to drink. We stayed pretty late and Ten is close with the host, so we just decided to sleep over. Then this morning, I woke up early and I wanted to go on a drive to clear my head. Ten had to get something so I left the house first. I- I checked both ways before I crossed the street to his car, but before I knew it… it came out of nowhere and I was on the ground. I don’t… I can’t remember anything about it. The next thing I remember was being in the ambulance with Ten”.

“I heard the whole thing happen,” Ten added softly, “I was inside the house at the time and I heard the screeching tires and Yuna screamed. By the time I ran outside, the car was gone and Yuna was bleeding on the ground”. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. “All I could do was call an ambulance. I- I didn’t see the car or the bastard driving it. All I could do was sit with her in the street while we waited. She wasn’t waking up and all I could do was sit with her. I couldn’t even move her because I was afraid it would make it worse and she was bleeding everywhere. All I could do was sit there”.

Tears stream down your face as you listen to Ten break down. The normally bright and optimistic man now had his face in his hands, hiccupping uncontrollably at the thought of how close he came to losing the love of his life.

“Hey,” Yuna groaned, struggling to keep her own voice steady, “baby, I’m okay. When we met, you were hurt and struggling, but you got through it because we were together. We’re still together and we can get through this too”. She touched her fingers through his hair gently.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kim, and both of your friends. The police are currently asking for witnesses for your hit-and-run case and will update you with any findings. These are your prescriptions”, the doctor slid the piece of paper onto the counter, “the nurse will come find you later to talk about your treatment. For now, I’ll leave you all alone”.

The room fell silent, only interrupted by the occasional sniffle as the doctor shut the door behind her.

“Hey y/n?”. Yuna turned her head gingerly to you.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do the competition with you now. I promised I would but…”

“Don’t even… how could you worry about that right now?”, you sobbed, “don’t you worry about it, Yuna, the competition doesn’t matter at all. I’m just glad you’re okay right now. You should focus on getting better, not worry about me of all things”.

“Y/n is right,” Ten agreed, “you were there for me when I got hurt. And when I thought there was no way out, you held my hand and pulled me up from the darkness. Doctor says you have a good chance of walking, so let’s get you there first. Then we’ll work on beating the odds and getting you back on the ice again”.

“You guys…” Yuna smiled slightly, careful not to strain her bruised jaw.

“I’ll come visit you as much as I can,” you promised, “I can bring my sleeping bag, clothes, and a jar of peanut butter. We can just be roommates here instead. There’s free AC and disney band aids too, it’ll be great”. Your attempt to lighten the mood was well received as the couple chuckles together.

“By the way, I called your parents while you were in surgery and they’re on their way over now. They should actually be here soon,” Ten noted.

“I’ll leave you guys then,” you offered. There was a two visitor limit and you didn’t want to intrude on Ten and Yuna’s chance to have some private time before her parents bombarded her with concern. Not to mention Mark has been sitting in the waiting room for a few hours now and you wanted to be respectful of his time too.

Offering your last words of support to Yuna, you shut the door quietly behind you. Dabbing at your watery eyes with the edge of your sleeve, you attempt to fix your run-off makeup using your phone camera. Everything felt kind of numb. The events of the last 24 hours were surreal and staying up the whole night with Mark certainly did not help as the tiredness was catching up to you. Concern, upset, worry, and frustration formed a thick cloud in your thoughts. Your brain was like a jammed printer and the thoughts were not processing. You were in shock to say the least.

You shuffle your way down the hall to the waiting area and look for Mark’s familiar blonde hair. You spot him fast asleep in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his head back against the wall. His mouth is slightly agape, forming a soft ‘o’ as he breathed steadily in and out. Seeing him sleep so peacefully made you relax a little.

At least there was something good about today.

“Hey,” you whisper, shaking him gently. His eyes blink open slowly, wincing at the bright hospital lights.

“Hey,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes as he sits up straight. “How’s Yuna? Did you get to see her?”.

“She’s…,” you pause, “she’s okay. She said she was okay when I saw her just now and the doctor said she’s stable but…,” your voice trails off.

“But what?,” Mark asked gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. You look around to make sure there was nobody around who could overhear. A few people sat around the waiting room a ways away, texting on their phones or flipping through the free health magazines. The receptionist’s monotonous voice droned on as she answered a phone call.

“The doctor says that Yuna might not be able to skate again,” you murmured. Even though the doctor made it clear before, saying the words out loud felt extremely surreal. You imagined if it were you lying on the hospital bed hearing this news. To not be able to skate again… it was too awful to comprehend. Tears roll down your cheeks before you could help it, dangling from the point of your chin before falling onto your green volunteer shirt.

Mark thought about what he could say in reply to the devastating news, but decided it was best to not say anything at all. Pulling you in for a hug, you cry silently into the crook of his neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and hold on for dear life.

The next few weeks pass by rather uneventfully after the incident, at least comparatively. Police were still on the case of Yuna’s hit-and-run perpetrator, but they struggled to find witnesses when the crime occurred so early in the morning. Even the local CCTV didn’t cover the area where it happened and the driver was still ultimately at large.

The Lee’s and your other friends texted in the group chat plenty and you grew much more comfortable with having them around. Mark drives you to the hospital to visit Yuna a couple times a week and the three of you would eat lunch together in her room for a small sense of normalcy. It was a tough transition for you nonetheless- your best friend and roommate who you were used to seeing every day now was now seemingly so far away and your time together was reduced to a few hours a week. However, the initial shock of the situation eventually faded and the two of you came to terms with how things were. Yuna and you agreed to not cry about it anymore until she got started on physical therapy and gave recovery her best shot. Thankfully, Ten was there with her everyday and night, so it was bearable for her.

Mark’s always been sweet about your comfort zone, too, never pushing you to talk about your feelings yet at the same time, always there for you when you needed him. Neither one of you brought up the almost-kisses, the first reason being you weren’t ready to remind yourself of the horrible things that happened afterwards and the second being that Mark wanted to respect that you needed time to process it.

So the days tick by and seeing Mark became part of your daily routine. It was something you looked forward to when you got ready in the morning and although you didn’t really know it, it was something you needed to make your day feel complete. His good heart shined more and more to you everyday as you chose to continue to accompany him to Sunday volunteering. You got to witness how Mark’s eyes glowed whenever he talked to the people he served. He treated everyone there as if they were his own family and even though many of the people he helps are much older, he continues every conversation with sincerity and maturity.

In addition to walking you to class everyday, Mark now has a special seat next to you in the front row of your economics lecture, leaving Jeno and Ten snickering behind you as they watch your close interactions. You ate lunch at the willow tree by the basketball court on the days you weren’t visiting Yuna. After a while, you grew used to the dirty looks from the girls across the court, even glaring back when you met Hillary’s fiery stare. Nonetheless, you developed a comfortable social routine and everything was going quite well, except for one abundant issue weighing heavily on your shoulders.

The middle of October rolls by and you grind your way through your evening shift at Frankie’s. Thankfully, it was a Tuesday, so late-night stragglers weren’t an issue. You finish scrubbing down the counters in the kitchen and wipe your hands on your waitress apron. Unfortunately, it was your turn to close so you were the only one left working tonight. Your back ached from the hours of waiting tables and your cheeks hurt from the wide smile you offered all of your customers, rude or not. Sighing, you count your tips for the day.

A bell chimes from the door.

“Sorry we’re closed-,” you stop your words as you see the figure illuminated by the low diner lights.

“Is it too late for me to talk with the pretty waitress?” Mark grins, unzipping and taking off his wind breaker. You roll your eyes but your smile tells him you aren’t actually annoyed.

“The pretty waitress is covered in barbeque sauce and all purpose cleaner. Proceed?”

“Oh no, not barbeque sauce! Cancel request! Cancel Request!”

You laugh, throwing a nickel at his dramatic show.

“Wait, give that back to me. I need every tip I can get,” you say, holding out your hand to receive the coin. Mark obediently picks it up, handing it to you as he takes a seat at the bar. You thank him, flipping through the crinkled, greasy bills from the tip jar. The creeping disappointment must have shown on your face because Mark broke the silence.

“Not a good night?” His words were careful. He understood you were under a lot of stress recently, but he didn’t have the heart to pry further and make you tell him why, which you appreciated. Mark assumed it was about Yuna or grades, but you never confided the real reason of how much your financial situation really scared you.

“Not a good…” you debate telling him everything. On one hand, you didn’t want to come off as needy or desperate. You were infamously bad at sharing your burdens with others. On the other, you wanted to tell Mark because you know he would listen and it would make you feel better. “Not a good anything,” you finally admit, setting the scraggly bills down on the clean counter between you.

Only $26.84 for the whole night.

Mark’s soft brows were creased in concern as he waited for you to elaborate. He rested his chin on his knuckle, watching you pensate your feelings carefully. You meet his soft gaze, his eyes telling you that it’s okay. You let your shoulders relax, not even realizing the tension they were carrying.

“I…,” you start, letting out a small sigh as you walk your way around the counter to sit on the stool next to him. He spun his stool so he was sitting facing you. You pick at the mysterious stain on your apron.

How do I even tell him about this? Hey Mark, I’m broke! I might drop out because I don’t have money for school, thus ruining everything my parents and I have worked for.

“I guess I’m just worried,” you resolve after a minute, “I’m worried because, well, because of money”. You wince at hearing the words out loud but continue before you could take it back, “my parents are working really hard to get the money for my tuition, but things aren’t looking good for next semester”. You continue to tell him about how you’ve been picking up extra shifts to try to save up, but skating fees and money for basic necessities eats whatever you earn right up. The thought of quitting skating to save money came to your mind, but you never followed through because that was as much of a necessity as anything. A miracle occurred with the skating competition, only for some sick bastard to hurt Yuna. You asked around but everyone already had a partner or were too busy to participate in the competition. So now you could either go rob a bank or take a gap year and hope you’ll be able to return. Mark listened to your qualms quietly until you finished.

“The competition, did you ask people who aren’t on your team?,” Mark inquired, resting a reassuring hand on yours.

“Yeah, I even asked the girls on JV, but nobody wants to do it since they think they can’t win,” you confirm with a sad nod.

“That’s so dumb,” Mark stated, “you’re like, the best skater ever. Even the worst girl on JV could win if they did it with you”.

You look at him in surprise. His thumb ran comfortingly across your knuckles, sending tingles down your arm. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you look back down at your joined hands. To be honest, you weren’t really sure what you guys were: officially, you were just friends at the moment, but anyone could see that there was something there. As of late, too much has been on your mind for you to possibly sit down and ponder it. Neither one of you has confessed feelings of any sort, but the night at the lake couldn’t just be ignored. And do normal friends hold hands like this?

“Right, tell that to them. Nobody wanted to be my partner, so yeah, I’m kind of in a pickle with tuition right now”

“Well can anyone be your partner?,” Mark asked.

“What do you mean? Like, just ask random strangers to skate with me?”

“No I mean like… I could do it”. His expression was serious, alluding that he meant every word of his ridiculous proposition.

“You could-” you stop to consider, “I mean I guess? I don’t think Coach Tanya said anything about the participants needing to be on the team… or be a girl. But there’s a big problem we’re not considering.”

“What problem?”

“You don’t know how to figure skate”. You free your hand from his and punch him lightly in the arm.

“But I play hockey and I’ve skated all my life,” Mark bargained, pointing to himself smugly and shrugging, “how hard can it be?”

“How hard-” you wheeze. You laugh out loud as the serious boy looked on indignantly. “Figure skating is miles different from what you guys do. Y’all go, what, forwards and backwards? Can you do a jump?”.

“I can too do a jump,” Mark defended.

“Okay, what about a single axel jump?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggle, grabbing the counter and spinning your stool around. Mark watches you endearingly.

“Y/n” the sound of your name stops your childish break and you look at him expectantly. “What if I practiced every day. I can learn your uh- single axis”

“Axel,” you correct.

“Axel. I can learn this axel jump and I can practice it and whatever else you need so you can do the competition”. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but your heart skipped a beat nonetheless.

“Deadass?”

“Deadass,” Mark nodded.

“Why… why…”. You struggled to find the right words.

“Because I like you,” Mark interrupted, “and I want to do this for you because it would make you happy. I’d streak across campus fully nude and screaming if it made you happy”.

Did he just...confess?

“It would,” you nod seriously.

“It would? Which part? The competition or-”

“No, the streaking,” you shake your head, ignoring the steady increase of your heart rate. You press your lips into a flat line and nod to feign seriousness. Mark paused before getting up. He reached for the hem of his shirt, sighing before lifting it up over his head.

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, reaching for his belt buckle. You shriek, shielding your eyes from his half-nude appearance. Although you didn’t want to admit it, you let your eyes linger on his lean torso through your fingers.

Damn, maybe hockey does have some benefits.

“I was kidding! Please put your clothes back on!,” you cry. You heard him laugh as he pulled the fabric back on.

“Okay I’m decent. I’m decent,” Mark assured, taking his seat next to you again. “But seriously, I meant what I said and you don’t have to reply until you’re ready. I completely understand if you don’t know yet. Just know that I am here for you and I,” he grabbed the edge of your stool and pulled it firmly so you were facing him, “really like you. As more than friends”.

You felt surprisingly confident; the stress of life always went away when Mark was around and you forgot all about the scattered pennies and nickels on the counter. Although his confession was so sudden, you had a feeling it was coming eventually. It didn’t feel shocking, but more like… finally. That being said, you were unsure of what to say. You weren’t sure you were ready for a relationship and most of all, you weren’t sure about your feelings for him. The last thing you wanted was to say you like him back and have it end up not being true.

Like always, the understanding, patient look in Mark’s eyes told you that he would wait for you to reply when you’re ready.

“Okay”. You smile.

“Okay”. He mirrors.

“Let’s do it, the competition,” you decide.

“Really?”

“Yeah, let’s give it our best shot! After all, it’s a crowd vote and your popularity might gain us favor,” you tease, poking his chest. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:48pm, why?,” Mark replied, checking his lock screen. You hopped off your stool and began untying your apron.

“You drove here right?”. He nods. “Then there’s somewhere I wanna go if you’re willing to drive”. You shove your tips for the night into your bag.

“You know I’m always down for you,” Mark smiled, grabbing your jacket off the rack and helping you into it. He stood in front of you and zipped you up without you asking, fixing the hood so it was proper. You watch him in silence and awe as he smooths down the wrinkles by your collar carefully and slings the strap of your bag over his shoulder without a word. It’s always these things, the little things, that leave you speechless.

The drive was pleasant. Mark put on your favorite radio channel and the two of you vibed comfortably to the acoustic music, the only interruptions were your quiet directions to the desired destination. You examined Mark’s face as he focused on the road, tipping his head back and forth to the beat with one hand on the wheel. It was dark, but the passing street lights illuminated his features in mesmerizing flashes, almost as if they were afraid to show his face for too long, the beauty would be too much to handle. His cheekbones were especially accentuated by the small smile on his lips. Looking at him made you feel… calm.

You pulled into the familiar parking lot. The blue neon lights above the building reading “Skate City” buzzed with electricity as the two of you got out of the car.

“You wanted to come here? To a kid’s roller rink?”. Mark chuckled as he shut the driver side door.

“Make fun of me now but you’ll see why” you rolled your eyes, walking through the building door which Mark held open for you.

The interior of the building was just like you remembered: the dark, ragged carpet was covered in colorful squiggles and dots resembling an abstract representation of worms and confetti. If that wasn’t bad enough, the matching wallpaper and UV lights topped off the hallucinogenic nightmare of a roller rink. Usually, it was also filled with the screams of children. Due to the lateness in the day, the rink was empty and usual disco funk was turned off. You would think it was closed if it weren’t for the man watching TV behind the counter.

“Mr. Joseph,” you call out with a wave. The man grunted, pulling his feet from off of the counter and shuffling through the mess of papers to find his glasses. He was an unassuming man in about his early forties, balding, pot-bellied, and proud. Nobody would guess that he was the man who taught you to skate all those years ago.

“Why, is that Miss y/n?,” Mr. Joseph exclaimed, rounding the counter to hug you.

“How have you been, Joe?”

“Well, you know me. I’m gettin’ by. Who’s this fella over here?”. Joe adjusted his specs and squinted at Mark.

“This,” you nudge the shy boy forward slightly, “is my friend, Mark. Mark, this is my family friend and former coach, Mr. Joseph. Also known as Joe,” you introduce.

The two men exchange a firm handshake.

“Nice meeting you, Mark. You treating her right?” Joe narrowed his eyes.

“Um so,” you cough, saving Mark from the awkward question, “Joe, we need skates for Mark”.

“Wait but I already have skates, y/n-,”

“No, you have hockey skates, Mark. You’re gonna need proper figure skates if we’re gonna do this competition right,” you explain.

“Competition, huh,” Joe gruffed, waddling into the back room and motioning for you to follow.

“Yeah, I don’t know if my parents told you, but Yuna was in an accident and now she can’t do the pair skate with me. Mark’s a hockey player but,” you glance at him with a smile, “he offered to pick up some skills and be my partner”.

“Here,” Joe smacked a pair of skates into Mark’s arms, “try these, boy”.

“Thank you, sir”. Mark bowed and went out to the bench to try them on.

Once he was out of sight, Joe leaned down to you, “you like this boy?”.

“Stop!,” you cry, covering your reddening ears with your hands.

“I’m just saying,” Joe held up his hands innocently, “I can tell he likes you by the way he looks at you. Even from meeting him just now”.

“Yeah… I just,” you stop to think about it. Well it’s true he likes you...

Do you like him?

You look to the door where you could see his shadow lacing up the new skates. You wish he would hurry back. Being without him felt like something was missing. Even if he was right around the corner, it didn’t feel good that you couldn’t see him and feel his reassuring presence. Realization began creeping in and you turn to look back at Joe’s I-told-you-so expression. He gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Make sure he’s good to you”.

Mark’s figure reappeared at the doorway, oblivious to your pounding heart and emotions which were becoming slowly more apparent. You watch endearingly as he stepped awkwardly into the room wearing the skates, stretching out his arms to maintain his balance.

“I think they fit!,” Mark beamed at you, causing the butterflies in your stomach to migrate all around.

“That’s good, boy. Take them on the house,” Joe guided him back out to take them off before he could hurt himself.

“Oh no, sir-”

“Please, they were collecting dust in that storage room. Nobody wants men’s figure skates anymore these days and I’m glad to help y/n out” Joe dismissed.

“Joe,” you stop him, wrapping your arms around Joe’s neck to give him a big hug, “thank you,” you whisper.

“Of course, kiddo” he pat your back, “you make me proud”.

After chatting for a bit longer, you bid your goodbyes to Joe as he locked up Skate City for the night. In the car, you hold your breath and turn towards Mark. Strangely, your head was in the clouds as you examined his face, a face you’ve grown so familiar with in the past few weeks, yet seemed brand new. Suddenly, he leaned in close, close enough to count his pretty eyelashes, warranting your breath to hitch in your throat. Unaware of your, Mark places the box of skates in the backseat and sits up straight again to buckle his seatbelt. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Right, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

“So, are you tired or do you wanna do some skating today?,” you finally ask.

Mark flashed you a crooked smile, starting the car, “Y/n, I’m always down for you. School rink?”.

You nod.

The whole drive back to the school was noticeably more awkward, at least to you. You tensed at every word he said and felt your heart clench when he hummed along to the soft radio tune. Saying nothing or giving short, one word replies, you didn’t trust your voice to say more. Instead, you opted to look out the window at the passing scenery for the fear of Mark noticing your flushed expression. You tug uncomfortably at your jacket collar, beginning to regret asking him to skate tonight. Ironically, and perhaps foolishly of you, you’ve received his confession yet you’re unwilling to admit the good news of mutual feelings to yourself. What should you do or say? Surely it’s not right to just say ‘I like you! I figured it out haha let’s date!” out of the blue.

Pulling into the sports center parking lot, you notice the locks on the front door.

“Oh crap, I forgot it’s a weekday. The rink is closed after 11,” you mutter, slightly relieved at the thought of heading home to sort out your feelings alone.

“Don’t worry, we can sneak in through the side door,” Mark answers nonchalantly, getting out to open the car door for you. You don’t disregard the kind gesture and instead feel the familiar pressure in your chest again.

And sneak in you did.

Mark had clearly done this a few times judging based on the way he led you confidently to the obscured side door which was propped slightly open with a rock.

You went your separate ways in the eerily empty stadium to your respective locker rooms. Splashing your face with cool water, you attempt to rein in your fiery flush.

How should I bring it up? Or do I wait? He already said he likes me, but what if he didn’t mean it?

After changing into your skates, you take a deep breath and head out to the ice.

He was already there waiting for you by the railing. Mark must have heard your footsteps approaching and he turned to give you a warm smile.

“You’re right, y/n, these skates are kinda different”. He tapped the toe pick into the padded floor.

“Yeah… right,” you mumbled, struggling to meet his bright eyes.

He’s so cute.

Pale moonlight streamed through the glass ceiling panels and illuminated your surroundings. Mark’s hair made his face glow silver and his eyes sparkled with the reflection of the moon. His face fell at your weak response, reading it as disinterest.

You open the gate and skate out onto the ice in front of him. Mark tentatively skated out to follow you, wobbling slightly at the different sensation. You reach out to grab his arms and steady him, meeting his gaze briefly before blinking away. You loosen your grip on his sleeves, the contact making your feelings go wild.

For a few moments, the two of you silently glided across the ice. For the first time ever, it seems, you weren’t sure what to say to him.

“Listen,” Mark finally spoke, struggling to a stop. He looked down at his skates thoughtfully, “If it’s about what I said earlier, if it’s about me liking you and that made you uncomfortable, I- I take it back. I feel like I didn’t give you a chance to say no if you wanted to-”

“No it’s-,” you interrupt, skating slightly ahead, “It’s not that”.

“Then why are you acting so strange?,” Mark asked, struggling to keep up.

“I just,” you circle to a stop at the middle of the rink. How do you even begin to explain how you feel? Never in your life have you felt like this about anybody. Never in your life have you felt so special and so cared for than when you were with Mark. You would have been lucky enough just being able to know him, but he even likes you. Out of all of the people he could have chosen, he chose you.

Mark careened to a halt behind you, waiting for you to finish. You take a deep breath.

Now or never.

You turn around to face him.

“What you told me in the diner, tell it to me again”. Your voice came out weaker than you had intended.

Mark’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and worry that you were upset with him. He wanted to pull you into a hug, tuck that piece of hair back behind your ear and tell you it’s okay if you didn’t love him back.

“I-,” Mark cleared his throat from his emotions, “I said that I like you, y/n. I like you as more than friends”. He looked down towards his feet but before he could blink, he was crushed in between your arms as you jumped to hug him. Your face fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and you breathed in his familiar, warm scent as he wrapped his arms delicately around your waist. The force from your impact caused both of you to drift slightly, but you kept steady. Not brave enough to look him in the face, you whisper your confession to his ear.

“I’m ready to answer you. I… I like you too. As more than friends”

Mark’s grip tightened around your waist as he lifted you slightly off the ice. Spinning around, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your sweatshirt as if he never wanted to let you go. Your heart swelled at the feeling as you held onto his sturdy shoulders. Neither of you needed to say anything more. He pulled you close so there was no space left and you listened to the gentle rhythm of his heart beating for you.

Pulling away at last, you rest your forehead against his. Your eyes fluttered closed but you could feel the tip of his nose brush gently across yours, his warm exhalation fanning across your lips.

“You don’t happen to have your phone on you, do you?” Mark mumbled deeply, savoring the moment.

You let out a small giggle, “no, do you?”.

“Nope”

And with that, you tilted your head up ever so slightly and Mark cupped your cheek to bring your lips together. You melt into his kiss and touch, allowing the way his soft lips moved against yours to express his silent affections. Exhaling through your nose, you sigh into the kiss, moving your hand to rest at the back of his head to pull him in deeper.

Finally.

Mark ran his thumb affectionately across your cheek, his lips speaking of all the times he’s wanted to do this. Your fingers lace their way through his soft hair, loving the way he reacts as you tug against the strands slightly.

A loud bang from a closing door causes you to pull apart finally. The bright beam of the security guard’s flashlight flashes across the ice as the two of you look on like deer caught in headlights.

“Hey, you two! Get out of there!,” the guard shouted, pointing a finger at your embracing form.

“Run!,” you whisper yell, pulling him quickly towards the gate. The two of you run as quickly as you can in your skates, pulling them off before you enter the hallway.

“Hey! Stop right there!,” the guard yelled, stumbling down the stadium stairs.

“Quick! In here!” Mark tugged you into the boys locker room, shutting the door before the guard could see and ushering you quickly to hide in the gap between two lockers. You squeezed in with him, panting softly as the adrenaline pumped through your body. Mark’s arms wrap around your body to pull you closer as the guard opens the door. The flashlight flicked menacingly across the dark room. You hold your breath as it comes particularly close. Finally, seconds that feel like hours pass and the security guard grunts before deciding to move on. You exhale in relief.

Mark rests his chin on top of your head and you realize how closely you’re pressed together. You giggle into his chest, loving how warm he felt.

“I can’t believe that I get to hold you,” Mark whispers. His fingers draw invisible shapes across your back.

You nuzzle your face into his tee shirt. “Well I can’t believe we’re doing this in the boy’s locker room after being chased down by security,” you mumble against the fabric. His chest sounded a low vibration as he chuckled back, moving his hand up to stroke your hair.

“You are so, so beautiful, y/n,” he moves to kiss the top of your head, “I don’t know the words to express how beautiful you are to me”.

You press deeper into his body at the words you’ve always wanted to hear. Lifting your face up from his chest, you press a small kiss to his lips, heart jumping at the still-new sensation. It was sweet, his lips ghosting over yours breathlessly as you nestle your nose gently against his in a slow eskimo kiss.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Mark whispers in between kisses, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long”.

You answer by gripping the fabric of his collar to pull him in deeper, moving your lips rhythmically against his.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while too,” you admit as you catch your breath, “I just didn’t understand it. Or some part of me wasn’t ready to admit it”.

“That makes sense” Mark rests his forehead on yours, smiling, “I would have waited a thousand years if that’s what you needed”.

Again and again, he captivated you with his words. He was so good to you and never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect. Day after day, his patience with you never faded and slowly, you let him break down your walls. His comforting smile and optimism always filled you with reassurance and peace.

So standing there, making out in the boy’s locker room, illegally, in the dead of night on a Tuesday, you became sure. You were sure that you wanted him in your life. You were sure you wanted to try to be a part of his. As you pressed your lips to his and as he ran his fingers through your hair, there was no turning back.

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

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‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 1

My biggest gripe with how late the three canon lives system was brought in is that the early deaths never got the weight they deserved in canon. So I fixed that. The night of L’Manberg’s independence is the biggest party any of them have ever attended, but Tommy’s not in a merry mood. Tubbo finds out why. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left.

part two | part three

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Night of Independence

“One, two, three, four, five-” His heart was racing, fingers tightening on the bowstring. There was a kind of dread in his heart like never before. Not only was Dream a better shot than him; he knew it. And to bet both the future of his country and one of his discs on his abilities…

“-six, seven, eight, nine-” His arms ached; his whole body ached. Bruises and scrapes and barely healed gashes littered his limbs from Eret’s betrayal. That b*stard. He snuck a glance at his fellows. They’d all lost so much today. All their things, a war, a country; not to mention a life apiece. Something had erupted inside of him when they’d woken back in the camarvan with a tally mark each: something red and explosive. And they returned his gaze, Tubbo and Fundy watching with bated breath. He couldn’t see Wilbur from the direction he was facing, but he imagined his expression was about the same. Fear, apprehension and just the smallest sliver of hope.

“-Ten paces fire!” And then it died, for the second time in twenty-four hours. As did Tommy.

The mood around the campfire was merry. Wilbur had poured them all drinks (watered down for everyone but him, especially Fundy) and was currently leading him and Tubbo in a half-drunk singalong of something that had started as the L’Manberg anthem, that had since devolved into innuendos about explosions and jokes about ‘independance’, though they kept in the parts with the names and the ‘it’s a very real and not blown up L’Manberg’. Tommy tried to have a good time, shouting “F*ck Eret!” every time that line came up, but the feeling was bittersweet. He slipped his hand inside his shirt and felt the tiny ridges. Two tallies. He hadn’t told the others yet. They’d given him enough pity when he’d told them how he’d traded away the discs. He didn’t need them fawning over him for this as well.

Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t been subtle enough. Tubbo sat down beside him, out of breath from dancing and grinning at Wilbur’s antics, and the first thing he laid his eyes on when he looked to Tommy was his hand inside his shirt. Tommy internally cursed himself and quickly removed it, but Tubbo had already latched onto the topic, “Feels weird doesn’t it?”

“Hm?” “The… Death mark.” A slight tremor passed over him, his eyes wandering down to where his own sat. The marks always showed just below a person’s collarbone, on the left side of the chest, close to the heart. “Maybe not weird but… I never expected to have one this- this early.” His words hung in the night air. They were both just kids, Fundy too, and they were all too close to a permanent death than they should be. But Tommy found some solace in how his friends had survived the war gaining only one. They were the lucky ones. Tommy had not only lost his most valued possessions but another life too. There was a line to death, and now Tommy walked along it, feet placed end to end like an acrobat tip-toeing a tightrope. Any moment now could be his last forever. It was unlikely he’d die right this second: he’d just secured peace for goodness’ sake, but what if? All it could take now was a stray arrow, a random attacker, a careless match finding an explosive in an untouched corner of L’Manberg, and that would be it for him. Gone.

Tubbo shuffled closer, “Tommy, are you okay man?” Drat. Once again, his face betrayed his feelings. He glanced around the partying men. Of all the people here, he trusted Tubbo the most, but mainly, the secret was starting to weigh him down worse than a full suit of netherite. He was tired of saying he was fine. Besides, it was Tubbo. His best friend, his brother. They’d been fighting together since the beginning: the Disc War, the Pet Wars and most of his other scuffles with citizens of the SMP, major and minor. He could trust Tubbo.

“Tubbo, I… Give me your hand.” One boy put his hand in the others’, and Tommy laid it on his chest, where they could both feel the lines representing a betrayal and a duel through the thin fabric of his shirt. Tubbo’s face changed from concern to horror to pity as he ran his fingers back and forth over the two ridges, checking, again and again, to verify what he couldn’t quite believe was true.

“You never said-” He started to say, but Tommy silenced him with a finger to his own lips hurriedly. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.” He sighed. “Or detract from the celebrations. I’m fine. It’s just a second mark.” Tubbo gave him a look halfway between disappointment and sympathy. “First of all, it’s not ‘just a second mark’ and second, you know that because I can see it on your face. It’s affecting you, dude.” Tommy looked away, closing his hand around Tubbo’s. “I don’t wanna think about it tonight, but I can’t-” He looked around at his four closest comrades. “I can’t stop running it over in my head, how much we’ve lost.” He gestured around them, at the land of their country torn apart, at the small patch of scorched grass they’d found sound enough to celebrate on. His eyes met Tubbo’s, creased with worry. “Five lives between us. Five.”

“Well… We’ve lost a lot, but we’ve also gained, y’know? What you did-” “How do you feel?” “Hm?” Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s hand. “How does it feel to be down a life?” “Don’t you remember?” He smiled faintly. “It was only this morning.” “I was a bit preoccupied, Tubbs.” They giggled half-heartedly. “True.” There was a moment of quiet broken only by the sounds of the party, and then; “I suppose I’m okay. I know I’m a bit closer to dying now, but I’ve still got another chance. So I can manage, I think.” “Do you feel more… mortal? Vulnerable?” Tommy’s voice was small. “Yeah. Like, I know what it’s like to die now- or, I know I can die. That it’s possible. I think that’s what it’s like for the others as well.”

Tubbo’s gaze drifted to look over at Wilbur, and Tommy’s soon followed. “Well, he seems fine.” The blonde remarked as Wilbur whirled past, drink in hand, a brown coat over his revolutionary uniform, adding more and more names from the crowd around them to the anthem as Fundy looked on, bemused. “I guess,” Tubbo shrugged. “He’s a bit older, so it’s less… jarring to be down one. Still not ideal, but not entirely unexpected.” “Well he’s certainly taking it well.” And at that Tubbo laughed. “He’s also quite drunk. So drunk he hasn’t noticed Fundy’s stopped watering his beers down.” That brought forth a small smile from Tommy. Tubbo continued: “He’s had time, y’know?” He paused, waiting for Tommy to look him in the eye. “When… When did you notice it?”

“After Dream took off with the discs. I finally came down from the adrenaline rush when I was alone in my house, just before I got back on comms to let you guys know. I felt it while I was taking off my armour. The tiniest little sting... And there it was.” He remembers standing alone in his house, examining both the duel scar and the extra mark in the grimy mirror he’d taken off the wall and leant on the floor. For a moment it was like the floor had gone out from beneath him again, but luckily this time it wasn’t an explosion. It hadn’t crossed his mind before then: all his brainpower had been in use, between worrying for his friends, discs, country and bow skills. The physical and mental pain of losing the duel had kept his mind off his own mortality as well, but there it was, staring him in the face, taunting him.

‘Two lives in less than twenty-four hours,’ it seemed to say (and he’d be omitting important details to not mention how it spoke in an American accent) ‘You won’t make it to twenty, or eighteen, or even your next birthday. Are you running out of time? Are you running out of time? Are you running out of ti-’

“What you did was incredibly brave and selfless.” Tubbo’s voice snapped him out of the memory of Death calling out to him, or maybe that was just him being melodramatic. “More like stupid. I didn’t know what I was doing.” “Well, Wilbur did tell you, he said ‘ohh Tommy, this country isn’t worth your life’.” “I wasn’t thinking.” “Well... I don’t care.” Tubbo squeezed his hand. “And maybe that’s a little selfish, but we’re free because of the trade you made, and maybe you’d never have pushed Dream to that point without the duel. I don’t know. But now we’re free. We’ve been beaten down by that tyrant for so long, but now we’re finally free.” He gave him a firm smile, “Yeah.” It was hard not to get swept up in Tubbo’s good moods, so Tommy reached for his drink. “Cheers. To L’Manberg!” “L’Manberg!” Tubbo knocked his tankard into Tommy’s and they both took a long drink. Wilbur overheard them and knocked Fundy’s drink out of his hands in his tipsy enthusiasm, and then there was another round of My L’Manberg. And as Tommy listened to the growing, rowdy chorus of his country, he let go of his fears for a while. Maybe they’d never leave him for the rest of his life, but for right now, they had their walls, their drinks and their song.

And as long as there were more crosses on the flag than lines on his tally, he’d be fine.

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

#HI EVERYONE YES THIS IS THE FIC I'VE BEEN WRITING SINCE NOVEMBER I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!!#(this is the first dsmp fic i ever started writing... can you tell it's so different from my style now)#the whole thing (full three parts) is 10000 words in total and waaaaay over the tamblegram paragraph limit so first time doing a multi-part!#how on earth do hyperlinks work #anyway please rb + comment i have been working on this for so long i wanna know what y'all think :)#dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #clingy duo #l'manberg #l'manberg revolution #dsmp fic #crim writes

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maddogofshimano · 3 years

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Bound in the Chains of Suspicion: Haruka and Hamazaki Board Game Event

Major Y3 and Y4 Spoilers

I was surprised to see these two on an event together! Haruka even gets to be the protagonist here

I was more surprised by how emotionally compromised I got about Hamazaki of all people. I mean, I’ve thought he was a cool character ever since Y4, but man! This is the most important part though: LOOK AT HER

I’ve been busy so self-care was writing things up in more of a summary form than doing line for line translations this time. Apologies for the likely higher number of errors than usual and less polish overall, I got this done with only a few hours to spare before the event ended

I do need to put a big honking Content Warning on this one for attempted sexual assault of a minor, in which a grown man twice demands to see Haruka’s panties and attempts to grab her when she refuses. I’m really not a fan of the writing choice to include this, but I’ve got it in here for completeness’s sake

Summary: Set during the time between Kiryu and Yasuko leaving Hamazaki in Okinawa and Haruka’s call to Kiryu the next day to tell Kiryu that Hamazaki had passed away in the hospital. Haruka grapples with whether or not Hamazaki is a bad person and if he’s trustworthy while attempting to save his life

<After the incident where Hamazaki drifted to Morning Glory from Okinawa Penitentiary No. 2.....> We're starting off with in-game events/dialogue, Hamazaki handing over the blackmail he took from jail and asking for Kiryu's help

Immediate flashback to earlier 3/9/2010, more in game events. The kids have just gotten back from a field trip to the woods. They had fun, and want Kiryu to come along next time. Kiryu tries to introduce Hamazaki, Haruka is not having any of it

She tells Kiryu to shut up and Hamazaki to stay the hell away from everyone. Hamazaki is hurt by this, but fully understands and agrees to keep his distance

Next we have the beach conversation with Kiryu where she asks if he’s going back to Tokyo and that she’s scared

Haruka's usually very polite but she keeps calling Hamazaki あの浜崎って人 which is like, "that Hamazaki guy" lol

Haruka's been told by Ayako that "that Hamazaki guy" has left with Kiryu to go to the police station. She's wondering why that guy is now trying to convince Kiryu not to go to Tokyo....... isn't there going to be a big problem if Kiryu doesn't go? Did Hamazaki tell Kiryu not to go..... for Haruka's sake? There's no way, right? A bad person like him wouldn't do something like that..... She can't trust him, but..... <Haruka flashes back to her yelling at Hamazaki and Hamazaki looking sad> She feels she might have been cruel to him

She thinks that Hamzaki just looked so so sad, so she tells Ayako she's going to head out for a bit and asks her to watch over things while she's gone. She thinks that she still can't trust Hamazaki but that maybe, it's possible he really has changed, and he's not such a bad guy anymore... but she can't be sure! So she's going to talk to him a little more

She shows the cop an photo of Kiryu and asks if he's come this way, as well as a big man with a shaved head and a scary face named Hamazaki. The officer says that they did, but went to help a lady look for her brother instead. He points Haruka in the direction they ran off in. She thanks him and wonders who this woman is, and remembers that Kiryu has a phone so she can just call him. Except she forgot her phone at morning glory...... thankfully there's a pay phone nearby, so she uses that instead. Kiryu isn't picking up though, which is worrying. She's sure Hamazaki must have done something!

She runs around the market with her picture of Kiryu asking people if they've seen him. A store owner says that yeah, he's seen that guy with the scary face, he was here not too long ago, and points her in the right direction. She follows the trail, talking to a homeless man, a younger guy, a tourist lady, and finally hitting a dead end and talking to a goon who says yeah, he's seen those three, but his memory's real fuzzy. Maybe he could remember if Haruka would show him her panties. Haruka is taken aback, he tries to grab her, and Haruka fights him off enough to escape. She hides nearby, and happens across someone bleeding on the ground. It's Hamazaki!

Hamazaki is bleeding badly, and collapses. Haruka thinks that she needs to call an ambulance, and fast, but she hears someone shouting in search of Hamazaki. She knows that if they come this way they'll be out in the open, so she starts dragging him despite him being heavy

the voice was of course coming from everyone's fave, Saito the Prison Warden

He knows that Hamazaki got shot in the torso, so he couldn't have gone far. Haruka wonders why Saito would try to kill Hamazaki. Unfortunately Saito decides that his subordinates are useless and that if he wants anything done he'll have to do it himself

He tells a homeless man that if they spot Hamazaki, Yasuko, and Kiryu he'll give them 100,000 yen, and the offer stands for any other homeless friends that help search. Haruka knows that she needs to get Hamazaki somewhere safe that they can hide, and fast. She thinks about it and remembers that right at the end of this alley there's an empty room that's never used that Taichi told her about. She manages to sneak herself and Hamazaki to the building without being spotted by the patrolling homeless men--but once in the building she finds that there's a homeless man inside. He tries to tell her to go play somewhere else but notices that she's dragging Hamazaki behind her, and starts shouting in hopes of getting the 100k. HARUKA ATTACKS THIS MAN. HARUKA OVERPOWERS THIS MAN. THIS MAN IS STRUGGLING TO GET AWAY AND HARUKA IS TELLING HIM HE CAN'T TELL ANYONE CAUSE THE PEOPLE LOOKING FOR HAMAZAKI NO OJISAN WILL KILL HIM

The man comments that Haruka's hands are shaking. He says he's been there too. When he worked as a day laborer, his hands would shake like that when he was desperately trying to haul heavy things. For the sake of helping an adult she's pushing her tiny body to it's limits... He agrees not to tell anyone, he's not going to be happy with any amount of money at the cost of someone's life. If any other homeless people come by, he's going to spread rumors that Hamazaki is far away from here, so that should help with Haruka's escape Haruka thinks again about calling an ambulance, worried that Hamazaki will bleed out, but still worried that they'll be found before it gets there. She also worries about why she hasn't seen Kiryu, and why Hamazaki was all alone at that building. The guy that shot Hamazaki seems like a cop and a bad person, but she had also thought Hamazaki was a bad person before... He did shoot Hamazaki, but Hamazaki also stabbed Kiryu...

Haruka wonders if maybe telling the cops where Hamazaki is would be the right thing to do. Maybe he's the real bad guy here. In response Hamazaki makes an eloquent argument compared to every previous line which had just been "Ughh gh ughh" and instead goes for "cough cough....!"

He's conscious enough to recognize Haruka as that kid who was at Kiryu's place. Haruka asks if Hamazaki is alright, and where is Kiryu? Is he okay? Hamazaki wheezes out that Kiryu's gone to a bad place, which is about the most ominous way to say things. Haruka panics internally, but unlike many other instances of miscommunication where Hamazaki would pass out right there, he says that Kiryu went with Saejima's sister to Tokyo. Haruka can't believe it. Hamazaki apologizes that he ended up separating Haruka from Kiryu after all.

Hamazaki also says that, despite everything, Kiryu's doing this to keep Haruka safe. Haruka wonders about that and Hamazaki collapses again. Haruka rushes off and calls an ambulance from the closest pay phone. She thinks that, if she trusts what Hamazaki is saying, then Kiryu has something important to do again. But is that really the case? She decides it'll be alright to trust Hamazaki. Before she makes it to the pay phone she's stopped by Saito introduces himself as a prison warden and says he's looking for a very bad man. He's large and has a shaved head, and was seen with a woman in a long coat and a man in a Hawaiian shirt. Haruka says she hasn't seen anyone, and rushes to the phone to call. Saito doesn't seem too convinced. Haruka makes the call and thinks that Saito had a real scary look in his eyes. She's pretty sure he's the bad one here. Once that guy gives up looking, then she can go home

Unfortunately we have the return of the disgusting creep that wants to look at her panties, now telling her that he looked all over for her, and she better not think about trying to run away this time. Haruka tells him to stay back

He says that it's fine if she hates him. In fact, that's even more enticing. She says to let her through, she's in a rush. He says he just wants to see her panties already, and tries to grab her. Another fight, she manages to avoid getting grabbed but he keeps her cornered and says she should stop fighting. He's cut off by a baton to the back of the head by the unlikeliest of heroes, dropping the creep

Haruka now has to consider, is it possible that Saito isn't actually a bad guy? Haruka leaves, and Saito comments to himself that he's going to find Hamazaki.

Haruka rushes back to Hamazaki, who is still lying on the floor going Ughhghghhhhh. She tells him to hold on a little longer, and ambulance is on the way. Hamazaki apologizes, and asks if she's alright. Haruka's confused. Hamazaki says that she scraped her knee on something, didn't she? It was from dragging him, right? She says no, she just fell and scraped it. Haruka's taken aback, even on the verge of death he's concerned about someone else--he really has changed. But... this could all be an act, she has no way to know... should she really be trusting him? There's a voice outside saying that this is where he's hiding. Search everywhere. both: !?

There's no time to hide, Saito is already here. Apparently it's been about 2 hours.

He followed Haruka, knowing she'd lead him right to Hamazaki. He saw the blood on her clothes and had a hunch. Once they talked at that pay phone he was certain she was hiding a half-dead Hamazaki somewhere. Haruka tries to protest but Saito thanks her for her help. It's a good way to thank him for saving her from that creep, right? Either way he only stepped in because he wanted her to lead him to Hamazaki as quickly as possible. Saito decides they've had enough chit-chat and says it's time to cut to the chase: he starts beating on Hamazaki and demanding to know where Kiryu Kazuma and Saejima's sister are

Hamazaki tells Haruka to run. He says that once they realize they can't beat the whereabouts of Kiryu and Saejima Yasuko out of him... they'll start torturing Haruka. He's going to use the last of his strength to stand and knock this guy to the ground, that'll be Haruka's opening to escape. Saito tells them to cut it with the whispering. Hamazaki says that Saito has a real hideous mug, it really makes him laugh, and earns himself another beating. Haruka calls out but Hamazaki cuts her off and says that it's okay to be scared. Hamazaki's dealt with plenty of guys like this. Saito threatens to kill him if he doesn't spit out where Kiryu is already. Hamazaki laughs and says he doesn't know. Saito asks if he needs his memory jogged, pauses, and sees Haruka standing in front of Hamazaki. He asks what she's trying to do. She says this is terrible! She can't let this go any further!!

Saito doesn't care if she's just a kid, he's happy to give her an attitude adjustment. Hamazaki launches himself at Saito to prevent him from beating Haruka, saying that he won't allow Saito to lay a single finger on this child. Saito attacks Hamazaki with intent to kill. Hamazaki can't move anymore after the fight, and Saito keeps hitting until he goes down. Saito declares that he would never die in a place like this, he's the one who's coming out on top. He reels back to strike Hamazaki, shouting for him to die, and........ HARUKA GRABS HIM AND STOPS HIM FROM HITTING HAMAZAKI! He calls her a bitch and tells her to let go of him!

Haruka: I won't let go....! Not ever.....! Hamazaki-san! Run!

Saito: Let go of me you biiiiiiiiiiiiitch! Saito turns to swing at Haruka but is taken down by one giant punch from Hamazaki, who tells him not to get back up. The ambulance finally arrives. Haruka begs him to hold on just a little longer. Hamazaki agrees, and laughs a little. He stopped Saito from laying a finger on her after all. He's glad he was able to protect her. There's on favor he needs to ask of her. Hamazaki: Tell Kiryu...... and Saejima that......... the Tojo Clan... is the only proof they ever walked this earth...... They have to... protect it....... from the police

He then collapses. Haruka begs him to hold on

The doctor tells Haruka that Hamazaki is in bad shape... he might not even make it to the morning.

Haruka thinks back to her yelling at Hamazaki at the orphanage Haruka: I'm sorry, Hamazaki-san..... I... I was cruel to you then... and now I can't even apologize to you for it. I'm sorry....... I'm sorry...... Hamazaki: ......What's.... wrong....... Haruka-..... chan........ Haruka: !? Doctor: Incredible.... he's awake! Haruka: H-Hamazaki-san.... I'm sorry! I... back then when I.... I'm can't apologize enough....... Haruka: Back at Morning Glory.... I didn't trust you.... I said some cruel things that hurt you.... I'm sorry! Haruka: I was certain you were a horrible person back then.... but now.... I don't think that's true.... Haruka: For protecting Uncle Kaz.... for protecting me.... thank you, Hamazaki-san! Hamazaki: Heheh.... thanks, huh? Hamazaki: ......First time.... anyone's ever said that kind of thing.... sincerely to me...... Haruka: Hamazaki-san...... Hamazaki: Heheh.... it's fine........ Since we're.... giving thanks to people..... Hamazaki: Thank you... Haruka-chan.... Right at the very end...... you saved me <Hamazaki collapses> Haruka: .....! H-Hamazaki-saaaaaan!!! <at New Serena, Kiryu gets a phone call> Kiryu: ....Haruka. What's wrong, did something happen?

Haruka: Uncle Kaz... Hamazaki-san..... he just passed away. At the hospital.

Straight from the in-game dialogue, Haruka tells Kiryu that Hamazaki had been shot in the back, leading to his death. He thanks Haruka for being there for him, she says it was no trouble, and that she thinks he died protecting Kiryu. Kiryu agrees. Haruka says she thinks she was wrong about Hamazaki, and passes along his message for Kiryu and Saejima, and lets Kiryu know that his body is currently at Morning Glory. Kiryu says they'll hold a memorial service once he's back <phone call ends> Haruka: .....Uncle Kaz. The Tojo Clan that Hamazaki-san protected... he's left it's protection to you. <END>

Bonus stuff:

as we all know, Haruka has not had enough people literally die in front of her eyes, so time to add Hamazaki to that list!

okay so immediately after Hamazaki wakes up in the hospital there’s this screen which made me break down into nearly crying laughter in the middle of the emotional moment, so I used my editorial authority to move it down here instead

the doctor’s face! why did they do this!!

Anyways here’s all of Haruka’s little blurbs from going around the board

Beach There's a beach in front of Morning Glory. We keep coming back to here to look at the ocean. It's an indispensable spot for all of us.

Morning Glory Our beloved home. When I first came here, I thought it was super spacious, but lately it feels cramped. It must be because everyone has grown up.

Hamazaki-san The guy who stabbed uncle Kaz.... But now, Hamazaki-san gives off a totally different vibe than back then. Is it really okay to trust him....?

Ebisu Pawn The Ryukyu branch of Ebisu. Uncle Kaz goes there every now and then. I have no idea what he's pawning off but... I'd like to help.

People Running Shakedowns Even in Okinawa there are people that will do shakedowns.... I need to tell everyone to keep an eye out before anything happens....!

Ojisan The caretaker of Morning Glory. Honestly, everyone truly thinks of him like their dad. If you tell him something like that however, he will get embarrassed.

Everyone at Morning Glory Everyone here has no parents, but each of them has a bright future ahead of them if they keep working hard. We've all become a real family for each other.

Sailor Outfit For my middle school I have to wear this sailor outfit. At first I would get embarrassed when everyone looked at me.

Mame A resident (pet?) of Morning Glory. Mame is getting bigger, and it's making his daily walks and pacing beforehand a real pain! (TL note: the resident (pet?) is Haruka swapping the counter between for a person and for an animal, which does not really have an english translation lol)

Dragon Mask When Taichi was sick, this was used for a pro wrestling match on the beach. I haven't seen it since then. If I ask nicely, I wonder if it could be used again?

That’s all! Thank you for reading all of this!! I cherish every single tag people leave on these posts when they reblog them

#yakuza #rggo #ryu ga gotoku online #Ryu ga Gotoku #Hamazaki #Haruka #Kiryu

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captainsimagines · 3 years

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To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence.

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm

“He did what?”

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.

“He took a bullet for someone.”

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.

“You sure your blood matches?”

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn.

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy.

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes.

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get.

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years.

Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down.

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with.

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight.

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier.

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both.

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them.

It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you.

You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust.

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore.

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again.

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t.

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good.

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass.

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start.

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly.

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange.

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them. The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper.

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry.

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys.

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds.

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did.

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh.

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up. “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!”

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder.

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

“Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter.

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles.

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets.

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle.

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected.

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week.

‘The story of my life! I take her home,

I drive all night to keep her warm and time,

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope,

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

“You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious.

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party.

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does.

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head.

Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick.

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of.

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.” You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired.

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare.

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky.

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating.

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no.

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

“You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you.

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance.

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it.

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider.

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress.

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though.

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar.

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion.

“Kind of you to show up!”

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right.

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season.

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it.

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank.

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore.

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw.

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you.

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you.

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn.

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you.

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be.

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you.

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor.

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds.

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs.

The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference.

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last.

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda.

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart.

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!”

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed.

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either.

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’.

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest.

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up.

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae.

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup.

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck.

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart.

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip.

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise.

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake.

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires.

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows.

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter.

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk. “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic.

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar. “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip.

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance.

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him.

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier.

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut. “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.”

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him.

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back. “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet. “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half. To protect and be protected.

“Let’s go.”

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

#steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers x reader #reader x avengers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #to topple #a giant #by Moni #captainsimagines #mob fanfic #trigger warnings listed #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #mini-series #part eight #chapter eight #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Teenage Dream

CW: Pet whump/dehumanization/whump of a minor in 2nd section, some brief noncon references in 2nd and 3rd sections, gratuitous Katy Perry in every section because Chris wouldn’t fucking shut up until I wrote this.

---

“Come on, Aki, please? Please?” Tristan’s pleading is married to his big green eyes and his coppery hair shifting across his forehead. The perfect sincerity of his request would crack any facade of ironic detachment. And Akio is trying to look detached.

“Tris, nobody likes that fucking song.”

“That’s, that’s not true, ev-everyone does, it’s on on on the radio all the, the, the, um, the time,” Tristan counters easily, and Akio can’t exactly argue that. And he can’t say well nobody cool likes it, because of course Tristan wouldn’t know he was joking and not being mean. He can’t always tell what’s a joke and what isn’t, and Akio heaves the most dramatic sigh he can manage and allows the younger boy to pull him onto his feet, making a big show of dramatic reluctance as he goes stumbling forwards onto the practice mat.

“Just because it’s on the radio doesn’t make it good, Tris.”

“But, but, but I like it, and-... and I had some, um… some ideas. Please, Akio?”

There’s the big green eyes again.

Akio sighs, rakes a hand back through his hair only to have it flop back over his forehead, and smiles. “Yeah, fine. Okay, Tris, show me.”

“Yes! Awesome. Thank-... thank, thank you, Aki.” Tris pulls him in for a hug, crushing tight like nearly all of Tristan Higgs’ hugs are, and Akio tries to look aloof and above it all. Someone nearby wolf-whistles and Akio throws a middle finger in no particular direction in response.

“Get a fucking room, Nakamura,” Lisa Huang calls out, stretching her legs off to the side. Akio changes the direction of his middle finger to aim directly at her.

“Yeah, but then you’d miss the show, Huang, and what would you do then?”

“Oh, oh, oh my God,” Tris mutters, his face bright red, but he’s bouncing on his toes and his fingers are tapping on Akio, so he knows it’s okay. “This, this, it’s not-”

“Hey, she’s just being a shit because she’s jealous I get the Tris hugs. Aren’t you, Huang?”

“Literally, I am going to melt into the floor from envy any minute now,” Lisa replies, sitting back on her hands. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to hug the Tristan Higgs and Akio Nakamura, huh? And yet-” She throws her hand over her forehead dramatically. “Neither of you ever notice me.”

“Sorry, Huang, my heart belongs to Tris.”

“What?” Tristan’s eyes are wider than ever, not following the joke, it’s all so sincere to Tristan unless he’s mad, and then he seems to get sarcasm well enough.

Akio just grins. “Kidding, Tris. Come on, show me the idea you had. I want to see, even if it means… listening to… that.”

“No, you’ll like it, Aki, I-I-I promise. Can, can, can you hit, um, um… play, Lisa?” Tris yells over the sound of the others talking, working out, practicing on the bars or the beams, the low-level noise the gym is always filled with. Akio and Tristan are officially not practicing today, but they’d both wanted to come here and Akio’s mom had been okay with driving them on her way to take Akio’s little sister to kiddie soccer, and Tris’s mom is going to pick them up later to take them home.

So here they are.

And here Tris is, convinced Akio should help him build a routine to Katy fucking Perry.

“Okay, Tris,” Akio says, and sits himself down at the edge of the mat next to Lisa Huang, legs crossed, elbows on his knees. “Here we go.”

“You know which song it’s gonna be, right?” Lisa says under her breath, finger hovering over the button on the ancient CD player that their coach lugs around. “You know it’s gonna be-”

“Yeah,” Akio breathes. “I know. Just hit the fucking button.”

Lisa laughs, presses play, and they watch Tris take a breath, shake out his shoulders as guitar starts up first. He flashes a smile at Akio over his shoulder.

You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on…

Akio manages to suppress a groan and watches Tris dance, the dancing is always effortless to him, natural rhythm running through him.

“God, I wish men did music with their routines,” Lisa mutters. “He’d nail every single one.”

“He nails it anyway.”

“Yeah, but with a soundtrack.”

He takes position, runs, hits his mark, and flips three times, spins, and lands right as the voice sings, you make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream, slowly turning, dropping into splits and back up again. Akio feels his own legs tighten in sympathy.

I can’t sleep, let’s run away and don’t ever look back

“I hate this fucking song so much,” Akio says, and watches Tris line up for his next run.

“Yeah, but you like him,” Lisa points out.

Akio rolls his eyes. “Everyone likes Tris. He’s my best friend.”

Don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back-

Tris misses the landing this time and goes down hard, rolling across the mat. Akio’s on his feet before a second has passed, and by the time he makes it to Tris, the other boy is already laughing, shaking it off, ready to start again.

Akio helps him up to his feet, and fuck it, he’ll listen to the song again if he has to. He sits down next to Lisa again, but he can already see how it would work - he’ll move around Tris fluidly, they’ll match movements here and here and here, and then they can run past each other at just the right time…

Lisa looks at him sidelong. “Now, see, you’re getting into it.”

“He is.” Akio shrugs. “I just like seeing him all excited.”

“What would you do without Tristan Higgs, huh?”

Akio watches, carefully, as Tris nails the spin this time, watches him drop into the splits and back up, rock his hips. “I don’t know,” He says, finally. “Probably waste the fuck away, Huang.”

“Damn straight. Five bucks says you guys end up with one of those ‘if we’re not married by 30, we’ll marry each other and get eleven cats’ deals.”

Akio snorts. “I’m allergic to cats.”

There’s a silence. “What, is that your only problem with that plan?”

“I don’t see any downsides to the rest of it. Do you?”

---

Nancy clears off the breakfast table. Mr. Branch is long gone, up to his office for a meeting with a few state senators on a piece of legislation, something about changing a holiday over to another holiday or something. She isn’t all that interested, really, but Mr. Branch likes to talk through things with her or the little pet before he gives interviews or has meetings. Likes a sounding board.

She’s paid well enough to listen, now and then, to something she doesn’t much care about.

Still, it means she’s late getting the table cleared.

She’s got her little radio set up in the corner, playing a soft rock station, just something to fill the silence broken otherwise only by the soft clinking of spoons on bowls. Mr. Branch had had oatmeal this morning, with fresh fruit and a drizzle of syrup on top, a scattering of almonds. Watching his figure, he says, with a smile, and Nancy always smiles back.

The coffee cup is going to have a ring, she’ll have to scrub that out, won’t she? Well, that’s not so bad.

You make me feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream, the way you turn me on, a woman’s voice blares out from the radio.

Nancy wrinkles her nose.

Teenagers, in her experience, are entirely too much trouble and don’t know a damn thing. A song glorifying that whole lack of self-control doesn’t exactly seem like a good idea to her. Teenagers are a hassle, messy and a struggle to care for, and she can’t figure out why Mr. Branch wanted to bring one into the house so badly.

Well, no.

She knows why.

She tries very hard not to think about it, but she knows.

Honestly, Baldur is probably the most well-behaved teenager she’s ever met. The poor thing doesn’t have enough memory to be ungrateful, and he’s not going to roll his eyes or talk back any time soon, is it? They train all those impulses out of them, in that WRU facility.

He wouldn’t dare.

She hears a soft scrape, the unmistakable shuffling footsteps of Baldur himself, and glances up at the door.

He’s peeking in, Mr. Branch’s skinny pet, hair hanging over his hazy green eyes, slightly narrowed in an attempt to see her in focus through the drugs he is fed each morning like clockwork, keeping him slow, docile, easy to control.

Maybe he doesn’t roll his eyes because he’d fall over if he had to do more than one thing at once, including simply standing up.

“Can I help you?” Nancy asks, adding a sharp edge to the question. Her stomach flips, as always uneasy when she’s alone with the pet.

Baldur licks at his lips, carefully nudging the doorway open just a little more, his eyes shifting away from her and down to the floor. He’s barefoot and wearing a tailored sweater and slacks, like any high-class boy. What gives him away of course is the barefeet, and the collar at his throat, soft green leather that probably doesn’t feel any different than skin to him.

After all, he never takes them off.

Is he even fully aware he has one on?

“I… I like the song,” He says, slurring his words with difficulty. He sways a little, catches himself, sways again. Leaning against the doorframe for support. His eyes are so very wide, so deeply green. His narrow face is pinched with the effort it’s taking him to pull his thoughts together enough to speak. “On th’... the radio, Miss Nancy. Like th’ song.”

Nancy turns to glance at it, as though the radio had just appeared when he spoke about it.

Let’s run away and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back

He likes the song? He isn’t supposed to like anything.

She steps over to the radio and briskly changes to a different station. A warbling country song is halfway through, something about lights and a woman who left. Every light in the house is on…

Baldur flinches back.

He looks like a sad sort of kitten, and it makes Nancy feel angry and guilty in equal measures. She leans into the anger to avoid the hint of thought inside of her that makes her think perhaps she should push the damn thing out the front door, put him on a school bus with the field trip children, and pretend she has no idea how he got there.

Make him someone else’s problem.

But then she’d have to explain how she knew he was here in the first place for this long, wouldn’t she?

“You know you’re not allowed music,” She chides him, and watches him sink back into himself. She swallows back the guilt. She’s not the one who signed up to spread his legs for Mr. Branch, now is she? No, the boy made a choice, and it’s none of her concern what led to it or that he regrets it now. “What would your Sir say if he caught you skulking around eavesdropping on hardworking employees instead of taking a nap, hm? Or doing your exercises?”

“He would… be upset,” Baldur says, softly. “I’m sorry, Miss Nancy. I didn’t…” He swallows, again and again, as though there’s something in his throat. His head drops against the doorframe and she wonders if Oliver gave him too much this morning, if the poor boy is going to collapse into unconsciousness right here. “Please… please don’t tell him, Miss Nancy.”

Well, he better not collapse, because she sure won’t be picking him up if he does. He can lay right there and wait for Oliver to handle his disobedience. “I won’t, if you’re a good boy now. Go back to bed, Baldur,” She says, a little more gently this time. “Your Sir will want you well-rested this afternoon, his schedule is cleared then.”

He looks up at her, and for a second he looks incredibly young, and terribly frightened.

Her heart twists, before she can stop it.

I didn’t make him this. He chose it.

She hardens her expression against his fear. He’s afraid of Mr. Branch, she knows it well enough. He’s afraid, and he’s bruised at the wrists and ankles most of the time. Last week there were red marks around his neck at breakfast, and Mr. Branch would only mention a game, the poor love couldn’t stand forever, I suppose.

And he’d laughed.

She turns away from the pet’s terror, rattles the plates together to make a point that he is dismissed. She won’t look at those wide green eyes again. He signed a contract, after all. What is it to her if he doesn’t like the fine print?

“Yes, Miss Nancy,” He says softly, and in a second he’s gone. She listens to the fading shuffle of his footsteps along the hallway, the sound of Oliver’s bedroom door opening and closing. He’ll be out before ten minutes has passed, she has no doubt. He’ll sleep away the morning like he sleeps away so much of his life.

She makes a note to herself to be out of the residence before Mr. Branch comes back after lunch, ignoring the needling stab of something in the back of her mind, something very like guilt.

He’s a boy.

No, she reminds herself firmly. He’s a pet. And he chose to be one.

She turns the radio back to the soft rock station and tells herself she won’t think about him again.

---

“You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on,” Chris sings along with the mp3 player in the kitchen, dancing around with a wooden spoon up to his mouth like a microphone. “You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong, I know you get me, so I let my walls come down… do-oh-own…”

His voice cracks on the high note, but Jake holds back any reaction, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the countertop that he’s beginning to think is just part of the stupid house now. When does a stain stop being a stain and become a fixture?

And here you’ll see the sign of where I spilled pasta sauce and didn’t notice until the next day and what the fuck is the countertop even made of…

Not that Nat will sell this house, she’ll probably stay here until she’s a decrepit old woman surrounded by rescues taking care of her. The house is Nat, in a way that Jake can’t define and doesn’t really try. She’ll be telling people an epic story about it being a bloodstain or something one day, all wrinkled and gray-haired.

“My heart stops when you look at me,” Chris sings, and Jake watches his hair fly around as he spins, the copper catching yellowed morning sun through the kitchen window.

Should he tell Chris that he doesn’t stammer when he sings?

The barcode on the inside of his left wrist is the black blot marring the moment, the numbers etched in ink, an instant giveaway if he stepped one foot out the door around the wrong people. Here, he’s safe to show it. Here, he’s safe.

Mostly.

As safe as Jake can make him.

Jake’s rib still aches, off and on, but his black eye is gone and he’s back at school. It’s all back to normal, now, and Chris is right here where he belongs, where people love him, where Jake would take a bullet for him.

He can’t get the image of the shivering, shaking, terrified boy in the video he was shown out of his head. The way they laughed at his fear, the way he’d already learned to put out his hands to be hit when he was caught tapping to soothe himself.

He can’t stop seeing that boy and his fear layered over Chris’s easy joy now.

“This is real, so take a chance and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back,” Chris winks at him, or tries to - really he just sort of closes one eye horribly slow - and then goes back to humming along with the music. He dances effortlessly, and Jake wonders if he danced, before he was frightened in a white t-shirt and black shorts, before he had a barcode on his wrist, before they stuck a needle in his arm and took out everything that made him whoever he’d once been.

What did Chris do, before he was Chris, before he was the pet, before whatever went wrong for him? Did he take dancing lessons? Did he get good grades in school? He kind of acts like maybe he did, doesn’t he? He seems like he wants to try so hard for anyone who believes he can do something...

He can do backflips and cartwheels and climb trees, plays basketball with Miss Ruth’s grandson and his friends while Jake watches through a window, worried that he’ll be taken the next time, but not willing to lay that fear on Chris.

He’s scared of so much. Jake doesn’t want to add more terrors to the boy’s nightmares.

“I’m-a get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight,” Chris sings, wearing a baggy t-shirt of Jake’s and baggier basketball shorts. Chris, who crawls into Jake’s bed more nights than not, ever since the raid, who sleeps curled up against him for warmth and safety.

Chris, who doesn’t test him anymore, but admitted that he’s scared that it will happen again. Who told Kauri, in whispers in the dark, that he’s never wanted to be with anyone, that it was always fear and pain and holding screams back behind his teeth while forcing himself to make the sounds they trained into him.

Jake’s stomach flips with nausea, guilt for something he couldn’t possibly have prevented. It’s not his fault, but it feels like it is, he feels like he should have psychically known the kid was out there and gone to find him.

He would have.

If anything ever happens to him again, Jake won’t stop until he finds him. He knows that. He understands that, with perfect certainty.

They’ll never take Chris, they could raid the house a hundred times, and Jake would make sure Chris never went back into that hell, no matter what. No, Chris gets to be safe, here, singing and dancing around the kitchen, like any teenager enjoying a moment where he wants to be a dork, and doesn’t care who sees it.

Jake smiles a little, giving up and sitting back in a chair at the table, watching Chris dance while he dries off a dish, goes up on tiptoe to put it in the cabinet, turns back, warbles, “My heart stops when you look at me…”

Did Chris have a girlfriend, or boyfriend? A partner? Just, like, a best friend even? Someone he cared about like this? Does this song tap on some buried memory or impulse towards loving someone? Jake just watches him dance, and sing, and smiles.

He doesn’t even protest when Chris starts the song over as soon as it stops.

I came back for you, he thinks. Just like I promised. Do whatever you want, I’ll be right here. I’m right here. You’re safe.

Jake hears a slight sound and turns to see Nat in the doorway watching as well, in her housecoat but with her braid done carefully up, arms crossed in front of her. Chris doesn’t pause, if he even notices her, just keeps dancing as he empties the dishwasher piece by piece with his back to the door, signing in a soft, slight, cracking voice along with the higher voice coming from the speakers.

Nat looks less shadowed, now, and her bruises have faded away.

Still.

WRU came to round up a pet, and Nat and Jake protected him, and fuck it-

If he wants to listen to music Jake hates, let him. He’s a kid. Let him be a kid.

Chris has lost enough.

Let him have joy.

---

“Do you remember this?” Akio can’t stop himself from asking, even though it’s a total crapshoot as to what Tris’s answer will be.

Not Tris. Chris.

The knowledge hurts, it’s a knife in Akio’s stomach every single time, that Tristan was lost so thoroughly that the man who showed up with his face and his blood and his bones didn’t remember his own name until he saw the video with Akio and had… some kind of breakdown or something.

But Chris is so close, and Akio uses that to remind him that it means Tris is close, that he was never fully gone. He’s still here. He just looks a little different, now, he’s quieter, but it’s all still there, bubbling up and sinking beneath the surface again, leaving imprints of memories that make it easier for Chris to grab onto them and hold tight the next time.

The way he smiles, the way he taps and rocks and sways and stammers, it’s all still there. It’s all still Tristan Higgs, in the end, and Chris Stanton and Tristan Higgs are the same fucking guy. The teenager in Akio’s memories and stored in old photos and videos on his computer and his phone is the same person as the man sitting next to him.

One just… lived through some stuff the other one hadn’t yet, and has the scars - inside and out - to show it.

“I, I, I don’t know,” Chis says, leaning forward, looking at the video Akio’s pulled up on his laptop. They’re at an outdoor café, with the sun shining warm on their backs. Chris’s hair is starting to grow back in, the occasional blue tip fading back to new-penny copper, and the bandages are off of his face and neck. His forehead’s going to have a wicked fucking scar, though.

Chris says he doesn’t care, that it shows that he could change himself, when he needs to. That he isn’t just here to be changed by other people. His shoulder brushes Akio’s as he cocks his head. “Sorry, stuff… um, comes and, and, and goes.”

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll press play. We had this one finished, more or less, but we never recorded the full bit.” Chris nods, holding his coffee up to his mouth to sip at it.

Akio hits play, and the guitar starts up.

Chris laughs, and it’s Tristan’s laugh - bright and unselfconscious, loud enough to get a glance from someone nearby reading a book, before they look back down again. “I love, I, I, I love this this this song!”

“Oh, Christ.” Akio laughs, too, he can’t stop himself. “Of course you’d still like that song. Of all the things you lost, you kept Katy Perry?”

You think I’m pretty, without any makeup on…

The routine starts with Tris and Akio together in the middle of the mat, watching each other, hands linked. As she starts to sing, they shift apart, and Chris watches, enraptured, so close to the screen that Akio almost can’t see it anymore himself, not that he’s watching the screen.

He’s watching Chris, instead.

Chris’s foot taps to the beat and he starts to rock a little, forward and back, biting down on his lower lip with his teeth as the Akio and Tristan on the screen separate enough to hit their separate corners. Tris runs forward - then Akio does, a half-beat later.

You make me feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream

They match flips and spins. Tristan lands and then Akio does, spinning to look at each other, laughing as Tris drops into a split and then up again and Akio… definitely doesn’t do that. Akio can do a lot of things, but he is not risking that particular move, not the way Tristan does it-

Or… did it.

Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love…

“I, I, I remember doing this,” Chris whispers. “I, I made my mom pretend to to to, to, to, to-to be you in the backyard when I made, made it up. She was a really, really bad dancer.” He winces, rubbing at the side of his head.

Akio nods, slowly, leaning in, looking at Chris as he watches himself dance on the screen. He’s squinting against the ache, but still watching. “Yeah, but she would do anything you wanted her to. I can see her trying to keep up.” He pauses, lets the tinny music play from his laptop speakers along with the noise of the gym around them as Akio and Tristan do another run. Akio doesn’t quite hit his landing on that one, but they don’t stop, dancing towards and around each other with easy, effortless understanding of each other’s space.

“You, you, you hated Katy Perry,” Chris says, softly. His fingers twitch, holding tightly to his coffee cup. “But, but-”

“But you fucking loved that shit,” Akio says, with a grin.

“I, I, I still do. Laken hates it, too.”

“See, I knew I liked them for a reason. You and my sister used to sing ‘Firework’ at me until I thought I was going to lose my fucking mind.”

“I, I, I still sing it to Laken. They, they throw pillows at me.” Chris hits the space button, pausing the video, and turns to look at Akio. His eyes are still so wide, in his narrow face, and so earnest and uncertain. Akio swallows. It feels like stepping sideways through time, every time Tristan’s eyes look at him in Chris Stanton’s face. “Were you, you, you good… without me? Did you, um, do okay?”

Akio’s smile softens into something sadder. “After a while. I got back on track, but for a year or so… I guess I just wasted away without you. You want to hear something stupid?”

“Al, always.”

Akio huffs out laughter, and digs his phone out of his pocket. He taps a few times and then lays it on the table between them. “Look at this.”

Chris looks down, fingertips just grazing the phone case, and his lips press together into a line as his eyes glimmer, shimmering with tears that don’t quite fall. “Wh-what-”

“It’s all the music you like that I hated,” Akio says, voice hoarse and rough. “I made this playlist a month after your aunt said-... you know.”

“It’s, it’s, it’s called ‘I Miss Tris’,” Chris says, softly. His voice sounds awed. Like he’s looking at something sacred and not Akio’s stupid ‘having a bad night’ playlist. “And the, the, the first song-”

“Fucking Teenage Dream.” Akio watches Chris scroll down the list, pretends he doesn’t see the droplet of saltwater that lands there, that Chris quickly wipes away with his sleeve, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. “It’s been, what, six or seven years since, you know, your parents, and… god, I’ve gotten a new phone every couple years and I still have this fucking playlist. Still listen to it, too. Whenever I want to mope around being sad about you.”

“In… in there… they, they, they tell us no one misses us.” Chris’s voice is low. He doesn’t look up. “That, that, that our lives were so so so-so bad that this was better. That no one… no, no, no one missed us being gone, no one wants us, that we-we-we weren’t… worth loving. I believed it. And my-... um.” Chris flushes, just a little. “He told me I, I, I, I wasn’t something you could-could love.” Chris’s eyes go distant, and he seems to sink back into himself a little, hunching his shoulders. “P-pretty, but, but, but not… worth being more than I was.”

Akio’s jaw works, fighting a mix of grief and rage that threatens to knock him to the floor, drown him in the intensity of it. He’s been hearing bits and pieces, whenever Chris feels safe enough to let one more bit of the horror that made up his past few years slip out.

Akio wonders what it’s going to do to his career if he goes public as a lib activist, and if he even gives a fuck about that anymore.

If Vincent Shield can do it, he can too, right?

Then again, Vincent Shield wasn’t about to be publicly not straight for the first time and also a pet lib activist. Akio’s mom and dad are going to be so pissed when he tells them his idea-

He doesn’t care.

His parents aren’t going anywhere. Neither is Ben, whatever he and Ben are, neither is Tristan Higgs.

Not this time.

Nobody else should have to listen to someone they loved come back from the dead and hear them say they told me no one loved me, they told me no one missed me, they told me no one cared.

So... maybe Akio can go up on the fucking pedestal, medal around his neck, and tell WRU to go fuck themselves. Maybe he can tell Chris’s Aunt Jo to go fuck herself specifically.

You told us he was dead, and you gave him to people who made him believe he was nothing, and you thought we’d never find him. And we didn’t.

God, he had to find us.

His career’s going to go down in flames if he does what he’s planning, and Akio Nakamura is rapidly discovering he no longer cares.

“Loved. You were-... loved.” His voice is tight and strained, cracking on the edges of his words. His hand curls into a fist on his thigh where it’s resting, digging his nails into his palms. “And missed. We would have-... we would have wanted you, Chris. My mom and I, my little sister won’t admit it, hell my dad… we missed you. Those assholes just wanted you to lose hope. And I’m glad the fucker who hurt you is dead.”

“They, they, they take everything. Aki,” Chris pushes Akio’s phone back to him, and looks back at the laptop screen, an image of himself, years ago, flashing a brilliant smile, with Akio rolling his eyes in return as they pressed their hands palm-to-palm, frozen mid-move. “But, but, but it’s not really gone. I remember how, how, how much you hate this song. And, and, and I remember that you still danced it with me. So, so, so that’s a start, right?”

“It’s a start.” Akio presses the button to start the video again. “And we’ve got plenty of time.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

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winryofresembool · 3 years

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 31

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation, pt 4/?

A/N: Soo sorry about the long wait! This was a very long and kind of tricky chapter to write so it took me longer than I would have wanted. But in a way this is (ironically) a good day to post this chapter as it's the Mother's day in many parts of the world today. (Happy Mother’s day Esperanza Valdez ;___;)

Before we head into this chapter, I want to give you guys a warning that it (specifically, the flashback in the beginning of the chapter) talks about what happened to Leo's mother, so in case you find that too hard to read, feel free to skip it. (If you have read HoO, I think you can somewhat guess what to expect)

Thanks for all the amazing support you guys have given me so far! ♥ It's what keeps me going! Now, enjoy, and remember that I'd really like to hear what you think because there's a lot going on in this chapter!

Words: 5550 (yeah, long one)

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: minor character death (talked about), be aware!

previous chapter / AO3

*flashback*

There was fire. So much fire.

Leo had been tinkering with his toy tools and drawing some simple blueprints in the living room when he had remembered that he had left his hammer into his room. He went to look for it and it took him a couple of minutes to locate it from under the unfinished toys and papers he had thrown around. Unfortunately, that couple of minutes had been enough for all hell to break loose in the living room.

He started smelling smoke and ran back downstairs to see where it came from. The wooden floor and several pieces of furniture in the living room were on fire, which seemed to have started from the papers he had left near the fireplace. Leo’s mind went completely blank like a machine that had just been shut down. The only thing that he was capable of thinking was: what do I do?

His mother had put a fire in the fireplace before she had left to run some errands because it had been a cold day. She had warned Leo several times to be careful with it, even putting a bucket of water and a smothering blanket nearby in case of emergency. But it was already too late to use them; the fire had already spread too far in the room. Because of his state of panic, it took Leo a while to manage to make decisions, but finally, his brain told him: get your phone so you can call mom, and run.

What his 8-year-old brain didn’t understand: he should have just left the building right then and asked a neighbor or someone to call the fire department instead. But Leo could only think how the very thing his mother had been worried about just happened and how she’d probably never forgive him for – no matter how accidentally – burning their home. He had vague memories of leaving his cell phone that he had gotten a few months earlier on his birthday into his room, so he ran upstairs as quickly as he could with his short, wobbly legs. However, the phone wasn’t on his desk like he had anticipated, and it took him a while to remember he had thrown it under the bed after getting frustrated with his homework; the words on the textbook they were supposed to read had not made any sense to him.

Once he finally found the cell phone and went back downstairs to leave the building, the fire had already spread so much that he could barely see anything from the smoke. Coughing, he tried to cover his mouth with his shirt so he could protect himself from the smoke and dash to the door, but he soon realized it was not possible. His road was blocked, and the only way for him to get out would be through the upstairs windows.

Leo didn’t have the time to figure out how to open the windows so he ended up breaking his bedroom window with a real hammer that he happened to find nearby. Shaking, breathing heavily and trying to avoid the glass shards, he looked down. The fall would be quite big, at least 5-6 meters, but he was no stranger to broken bones. The fights with other school kids had taught him a thing or two about that. He would still be more likely to survive the fall than trying to go out from downstairs; at least there were no stones or other hard objects under the window. He was so full of adrenaline that he didn’t even notice that his hands were bleeding; they had hit the broken glass when he had peeked out.

Finally, he managed to gain enough courage to climb up the windowsill and lift one of his legs over the edge. In the process he scraped himself some more in the glass and tore his pants a bit as well, but who cared? It was a very minor thing compared to his mother’s face if she’d find him dead in the house. For a moment Leo thought about all the blueprints and devices in development in the basement of the house, how hours and hours of his mother’s work would go to waste if the entire house burned down – but that was a thing to worry about for later. It was already too late to do anything but to try to escape.

With a huge lump in his throat as he imagined how his mother would hate him when she’d find out about the fire, Leo finally lifted his other leg over the edge as well, sitting on the windowsill with his legs hanging in the air. The distance between him and the ground seemed even bigger than it had earlier, but he had to do this. Slowly, he inched himself forward, hesitating a bit more, but the sound of the fire breaking something downstairs startled him and finally, he dropped down.

After that his memories started getting hazy. He fainted when hitting the ground and when he first woke up he noticed the pain in his left ankle and some blood coming from his forehead. He was laying on the grass, not unharmed but at least alive, and suddenly he got aware that he had to get farther from the house because the fire could easily spread to the surrounding grounds. He could only hope that a neighbor or a passerby had already called the fire department because he himself would not be able to do that, not with his dizzy head and the pain everywhere in his body. Before he passed out again, his last thought was: when would his mother be back?

The next time he was conscious, he remembered trying to drag himself forward with his hands. He could not stand up, and not even crawl, so that was the only thing he could do. Inch by inch, he got a bit farther from his falling spot, and by that time he also started hearing some distant sirens and human yells somewhere, but his mind could not comprehend what all of it meant.

After that, the next thing he remembered was being lifted from the ground by a first responder. The man tried to tell him soothing words, probably something like ‘poor child, it will be alright’, but Leo didn’t care. He wished the fogginess of his brain would just fade so he could speak and walk on his own feet and find out what happened to his mother – if she returned yet – but afterwards, he wished he would have never found out.

He kept slipping in and out of consciousness for a while, not really sure what was happening around him, until finally he woke up in the hospital. One of his legs and arms had been plastered and a bandage had been wrapped around his head. Already he wished he could have just ripped them off and run away but he knew that wasn’t possible. A couple of minutes later, a nurse finally arrived at his bedside.

“Oh, good, I’m glad you’re awake,” she said, testing his forehead to see if he had a fever. “You scared us there, young one.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about! Where’s my mom?! Hasn’t anyone told her I am here?” Leo demanded in a hoarse voice.

The nurse ignored his question. “Now, what is your name?”

“Leo Valdez,” he answered grumpily, glaring at the nurse.

“Good. How old are you?” the woman asked then.

“8 years. But how does that have anything to do with anything? I want my mom here!”

“Calm down, Mr. Valdez. We are just doing some routine tests. You hit your head pretty badly. Now, do you remember your home address?”

Leo, despite still feeling quite dizzy, got really angry about the question. “Yes, I do, but it doesn’t matter! There’s probably nothing left of it anymore! Because it burned down!” The tears finally demanded to get out of his system as he added with a tiny voice: “And I don’t know where my mom is.”

The nurse looked very hesitant for a moment. “I, um… You know, I think we are gonna complete this test a bit later. There are some people who have been wanting to see you.” She looked towards the door restlessly.

“Is it mom?” Leo asked instantly.

The nurse just shook her head. “You’ll see soon.”

She let the visitors in and left the room, closing the door behind her. Leo found himself staring at a firefighter, who he vaguely recognized as the same one who had carried him to safety after his fall. With him entered a police officer whom Leo had not seen before. Why would a police officer want to meet him, he wondered. Maybe they’d sentence him to prison for burning the house down?

“It was an accident!” Leo blurted before the men had time to say anything, trying to look brave even though he had just cried.

“We know, we know,” the firefighter tried to calm him down. “That’s not why we are here. We wanted to see how you were doing, and, um…” he looked helplessly at his companion.

“We have some bad news,” the police officer went straight to the topic.

“Is it about the house?” Leo asked.

“No, it’s about your mother… she’s gone.”

It took Leo a moment to register what the police officer had said.

“What?” he yelled.

“I’m sorry, but she is dead.”

Leo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was already so panicked that denial was his only coping mechanism left. “Again, what?”

“It is true, young man,” the police officer stated matter-of-factly.

“But she can’t be! She wasn’t even home…!” Leo squeaked, trying to make sense of the situation in his blurry, shocked mind.

The firefighter spoke this time. “I’m so sorry, son… but he’s not lying. We found her in your house. The neighbor who called us had seen her go in before we arrived, and… when we got there… it was already too late.”

“But… but…” Leo had a very hard time getting any words out at that moment. “Why… why would she go in…? And… why didn’t anyone stop her?”

Again the visitors hesitated before answering. “This is just what we heard from a couple of witnesses, but… it seems like she had gone in to… look for you…”

Leo wished the sweet unconsciousness had returned to him in that moment, but that didn’t happen. Instead, it felt like something tried to pull his heart out of his chest. His mind was going through about a hundred different things at the same time: grief, anger, denial… and perhaps above everything else, guilt. It was his fault. It was his fault that the house had burned, and it was his fault that his mother had gone into the burning house. If he had been there to warn her… if she had known… But no, he had had to jump from upstairs to the backyard from where he had been harder to find. And then he had, only half conscious, dragged himself to a nearby trench where the humidity had protected him, being even harder to spot unless you happened to walk right next to it.

That meant that his mother had gone into the house thinking he was there… and she had died thinking he had died. All because he hadn’t listened to her, because he had left some papers on which he had been drawing too near the fireplace.

‘My fault. All my fault’, was all Leo could hear in his head on repeat. He noticed that the firefighter was trying to say something, but he could not register what. Leo didn’t ask him to repeat what he had said. Instead, he stuttered with a weak voice:

“You didn’t answer my other question. Why… didn’t anyone… stop her?”

The police officer sighed sadly. “From what we know, your neighbors had tried to tell her to not go in, that there was nothing she could do, but she refused to listen. The… smoke had already suffocated her by the time we arrived.”

Leo clenched his small fists, unable to focus his gaze anywhere. Everything around him was just a meaningless blur. All of a sudden, nothing mattered to him anymore. With his mother, Leo hadn’t just lost the most important person in his life, the only person who had ever really cared about him and understood him. He had lost his home, his safety, everything that he had loved. More to himself than to the men in the room, he sobbed:

“What's going to happen to me?”

And then everything went blank.

*end flashback*

…

When Leo woke up, he noticed he was breathing very sharply. He had to tell himself to slow it down a bit, trying to focus on the breathing instead of the dream he had just seen. Once he had calmed down a bit, he realized his face was soaked from the tears. The good feeling from the day before was gone, and suddenly he remembered all too well why he hated that holiday so much. His mother had died on Christmas day, 11 years ago.

The worst part about the nightmare he had just seen? It had actually happened. Sure, the details might have changed in Leo’s mind a bit because he had been so young when his mother had died, but most of it was true. The fire, the jumping, the people in the hospital, all true. When he had still been a kid, he had dared to hope that maybe someday the memories would start fading and it wouldn’t hurt so much. But now, 11 years later, he knew better. Thanks to the therapy and Jo, Emmie and the friends’ help, he did have moments when he managed to feel happy, focus on the future and forget the pain for a time being, but when it came back, it was always as intense. And it was especially bad on Christmas days, the anniversary of those horrific events.

‘Pull yourself together’, Leo told himself. ‘This is not what your mother would have wanted for you.’

‘No’, another, the evil voice in his head said. ‘But then again, if it weren’t for you, she would still be here.’

He groaned at himself and decided that it would be better to get himself up and moving rather than lay there listening to the voices. Sitting up, he combed his fingers through his messy hair in an attempt to tame it, with little success. After that, he wiped the tears from his face, trying to pretend it had never happened. Registering the voices coming from the living room, he figured some of his family members were already awake even though it was still rather early. They, especially Georgina, were lucky that they didn’t know what was going through in his head that day; it would have ruined everyone’s Christmas.

Trying to pull himself together and put on a happy face, he got up and washed his face in the bathroom quickly before joining the family. The moment he reached the bottom of the stairs, Georgina ran to him and hugged him.

“Merry Christmas, hermano!”

Leo patted her hair absentmindedly, thinking that Georgina was now only a year older than he had been when… no, he had to stop thinking about it. If not for anyone else’s sake, then Georgina’s. She deserved to have a happy day.

“Merry Christmas to you too, hermanita. Well, did Santa visit? Did he receive my memo on your behavior towards me this year?”

Georgina pulled away from him and folded his arms. “I’m not a little baby anymore; I know Santa doesn’t actually exist. But we did get presents! Even you, although I was kind of surprised about that.”

Leo clutched his shirt. “Ouch, Georgie! I thought you were on my side!”

The siblings continued bickering playfully as they waited for the others. They had a tradition in their house that everyone needed to be there for the present opening. Soon Josephine appeared with a tray full of coffee cups, gingerbread cookies and certain small pies she used to bake every Christmas.

“Where are the others?” Georgina asked impatiently as she started stuffing the cookies into her mouth and drummed her legs against the sofa. “I want to open the presents already!”

“Calm down, Georgie,” Jo scolded her. “Emmie is checking the cats and dogs because they also need care on Christmas day, and Calypso may still be sleeping.”

“Ugh, I told her I wanna start opening the presents early!” Georgina protested. “I’ll go wake her up if she isn’t here in 10 minutes!”

“You’ll wake who up?” Calypso showed up from the stairway. Hearing her voice and seeing her face, Leo forgot for a moment why he had been so upset earlier. Somehow her presence just had that weird effect on him. She was wearing a green holiday sweater knitted by Annabeth over her pajamas – pink with some small flower prints – and her hair was flying freely, slightly wavy because of the braids that Georgie had insisted on making the previous evening. Somehow even that casual look made her look adorable in his eyes and his throat felt dry for entirely different reasons than a few minutes earlier. Leo almost missed Calypso’s next words due to his distraction. “Sorry that you had to wait, Georgina. I was finishing up one last present because I wasn’t entirely happy with it.”

“No worries!” Georgina exclaimed. Apparently the last minute gift preparing was a good enough reason to be late in her books, because Leo knew that if he had been late for the gift opening, the little girl wouldn’t have forgiven that easily.

Calypso put her pile of neatly packed presents under the tree to wait and turned to the others.

“So, merry Christmas, everyone! If I am allowed to be honest with you, I don’t really know a lot about Christmas traditions… My family never celebrated it… But I want to learn!”

“We’ll teach you,” Georgina told her immediately. “It’s gonna be so much fun, you’ll see!”

Leo wished he himself could have been as enthusiastic about the holiday as Georgina was, but tried to keep the happy face on anyway.

“Cal, try some of those pies before Georgie has eaten them all.” He pointed to the tray Jo had brought. Calypso glanced at him suspiciously for a moment. “Don’t give me that look; I swear I didn’t make them. It’s all Jo and Emmie.”

“Fine,” Calypso agreed and took a bite. “This is really good!” she exclaimed once her mouth was empty.

“Told you. Now do you trust me?” Leo asked her teasingly.

“Hmmm. That’s still to be determined,” Calypso replied, but Leo could see her smile into her piece of pie.

As everyone waited for Emmie to return inside, they kept up a light banter as they ate their Christmas breakfast in the living room. Even Leo did his best to participate in it, and soon he did feel a bit better, although if someone had looked at him more closely, they would have noticed the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

Finally, Emmie arrived together with Festus and Georgina instantly pulled her towards the Christmas tree so they could start the gift sharing. A grin spread across Leo’s face as well when he watched the little girl run back and forth as she delivered the packages to their rightful owners. This was now, he tried to remind himself. What happened in the past… was in the past and his mother would probably have wanted him to enjoy these moments.

Not that he’d ever know that for sure, the nasty voice in Leo’s head said again, and the grin almost disappeared from his face.

To no one’s surprise, Georgina got the most presents because even some family friends and neighbors had sent her something (that’s what happened when she got everyone wrapped around her finger, Leo thought), but everyone else got their fair share of self made gifts as well. Leo noticed that Calypso had three packages; one from him, one from Georgina who had insisted on making her own present, and one from Jo and Emmie. He found himself wishing she’d like what he had made; he had spent quite a lot of time on it.

Before anyone could start ripping their wrapping papers off the presents, Festus was given some treats so he wouldn’t interrupt the gift opening too much. Georgina got the privilege of getting to open hers first. She chuckled at Leo’s jokes in the photo album, which Leo took as a success, and squealed excitedly at the tiny dragon toy he had carved from wood and painted. Calypso had sewed her a detailed gryphon plushie, because Leo had told her that Georgina had recently gotten interested in the mythical creatures, a topic Calypso knew a lot about. The little girl hugged the plushie enthusiastically while Calypso promised her to tell her more about the Greek mythology later when they’d have more time. Emmie gave Georgie a tiny beginning of a plant that she’d get to raise on her own, and Jo, the practical person that she was, gave her a pocket knife for tinkering with a warning that she’d only get to use it under her supervision.

Leo and Calypso allowed Jo and Emmie to open their presents next. It was mostly practical stuff, like woolly socks, self made chocolate, and new tools (which broke the ‘homemade’ rule but Leo knew Jo needed them), but Leo had also tinkered frames for a photo of the Waystation family and asked Calypso to decorate it with her paints. The final result looked pretty good in his opinion.

Next was Calypso’s turn. Georgina had attempted to crochet a potholder for her because Leo had guiltily admitted that he may have accidentally ruined one of Calypso’s potholders while cooking something. However, since she was still a beginner in the handicrafts, the potholder had some room for improvement, but Leo could see from Calypso’s happy face that she appreciated the gesture. Leo had also told his mothers that Calypso really loved her flowers, so they gave her a white orchid in a pot that Jo had once crafted. Finally, she opened the gift Leo had made for her. He was biting his lip and tapping his fingers nervously even though he tried to act nonchalant as he watched Calypso’s reaction. Before she removed the paper, she knocked on the surface of the gift, trying to guess what was in it.

“Is this a tool box? So you could borrow mine when you lose yours?” She teased.

“Well, at least that would be useful, don’t you think? But hold your horses; it’s probably not what you think it is,” Leo hinted. Calypso gave him a quizzical look and Leo took that as a sign that she really had no idea what the gift was.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she noted and started carefully removing the paper. Unlike Georgina, she made sure that the paper would still be usable on some later occasion. Calypso wasn’t entirely wrong with her guess; the gift was indeed a box of sorts. But it wasn’t for tools. Instead, it was a jewelry box; wooden, self made, painted rose pink, which happened to be Calypso’s favorite color. When she opened it, she noticed a small mirror on the lid with some text on it. The box also played one of those few songs that they both happened to like. Calypso traced her finger on the smooth surface of the box for a moment before she noticed that there was still something more in the box: a silvery bracelet with a letter C hanging from it. She took it into her hands and admired it for a moment before reading aloud the text that had been written on the mirror:

“You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep rereading the last one.”

“Um, yeah…” Leo was unsure how he should respond. Suddenly he got worried he had been too straightforward with that message, and Calypso wouldn’t appreciate it. “It was a quote, um, that I happened to stumble upon somewhere recently… But I thought it was quite fitting?”

Calypso looked at him straight into the eyes and for a moment Leo managed to forget that there were others in the room. It was as if she was trying to message him wordlessly that she understood the meaning of the quote.

“Yes, I think it works,” she replied slowly. “For both of us.”

Leo felt his ears getting heated and attempted to comb his hair over them with his fingers to not make it so painfully obvious. Given what day it was, he understood that it was ironic he was using that quote when he himself was struggling to let go from his past.

“True,” he had to admit, looking at the others nervously from the corner of his eye. “It’s… it’s something that we both should try to remember. Something we have in common, right?”

Calypso seemed to accept his explanation. “Right. Um, this box is really beautiful. You’ve seen a lot of trouble with it. The music and all… It’s really nice. Did you even make this bracelet?”

Even though Leo should have prepared himself for that question, he felt embarrassed to reveal the bracelet’s origins, afraid it might sound too sentimental. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat to get more time to consider his answer.

“The… the chain was from an old bracelet my mom had… My biological mom, I mean. I didn’t get to keep a lot of her belongings but this had survived… and my dear aunt didn’t want to keep it so I’ve been carrying it around as a charm of some sort. But the thing is, I don’t really need it so it was Jo’s suggestion that I could give it to someone who’d use it. She helped me make this,” he showed the C, “because I don’t really…”

“Want to forge anything,” Calypso finished for him. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Good. If you don’t like it, you can give it to someone else; I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind…”

Calypso gave him an encouraging smile. “Oh, no! This bracelet meant a lot to you so it means a lot to me. It’s a really nice gesture, Leo.”

“You’re welcome?” he replied, kind of flustered by her reaction.

Calypso fiddled with the gift for a moment before turning her attention back to Leo.

“Would you like to put this on my wrist? I’d like to see how it fits.”

“Oh… alright!” Leo agreed, wishing he could say something that didn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. But then again, he reminded himself, wasn’t that what most people thought of him? And since when had he cared?

Calypso handed the bracelet to him and Leo took a very light hold of her wrist, as if afraid that he’d burn her skin with his hot fingers. He was so focused on his task that he even forgot that it was technically against the ‘rules’ they had set, but Calypso had initiated it so who was he to deny her request? He put the chain around her wrist with fumbling fingers and closed the lock. After that he allowed his hand to stay around hers a moment longer. He swiped the surface of the chain with his finger, also touching the back of her hand by accident (or maybe on purpose). Calypso looked up from their hands to him with a surprisingly soft expression that he hadn’t seen since that day when they had promised each other to try harder to be ‘just friends’. His brain sent sparks through his spine and he felt very warm all of a sudden.

“I… um… it seems to fit, doesn’t it?” he finally stuttered, looking down at the bracelet, Calypso’s gaze still lingering in his mind. He let her wrist go and already his hand felt much colder, as if it was missing something.

“Oh, yeah,” Calypso nodded, absentmindedly fiddling with the chain of the bracelet. “It’s small enough that it won’t fall but it’s not too small.”

“Good,” Leo said, a smile returning to his face. “Guess you’re just as tiny as my mom was.” He finally managed to bring out his more playful side.

“Have you looked into the mirror lately, Mister Super-Sized McShizzle? You’re not exactly a giant yourself,” Calypso teased back.

Georgina giggled at her response. “You tell him, Calie!”

“This Georgina here, though,” Leo grinned at her, “she must really have some giant blood in her. She uses my overalls in the garage sometimes!”

“I do not,” Georgina denied quickly. “They’re stinky.”

“Yeah? And you smell like flowers and rainbows,” Leo retorted and started tickling the little girl.

For a moment Leo was able to forget that he hated Christmas as he played with Georgina, but then someone reminded him that he still had to open his own presents. He looked at the pile he had gotten and thought briefly that he had gotten more of them than what he had expected. Georgina had drawn him a picture of him with Festus and sewed him a simple pencil case for his blueprint pencils. Jason and Piper had gotten him a book about weird mechanics facts. Percy had sent him a new orange t-shirt so Leo could return him the one that he had once borrowed after a workout (which, according to Percy, was ‘way too big for him anyway’). Leo’s moms had made him an awesome tool case where even the bigger tools would fit and baked some of his favorite goodies. Finally, it was the turn for Calypso’s present, though.

“What do you think it is?” Calypso asked, glancing at him curiously.

“My first guess would have been a pack of olives because you know how much I love those things… But this doesn’t feel like them. It’s mostly soft but there are some hard parts too. Maybe a bit like a backpack?"

“That wasn’t a half bad guess,” Calypso responded. “But I won’t tell you the correct answer; you can figure it out on your own.” She invited Leo to open the present.

“Okie, Sunshine, will do.”

He ripped the paper (which was Leo’s favorite shade of red) off notably less gracefully than Calypso had done with her presents, but his mouth opened involuntarily when he saw what was inside. It was a toolbelt, not looking like one of those belts that broke in his use after the first couple of days (Leo had a habit to load them too full sometimes), but sturdy, well made. Leo wondered where she had obtained the leather she had used in it, and hoped that it hadn’t cost her too much money. The belt had four different sized pockets for the tools and it seemed like one of them had something in it, but before Leo checked what was inside, he turned to Calypso:

“How did you know I needed one of these?”

“Probably because you’ve been carrying wrenches and stuff in your jean pockets and I’ve also seen your room and that’s enough for me to be able to tell you need a place for your tools,” Calypso smirked. Leo barely heard her answer. He didn’t want to admit aloud that one of the reasons why he was suddenly feeling so sentimental about a tool belt was because it reminded him a lot of the one his mom had made for him when he was a kid. “I hope this wasn’t too much trouble…” He noted more quietly than usual.

“It was not trouble at all,” Calypso reassured him. “I have sewed more difficult things. The leather was actually from one of my old bags that my dad got for me – which I hated – so I didn’t even have to buy a lot of the materials. Besides, you yourself made this,” she knocked the wooden cover of the jewelry box, “and I bet it was a lot more difficult.”

“Nah, it wasn’t…” Leo tried to protest and he noticed the others in the room had a hard time keeping their faces straight as they listened to the flatmates competing whose present had taken more time. “The music was probably the most complicated part.”

“Okay,” Calypso said, deciding to leave the debate there. “Hey, I forgot to mention that there is something small in one of the pockets. You could check it out now.”

“Alright, I will,” Leo told her. He reached out to the said pocket and found a small box from it. His smile instantly disappeared from his face when he realized what it was. Everyone went quiet for a while as they were waiting for his reaction.

“Why would you give me matches, especially today of all days?” He lifted his gaze from the box, his eyes sparkling angrily. Before anyone could say anything, he threw the box away and jumped up from his seat. Calypso’s sad face was the last thing he saw before storming out of the room.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au #finally this fic is living up to its name

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