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keiscait · 3 years

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Hi! I just wanted to say from the match-ups I have seen that you are such a great writer! If it’s not too much I was wondering if I could get a living room and bedroom matchup for a male character. If both are too much, feel free to do one whichever one you feel like you can write better. I wanna do this anon so the emoji you can use for me is: <33

Info:

Pronouns: She/Hers

Personality: I am a very goal orientated person and I can become very hard on myself sometimes if I don’t achieve things as well as I wanted to. I tend to be quiet but not shy per say. I do not have trouble talking to people and making friends and I can become very outgoing but in the friend group itself I usually keep to myself. If I am comfortable with you I will make witty remarks and make fun of you in a playful friend banter kinda way but I would like to say I am a good listener so I can get serious real quick. I am really big on trust and I used to trust too easily and now I am a bit more closed off where it is a bit harder for me to trust others.

Relationships: When it comes to relationships, I believe in communication and I haven’t had a big problem with it in the past. I wouldn’t mind a small pda such as hand holding or a small kiss here and there but nothing over the top because you gotta keep the important stuff private ya know. My love language is quality time because I tend to be really busy once school starts and so making effort to see each other even through our busy schedules is really important to keep the relationship healthy.

Hobbies: I believe that you need a good balance between work and play though so some other hobbies I have are painting (acrylic and watercolor), baking, and skateboarding. I also listen to music everyday and watch like an episode before I go to sleep if I have school but binge watch on break. I also try to game a bit too like league, minecraft, and my switch. I also like hiking and runs in the mornings before class because it really clears my head and I used to be on the swim team but I don’t competitively do it anymore.

Bedroom: I believe I would be a switch that leans more submissive. However, I am really cautious to do anything because I need to trust them to be submissive. I would consider myself very open to different kinks and what not and aftercare is a must. I’m not super into degrading because I’m sensitive af. I just would want someone who is observant with me and my body as well as someone who helps me with my insecurities. Once I’m comfortable though I definitely become a brat. Just want someone who would manhandle but still tell me i’m the prettiest girl they’ve ever met hahaha.

Zodiac: Pisces (sun), Cancer (rising), and Leo (moon)

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Future Plans/ Dreams: I am working to become a biomedical engineer one day to help make medical devices to help people. Right now I am leaning towards possibly doing physical therapy and making prosthetics.

Looks: I’m 5’6/5’7 and have a medium build. I am tan kinda like a honey color with black wavy/slightly curly hair that is about at my breast length. My eyes are hazel but mainly light brown and I have pretty big doe like eyes.

Sorry if it’s too much or too little but thank you so much! and I have such respect for writers so keep being you :) HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND STAY SAFE

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Hello and welcome, my darling! So sorry for the long wait, and thank you SO MUCH for your kind words! (⌒‿⌒)❤️ Let’s get right to it then! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

I was reading your description, and I think the person I had in mind for you also fits your bedroom matchup!

Our lovely guest keeping us company in both rooms is...

(Runner up: Ushijima Wakatoshi)

Kageyama is a very complex character. He’s one of the few characters ever who we actually see slips back into his old bad habits every now and then, but is immediately remorseful and shows signs of him knowing better. He’s always striving for progress, and he understands more than others what it’s like to dislike your past self.

- Tobio here is somehow both incredibly observant yet so fricking DENSE

- I imagine that however it is that you two meet, he’ll be super formal at first. It’ll take a little while for a romance to build because he’s not used to opening up, and he’ll need to really trust the person for him to let his walls down

- however, as soon as you guys establish a friendship, he’d be drawn to you and how goal-oriented you are, especially since he is, too

- He’d take interest in you, notice all your little quirks, and would even find himself blushing whenever you playfully tease him

- Problem is, he has no fucking clue why HAHAH

- I love him sm but boy doesn’t know what it is to like someone

- Hinata would try to explain it to him and he’d just be like cr- cru--... c-CRUSH?? ...what is that?

- Man is in desperate need of wingman someone help him

- Anyway, once his friends get Operation: Get Tobio A Girlfriend in motion, he just turns into his pouty blushy self whenever he sees you

- The other boys will probably go overboard that he’ll be forced to take matters into his own hands

- The confession would be a damn mess but in an adorable way

- He’d 100% yell his feelings at you while pouting/blushing

- You’d have to shush him TBH

- shush him with a kiss maybe? that’s a great way to shut him up ( 　･ิω･ิ)

- Kageyama_Tobio.exe stopped responding

- anyway I think he’d just be such a soft, protective boyfriend, especially since you’re kind of quiet

- You two would understand each other so well. He’d protect you and your quiet side, while you would help him be more relatable in order to make friends. It’s also perfect that you two are both goal-oriented, because then you’d be on the same page when it comes to co-dependence/independence. One would understand the other when it comes to pressure, deadlines, and hard work, and you’d just be super supportive of each other all the time

- I think you’re better at communicating than he is, so you may have to inform him a bit on how it should work between the two of you. He’d pick up on this really fast tho so no need to worry! Kags has got you ;)

- Dates would be really productive ones. Study dates, work dates, workout dates; anything that would be beneficial to your improvement

- Early morning hikes with Kags :’( beautiful

- He really appreciates that you’re not big on PDA because that puts a lot less pressure on himself to be someone he’s not. PLUS I imagine he’s the same as you, who really treasures the private moments between the two of you because you’re both so busy

- Once you guys have some private time, he’d take it as an opportunity to release all his pent up energy and emotions. He’d be so needy and clingy when he knows others can’t see

- ( 　･ิω･ิ) ( 　･ิω･ิ) ( 　･ิω･ิ) also u kno whassup when you guys finally get some private time ( 　･ิω･ิ) ( 　･ิω･ิ)( 　･ิω･ิ)

- I don’t think Kags is the very kinky type. He’d be a dom, but I don’t think the freaky stuff would really appeal to him, especially if it’s degradation, since the man worships you?? He’s just like... why tho

- He may get into some stuff that emphasizes his strength, mostly how he grabs you and handles your body

- Picks up on your sweet spots really quick, and I imagine he can even deduce which parts are sensitive without you having to tell him

- Apologizes if he ever makes you uncomfortable :’( he’d just be SO tender and protective

- I don’t think he knows what aftercare is, or like the specifics of it, but I think despite that, he’d just naturally want to take care of you and check in on you afterwards. He’d ask if you’re okay, if you need anything, if you’re feeling any kind of pain, if there’s anything he can improve on. And he’d definitely scan your body for any bruises.

You were walking home from an exhausting day at work.

There were more than a few setbacks today - an annoying coworker took credit for your hard work, your precisely detailed schedule wasn’t honored by others, and because of this, you weren’t able to have lunch. It was now 6:30PM. The rain poured as you waited at the bus stop. You were famished, soaked, and, quite frankly, so done with this day.

You sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. You were so out of it today that you haven’t had the chance to check on your unread messages. Your boyfriend, Tobio, had left a few missed calls over the past hour, causing some worry. He didn’t usually call, given how busy he was all the time. You texted him first to check in.

You: Everything okay, bub?

K: Yes. Sorry about all the missed calls. Where are you right now?

Y: At the bus stop near my building. Why?

K: Which one?

K: Never mind. I see you

What? You whipped your head left and right, then saw your boyfriend’s figure standing a few meters away, umbrella in hand. He was truly a sight for sore eyes right now - he wasn’t wearing anything special, juts his usual tracksuit, but he was wrapped in a scarf and held a soft expression on his face. It was just the warmth you needed right now. He jogged over to you, closing the umbrella as he made it under the roof.

“Hi love,” you started, “what on earth are you doing here?” A huge weight seems to have been lifted off of you.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, rubbing your body to give extra warmth. Pulling back, he took off his scarf so that he could wrap it around your neck.

“It’s been raining all day but I noticed you left your umbrella at home. I was hoping to catch you before you left work so that you don’t have to walk in the rain.” You couldn’t help the smile that was erupting through the exhaustion. This felt like an all new Tobio. “I guess I was a little too late, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, don’t worry about it. Thank you for thinking of me, bub.” You allowed yourself to slump onto him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You felt him loosen up, strong arms making their way around your form. You looked up at him without pulling away. Your big doe eyes stared into his blue ones, totally sinking into each other’s gaze. He planted a small kiss onto your nose. It wasn’t normal for you to be so affectionate outdoors, but right now, it seemed apt. You scrunched up your nose in response.

Had it not been for the honking of the bus, the two of you could’ve cuddled in the rain for much longer, ridding each other of the lousiness of the day.

I hope that was alright with you, darling! Thank you so much for trusting me with your matchup. Hope you’re having a wonderful new year so far!! Please don’t hesitate to sit and have a chat with me anytime ❤️

Thanks for stopping by! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

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rogueobservation · 4 years

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BLACKBIRD: CHAPTER TWO

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Before there was a Black Widow, there was a Blackbird; the most talented and famed spy of the Red Room and Hydra’s darling, Valerie. She was Steve Rogers’s greatest love and the Winter Soldier’s partner-in-crime. With the disappearance of Bucky Barnes and the fall of Hydra, Steve finally learns the truth and lies behind his oldest friend and his best girl.

Warnings: Angsty as hell. Bad Language. Description of past physical abuse, wounds, violence, and murder.

A/N: And she lives! First off, I want to give a shout out to the most wonderful and patient person, @rogrsnbarnes, who’s been such an absolute crutch these past few weeks. Wouldn’t have made it to the finish line without you, angel. Thank you. Second, I’m so, so sorry for the delay. This was an absolute beast of a chapter that I could never (and still don’t believe) get perfect. But writing isn’t supposed to be perfect, is it? (Also, new Blackbird banners! Hope you like them. It’s sort of a summary for what’s to happen each chapter.) I put in a little easter egg for Blackbird’s spinoff series at the end. Blink and you’ll miss it. (Hint: You can read the parallel version of the end scene here.) Feedback and comments are always much appreciated! Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!

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Previously...

It happened so quickly. Valerie stumbled backward, smashing into the television hard with her back, hand tightening around the trigger of her gun as she raised it at him. She glanced at his outstretched hand with her wide, horrified eyes. He hadn’t even touched her. Her breathing was shaky and uneven. Time seemed to stop and for a second her mask slipped, showing Steve the broken woman that hid underneath. It mirrored the expression Bucky had given him on the Helicarrier four weeks earlier. The decades of being with Hydra had changed something in her — fractured something deep inside both of them. And it was all noticeable in their eyes.

Her voice betrayed her and broke, “Do not touch me.”

Her eyes met his and goosebumps went down his neck. He was startled by her reaction. Every nerve in his body called on him to take her in his arms, comfort her and never let go, but he knew he couldn’t. She didn’t want it.

They watched for what seemed to be a lifetime as she gathered together her pieces again, tucking them back into place and slipping back on her stoic expression as if nothing had happened. Pushing herself off the tv, she walked towards the front door, “Goodbye, Steven.”

Steve didn’t move an inch, staring at the spot where she had stood until the door shut behind her and the echoing sound of her heels down the hallway faded. He looked at his reflection in the television screen and let out a loud sigh, burying his face in his hands and falling back on the couch.

In the quiet of his apartment, he wondered if he’d ever see her again.

London, England. October 1943.

Tender Carolina blue and honey orange spread across the skyline, clouds smudged against the horizon like white streaks of paint. Rotting leaves skipped down the cracked sidewalk, crunching underneath his heavy boots as he went. Even a few doors down, Steve could hear the faint tune of a piano and the off-tune rendition of a Bing Crosby song come from inside the crowded bar.

The sudden neon of Whip & Fiddle’s sign shined in firey red and yellow against the shadowy building; a beacon of promised warmth against the frigid October weather. He took the stairs two-at-a-time, pulling open the massive oak door. Heat rushed out, flooding his system. He sighed in bliss.

It was packed wall-to-wall; six dozen soldiers squeezed into a single room with their comrades and female companions. They were packed in tight from the circular bar top in the center of the room to the half-timbered walls of the popular watering hole. It was a vast sea of tan, green, and brown with spots of color spread throughout from taffeta dresses. Laughter and smoke drifted amongst the crowd. A steady buzz of voices over the need for a drink and a break from the war.

It was a rare sight, something Steve didn’t know he was missing until then.

“Hey, Stevie!”

His head whipped around, drawn towards the back of the room, catching against a pair of smiling, cobalt eyes. Bucky Barnes was waving, standing at a round table, a dimpled grin splitting his face, pint of beer in hand, white froth teetering over the edge with his movements. Steve returned the gesture and started to weave through the crowd to him... until he saw her.

He stopped short.

Her right arm brushed against the side of Bucky’s slacks, slim fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass of water in front of her. She was mid-conversation, talking across the table to Gabe Jones and Jacques Dernier; full, carefully drawn, ruby lips moving rapidly in perfect French.

The other commandoes sat around the table, leaned in close to her, mesmerized.

She had that classic kind of beauty. Dark. Enigmatic. Like some lost Hollywood actress. Thick, dark hair cascaded down her back in waves; a stark contrast against the baby blue dress she wore. The neckline was low, letting him glimpse at the gold crucifix that dangled about her neck, twinkling each time it caught in the lambent, gaslit lantern that sat on the center of the table.

Jacques replied and a peal of laughter bubbled up her throat, smooth and honeyed, nose crinkling in the most wonderful way possible. A warmth came from Steve's bones then and spread throughout his body like a sudden fire, heart beating fierce against the cage of his ribs.

He had never seen anyone as maddeningly beautiful as she was before.

Shouting his name again, Bucky’s voice knocked him out of his stupor. Steve forced himself to look away from the women, meeting Bucky’s gaze once more; amusement danced in the depth of those familiar eyes, a knowing smirk plastered across his face. Blood rushed to Steve’s ears, turning them the same shade of red as his windburnt cheeks. Busted.

Quickly, he shouldered the rest of the way through the crush of people.

“See something you like, pal?”

Steve rolled his eyes at the quip, pulling Bucky in for a brotherly hug. “Shut up.”

Bucky laughed and clapped him between his shoulder blades as his gaze drifted down to the woman. Her conversation was abruptly cut as Jacques and Gabe greeted the Captain. The woman looked over her shoulder, blinking up at the Brooklyn boys with an elegant, arched brow.

Steve’s mouth parted in awe. She had black eyes; so molasses brown to the point that they resembled two pools of ink, devouring light in their intensity. They were completely hypnotic, capturing his full attention instantly. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

“Steve Rogers, meet Vallerina Boschetti,” Bucky introduced. “Vallerina, Steve.”

She pressed her lips together, glancing at Bucky. “Vallerina? What are you? My father?” she chided in thick accented English, voice low and velvety. A beat of silence passed as her eyes shifted to Steve. For an instant, she studied him, a look of appraisal, drinking him in brazenly.

A shiver raced up his spine as he felt himself flush.

There was a sudden surge of subconsciousness that came over him as he stood there before her in his stiff Army dress uniform; shiny metals and decorations worn on his pressed-to-perfection Ike jacket out of pure respect for his country rather than his pride. But then she gave a quiet hum of approval and all his anxiety subsided as quickly as it had came. Her eyes lifted to meet his once again, the most exquisite smile he’d ever seen blooming across her face. She extended a hand.

“Call me Val.”

Brooklyn, New York.

His eyes jolted open, automatically searching the room in a bleary gaze. It was dark except for the black-and-white episode of I Love Lucy that mutely flickered across the television, illuminating his living room dimly. For an instant, he was in a world without a decade... then the memories returned – the coldness of the ice, the lonely black oblivion, the future – and he gathered his bearings.

A sheen of sweat clung to his skin; white t-shirt stuck to his broad chest. His right hand was clenched into a fist, painfully pressed against his cheek, propping up his head, elbow on one of the cushiony leather arms of his desk chair. His back ached from sitting in one place for too long and the watch on his wrist said it was forty-five minutes past three in the morning.

Jesus, he thought, time for bed. But when he went to stand something shifted in his lap. Glancing down, he saw it. Her file — Val’s file — and recalled what he had been doing. Rereading; going over every detail that the file had to offer for the hundredth time.

It was open to a report from late July of 1988 after they both had come from a stint in cryostasis. N. L. was written at the bottom (the initials, Natasha had said, of a handler).

In the dim, he could make out the words:

Oh, the bird! God. There was a slip-up when we pulled her from cryo today. She had been asked twice and refused twice to differentiate for us whether Sergeant Barnes or the Asset held the reigns upon being pulled from cryo. Instead, the bird snatched the pen out from Dr. Klemme’s lab coat pocket, using it to kill five guards within a ten-second timeframe. A pen. Only a pen… with a speed that could have rivaled Hermes. Under different circumstances, I would have praised her for such a thrilling act, if it had happened during a mission, but she rebelled and killed five of ours instead. Several more guards died while trying to restrain her, not to mention the fact that she tried to make a move for me with her stolen and bloodied ballpoint pen. A surprising act, I might add. It’s been several years since she’s tried anything against me…

Punishment was swiftly issued for both her and the Asset (I would have put her in the hole if the mission to Pakistan wasn’t so pressing – so she might learn the severity of her actions – but equal punishment to the Asset will do just as well, if not quicker. To hurt him is to hurt her).

That managed to put her back into right mind. Training was followed directly afterward and, despite the fresh wounds, her fighting capabilities were more flawless than ever. I’m always (as are the handlers before me, no doubt) in awe at the effortless talent she exhibits. Almost near inhuman. It shouldn’t be real, but it is. She’s flesh and blood and mortal and Hydra’s… To me, it seems she doesn’t comprehend the extent of her supreme talent still. Not even after all these decades with it. Not how agile or graceful — better than any of the Bolshoi — or how she’s the most deadly weapon this green Earth has ever seen. She doesn’t see how easy she turns violence into an art form... Oh, our very own Angel of Death... Yes…

Steve’s eyes strayed from the text to the left-hand corner of the report where two yellowed photographs were. They had been taken after the “punishment” had been issued. Less gruesome than the other photos in the files, Val’s and Bucky’s, but managed to haunt him more than the others had; as much to do with the way she stared unflinchingly into the camera, the emotionless look held in the fated depths of her inky eyes, as if she was numb to the violence against them both, and how tightly she clung to Bucky in the aftermath. Along with the report from N.L, there had been a detailed description of what the “punishment” had entailed.

They had left Bucky clothed in his regulation suit, while Valerie had been forcefully stripped naked by the guards. Then, they were restrained to metal chairs opposite one another. Valerie had been blasted several times with scalding hot water. In between blasts, she was forced to watch as a guard beat Bucky black-and-blue with his baton, which earned him a dislocated shoulder. She had been beaten too, after him, gaining a handful of dark bruises and a few broken blood vessels from a blow to the head, turning her right eye a violent shade of scarlet.

Child’s play compared to the other punishments that they endured while in the service of Hydra.

The foremost photo clipped to the report was grainy and faded. Val was mid-scream, steam radiating off her skin from the recent blast of scalding water. Her dark hair was stuck to her face and she was yanking on her restraints, trying to free herself, as the guard’s baton landed on Bucky’s shoulder. In the other, only the back of Bucky’s head could be seen. Val’s hands were gripping his back, holding him to her protectively, glaring at the camera. If only looks could kill...

It was a stark contrast to the photos that were clipped to the next report. They had been taken a day after the beating. She was in the middle of masterfully pulling off yet another mission; schmoozing a few members of the Pakistan parliament in a beautiful velvet gown, diamonds dripping from her ears, while at a ball.

Her bloodied eye and once-marred skin were now back to normal — erased in the night by the enhanced serum flowing through her veins. A charming red-lipped smile graced her features, beguiling the men that stood around her, staring at her with a moth-caught-in-a-flame look. Entranced. Completely oblivious that a snake had invaded their garden.

Once upon a time, Steve thought, I had been in their place.

On that frigid October night seventy years ago, he and Val had talked about everything under the sun; easily sliding in and out of a plethora of topics, exchanging laughter and stories. She had spun him a picture of her life before the war (a story that he had once believed but now knew was pure fiction); that she was originally from Spain, but defected to England, moving to London, when she was ten with her father. With the war in full bloom, after she had turned of-age, she went to service for her adopted country, starting as a switchboard operator, but quickly advanced, becoming the private secretary for Colonel Chester Phillips at twenty-three, traveling with him and the 107th Infantry Regiment during which she met Bucky, quickly becoming close friends.

Steve had been so smitten with her by the end of her story that he couldn’t remember asking her if she wanted to dance nor when she agreed. But he reminded vividly everything afterward; the brightness of her grin, the way her dress felt under his fingers, the ivy-white river of her scalp between dark locks, the dip in her hips — everything. For him, the night had seemed like one long, drawn-out moment and still, it hadn’t been long enough. Almost dreamlike.

One second he had been dancing with her and the next, the commandos were deciding to call it a night and he was interjecting as Bucky offered to walk her back to her apartment, her coat already in his hand. No, I’ll walk her, Steve had said. It’s on the way back to mine anyway. But it wasn’t and Bucky knew it though he said nothing. Even now Steve’s heart raced at the thought of how the rest of the night had went; the charged silence between them as they walked back towards her apartment; the way her eyes glittered with the shared hope for something more as she invited him upstairs for a cup of coffee to warm him up before the walk home. Oh, please it’s the least I could do…

Needless to say, that night had been memorable and it hadn’t been for the cup of coffee.

It was so cliche, even to him, but he had been shamelessly in love with her by dawn.

It was hard not to be.

She was gorgeous and refreshing and vivid and so human with effortless charisma and charm. She was just... magnetic. That smile, those ink-black eyes. No one stood a chance against her. Not even the legendary Captain America.

Steve liked to believe that she had felt the same way about him… but then again she hadn’t been real. The woman he had met that night, Vallerina Boschetti, wasn’t a real person. No, it had all just been a smokescreen, a ploy. The first alias of her blooming career as a Hydra spy. Of the woman he had fallen so hopelessly in love with seventy years ago.

Steve threw the file down with a sigh and walked around his desk, crossing through the living room and into the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee, all thoughts of going back to bed thrown out the window. He tried to distract himself from his thoughts by making breakfast even though it was such an ungodly hour of the night. He fixed several pieces of that and a giant bowl of cereal. He ate in the dark, at his large, glass dining room table that sat off to the right of the kitchen and tried focusing on the muted episode of I Love Lucy that played on the opposite side of the room, but soon gave up as the thoughts of Val nipped at his mind like a small dog.

There were so many things about her that were different, but outwardly she had looked the same. One of the most notable differences about her – apart from the fact that she was now alive and that he now understood her to be a Hydra spy and not a secretary for the SSR – was the name change; from Vallerina to the more modern, Valerie. (All her alias started with Val.)

If he was honest, he was still coming to grips with it all.

The name change, the occupation change. The fact that she was a legend to the intelligence community, a Hydra ghost, one of the most wanted people in history, and alive. She and Bucky were alive – risen from the dead! But they weren’t the same people he loved and remembered. No. They were entirely different. Val had been a ruse all along, reclaimed in late 1944 by Hydra and had not gone “missing” like he had thought. Bucky had been denied of death after his fall from that damned train, had his mind stolen from him, and against his will was turned into a ruthless killing machine. Both of them had been dragged down the furthest corners of hell, molded like clay pottery into two of the most feared people in history; hardened with callous memories by the cruel hands of their handlers, painted in the blood of their victims.

It had nearly torn him apart to learn what had become of them while he had been under the ice. God, when Natasha had handed him those files–

Natasha, he suddenly remembered. Fuck.

He had completely forgotten to tell her of the developments — that Val had turned up in his apartment. He had been in such a state after she had left, half-believing that what had happened had even been real. Steve ran a hand through his hair and swore.

He, Nat, and Sam had formed an unofficial search party for Val and Bucky after they had vanished into thin air after D.C, scouring their files for clues to where they could have gone; searched Alexander Pierce's house, finding his home-office and bedroom ransacked. The first thing they had checked was the security surveillance that covered the grounds of his house. They had caught a glimpse of her walking into the house through the front door in her bloodied uniform before the camera feed cut to black. They had searched what had been left of Pierce’s scattered possessions, finding that she had stolen several files off his computer and clothes from his closet, both men’s and women’s (It had appeared to look that Valerie had been living in his house; her shampoo in his shower, a few tubes of lipstick, stray hairs of hers on the sheets).

What they had found in Pierce’s house had been the only lead in a string of dead leads.

Well, until she popped up in his living room two nights ago.

God, he really needed to tell Natasha and Sam about the developments.

Steve sat at his table a moment longer, making his mind then and there before quickly getting up, putting his bowl of half-eaten cereal in the sink and going to get dressed.

Hell’s Kitchen, New York.

It was ten minutes past five in the morning when he knocked on her door. A long moment passed before he heard the faintest hint of activity come from inside; the soft, barely audible sound of bare feet against wooden flooring. Another minute came and went before the bolt turned and the door opened. Natasha Romanoff was dressed in a silk royal blue robe, short red hair tousled from sleep. The Glock she carried with her daily was in her right hand, ready for use if necessary. Steve gave her an apologetic look, immediately regretting coming.

“I–”

“Who is it?”

To Steve’s utmost surprise, Sam Wilson came around the corner from the hallway, absently scratching at his bare chest with a half-asleep expression. He was dressed in only a pair of boxers and came to a complete halt when he saw the Captain in the doorway, visibly sobering up.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hey, man.”

An embarrassed heat graced Steve’s features as he glanced between the two of them with a wide-eyed, almost scandalized expression. Natasha didn’t even blink, unfazed. She watched as Steve opened his mouth, then shut it before opening it again. “I’m not even going to ask,” he said briskly. “I–” He glanced down the empty corridor and then back at her. “Can I come in?”

It took one look at Steve’s face for her to know something serious was going on; drawn brows, tempestuous eyes, the reluctant expression on his face. Without a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door wider. He stepped in from the corridor, awkwardly standing off to the side as Natasha shut the door and padded across her dark apartment to the kitchen. Flipping on the bright overhead light, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m making tea. You want some?”

He shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. His gaze drifted around her apartment as she began fiddling with a copper-colored kettle in the kitchen. He had never been inside her apartment before though he had been at her building several times, picking her up from the lobby on his way to the tower before a mission and dropped her off when they came back but she had never invited him up. He didn’t blame her though or asked why. He understood the need for something normal in their line of work. A piece of their life that was apart from work.

It was a reasonably sized space; spartan and impeccably clean with warm tan walls throughout. As far as he could see, it was bare of any decorations save for a coatrack by the front door (with Sam’s coat hanging up). Two black leather couches sat across from the front door, in the living room, around a dusty flat-screen tv with a matching black coffee table and a large Persian rug.

Steve caught Sam disappear down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. He reappeared a moment later in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and leaned against the entrance into the kitchen. Natasha turned on the stove for the kettle before opening a cupboard near her head.

Steve shifted from one foot to the other, not sure how to broach the information he had come to share without alarming them and thoroughly pissing off Nat. But then he figured getting it over with and saying it bluntly – let the chips fall where they may – was the best way possible.

“So, uh,” he said, at last. “Last night… Val visited me.”

The mug Natasha had reached out to grab dropped to the countertop with a loud BANG! It had been a miracle, Steve thought later, that the mug hadn’t shattered into a million pieces then.

Natasha’s head snapped around, her surprised cat-green eyes connecting with his. “What?”

The Bronx, New York.

A sudden slant of bluish light came from the boarded-up windows of her safe house, aiding her as she padded across the room where a large duffel bag sat beside a mattress on the floor. She fished out an empty thermos from inside along with a packet of instant coffee and a half-empty bottle of water, pouring the last of its contents inside the thermos with the powdered caffeine.

Pulling out the switchblade from her front pocket, Valerie stirred together everything as she made the small strides back to the center of the room, retaking her seat on the decades-old scarred oak flooring. She crisscrossed her legs and absently wiped the switchblade against her faded cut-offs before flicking it shut, shoving it back into her front pocket. Her black eyes narrowed as she refocused on the huge world map taped to the exposed brick wall across from her; meticulously color-coded pins were tacked to specific points of interest all across it: white for the last locations of high-rank Hydra officials; green for sleeper agents; yellow for safe houses; blue for known active bases; pink for abandoned ones. A strip of paper was tacked to each location with a list of names of players that were, to her best guess, still at the locations.

She had spent her first two days in New York coordinating the names and locations with the files she had stolen from Alexander Pierce’s house and the wealth of knowledge she had amassed over the seventy-plus years while in the service of Hydra as their Blackbird.

In a different world, she would have been labeled as an information junkie.

But it was just a habit she had been forced to learn when she had trained as a spy; to learn as much about your targets and surroundings as possible. She did it almost subconsciously now.

She knew a lot about a great many things, both useless and important. Stock prices, general history, on and on, but what she was best at was Hydra. Off the top of her head, Valerie could list each person in the organization, both current and past, all the way back to the beginning; give their full name, rank, notable facts. She knew of every base ever inhabited by Hydra. She was, quite simply, the encyclopedia of all-things Hydra.

Valerie's gaze shifted to the right side of the map where Russia sat. A new white pin was tacked to the city of Penza where, six days prior, Kolesov Petrovich, the highest-ranked Hydra official, who had been set to take over as the next leader of the organization, had been murdered.

Three other white pins sat on the floor in front of her alongside a sheet of paper detailing the rest of the information she had obtained from Steve Rogers two nights ago about the three other murders of high-ranked Hydra officials that had occurred in the four weeks since D.C:

Doctor Jakob Klemme: top-scientist from 1967 until desertion in 1988. Turned up 26 years later, dead, killed by unknown in an abandoned base somewhere in Europe.

Stephen Hersh: originally Dr. Klemme’s assistant. Took over Klemme’s role after Klemme’s desertion in 1988. Hersh was taken out of Soldat’s close circle in 1998. Has not been seen nor heard of in several years. Last known whereabouts: base in Odesa. Turned up recently, killed by unknown in an abandoned base somewhere in Europe.

Emil Behm: general from 1992 to death by unknown in an unknown abandoned base in Europe.

She had no specific location and no details regarding the cause of death. It didn’t surprise her that Steve (nor Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson. She knew they were working with him) couldn't see what was happening. They couldn’t see it. They didn’t have the knowledge that would let them see even the faintest hint of what was happening. They were most likely brushing it off as an inside job, perhaps the uprising of lesser agents that sought revenge over their higher-ups in Hydra after the failure of Project Insight. But she knew better.

The four murders had more in common than that the victims were important officials within Hydra and had been left in abandoned bases. No. They were all apart of the line of succession.

A secret group of elite high-rank generals and top-scientists known as the Hydra five. They were the second-highest level of the complex, monarchy-like power structure within Hydra, acting as counsel to the head leader of the organization.

For the last decade, that had been Alexander Pierce, but with his death during Project Insight, the next member in the order of succession would have taken his place automatically. The lucky man: Kolesov Petrovich, one of the four dead officials. With his death, leadership would have passed onto Jakob Klemme, also one of the four dead officials. On and on, down the order of succession. Each high-ranked official dead except the last one: Ben Krüger, a top-level scientist.

Whoever was murdering the officials were going down the order of succession, leaving Krüger the next target. But the strange thing – the thing she couldn’t understand – was that only people who were apart of the line of succession knew of the list (the only exception to the rule being her; she had found out about the list early-eighties by a former member and handler). Now, it might have been possible for Krüger to be the killer but was very, very unlikely. Krüger was not only squeamish to the sight of blood but near blind. And he was old – ancient. Perhaps he told someone about the list, hired them to kill the people on the list so he could be next, be leader.

Valerie had a hard time imagining that.

Something was eluding her. Something just beyond the surface of what she could see, right in front of her nose; so close she could sense shapes, but couldn’t bring the picture into focus. Who could it be? An ambitious, rogue agent? Someone not even Hydra? Or was this something entirely different? There was something about this, the four murders, that made her uneasy.

Valerie focused her gaze left, on Europe, and sat still while her brain worked at top speed.

Klemme, Behm, Hersh, Petrovich, she thought. Three left in abandoned bases in Europe, one in Penza, Russia. Penza base was abandoned in 1981. Not a place of significance, certainly. Why there? Why any of the bases?

She could feel it in her gut, that nagging instinct, that something was deeply wrong but what?

Sighing, Valerie sipped her coffee.

Hell’s Kitchen, New York.

“Do you know what they taught us in the Red Room?”

Natasha Romanoff asked in a neutral tone, steadily looking Steve Rogers in the eye. It was a rhetorical question, he knew, so he waited silently and met her gaze. She was sat across from him at the breakfast nook in her tiny kitchen, betraying nothing of what she felt. He knew her well enough to know she was upset with him for waiting so long before coming to tell her about Val’s sudden reappearance. They didn’t keep secrets from each other. Especially about this.

After the confession, Natasha had sprung on him, hounding him relentlessly with one question after another until his brain felt like it was going to split in two. The hairline cracks of a headache had begun behind his eye by the time he was walking them through everything, giving a word-for-word recount of his exchange with Valerie. All except for the part where she had reeled away from his touch as if it was a flame come to burn her. It hadn’t felt right to share that with them.

"Psychological manipulation,” Natasha continued after a long moment. “We were trained to determine a target’s weakness, exploit that weakness, and extract information. And Valerie’s the greatest at it. It’s the reason she’s the crown jewel of Hydra. It’s why the intelligence community believes that she’s the greatest spy to ever live.” She leaned over the table on elbows. “She’s your Achilles heel, Steve, and she knows it. Do you get that all she had to do was glance at you and she was able to gauge how you felt about her? – that you’re angry and sad and love her still. She used it all against you and you never realized it.” Nat paused. “I’m sorry, Steve, but you need to understand that she’s not the woman you love or the one you remember. She’s the Blackbird of Hydra! A weapon and most importantly, a spy. You cannot trust a thing she says.”

“Good liars stick close to the truth, Nat.”

“Maybe, Steve, but there’s a very big difference between a good liar and her. I mean, we’re talking about the most elite spy to ever walk, Steve. Not an ordinary person. You have a better chance of being struck by lightning than you figuring out whether or not she’s lying. I wouldn’t even be able to tell. She’s that good.” Natasha said. “All we know is that she baited you with what we can only speculate is the truth – that she’s been searching for Petrovich since D.C.”

“Sounds to me like she’s going after Hydra. Revenge, maybe?” Sam asked. He was sat beside Natasha, calm and leaned back with his arms folded over his chest. He glanced from Steve to Nat and Steve saw something akin to love in his eyes. He couldn’t believe that they had been seeing each other, possibly even dating, right under his nose for god knew how long.

Natasha shook her head. “No, revenge isn’t her style.” A few seconds of silence passed before she spoke again. “We can’t trust a thing she says, but let’s assume for a minute here that what she said about not being with Barnes is true. That means whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it alone. What happened to Barnes? Where did he go? Why isn’t he with her? I don’t think she’d leave him without good cause to. According to the files, they’ve nearly inseparable since 1945.”

“Maybe they got separated during all the chaos in D.C,” Sam offered.

“No, they were together,” Steve said. “She grabbed women’s and men’s clothes from Pierce’s house after D.C. Something happened from that point to two days ago when she showed up.”

A long pause drifted through the room. Minutes dripped by until it hit Natasha. Of course. “She always puts his safety first, their files show as much... she willingly left him, making them both not only harder to track but keeping Barnes out of danger. She wouldn’t risk him getting caught – or his freedom, more importantly – while she’s hunting down who she needs from Hydra.”

“So,” Steve broke in, piecing it all together, “she’s cleaning house then – finishing what we started in D.C. Petrovich would have had the latest information about the sleeper agents that are still out there, all the high-rank officials and officers that pose a threat to the both of them. Petrovich would have led her right to everyone. We know she stole files from Pierce’s house, but those would be weeks old at this point. Almost useless now. Hydra’s agents would have scattered after everything, gone into hiding like she said. We've been data mining Hydra’s file since D.C. We have the latest intel. She broke into my apartment in hopes to find some of it.”

The Bronx, New York.

The beginnings of dawn burst through the cracks in the panels of wood nailed to the windows.

Muttering a swear in frustration, Valerie rubbed her smarting eyes with thumb and forefinger. She glanced once more at the map, hardly able to concentrate. How long had she been awake? Three? Four days? She didn’t know, only that her body ached with how exhausted she was, begging her to go to sleep. Valerie glanced at Penza, Russia, again before taking a deep breath and decided it was best if she called it a night – or day, at this point – and resign for now.

Leaving her thermos behind on the floor, Valerie padded across the opposite side of the room where her mattress sat, crawling beneath the single thick blanket that laid on top.

She was asleep within thirty seconds.

Washington, D.C.

Four weeks ago: January 13th, 2014.

“–and I know you don’t want to have to listen to her – you hardly know her – but trust me on this, okay? She knows exactly what to do. I trust her with my life, therefore you should as well.”

Her brows creased together as she looked up beneath her thick lashes at him. Bucky hadn’t said a word since they had arrived at the Smithsonian, to the Captain America exhibit. A protest, she guessed, of his disproval to this plan. He never needed to say anything when he was with her. She had learned long ago, in their seventy-odd years of partnership, how to communicate with him without ever having to exchange a single word. He could express so much through his eyes.

And right now, she could see a storm building behind them; dark clouds rolling in. He didn’t like this plan of hers in the least bit, they read. He had expressed as much back at the motel. They had stayed awake the entire night, going back and forth over the subject (mostly her than him).

Valerie wetted her lips and sighed, crossing her arms. “You and I both know that I don’t want to leave you, but this is how it has to be,” she said carefully. “I need you to understand — for both our sakes — that I’m not abandoning you, okay? I promised you seventy years ago that I would protect you above everything and I plan to keep that promise. It’s my job to protect both of you, and if we stay together, then we’re making it easier for them to find us. If they were to take you again, we both what they’ll do – finish what he didn’t all those years ago. I don’t know what I would do then because I–” Her voice cut abruptly. Looking away for a moment, she recollected herself then continued. “I cannot lose either of you… You’re my family, Buck – I’m your family.”

The crestfallen look on his face deepened as her words sunk in, cobalt eyes darkening as his newfound emotions surged within him. It was only a little less than twenty-four hours since the beginning of the end; when she found Bucky after the Helicarriers had fallen from the sky. She didn’t know what propelled her to go, but she had strangely found him back at the bank where Hydra had been keeping him for the last month-in-a-half since they had arrived in D.C.

He had been soaked-to-the-bone from the river, surrounded by the dozen dead bodies of the technicians and soldiers that had stayed behind at the bank for his return. But Project Insight had failed and he – her Bucky – had been rattled out from the depths of his subconscious by none other than Steve Rogers on a godforsaken Halicarrier.

For the first time in two decades, he was himself again. Albeit, a fractured and damaged version, but himself nonetheless. His mind was a fried circuit, but amid the broken fragments and scattered pieces, one thing remained unscathed in the rubble. Val. His V. Memories of her were whole and intact. Some from a time long ago, before the horrors of Hydra, while others…

The occasional sharp edge of a memory, blurred slightly by all the blood, all the bodies, all the anguish caused by their hands…

Valerie saw the familiar distant in his cloudy eyes and put a hand on his arm, bringing him from his thoughts. His voice when he spoke was rough and low. “What if you don’t come back?”

It was a fair question. Something they both had been tiptoeing around for hours, but it was inevitable.

“Look at me.” When he didn’t, she reached up on the tips of her toes, cupped the sides of his face, gently turning his head down to look at her. “We’ve been through far worse than this – been in situations that were similar and maybe weren’t for as long, but… this is familiar,” she said softly. “I can’t promise you that I’ll ever return nor that I won’t die in the process, but know that I will be doing everything within my power to find my way back to you. As soon as I can.”

Valerie searched his eyes and opened her mouth as if to stay something else, but nothing came. She sighed then and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. His strong arms automatically locked around her waist, holding her to him as close as possible, both grasping at the sense of security that the other gave – the feeling of home. When she tried to pull away, his grip tightened, his face getting lost deeper in the crook of her neck. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she blinked them away, pulling herself together for him. Always for him.

She mirrored his actions, fisting the back of his jacket tightly, tucking her face into his neck, letting his smell engulf her — leather, gunpowder, something so distinctly Bucky — as her left hand reached up, scratching gently at the nape of his neck in the soothing manner he liked.

“It’s still you and me… longer than forever,” she mumbled against his ear before drawing back, looking at him one last time. His stormy blue eyes held so much emotion. It was overwhelming, trying to convey everything that he couldn’t say; speaking volumes without ever opening his mouth. Her hand lightly skimmed the harsh line of his scruffy jaw before lastly cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “I love you, Buck.”

“Love you, too, V.”

A watery smile crept on her face. She was so convinced that James Buchanan Barnes was the other half of her soul; her brother-in-arms and partner until the end of time. And now she had to go and cut the invisible string that had threaded them together for the past seven decades.

This is how it has to be, she told herself.

Leaning up on the tips of her toes again, she pressed a kiss right below his cheekbone, lingering for a long minute, selfishly trying to hold on to the last piece of solace that was left for her in this bleak world. It took her a minute to muster to the strength to pry herself away from him, ignoring the way his hands reached out to grab her as she walked away.

Her stoic expression slipped on with practiced ease as she pulled down the aviators that rested on the top of her head. She paused in the crowd for half a second, casting a glance over her shoulder, catching a pair of pale blue eyes that watched her from the back of the room. They belonged to a short, dark-haired woman with doll-like features, who wore a faded jean jacket and sported the same forlorn expression as Bucky. The ache in Valerie’s chest worsened.

Afterward, she couldn’t remember anything that happened after she had forced herself to look away from those pale blue eyes but the pain of separation; torn apart into a thousand pieces. Everything blurred, became indistinct as she was turned into bloody confetti, melting into the current of people as naturally as one breathed. Out of the exhibit, away from them. Her family.

***

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters! Feedback and comments are always appreciated! Thank you! :)

***

Tagged: @dontforgetthepieh @softhairbarnes @alexfayer @jalapenobarnes @apersonwithhope @rogrsnbarnes @tomhardy41 @dilaila95 @ramblerumble

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #natasha romanoff x sam wilson #one shot #fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #v

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randomkpopfaketexts · 6 years

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Baby Don’t Stop | One

Baby Don’t Stop | LucasX Reader | Idol!AU | “After I first saw you, I got a feeling that I needed no other reason. Like magic, I felt each hundredth of a second. For every detailed one minute, all of my nerves are on edge... I want to get to know you.”

Purple Font: Japanese

Yuta and Reader will go back and forth from Korean and Japanese. I will inform you of any other language switches, but I probably won’t highlight those the same way.

Yuta was going through the new choreography with the rest of NCT… in fact, it was the entirity of NCT…

All 18 members of NCT. This included the three new debuts: Lucas, Jungwoo, and Kun.

Taeyong was ordering everyone to take a break, but that of course never stopped any one of the members to stop playing around. Especially when it came to Sicheng. Yuta had to vie for his attention with Taeil. It was all in good fun of course, it always was. And he was having a good time.

The door to NCTs practice room was wide open as members came in and out of during their break, along with other employees and idols walking through the hallway. One of those idols including you.

Yuta spotted you almost immediately when you walked past the open door, nearly bumping into Johnny as you weren’t paying the least bit of attention. You eyes glued to your phone.

Yuta’s smile grew in seeing you, attention completely pulled from Sicheng and Taeil, which was a hard thing to accomplish - so you were pretty special - and he wondered through the room and out the door quickly, hoping to catch you before you disappeared of NCT practice resumed.

Yuta was quickly able to catch up with you, his hand reaching to grab your shoulder and startling you slightly. When you turned to look at him, you couldn’t help the huge smile that crossed your face as you jumped to wrap your arms around his waist.

“I miss you,” you had said.

“I miss you too,” he smiles down at you, lovingly so, placing a small kiss against your forehead. “Now come meet the rest of the group! We have three new members!”

You began to protest, shaking your head and pulling back as you did so all while he lead you back to the door of the practice room. “Yuta no.”

He looks back you, stopping now, just outside of the room. Only he was visible from the door, which lead to a loud voice carrying through the room to the door.

“Yuta Hyung! Hurry back!”

“Give me a minute,” he calls back, maintaining eye contact with you. “Y/N, come on. It’s not that bad. You already know all of 127. You just need to meet the newbies, dreamies, and Ten.”

“I know Ten. We did a duet together.”

“Just. Come. On.” He struggles, dragging you into the room by your wrists. Walking backwards as all attention is on the two of you. Primarily, you.

As he stops in the center of the room. He releases you and you nearly topple over at the lack of resistance to the fight you had been putting up. You honestly would have fallen over if it hadn’t been for a strange boy’s quick thinking and hands on your waist to stead you.

“Hands off, Yukhei.” The hands were removed from your waist almost immediately upon hearing the threatening tone in Yuta’s voice.

You turned around slightly and thanked him quietly, a shy blush on your face as you looked at the ground instead of his face.

His eyes were wide as he stared at you, hoping for at least some kind of eye contact with you. But you seemed as though you were too shy. Which was extremely contrasting of the person he saw in music videos, on stage, or on variety shows he had seen you on. It was even different from the character you had played in the one drama you starred in for three episodes.

Before your character was killed off that is.

He watched as you backed your away away from him and towards his hyung, Yuta. Yuta’s arm slinging protectively over your shoulder as he looks away from Lucas’s obvious staring at you, rolling his eyes in the process.

“Alright everyone. This is Y/N. She is Labyrinth’s lead dancer and often times choreographer, and she’s also the maknae. She is an actress. She has an entire solo album out. She is Japanese- why am I introducing you?” He looks down at you.

You meet his eyes and glare. “I didn’t want to come in here anyway, so I don’t know,” you spit back at him.

Yuta just pushes you forward a little and you spin, raising a hand to hit him. Your feisty side coming out, causing the members (including Lucas) to laugh a little. Especially when you threatened “I know where you sleep.”

Yuta’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, “You wouldn’t be able to get inside the dorm.”

“I’m sure Taeil oppa would let me in. At least that way he won’t have competition when it comes to Sicheng oppa.” Yuta ground his teeth as he clench his jaw. Something that was terrifying to any of the members but not to you.

You were quickly introduced to each member after the nonsense between you and Yuta by Taeyong who, even though he adored you, wanted to get practice going again. You “knew” the dreamies, but didn’t know them personally, besides Donghyuck and Mark. But you hoped as time went on you could be a good noona to them all.

Once Jungwoo found out you were the same age as him, he made an immediate effort to ask for your phone number so he could contact you outside of seeing each other in the hallway at SM. Both of you being ‘98 liners and the only one of your group was a little lonesome, even with the companionship of your other members. For you though, the effort of friendship meant a lot because you were the youngest of four members. And there was nearly a three year age gap between you and the second youngest of your group.

Kun has given you the sweetest of smiles and with the little you two had conversed, he offered to teach you a little Chinese if you taught him some Japanese because Yuta says “I don’t have time for that.” And both of you knew that was one of the biggest lies on the planet.

And Lucas. The boy who caught you. He had three names, you had learned. Wong Lucas. Wong Yukhei. Huang Xuxi. But you had been told specifically not to call the younger boy Xuxi. You wanted to ask why, but he started speaking random multilingual phrases that made absolutely no sense as you knew very little English and little to know form of Chinese.

But once the taller of the two ‘99 liners had realized what he had done with his rambling, which was a bit overwhelming to you, he shut his mouth quickly and his ears turned bright read from the embarrassment. He attempted to hide behind Johnny who was one of the few remaining members that hadn’t dispersed after being introduced to you. And Johnny laughed, teasing Lucas.

“Don’t get all shy now that there’s a pretty girl standing in front of you,” but he spoke in English. And due to your broken English and the language barrier, the only words you actually, really understood were “pretty” and “girl.”

Lucas seemed offended at whatever Johnny had accused him of, bouncing back from his prior embarrassment easily and acting offended and semi confident again. His eyes travelled to your face as he notice your blush... from either the compliment or embarrassment, he didn’t know.

“I’m not shy!” He started in English. Continuing in Korean, “But when a pretty girl is in front of me, I don’t know what to do.”

You broke out into a small smile, frowning when Yuta stepped forward. “That’s enough flirting with her.”

“Sorry hyung-“

“Don’t be. But please, if you’re going to flirt with my little sister, don’t do it with me around.” Yuta turns toward you and frowns, “What time do you finish practice today?”

“We’re in the studio today. Jisoo has this beat she’s been working on, but she’s been struggling so it’s just been me and her since I wanna learn how to produce.” You look up him, “I was only not with her because I was picking our lunch up from the front desk - Oh! Our lunch! Bye guys!” You quickly turn and run out of the practice room thinking of how you were going to explain to your leader that you didn’t come back sooner because your brother dragged you away.

Actually, you could just say that. She knew Yuta well enough to know how he was.

#nct 127 fake texts #nct 127 scenarios #nct 2018 fake texts #nct u fake texts #nct 2018 scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fake texts #nakamoto yuta imagines #nakamoto yuta fake texts #lucas fake texts #lucas wong imagines #yukhei fake texts #nct lucas fake texts #xuxi imagines

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darweaniedraws · 7 years

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Things Left Unsaid, Chapter 4: What Happens In Russia...

My fourth installment of my Olicity soulmates AU, Things Left Unsaid, set in Season 1 and Season 2 canon. Here’s the chapter summary:

“Six months after the Undertaking, Oliver, Felicity, and Diggle find themselves in Russia. What Felicity finds is completely unexpected.“

Read on AO3 or under the cut

If Felicity didn’t know any better, she’d think she would bore a path into the carpet of her hotel room with all the pacing she’s doing.

When they set off for Russia yesterday, with the unfortunate accompaniment of she-devil Isabel Rochev, Felicity hadn’t thought of how nerve wracking the waiting would be. In fact, she should have thought ahead of time at how crazy ridiculous this plan is. Having Digg infiltrate a high-security Russian prison by himself? How did they think this is a good idea?

However, neither she nor Oliver would’ve been able to stop Digg from coming here. Not when it comes to ARGUS agent Lyla Michaels, his ex-wife (and what a surprise that had been).

Now all she and Oliver have to do is wait until it’s time to head out for Diggle’s extraction. Hopefully, all will go well.

But Felicity just can’t escape the feeling that something wrong is going to happen on this trip. So that’s what has led to Felicity pacing in her hotel room. Oliver went down to the hotel bar hoping a drink would calm down his nerves. She would’ve joined him, but frankly, she’s this close to a nervous breakdown that Felicity would rather not be in public for that.

Seriously. What if Digg is in real danger? From the looks Oliver has had all day, not to mention the almost terrifying encounter with the Bratva and their big guns, there’s a big chance Digg won’t make it out unscathed. Not to mention, if she’s even there, what Lyla’s condition will be.

Oof. Felicity really needs to not think about this. She needs to think about anything other than one of her best friends being in some unknown trouble.

She can think about puppies! Or the latest episode of Doctor Who … Or Oliver…

No! Not Oliver!

Do not think about… Oliver.

Oh, who is she kidding? Felicity thinks about Oliver almost every day of her life now. How can she not when she sees him almost every day and every night?

Ever since Felicity and Diggle brought him back to Starling from Lian Yu, where he’d taken refuge after the Undertaking, she and Oliver had definitely gotten closer. For the first few weeks, despite being incredibly angry at him for making her his glorified secretary, she’s actually grown to enjoy working with him. Sure, she’s actually been doing most of this work, but it’s cute to know that he’s trying.

Felicity laughs to herself. Oliver Queen. Cute. Since the day she found out about Oliver’s secret vigilante life, Felicity never thought she would ever describe Oliver as cute again. Usually, he’s much to growly for that.

But seeing him try his damnedest to stay awake during office meetings or try to sort through all his daily paperwork, Felicity can’t help but find that little furrow in his brow cute. Not to mention his confused looks whenever she throws computer jargon at him in the new and improved foundry, courtesy of her (and Diggle’s gigantic arms).

Felicity isn’t quite sure yet if she regrets her placement of the salmon ladder though. While she appreciates that delicious view of Oliver going up and down that thing, it can be very distracting. And again, the rational side of her brain would like to remind her that she really shouldn’t be spending so much time thinking about and ogling at her soulmate. Not if she wants to keep their bond from growing stronger.

And it has been. Now, almost every time someone injures Oliver, she can feel it. Almost every time something frustrates or angers him, she can feel it. Luckily for her, Oliver seems to be in a state of constant frustration that he doesn’t seem to notice when she’s in the same state. While Felicity can’t tell if Oliver feels the same symptoms of the bond as her, she knows he must feel something. That’s just how soulmate bonds work. They go both ways. At least according to Google.

Not only is their soulmate bond growing, so is their friendship. While he’s still not the most open guy, Oliver isn’t quite the same guy that he was during his first year back from the island. During those first few months as a team, neither she nor Digg knew anything about Oliver’s time on the island. When Sara Lance came back from the dead, though she didn’t fail to bring some trouble with her, he did open up about now the youngest Lance didn’t drown when the Gambit sank. He didn’t go into much detail, but given that nothing good ever happened, she and Digg hadn’t pressed the issue further. Still, the Oliver a year ago probably wouldn’t have said anything.

In addition, the Oliver a year ago wouldn’t be so… flirty with her either. Sure, when Oliver was coming to her with ridiculous requests and unbelievable lies, he laid down the charm. But back then, they hadn’t been filled with so much… sexual tension. So much promise for more.

Diggle had, when they’d both gone to lunch at Big Belly while Oliver was visiting his mother at Iron Heights, pointed it out, attempting to convince her to tell Oliver about her mark. But Felicity had been quick to deny it. And to tell him for the hundredth time that she didn’t want to complicate her life, nor Oliver’s, with any soulmate drama. Then her friend made a side comment about how Oliver knowing would make his life easier, to which Felicity pointedly glared at him before the waitress arrived with their orders.

However, despite her annoyance with Digg and his insistence of her to tell Oliver, recently she has been considering it.

When she was younger, after her dad left her and her mom, Felicity stopped believing in romantic love. After seeing her mother so devastated, crying every time she didn’t think Felicity would notice, she didn’t want to let someone have a hold of her heart like that. If someone had such a strong hold on her heart and just left, Felicity didn’t think she’d ever be the same. She didn’t want to experience that kind of hurt. So she put up a wall.

Cooper almost broke through them back in college, but then he chose a makeshift prison noose over her.

Suffice it to say, Felicity has been pretty adamant about not letting anyone too close to her heart. But now, Felicity’s not so sure she can resist Oliver Queen anymore.

Even though he tries his best to hide it, Oliver really does have a big heart. His tough exterior, though it tends to shine more than anything else, is balanced by his caring nature. He cares so much about his home and the people closest to him.He’s here, all the way in Russia with demon lady Isabel Rochev at his tail, to help his bodyguard and partner save his ex-wife, even though there’s a chance she’s not even there. Oliver really tries to take care of the people he cares about.

Now, Felicity finds herself wanting to be one of those people. Her right hand settles on her right hip, just over her soulmate mark.

Would it be so bad to just let him know?

Felicity’s thoughts are interrupted when suddenly her mark starts to burn. Unlike like the first time she felt it burn when Oliver had touched it all those years ago at that frat party, a pleasurable hot tingling on her skin, this time it stings. Badly. Her breath hitches, the pain so unexpected and, well, painful that she bends over, her hand now clutching her hip desperately. That bad feeling she was having earlier returns.

What the hell is happening? Has something happened to Oliver? Her mark hurts so badly she can’t grab her phone to check on him.

For an uncertain amount of time, Felicity sits at the edge of her hotel bed, her hands clamped around her mark and her breath labored. By the time the pain dissipates, the alarm on her phone sets off, signaling that it’s time for her to meet up with Oliver so they can begin their extraction plan.

Taking a calming breath, slowing her heart rate down, Felicity stands, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants legs. Almost in a trance, she gathers her things and walks out the door, headed toward Oliver’s room.

There aren’t any notifications on her phone except her alarm, so maybe Oliver is alright. Then again, if he isn’t, he might not be able to notify her. Did he feel that pain too? Did he cause it? What the hell happened?

Before Felicity knows it, she’s in front of Oliver’s room, getting ready to knock, that bad feeling still in the pit of her stomach. However, Oliver opens the door while she raises her hand to knock.

“Oh,” she voices, a somewhat nervous smile on her face as she lowers her hand. “Hi.”

By his surprised expression, Oliver clearly isn’t expecting her. “Uh, hi,” he greets awkwardly.

Felicity briefly takes in his appearance. He looks fine, if not a little untidy. He’s flushed, his cheeks slightly red. His hair isn’t as kept as it had been earlier. Even his suit is slightly wrinkled and the tie is missing. Did he take a nap and have a nightmare, causing the pain of her mark? That’s a thing in the soulmate world, right?

Felicity doesn’t want to alarm him, so she doesn’t ask all the questions running around though her head. Instead, as her worry for their friend returns, she states, “It’s time. Ready?”

For a millisecond, he hesitates, but he starts to reply, “Yeah, le–”

He can’t finish though, because right then, Isabel Rochev walks right through the door and meets her eyes, saying in a snarky tone, “I think she can take the night off.” Then she turns her head back to Oliver as she walks away, revealing her unzipped dress. “Don’t you?”

It really shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But, oh, does it hurt.

Felicity stares at Isabel’s back for a moment, chocked by what just occurred and by the pain in her heart. She tries to reel in her emotions, but Oliver picks up on it right away.

“Felicity…” he calls out softly.

“I-it…” she stammers. No. She won’t let this get to her. She won’t. Felicity shakes her head and forces a smile. She can barely meet his eyes. “What happens in Russia stays in Russia.”

Briefly, Felicity does meet Oliver’s eyes. They’re riddled with guilt and right now, Felicity can’t deal with that. So she turns around and starts walking away, toward the lobby.

She doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but under her breath she voices, “Even when it makes no sense whatsoever.”

Felicity wants to cry. Or punch something. She’s not quite sure which one.

She’s also not sure why she’s feeling this way. Other than the fact that there are tons more women way better than Isabel Rochev, Felicity and Oliver aren’t together. She has no right to him.

Except she does, doesn’t she? They are soulmates after all.

That thought makes her realize that the pain from her mark earlier was caused by Oliver and … her . Again, that hurts Felicity’s heart more than it should.

But she pushes down those feelings as Oliver’s Bratva friend Anatoly takes her hand and help her into the car. Felicity can’t be thinking about those things right now, as they wait for Oliver to join them.

Diggle needs them more than they need their stupid soulmate bond.

By some miracle, Felicity manages to push down her feelings for the sake of the mission, save for a brief moment alone with Oliver when she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Successfully, they break Diggle, Lyla, and much to her shock, Floyd Lawton, better known as DeadShot, out from the Russian prison, though not without a few bruises on everyone and malnutrition on Lyla’s part.

The whole commotion distracts Felicity from thinking about that ungodly image of Isabel walking out of Oliver’s room all sexed up. At least, until they all return home to Starling.

When the jet touches down and they all exit, Felicity heading to the town car, she spots Oliver talking to Isabel out of the corner of her eye.

Felicity is quick to disappear into the car. On the drive to their respective homes, Diggle is too engrossed with having Lyla safe to notice the tension between Felicity and Oliver. But Felicity can sense every time Oliver glances her way every now and then. She wills him to stop, but he can’t help himself.

Despite her jetlag, Felicity can’t sleep that night.

The next day, they’re already back in work mode, though Digg has the day off to recover and spend his time with Lyla.So that leaves Oliver and Felicity alone at the office. Great.

She always arrives at the office before Oliver, and because Digg isn’t available to drive him, Oliver is more late than usual. She doesn’t greet him when she walks in, causing Oliver to sigh.

When he walks to her desk and asks her to deliver a document to Isabel’s office, she can't stop herself. “Why her?”

He stops walking toward his office.

“I mean, besides the obvious leggy model reason…”

Felicity immediately notices when Oliver puts on his mask. “It just kind of happened,” he explains. “It didn’t mean anything.”

But for some reason, it does for her. Felicity lowers her head, not able to meet Oliver’s eyes anymore. Why is she being like this? She never wanted to bond with her soulmate in the first place. So why does this whole matter hurt her so much?

Gently, Oliver tries to get her to meet his gaze again. “Hey…”

It takes a moment for Felicity to, but eventually, she does.

His blue eyes pierce through her. “Because of the life that I lead,” he pauses for a second to take a small breath, “I just think it’s better to not … be with someone that I could really care about.”

It’s a different level of sincerity than Felicity is used to from him. It’s more… brutal. It almost stings as much as her mark did.

She manages to nod slightly, more focused on trying to keep her tears at bay. Breaking eye contact and taking the papers he left for her, she stands and heads toward the elevators. Felicity plans to leave it at that. To push down that urge to hit him upside the head and knock some sense into him

But she doesn’t have the heart, Whatever connection she and Oliver have, the one that’s been growing stronger by the day, it slowly starts to sever. And Felicity can feel it, almost tearing at her heart. She wonders if he can feel it too.

It’s that last thought that makes her turn around and say, “Well I think… I think you deserve better than her.”

Normally, the romantic side of her would want to continue with “I think you deserve your soulmate.” It would imagine Oliver’s eyes widening as he realizes what she is implying. It would imagine Oliver stuttering over the fact that they are soulmates. It would imagine him begging for her forgiveness, hoping to mend their bond back together. But today, that part of Felicity remains silent.

She walks away toward the elevator, not noticing Oliver’s mask slip and reveal a longing gaze, his hand moving toward his right hip.

In the safety of the elevator, Felicity fortifies her walls once more.

She will not let this break her, she wills herself to believe as she wipes a single tear from her cheek.

#olicity fic #arrow fic #my fic #soulmates au #things left unsaid #oliver queen #felicity smoak #otp: just in case

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