#aww canvas-sided trucks!

[cinaea]

Trinity: Alternate Action Sequence

I’ve been replying to comments on Trinity this morning, and, in looking back through old files, I came across my original action ending for the story. I’ll share it below the jump!

This was initially just me messing around, writing a fun Action-Movie!AU of what was shaping up to be a lot of chapters with the Three on the run. When I showed this sequence to @wantonlywindswept​, she loved it, and it became the planned ending of Trinity! Of course, by the time I went to incorporate it into the story, it needed to be Bucky’s POV, which meant it needed an entirely different action sequence (one that would be exciting from the narrator’s POV), and wasn’t that a bitch to figure out?

A few aspects of this version carried over to the finished story, but there was a lot of great Tony and Steve POV stuff I wish I’d gotten to keep, plus the Clint-and-Natasha banter.

Here you go, the original action sequence ending to Trinity:

Tony doesn’t immediately notice anything’s wrong. Steve set out yesterday to demolish another HYDRA outpost--his third this week, but it was a hot tip. Tony expects him home at dawn with more horrifying details about Bucky’s time in captivity. He’s so caught up in his latest search iteration that he doesn’t notice the passage of time until he takes a break to make more coffee and discovers it’s already nine.

He’s surprised Steve didn’t come find him. But maybe Steve found out something bad, something he couldn’t bring himself to share. Maybe.... Tony’s ever-present fears for Bucky slip his control, and for a moment he grabs the countertop and shakes with dread.

Finally he pulls himself together and calls his husband. There’s no answer on Steve’s cell. JARVIS reports that the jet is still where Steve parked it. He knows he’s being paranoid but he can’t imagine why Steve wouldn’t have checked in with him.

Tony pulls up the tracker in Steve’s shield--nothing! He remotely activates the tracker in Steve’s thigh--ahh, there he is. The signal’s weak and inconsistent; there’s some kind of interference--could be a half-assed jamming device, could be just a tunnel through a mountain--but Tony sees that Steve’s not in [[insert Eastern European country here]]. The signal’s moving--JARVIS determines it’s following a mountain road. Steve wouldn’t have ditched the jet to follow a lead on land without telling Tony. He calls SHIELD; their cleanup crew is 5 hours late for check-in. Local agents have been sent to investigate; they’re just reporting that they’ve found a couple of bodies--the rest of the team is missing.

And it’s obvious now, so fucking obvious that this was a trap. Steve’s behavior had become too predictable, and that hot tip had been too good to wait for corroboration. HYDRA has Steve, has had him for more than six hours, and is taking him somewhere.

Tony scrambles, ordering JARVIS to prep the suit as he hastily changes into the protective undersuit.

The phone rings.

Tony lunges across the table and slaps the button to answer the phone. “Steve?!”

“...Tony?” Bucky’s voice is laced with confusion.

And God, Tony’s can’t do this right now. He can’t be Bucky’s rock when Steve’s been taken. He takes a deep breath and does his best to sound calm as he apologizes, “Sorry. Sorry, babe. Hey.”

Apparently he doesn’t succeed. “What’s wrong?” Bucky sounds more alert than he usually does, and three times more suspicious. “Where’s Steve?”

“Steve’s, umm, not available, he’s, uhh--” Tony falls silent, suddenly unable to think of a single lie.

Bucky presses, “What do you mean, ‘he’s not available’? Is he okay? Tony, is he okay?”

And Tony can’t keep this a secret; Bucky has every right to know, loves Steve as much as he does. As the suit is assembled around him he tells Bucky everything he knows: Steve’s attack on the supposed HYDRA outpost, the missing SHIELD team, the dead cell and missing tracker, and the faint, moving signal.

Bucky’s voice is frantic. “You have to get to him, you have to save him!”

“I’m leaving right now. It’ll take me nearly three hours to reach [[insert Eastern European town that Steve’s tracker is currently passing here]], but I’m going to get him back, I promise.” The helmet goes on last, JARVIS automatically importing the ongoing call to the suit, but Bucky’s ominously silent.

Finally, in a quiet, careful voice, he says, “You’re not fucking with me, are you? Because if this is a trap, I swear to God....”

“Of course it’s a trap! It’s a goddamn HYDRA trap!” Tony snaps as he takes off, pushing the suit for everything it’s worth.

Bucky’s breath is audibly shaky. “Baron Zemo’s base is in [[insert small Eastern European country that contains the aforementioned town here]].”

Tony goes utterly still even as his suit hurtles through the sky. Zemo will kill Steve. Will flat out murder him in a heartbeat. No, no, no, no-- “JARVIS, give me 150% on the reactor!”

“150% is not possible, sir. The suit is already traveling at maximum velocity.”

Bucky observes “You won’t arrive before they reach the base. And you can’t possibly to take out Zemo’s fortress alone. But.... I can be there in 80--maybe 70 minutes.”

“Jesus, fuck. Fuck!” Tony can’t handle this. He can’t do this. He can’t let Bucky anywhere near HYDRA, let alone ask him to attack a fortress. He needs to throw something, smash something, but he’s trapped in flight position. “Baby....”

There’s a sound like groaning metal and squealing tires over the line. A woman’s voice saying “Christ!”

“You know I wouldn’t ask this. You know I just want to keep you safe. --You do know that, don’t you?”

“It’s Steve,” Bucky answers simply, already digging through the bag at his feet, pulling out pieces of his rifle.

“Just...just intercept the vehicles. Stay away from that base. Promise me you’ll stay away from the base!”

“It’s Steve,” Bucky repeats lowly, tracing his finger around the trigger.

“It’s both of you! I can’t--.” He takes a moment and just breathes, pulls himself together and concentrates on the satellite images JARVIS is feeding him. “Okay. Okay, I’m seeing two trucks, troop-transport vehicles, headed north on [[insert European highway here]]. Smart money says Steve’s in one and the SHIELD team’s in the other to ensure his good behavior. JARVIS, we need to know which truck he’s in!”

Bucky’s voice grows distant as he passes on the name of the highway to whoever’s driving. Then, “How fast are they moving? Are there any leading or trailing vehicles?”

Tony relays the logistics as JARVIS supplies them, pulling up pictures of Bucky’s estimated intercept point and describing it in exhausting detail until Bucky finally runs out of questions.

An uneasy silence follows, and Tony hesitates to fill it. The messages of love and understanding he and Steve usually try to send seem like meaningless platitudes in this situation. And the questions they’ve been so eager to ask, trying to pry any personal details from Bucky, would be beyond awful when he’s sending Bucky into danger.

But this is Bucky, and he should always know how they feel about him, and so Tony tries to force the words past the terror blocking his throat. “You know, Bucky, you have to know how much we love--”

Bucky groans like he’s in pain, and chokes, “I can’t, Tony-- Not right now--”

And then a woman’s voice is on the line, announcing that she’s put Tony on speakerphone. “You’re both still here, it’s okay. He falls apart after these calls, Stark,” she informs him brusquely. “And if we’re going to rescue your husband, he doesn’t have time to collapse. So you stay on the line no matter what until this is done, you hear me?”

“I understand, Ms. Romanova.” Tony says solemnly, sobered to hear that their conversations have negatively affected Bucky. “Thank you.”

“He knows your name, Nat!” a man crows. “Do you know mine, Tin Man?”

“You would be Specialist Barton,” Tony answers, smiling.

There are a few seconds of silence, then “No. No, just ‘Barton’ is fine.”

Fuck, Tony mouths silently, worried he’s alienated the man enough to throw off their whole enterprise.

Barton saves the moment, though, by asking how Tony knows their names.

“Facial recognition software and staggering genius, my young friend. Speaking of which, that was some nice facial hair in [[insert Western European city here]]. It take you long to grow that monster?”

Mercifully, instead of being freaked out, Barton carries on an inane argument with Tony about beards versus goatees.

...

Bucky’s finally able to allow Tony’s voice to fade into a comforting background noise that calms him while he goes through their bags for weapons and equipment (he passes the pistols to Natasha to clean and prep) and plans an impromptu assault on a moving convoy.

Finally, 31 minutes out--he checks the speedometer, Jesus, okay, more like 24 minutes out--he announces, “I’ve got the plan. Clint, I’ll need the wheel. When we catch up to the convoy, I’ll pass on the left, and you two will climb aboard the rear truck....”

...

Steve comes to again in the same dimly lit space. He’s in a narrow, barred cell, still strapped down on a cot that rattles and bounces sickeningly. Through the bars he can see several HYDRA soldiers sitting in a line, straight-backed and on guard. They’re swaying, too, and it takes Steve a while to work out that the whole room is moving. He’s in a vehicle of some kind.

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head without drawing attention to himself. He remembers, now, what happened the last few times he woke up, the attentive guard with the yellow syringe. Sedative. It probably doesn’t last long thanks to the super serum. He wishes he had some idea what dosage they were using so he could estimate how long he’d been captive. He wonders just how many times he’s woken up--and whether he remembers all of them.

The outpost had been a trap. He’s familiar with the idiom “hindsight is 20/20,” but looking back, Steve honestly can’t believe he didn’t pick up on the signs sooner. He’d been so blinded by rage at anyone who’d so much as looked at Bucky; the rumor that Ebersol, the man who’d tortured his sub with a control collar, had been spotted at the outpost was more than Steve could bear.

Steve grinds his teeth in helpless anger, wishing he had the man’s neck between his hands. Then he catches himself and glances carefully around the space, hoping none of the guards have realized he’s awake.

He hasn’t been noticed, but Steve spots something none of the guards have; someone--or something--is creeping along the base of the fabric wall at the far end of the room. It’s not Tony’s style--maybe T’Challa? Resolving to give the intruder a distraction, Steve takes a deep breath and then starts shouting and thrashing in his bonds.

He’s nearly gotten his right arm free by the time the cell door is thrown open and three of the guards are holding him down. Steve looks past their heads to see two dark-clad figures tearing through the other three guards. He redoubles his efforts to get free as the syringe of yellow liquid is prepped, and suddenly the guards are gone and he’s craning his neck to watch Natalia Romanova strangle a short Hydra soldier between her thighs while Clinton Barton garotes the officer.

He’s stopped struggling by the time they turn to watch him warily. “Captain,” Romanova says carefully.

“Where’s Bucky?” he demands.

Barton grins. “He’s just ahead, getting into position. Iron Man will be here in,” he checks his watch, “48 minutes, but we’ll be at Zemo’s base in less than 30, so we’ve got to get a move on.”

Romanova advances with a wicked-looking, bloody knife and cuts his bonds while Steve holds himself absolutely still.

Barton pulls up a panel from the floor of the truck and whistles Romanova over. He holds her legs while she swings down just behind the driver’s wheel.

Steve watches them for a moment, perplexed, then shrugs and hunts for his shield. He finds it in a locked case under the long bench.

“Funny thing about these old Army supply trucks,” Barton tells him, still grinning ear to ear. “They’re so prone to breakdowns.” With a cough and a wheeze, the truck shudders and begins to slow. He tugs Romanova back up, also grinning, pliers still in her hands. “Hand me that radio,” he nods to the dead commanding officer. “And get changed ASAP.”

In an instant Romanova’s in just her underwear and tugging the uniform off the short guard.

Steve chooses the biggest corpse and rolls it over, relieved to find the uniform not too bloody.

“Driver, report!” Barton snaps into the walkie talkie, all confidence and inscrutable Eastern European accent, as the truck drifts to a halt.

“The engine’s failed, sir! I think it’s dead!” comes the frantic voice through the radio.

Barton curses the man roundly for his incompetence and orders the first truck back to take on the prisoner. He then tugs on the officer’s helmet (the finishing touch to the uniform) and winks jauntily at Steve before pulling down the goggles and ducking out the back of the truck.

Steve watches Romanova push her hair up into her own helmet and catches sight of the short wires protruding from the back of her neck. He winces, then ducks his head before she can catch him looking.

“Put the shield back in the case for now, Captain,” she advises as she pulls a cell phone from her bag. “We need to get close to the other truck before anyone catches on. Alright, Stark, we’ve got your husband,” she adds loudly, “Now patch me through to Bucky.”

“Steve, are you alright?” comes Tony’s voice through the speakerphone, nearly overlapping the excited “Steve?” from a voice he’d know anywhere.

“Bucky?” Steve asks eagerly, reaching for the phone.

There’s a muffled grunt from the cab of the truck, but Steve’s more concerned with the way she’s keeping the phone from him.

“Touching reunion later, soldier,” she says. “We’re about ready for you, Buck. The other transport should be here in about a minute. In position?”

“Got you in my sights.”

“Then let’s go kick up a fuss. Captain?” She gestures him out of the truck ahead of her.

He carries the metal case out with him and walks to the front of the truck, where Barton’s stuffing the unconscious driver back into his cab.

“You’re my driver now, big guy. Pop the hood and make it look good,” he directs Steve.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve asks, looking around, before it occurs to him that Bucky’s specialty had been long-range targets. He scans the forested hill above them as he props open the hood and rips out the coolant tank, pouring the liquid over the hot engine to produce a cloud of noxious steam. There! One, two flashes of light a hundred yards up and behind. He grins beneath the helmet and sketches a tiny salue in Bucky’s direction just as the first truck grinds into view.

He joins the other two a few feet ahead of their truck as they watch the other vehicle slowly reverse toward them. “What’s the rest of your plan?”

Barton bounces a couple of times on the balls of his feet before settling into a stern, wide-legged stance, his hands clasped behind his back. “Order them to unload the SHIELD agents so I can put my VIP prisoner in their truck. Once they’ve unloaded, I’ll send the first few guards back to our truck to ‘help secure Captain America’--Bucky’ll take care of those--while you and Tasha get in position to free the agents. When the shouting starts, we move.”

Steve nods. “It’s a good plan.”

“Bucky’s plans always are,” Romanova says.

“When the shouting starts, lose the helmets fast,” Steve cautions. “The SHIELD agents won’t know you’re friendlies otherwise.”

Barton snorts. “Natasha’s never been a ‘friendly’ in her life.”

“Shut up and go order some HYDRA around,” she replies,

The young man strides forward to the stopped vehicle, shouting once more in the accent. Steve and Romanova fall in behind him.

...

The plan works beautifully. Five SHIELD agents are led out of the truck, their arms firmly caged behind their back in large metal gauntlets, a chain connecting them one to the next.

The guards flinch away from Clint’s tirade about incompetence, hastily complying with every order.

Bucky’s suppressor loses its effectiveness about the time the third and fourth guard step around the back of the truck and discover their dead compatriots. The fourth man gets out a yell before Bucky tags him, by which point subtlety is moot.

Steve hits the nearest guard with the steel case and hauls out his shield in the same motion, while Clint and Natasha spring into action taking down the guards with guns trained on the trussed up agents. Bucky’s last shot takes out the driver as he cranes his head out the side window to see what all the fuss is about.

Steve takes out the last guard and moves to free the SHIELD agents, who recognized him immediately. He notices the wary glances they shoot his companions.

Romanova’s already on the phone. “Mission accomplished. What’s your ETA?”

“28 minutes,” Steve catches Tony’s words with his enhanced hearing. He notes that she’s not bothering with speakerphone this time and steps closer to her, determined not to miss anything.

She rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t move away. “We’re exposed out here; we’ll need to get moving in the remaining truck.”

“Head to the [[Insert Eastern European proper name]] airfield. Turn-off’s about 10 kilometers back from your current location. I’ve had JARVIS fly over the Quinjet from [[insert country Steve was supposed to be visiting]]. I’ll meet you there.”

“Copy that. Bucky, status?”

“On my way down now. 5 minutes,” Bucky’s breathing hard with exertion, but he doesn’t sound in pain.

“Right, we’ll get everyone packed up and be ready for you. Stark, stay on the line with Bucky. But you don’t talk unless he needs you to.”

“Understood.” Steve blinks, alarmed by how easily Tony’s allowing her to order him around.

“Bucky will ride up front with Clint and I. Captain, you’re in the back with your people.”

Steve’s glaring at her. “Who are you to--?”

“Don’t pull that shit with me, America, this isn’t about your personal life. We’ve got a full HYDRA base not 20 kilometers away and a bunch of SHIELD agents who can’t decide whether to shoot us right here or take us in alive for the bounty on our heads. You need to keep your people calm now more than you need him; you’ll meet him at the airfield same as the Tin Man. Now go get those agents back in the truck--and decide what you want to do with these,” she kicks an unconscious guard.

She turns her back on Steve and raises the phone back to her mouth. “Stark, you bastard, did you give the whole world our faces?”

...

When the SHIELD agents and the few still-breathing HYDRA guards are in the truck, Clint tosses Steve a phone and smirks at him. “Call your husband. He worries.”

...

When Bucky emerges from the treeline a few minutes later, looking anxiously around for Steve, Natasha presses an arm over his shoulders and leads him to the cab of the truck, pushing him in to sit between her and Clint. She bangs on the dividing wall. When a second bang answers, Clint starts up the truck and puts it in gear.  

“You did good, lapushka,” she whispers in Bucky’s ear, quiet enough that Stark won’t hear via the phone still taped to his sling. “It was a perfect plan--we didn’t lose a one. D’you hear me, Bucky? You saved everybody.”

Bucky makes a single choking sound but otherwise stays silent. He closes his eyes and his head comes to rest on her shoulder.

Clint reaches a hand down to squeeze his knee, smiling fondly at Natasha.

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky murmurs, “Tony?”

“I’m still here, kiddo,” comes the voice, made tinny by the speaker.

...

#cinaea is a writer! #Trinity Universe #Volition #deleted scene #dvd commentary #alternate endings #aww canvas-sided trucks! #my childhood exposure to 80s media is showing #the GI Joe and X-Men cartoons would be proud!

[funtimebunnyblog]

Always remember Pillarmen-lovers and followers alike, no matter what you like to wear or what you like to put on your body; you are absolutely stunning! 😍😍😍 You rock those tattoos, piercings, whatever you wear; wear them with your head held high! 😇🥰😘 Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

The Pillarmen with a Female s/o with tattoos (who also gets unwanted comments about them)...

(Under the cut for length!)

Kars:

• At first, Kars doesn't quite understand the exact appeal of tattoos.

• Sure, some of them admittedly looked nice and they were art in their own respect, but they were also known to be quite painful for Humans not to mention they were something very permanent to put on the body...

• He doesn't really understand why someone would go out of their way to get something so gaudy imprinted on their skin.

• You'll have to forgive him because when you're first getting to know him as he openly looks down on you for having some of your own; especially since you're a Woman.

• He states that you should treat your body like a temple and not "graffiti" it with something so "manish" and "distasteful" which you of course simply shrug off.

• You've heard this enough times to not care.

• However, after you give him some time and he's heard any stories you happen to have behind your tats or perhaps once he sees how truly harmless it all is, he comes around.

• Kars comes to realize that they're just another piece of what made you "you" and he supposed that you could be into far worse things than just simple pictures drawn on your skin...

• Besides... he has to admit you look very beautiful with them.

• From that moment on, if anyone happens to say anything negative about your ink, he puts haters and nay-sayers alike in their place.

• "You know, it's not very ladylike to have tattoos." You could feel the sneer of the Woman behind you as she let her poisonous words drip off her tongue but you didn't turn around.

• This wasn't the first time this happened and it was better to pretend you didn't hear.

• Kars, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. "It's also not very ladylike to make bitchy comments but it appears that would just be your whole personality." He commented, cocking an eyebrow at the now gawking Woman from over his shoulder.

• You couldn't contain the snort of laughter that burst forth, Kars smiled softly as you clung to his arm with a wheeze. The offending Woman didn't make anymore comments.

• Kars was sure that if he could open his mind to see the beauty of tattoos and learn to accept them, others should do the same.

Esidisi:

• Hands down, Esidisi absolutely ADORES your tattoos!

• He thinks they're a beautiful form of art to display on the body and that they are something definitely to be admired.

• Most especially since they're on you!

• Even from the first time you two met, he wanted to see every single one you had and hear any stories you happened to have behind them.

• Even if the stories happened to go along the lines of "I got really drunk with some friends and--"

• For quite a while he's wanted to get tattoos of his own but never really found the time, not to mention something worthwhile to get.

• Millennium ago, tattoos were in fact quite time consuming to get done (they required not only a steady hand but the patience of a Saint as well) and he couldn't waste much time when on the hunt for the Aja afterall.

• However, once introduced to the modern tattooing art and with lots of time to spare, you were what inspired him to step up and finally get a few of his own done!

• What he really wants is to get his arms covered in intricate patterns and pictures.

• In fact, Esidisi is the kind of person to want to get a matching tattoo with you or at least one with your name somewhere on his body.

• Of course, he does not stand for anyone saying anything hurtful or negative about your own tats.

• "Hey!" The yelling of the guy calling out to you from his truck as you walked down the street instinctively made you freeze for only half-a-second. "I'd fuck you if you didn't have so many tattoos, bitch!"

• His words made an ickyness swirl up from your gut to your throat. Though disgusted, you kept your face carefully neutral and tried to keep walking.

• Those kinds of deragatory comments just weren't worth the effort of fighting back.

• Esidisi, however, wasn't one to stand back and let someone disrespect you like that.

• "Yeah? And maybe somebody would actually fuck you if you had some, dickhead!" He called back, grinning as the guys mouth immediately snapped shut.

• The Pillarman's quick clap-back was enough to make a huge smile stretch across your face; only fueled by the massive hand wrapping around yours as you both kept walking.

• With Esidisi around, you would never have to waste time or energy on derogatory comments ever again.

Wamuu:

• Wamuu had only seen these "tattoos" a handful of times in his life.

• He was well aware of the art and the practice took to create them but never had them done on himself or seen the action up close.

• The very few times he had seen tattoos on someone, it was for battle purposes.

• Most often worn by great Warriors who had fought many fights and had them done to commemorate victories won or even lives lost.

• Upon meeting you and spotting your ink, Wamuu was immediately under the impression that you were a Female Warrior (a rarity) and wanted to know everything about the tapestry of "victories" on your skin.

• "This tattoo, what is its symbolism? Was this to commemorate a fight? Battle, perhaps?" He questioned, a calloused finger poking you softly in your flesh as he spoke.

• You could only blink stupidly, not quite sure what he was going on about. "Wamuu... that's Hello Kitty."

• When you explain to him that your tattoos hold no great "symbolism" or "battle tributes" it takes a while for him to wrap his head around it.

• People nowadays did this... for fun? Simply "because"? Sometimes they did it to show love or appreciation to something?

• It was a strange phenomenon but he eventually finds himself nodding his head in understanding.

• If anything, even if it isn't for a Warriors devices, he finds all tattoos unique and something to behold.

• He even starts thinking about getting one of his own simply "for fun".

• What he still doesn't understand is why there are so many people who were so closed minded concerning these things, especially towards Women like yourself.

• He doesn't appreciate it when people are rude or disrespectful to the things you like; this being no exception.

• "Ugh! You should really cover those up!" You turned your head to find another Woman pointing accusingly at one of your tattoos, an ugly scowl etched into her face. "I shouldn't have to see something so distasteful!"

• You opened your mouth, prepared to tell her to mind her business and keep going about your own when suddenly Wamuu appeared right behind her. The massive man sternly pulled a bag right over her head, completely covering her face.

• "If you do not like the look of them, then perhaps you should simply cover your eyes, Human!" He growled, leaving the rude lady to try and pull the bag off her head as he took your hand and proudly walked off with you.

• Now if only everyone could live that philosophy, life would truly be peaceful for you. Until then, you were just happy you had Wamuu to spread those words of wisdom for you.

Santana:

• Upon first meeting you, your tattoos intrigued Santana more than anything.

• He had never really seen anything of the like before encountering you.

• At first, he thought that they were simply a born pigmentation to your skin. Perhaps you were a different kind of Human alltogether? Did this hold some sort of direct link to your kind attracting a Mate?

• If the latter by chance, he had to say it was working.

• You couldn't help but laugh, watching as he traced his fingers along the shapes and pictures of your ink; he was absolutely mesmerized by the artwork stretching across the canvas of your skin.

• This was definitely MUCH more preferable than someone looking down their nose at you for having them.

• However, once you explained to him that you had them physically drawn onto your skin with ink and needles it only intrigued him more.

• He wanted to know everything about these "tattoos" including just how they were done and why exactly some people took time to get them.

• This resulted you dragging him along to a tattoo parlor so he could watch and learn first hand; which then lead to Santana getting his first tattoo shortly after on his thigh.

• "Aww, now what's a pretty girl like you doing with something so ugly like that on her skin?" The lady behind the counter who was ringing up your items smiled almost sickeningly sweet as she spoke, making you only want to roll your eyes even more.

• Oh boy, here it comes. You just couldn't walk to the store to get a bag of chips and a drink without someone making a comment, could you?

• "You know, not a lot of men like those on a pretty girl, sweetie." She continued, as if unable to see you had no interest in what she had to say what-so-ever. "Maybe you should think about that if you ever want to find someone decent, hmm?"

• Santana's wild head of hair appeared out from behind the chip rack as she spoke, lips twisting as his eyebrows narrowed. He approached the counter with a huff, snatching the bag from it as he full on glared at the cashier.

• His eyes fell onto your bare skin, to the lovely shapes and colours that sparked all these unwanted comments. "Her skin is beautiful." He said, before his eyes fell onto the cashiers bare skin, his lips only pushing further downwards. "Your skin is boring, primitive."

• The look on the cashiers face after he said that only made your snacks taste even sweeter as you sat cuddled into the Pillarmans side back at Home.

#funnybunny #pillarmen #pillarmen headcanons #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #kars x reader #esidisi x reader #wamuu x reader #santana x reader #my writing

[sergeant-spoons]

A 2-Person Prom

Written for the lovely @victoryrollsandredlips​! Thank you so much for the request and for reading my stories! 💕

Pairing: Shifty Powers x Female OC

Word count: 4658

Tone: Lighthearted and super fluffy, basically all around wholesomeness; also it’s kinda long

Summary: She never went to prom before she enlisted, so he arranges one for her that night, just the two of them.

"Yeah, it was mid-July for me."

Nods and 'hmm's around the group. The truck bounces along the sunken road, muddy from the rain last week, but the inhabitants of the cargo truck don't mind. They're just glad it's stopped pouring so they can take the canvas top off for some sunshine and fresh air. It's still a little chilly here in Aldbourne, despite how Spring is coming to a close, so some of the soldiers wear jackets or scarves. Popeye Wynn leans back on his seat, his helmet knocking against his belt on his lap, and grins across the aisle at Sergeant Jessie Duke, who has her eyes closed and her chin tilted up toward the sun, a light smile on her face.

"How 'bout you, Duke?" he asks and she opens her eyes, dropping her hands from the back of her head.

"About what?"

Laughter breezes through the truck and Jessie swats the arm of George Luz, who's seated on her left and is smirking at her.

"We," he explains, "were talkin' 'bout when we enlisted. When did you?"

"Ah." Her smile reappears. "May of '42."

Luz bobs his head, interested, along with a few others, and Popeye gives a low whistle.

"That's earlier than most o' us," he remarks and Jessie shrugs.

"Well, it wasn't too easy. Only made it to Toccoa in mid-June. I, uh..." She sighs. "I had a lot of roadblocks to get around first."

"Like bein' a woman?" chimes in 'Skinny' Sisk.

"Exactly that. Lots of people wanted to keep me out of the army as a whole. I was damn lucky Sink gave me a chance."

"And we're glad he did!" Luz declares, and as hear-hears resounded around the group, a humble blush comes to Jessie's cheeks.

"Aww, thanks, fellas."

"May, huh?" Shifty, seated on her other side, speaks up. "Did you graduate?"

Since she missed a year of high school due to a family matter, Jessie was 19 when she enlisted at the end of her senior year. She thinks it's sweet of Shifty to ask her more. It makes him seem earnestly invested in her life before the Airborne.

"Yeah, I took final exams a few weeks early, got my diploma from the school, and went to enlist before mid-May."

Shifty gives her an impressed smile, but before he can speak, another voice cuts in.

"Damn!" Popeye nudges his friend's foot with his own. "Your girl's a smart one, Shifty."

Jessie's cheeks flush pink and she rubs the side of her neck, stammering that she and Shifty aren't a couple as he too tries to say so, his cheeks also bearing a blush. Popeye and Luz start laughing, and Jessie finds herself unable to look at Shifty again for a few awkward seconds until he loudly clears his throat and taps her arm with his finger to reclaim her attention.

"Did you go to the prom?"

It's an unexpected question, though not off-topic, and Jessie finds herself pausing before she answers.

"No," she admits after a beat, "I didn't."

Luz gasps and holds his hand over his heart. "Well, that's just a travesty!"

"Did you want to go?" Again, Shifty's question makes her hesitate, and she offers him a small smile, a quiet thanks for his thoughtfulness in asking.

"Yes," she replies as the truck comes to a stop, "I did." As they climb out and Shifty offers her a hand down (which she gladly takes), she adds, mostly just to him, "I wouldn't have had a date, though."

"Why?" The furrow of his brows is strikingly endearing to her and she lets her hand remain in his for a moment longer than need be.

"Because I didn't want to go with any guy I knew."

He doesn't reply, but the ponderous look on his face lets her know he definitely heard her. As they turn toward the new base the regiment will be staying at for the next few weeks, Shifty stays right by her side, and Jessie tries to ignore the fluttering in her heart that grows the longer she's near him. Soon enough, though, they're separated when her platoon is sent to secure bunks for Easy while his is called out for a training run.

He's not the complaining sort, he takes everything in stride, she knows, so when Sobel starts shouting, he barely lets on his dislike of the man and waves her farewell before jogging off. Popeye slings his arm over his pal's shoulder and as Jessie sees them share a laugh about something, a fond smile slips onto her face.

"You're starin'." Luz chuckles at how she promptly tries to deny it. "Oh, Duke," he interrupts her, grinning, "you've been lookin' at him all lovey-dovey for weeks." He shrugs. "I have no idea how he hasn't noticed."

Jessie sighs and pats her friend's arm as they follow the rest of their platoon to search for lodgings. "Yeah, me neither."

"D'you wish he would?"

She throws her hands up. "I dunno!" At Luz's skeptical look, she drops her chin and kicks at a loose pebble on the road, but it gets stuck in the sole of her boot and she has to pause to pry it out. When she stands up again, he's still raising an eyebrow at her, arms crossed. "Yeah," she admits, a wry smile coming to her lips, "I guess I would like him to see."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You were thinkin' about what now?"

Shifty looks up from polishing his rifle, frowning lightly at Popeye. "I said, I'm wonderin' if we could have a prom."

A grin spreads across his friend's face and Shifty sighs, knowing the teasing is about to start. "Ohhh, you mean a prom for Jessie Duke?"

"Yeah," he mutters, checking the scope, "she didn't get to have one."

"So you're doin' this all for her?" Popeye wiggles his eyebrows. "That's one way to confess your neverendin' love-"

Shifty groans, leaning his head on the table. "Popeye, are you going to help me plan this or not?"

"Oh, sure." He rubs his hands together gleefully. "We'll have to get a few other fellas on board, too. Luz, for one, he'll be happy to run the prep." Ticking names off on his fingers, he goes on, "Doc Roe's good with sewin', he could help with decorations. And there's gotta be a record player 'round here. Hoobler's good at findin' things, we should ask 'im. Sink'll have to know, if you want a big party."

Shifty lifts his head, pausing his dusting of the bolt handle, and frowns. "A big party?"

"Well, that's what a prom is."

Shifty sighs. "Right, right. I just thought..."

"Oh!" Popeye grins. "Awwww. You just want a two-person prom, don't you?"

"Maybe not-"

"Absolutely yes." Apparently, Alex Penkala's been eavesdropping from behind them, and he leans forward in his chair. "Are you kidding? That's adorable. I'll get Hoobler to start looking for that record player as soon as he gets back."

"What do we need a record player for?" Skip Muck's listening too now.

"For Shifty and Duke's two-person prom," reveals Popeye, and as Shifty hunches his shoulders, trying to ignore the growing blush on his cheeks, his friend pretends to swoon. "Ain't it the sweetest thing since canned peaches?"

"How charming," agrees Skip, now grinning as wide as the others.

"Hey, Nixon's got a flask," chimes in Floyd Talbert, "I bet he'd be able to find you a drink or two."

"Fellas, I appreciate it, but-"

"We're makin' this happen, bud," assures Popeye, patting Shifty on the shoulder, "all you gotta do is ask her to it."

He clicks the last piece of his rifle back in place and stands, nudging aside the stool he's been sitting on with his knee. "That's what I'm afraid of," he admits quietly. 

Penkala nods sagely. "Which is why-" He pushes Easy's best sharpshooter toward the door. "-you're gonna go do it right now."

Shifty's eyes widen. "Wha-"

"Mhmm!" Popeye grins. "She's been moonin' over you for weeks, she won't say no."

"I bet she faints with joy!" jokes Skip.

"Or kisses you right on the spot!" adds Talbert.

Shifty runs his hand through his hair. "I don't know..."

Cheery footsteps appear at the doorway and George Luz hops into view, humming a merry tune, and when he sees Shifty's on his way out, he raises both eyebrows, curious.

"Where you offta?"

"He's gonna ask Sergeant Duke to prom!" declares Penkala and all the men in the room, even those who haven't spoken up about the plan but are listening, give approving and encouraging cheers.

"Really?" Luz gives a lopsided grin. "Go get'er, tiger." He nudges Shifty's shoulder with a loose fist as he heads into the room. "Oh-" Turning back halfway, the jokester of Easy winks. "-she's reportin' somethin' to Winters, should be out of HQ any minute."

Shifty pauses for a moment, thinks about all this. It was just an idea, a daydream, even, and now half the company is rooting for him to actually do it. Luz is already jabbering away with Popeye about plans, Penkala and Skip are walking past him to go find Hoobler and a record player, and if the wink Talbert shoots him is anything to go by, the guys here are taking over prep.

"Go on, Shifty," Luz insists when he sees him still in the doorway, "we've got things under control." He grins. "Tonight's gonna be perfect for you and Duke."

"Tonight?" Shifty blinks. "You could have it all ready by tonight?"

Luz flaps his hand. "Oh, pshaw, we could be ready in an hour if we put our backs into it, right fellas?" Noises and gestures of agreement all around. 

"Don't you think she'll want a little forewarning?" Skip asks, mostly rhetorically, and when Shifty nods, he directs, "Then go ask her now!"

"Alright." He turns around five feet out the door and pokes his head back. "And fellas? Thank you."

Back out the door, he doesn't get far without being accosted by two other friends.

"Hey, Shifty!" Bill Guarnere grins and smacks Shifty's back hard enough that he stumbles. "Where you headin'?"

"Well, I'm tryin' to find Duke-"

"Ah, young love," teases Donald Malarkey, coming up on his other side, "but say no more: we just passed her. She should be at the barracks, over yonder."

At Malarkey's direction (paired with a cheeky grin), Shifty thanks him and goes on his way, quickening his pace so he doesn't have to deal with more questions or teasing. If he does, he just might lose his nerve. The butterflies in his stomach start fluttering again when he knocks on the doorframe of one of the rooms and Jessie looks up from one of the beds. As soon as she sees it's him, a smile lights up her face, and though he's nervous, her enthusiasm at his appearance gives him the spirit to go through with asking.

"Jessie."

"Shifty."

"What're you writin'?" He nods at the paper on her lap, smoothed out on top of her helmet as she sits cross-legged, and she glances down at it, then back up at him.

"A letter home. My folks will be worryin' about me getting overseas safe. And my sister wants the gossip." She pretends to roll her eyes. "Because there's so much drama in the Airborne, right?"

They share a laugh, then Shifty lowers himself to take a seat on the bunk next to hers.

"Well, uh, why don't you wait to send it until tomorrow?"

She tilts her head at him, twiddling her pencil between her pointer finger and thumb. "Why?"

"'Cause you might have somethin' special to add."

Now she's interested, and she tucks the pencil behind her ear, leaning toward him, listening. "Like what?"

"Like a prom."

She blinks. "A what?"

"A prom." He shrugs, tucks his hands in his pockets. "Well, not a big one, just a small thing. With dancing and..." Realizing he doesn't really know what else goes on at a prom, he trails off, then goes back on track. "Tonight."

She's staring at him with wide eyes and he can tell she isn't sure if he's joking or not. "You-you've organized... a prom?"

"Yeah." He feels heat creeping up across his cheeks and he bites the inside of his lip. "Yeah, I have."

Now she's blushing too, and they share a nervous chuckle with each other. She raises her hand to her eye as if brushing away a tear and he frowns- oh no, has he upset her? -but then she swings her legs over the side of the bed, letting her helmet and the unfinished letter slip off her lap, and reaches for his hands. He can't help but smile down at their clasped fingers for a moment.

"And you're asking me to said prom? As your date?"

"Yes." He clears his throat, holding back a wince at how his voice cracked when he replied. "Yes," he repeats, "I am."

She starts to stand and for a second, he thinks she's about to walk away, so, alarmed, he rises to- and then she throws her arms around him in a hug. 

"I'd love to go to prom with you," she mumbles into his shoulder and he relaxes for the first time in a good few minutes.

"Good!" He leans his chin on top of her head, beaming like the sun. "Good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How the hell did you find a dress in the middle of nowhere, England, in our first week here?"

Don Malarkey grins and rocks back and forth on his feet, his hands slipping into his pants pockets. "Call it a gift from the Colonel."

Jessie whirls around, the hem of the gorgeous gown in her hands swishing as she does so, her eyes widening. "Colonel Sink?"

He gives a laugh at her stunned expression. "Yeah, well, he said there was a closet full of ladies' clothes in the place he's staying in, and I heard it from Winters, so a few of us went and asked the good colonel, and he said take what we wanted, so we did."

As if on cue, Alex Penkala and Skip Muck walk into the room, dress after dress draped over their arms and grins stretching from ear to ear on their faces. Jessie nearly drops the garment in her own hands in astonishment, but before long, a smile spreads across her own face and a wonderful giddiness sweeps over her. Malarkey shifts through the things in Penkala's hands, jokingly thanking him for acting as a coatrack for a bit, and Jessie can't help but give a quiet laugh.

"There we go!" Malarkey turns back toward her, his apparel of choice held behind his back, and he beams at her. "You getting excited?"

She nods, tears filling her eyes for the second time in the last hour, and as she blinks them away, she thanks her lucky stars for the umpteenth time for Shifty Powers. Malarkey reveals the dress, grinning.

"Want to try it on?"

"Yes!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shifty fixes his tie for the twentieth time since he put it on. He's pacing around the room, unable to stop marveling at all his friends have managed to do in the last four hours. They really pulled out all the stops. Popeye and Luz are especially proud of themselves, and for good reason, they've done a fantastic job. 

There are streamers and a banner over the door with "PROM" written all in caps in swirly letters (courtesy of Harry Welsh, who has surprisingly pretty handwriting). All the furniture has been piled up to one wall except one table, on which rests a record player (Hoobler did, in fact, know just where to get one) and a pitcher of lemonade. Guarnere and Toye, when they heard about this little event, insisted there had to be drinks, and when Shifty was adamant about no alcohol, they settled on picking the fruit from a tree they'd noticed passing on the way here.

(Yeah, they'd probably stolen the lemons from whoever's tree it was, but Shifty's been too distracted to realize it, and neither of them are going to tell him if he doesn't ask.)

No one was able to find a suit, so Shifty's in his ODs, but he doesn't mind. As long as she's happy, so is he. Besides, he's wearing a tie Popeye lent him, so it's not like he's underdressed for the occasion. Penkala came skipping in about ten minutes ago, crowing that Jessie looks 'pretty as a peacock', and when asked what that meant, he declared that Malarkey had managed to scrounge up a decent selection of dresses for her. It hadn't even occurred to Shifty that she'd be wearing a dress, and the idea has put a blush on his face since. As he checks his watch, he takes in a long breath, then lets it out slowly. She should be here any minute now.

God, he hopes she has a good time tonight.

Footsteps approach down the hall and most of the party planners scurry out the side door, save for Luz and Popeye. Shifty licks his lips nervously. A light laugh comes from just outside the doorway and then there she is. The dress she's picked is very pretty, but her smile is positively radiant and he can't tear his eyes off her face. Malarkey, sniffling like a proud dad, ushers her inside and shoots two thumbs-up at Shifty before turning around and heading back the way they came.

Jessie's got a layer of red on her lips, a subtle but noticeable shade, and she's got her hair done up in a flattering way. She smiles brilliantly at Shifty as she steps into the room, looking around at the decorations and set-up with wonder, and on cue, Luz lowers the needle onto the record as Popeye tosses flower petals onto the floor around her feet. A jazz band strikes up, the music filling the room, and Shifty offers his hand to Jessie, returning her shy smile with one of his own.

"Do you want to dance?"

"I'd love to."

Luz and Popeye slip out of the room, grinning at each other, as the couple steps up to each other, and soon enough, they're having a blast. He twirls her around once, then again, and when she nods for him to turn this time, he does so, having to duck under her arm, and they both start laughing lightly. As the music changes tempo, they start dancing the Charleston together. Neither are very good, but they fall into the rhythm within a minute or so, and smiles start to spread across their faces.

Fairly winded once the fifth song on the record has ended, they take a breather, Jessie leaning her head against Shifty's chest as they try to catch their breaths. He's sure she can hear his heart pounding, but he doesn't mind, he's having a marvelous time, and from the way she's still beaming at him when she steps back, smoothing down her skirt, so is she. They walk over to the table, chatting about this and that, simple things, sweet things. She raises the needle on the record as he pours them two glasses of lemonade, and when she takes her with a nod of thanks, she raises it in a toast.

"To Shifty Powers," she starts, and though he blushes and shakes his head meekly, she goes on, "who's done the nicest thing anyone ever has for me tonight." Clinking her glass against his, she adds, "And who's handsome as handsome could be."

If he wasn't already flustered, he is now, and he rubs the back of his neck, bashful, as she takes a sip of lemonade. She glances into her cup once she's swallowed, apparently a little surprised, and when he raises his own drink to his lips, he nearly coughs it out.

"It's a bit sweet," she remarks, and he brushes the corner of his mouth with the side of his hand.

"A bit?" Shifty swishes the liquid around in his cup. "There's got to be at least two cups of sugar in here."

Jessie takes another, smaller sip, and smiles at him over the rim of her glass. "I don't think I've said thank you yet," she muses, and when he opens his mouth to say she doesn't have to, the words fall away as she presses a quick kiss to his cheek. A small giggle escapes her lips and when he recovers his voice and asks her what's funny, she picks up a napkin from the table and reaches up toward his face.

"You've got lipstick on your cheek now," she explains, but he gently grabs her wrist before she reaches the spot.

"Leave it for now," he mutters. 

She willingly drops her hand, a blush spreading across her cheeks. He thinks it's adorable, and when she turns her head, watching the hazy sunset out the window, he takes the chance to lean down and return the kiss on Jessie's own cheek. A smile promptly grows on her lips and she switches her glass to her nondominant hand, reaching not-so-subtly to hold his beside her. They stand there, sipping the extra-sweet lemonade and watching the sunset (it's a bit hard to see through the buildings and the low clouds, but it's still pretty), for another few minutes, then, at a glance, they step back onto the dance floor, Shifty replacing the needle on the record as they go.

It's a slow song, to his delight, and she gladly steps closer. They haven't let go of each other's hand, which is nice, so they simply raise them while her other hand comes up to rest on his shoulder as his slips around her waist, maintaining a modest position. They start to sway and he hums along to the song, a familiar Bing Crosby tune, and after a half-minute or so, she leans her head against him, her chest brushing against his, and he smiles. Brushing a soft kiss on the top of her head, he leans his chin on top of hers and relishes in the feeling of holding her in his arms, listening to the music, blissfully at peace, if just for this one night.

The song is over all too soon and as a quick one starts up again, Jessie steps back, but to Shifty's (delighted) surprise, she makes a beeline for the record and resets the needle to the beginning of the slow song, then returns to him with a timid smile. He grins, sure his adoration is clear in his gaze, and happily takes her back into his arms just the way they were a moment prior. Swaying again, he wonders if he's just been too nervous around her for the last few weeks to see that she clearly feels for him the way he does for her.

"Shifty?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks again. This is so sweet of you." After a pause, she adds, voice quieter, "And honestly, there's no one I'd rather go to prom with."

His heart does a jazz square in his chest as he gently squeezes her hand. "Are you having a good time?" he ventures and Jessie leans her head back from his chest, a smile blossoming on her lips.

"Of course I am, Shifty, this is wonderful." 

Her hand on his shoulder slips up to brush her thumb along his jawline and he half-subconsciously tilts his head to that side. Despite her fond smile, he looks away, worried maybe this isn't the right moment to kiss her despite how much he wants to. She turns his face back toward her with her hand on his chin and as if reading the hesitation in his gaze, her fingers slip behind his neck instead. With a glance from his eyes to his lips and back up that is quite pointed, he swallows back his nerves and leans in.

It's a very brief and chaste kiss, and the moment he starts pulling away, her touch on his neck strengthens and he is more than glad to return his lips to hers. She leans into the kiss and he's knocked breathless for a moment at the fiery feeling that shoots through the nerves of his body, but the instant he retrieves his composure, he deepens the embrace in return. As their still-intertwined hands shift, both leaning into the other's body, he can feel the exhale out of her nose brush along his upper lip, making him smile into the kiss.

He didn't mean to break it, but she's blushing and smiling like he's just told her the war's over, and it's just as good as any kiss for him. She twirls a lock of his hair, near the nape of his neck, with her smallest finger and he shivers slightly, brushing his thumb along her side, just above her hip. She closes her eyes and, really, how could he resist? He apparently catches her by surprise, judging by the soft squeak she gives when his lips meet hers again, but she's swift to return the kiss, curving into his touch as his hand moves to the small of her back, and he draws in a short breath when she opens her mouth slightly in the kiss.

A screeching sound startles them both and they jump apart, his hands on her forearms, looking around for the source, any potential danger, but the noise comes again a second later and they both relax, realizing it's just the needle, caught somewhere on the record. He's reluctant to let her go, but she moves to the player and lifts the needle, and when she turns around, he's glanced at his watch and realized it's getting late. As much as he'd love to keep kissing her on the dance floor, he promised Sergeant Lipton he'd get Jessie back to the barracks by 23:00 and he's got about five minutes to keep that vow.

So he offers her his arm, which she gladly takes, and, realizing her dress is sleeveless and it's a bit of a crisp night, he drapes his jacket over her shoulder on their way out the door. Smiling at him, she leans into his side as they walk, and he gladly lets her, laying his opposite hand over hers on his arm. It's a short walk across the courtyard, and they hurry across, knowing if Sobel the ever-watchful sees them out and about at this time, blushing and arm-in-arm, he'd have a conniption.

They're at the door to her platoon's room within two minutes and she lets go of his arm, brushing her hand down his sleeve as she does so, and he leans against the doorframe, a sweet smile crossing his face. Oh, how she loves his smile. Her own lips quirk up in response, and then he's the one thinking how much he loves her smile.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?" she whispers and he gladly complies, despite the muffled whistles that come from her bunkmates when he does. In fact, because of that teasing, he deliberately pulls her body flush against his and deepens the kiss, and a 'woah there, tiger' from a familiar voice (Luz) floats out of the dark room.

She brushes her thumb against his cheek, wiping away the remaining traces of lipstick she placed there earlier, and straightens his tie. He blushes to think it, but the shakiness in her exhale after he leans back gives him a thrill to know his kiss left her breathless.

"Goodnight, Jessie," he whispers, and he squeezes her hand one last time before letting it go.

"Sleep well," she replies, "and dream of me."

"Always do." His response calls another flush to her face, though he can barely tell in the shadows, and he steps back from the door as she closes it, smiling up at the stars.

Wow. What a night.

#band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x oc #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x oc #shifty powers one shot #shifty powers fic #shifty powers fanfic #shifty powers fanfiction #hbo war show #hbo war #hbo war fanfiction #hbo war fanfic #hbo war show fanfic #hbo war show fanfiction #hbo war show fic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fandom #band of brothers fic

[penguintransporter]

Hey everyone! This was not requested, but it was a long time promise for the great @quack-and-yellow. She’s amazing writer, and even more amazing friend, and she’s the one that encouraged me to start sharing my stories. Hope you enjoy it - Niklas Stark for you...

Big, white, and eerily silent.

That's how Niklas Stark, if asked about it, would describe the Berlinische Galerie.

And lots of stairs; definitely, lots of stairs.

Niklas has never been an art enthusiast, and if he were completely honest, he didn't really understand it. Obviously, he had some common art knowledge, thanks to Frau Nowak classes during his gymnasium days, but he never bothered to learn more than he had to. As far as he knew, he could confidently distinguish Picasso from Da Vinci, and Pollock from Van Gogh, but that was about it. Art just wasn't his thing, and he was positive that it won't ever be.

And maybe, he would have never stepped into this big, white, and eerily silent building willingly, if it wasn't for her. It was all Mia's fault.

Out of the corner of his eye, Niklas glanced down at her for split of a second before returning his gaze back to the wall.

They stood in front of a medium-sized, squared piece of art, and Niklas has never been more confused in his life. Next to him, Mia let out a string of 'aww's' and 'ooh's', and he, for the lack of reaction, tilted his head to his right, trying to decipher what she was seeing, but it was in vain. As far as he could tell, there was lots of red paint involved, thin swirls of black, white and blue, and something that resembled a squashed bug in the corner of it. Apparently, the technique used was in oil on canvas, and it carried the name 'Loss, Love, and Forgiveness'.

Not that Niklas knew any of it – he just read the small print next to it.

"This one is so cool, no?" Mia breathed out, and he glanced at her yet again. She was smiling one of her cute, little smiles that he grew to like over time. "There is so much emotion in it, it's insane."

Niklas hummed, sticking both of his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, pulling it slightly forward. He wanted desperately to say something smart to impress her, but he was positive that she wouldn't be wowed by his squashed bug theory, so he kept quiet. She seemed to like these things – art, galleries, museums and weird sculptures, and as long as he could spend time with her, he would keep buying tickets, and asking her to join him.

The echo of her shoes clicking against the white floor shook Niklas out of his thoughts, and he, realizing that Mia had already moved on the next piece of art, quickly strode towards her, shaking his head a little.

She looks so pretty in that forest green jumper of hers.

They met almost five months ago through some mutual friends on a random Thursday night. One of his best friends started casually dating one of her best friends, and as expected, they all met up at his place, sharing food, drinks, and a good laugh. At first, Niklas had no special opinion about her – she was just another face in his life, another passer-by, but a week or two later, after she beat him at FIFA, Niklas found himself thinking more, and more about her.

In the beginning, he was blaming his bruised ego. He let a girl beat him in a game that he, if he was allowed to say so, played as a professional – both on the screen, and in real life. But, with time, what began as a frustration thoughts, soon enough became something more. The memories about her teasing him on his poor game skills became all about her eyes, her smile and her laugh, and before he knew it, he was smitten with Mia.

"So—" Niklas cleared his throat, shaking his head again. He took a step back and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. The painting in front of him had two squashed bugs on a dark-blue background. "What do you think about this one?"

Mia turned slightly on her heel, folding her hands across her chest – a big smile forming on her face.

"I think…" she started, "you didn't listen what I was talking about," she jokingly glanced at her watch on her wrist, "just thirty seconds ago."

Niklas' eyes widened at the realization, and he felt the uncomfortable tickle inside his throat.

"It's not that—"

"—You're really not into this, right?" she asked with a grin as one of her eyebrows rose in a comical way.

Niklas swallowed, feeling his cheeks growing hotter. He gave her a sheepish smile, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"No, no, no—" he spoke hurriedly, "—it's very interesting. And I am sorry if I didn't listen what you said earlier. I was really into," he waved his hand at the painting in front of him, "this."

"Okay, if you say so," Mia whispered in a singsong voice before turning around to look at the art piece once again. Niklas felt a wave of relief wash over him, so he stepped closer to her – just for the sake of it – bowing a little to read the small print. "What is the name of the artist?" she suddenly asked.

"—Huh?" Niklas looked at her without straightening his back.

"What is the name of the artists?" she repeated with humor in her voice.

Scheiße!

His brain went blank.

For the love of Jesus, you literally bought the tickets last night. What was it? Was it Joh—no!

Niklas let a sigh slip through his mouth, feeling his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Mia was still looking at the painting in front of them, but he could see the knowing smirk on her face, and he knew that he messed up. He didn't know what to say – he obviously couldn't care less about whoever the artist was or what each of the squashed bugs represented. The only thing he knew was that he had overheard Mia saying that she wanted to see it, so he bought the tickets, and asked her to join him. Was he guilty for wanting to spend more time with her?

"Mia, I—" he started, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Yeah?" she turned around to look at him, and once again, he felt like a truck of emotions hit him.

He looked down at his sneakers, words 'I like you' almost tumbling down from his lips, but he stopped himself.

"Do you want to grab something to eat after we finish here?"

**

The path along the Landwherkanal was nearly empty, except for few mothers pushing the baby trolleys with tired faces, and several sport-enthusiasts running their hearts out. Niklas and Mia walked slowly – his croissant finished a while ago, while Mia was still munching on the last bits of hers.

He was nervous, more than before, but determined to tell her how he feels. It was a matter of now or never, and the text message he received from his best friend, calling him a 'Warmduscher' and 'Hosenscheißer', only fuelled his decision to be honest with Mia.

"I need to tell you something," he started, looking awkwardly between his coffee cup, Mia, and the jogger who was stretching next to a bench as they walked by. His choice of wearing fluorescent yellow outfit hurt Niklas' eyes. Quickly, he looked away from the man, rubbing the side of his face nervously – his pulse quickening.

"You want to buy one of those paintings, no?" Mia grinned up at him.

"No! I mean yes—I mean, I need to decorate my walls, but that's not the point here, Mia."

"What is it then?" she asked, taking a small sip of her own beverage, glancing at him again.

"Do you mind if we sit down?" he asked, and Mia, giving him a confused look, nodded, following him towards the first empty bench before they sat down.

"What's up, Nik?"

"I…" Niklas began with a small sigh. "I am not good at this," he admitted, breathing out nervously.

"You're not good at FIFA either, and we both survived it," she teased, and he fought back the groan – he was still deeply wounded by it, and as soon he spills his heart out, and she decides not to run away, he will ask for a rematch.

"No, look, stop, listen—" he demanded, and Mia's face changed from teasing to serious. "The thing is, I think you're lovely, smart, and I like spending time with you, even if it means going to weirdest art places in Berlin. I guess, what I trying to say is, I—" he suddenly stopped, looking at Mia's wide eyes. Shit, she doesn't feel the same. "—you know what, nevermind," he muttered, shaking his head in his own disappointment. The silence fell upon them, and Niklas looked around, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. "What do you say we just keep walking?" he quickly got up, stretching as he did so. "Do you want another croiss—"

"—I like you, Niklas," Mia whispered, and for a second, he thought that his brain was playing games with him, but when he looked at her, he was positive that her voice wasn't just a fiction of his mind. Realizing what she just said, Mia quickly covered her face, dropping her head on her lap. "Shit, shit, shit," she muffled. "I shouldn't have said that."

Niklas smiled to himself, a feeling of his own confidence rushing through his body, pumping like adrenaline after scoring a goal.

Quickly, he crouched in front of her, wanting to be an eye-level with her.

"Hey, look at me," he whispered, and Mia shook her head, refusing to do so. Niklas chuckled, gently touching her shoulder, and this time, she obeyed, looking at him through a curtain of hair covering her face. He grinned at her, brushing away some of the locks, and she timidly returned his smile. "You're right, Mia," Niklas said softly, "I like you."

Who do you call hosenscheißer?

"Really?" she whispered, and Niklas nodded, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. Reaching out a hand, he pulled her up, lacing his fingers with hers.

"Actually, I like you a lot," he answered as they started walking again. He felt Mia move closer, so that their arms were completely touching, and he couldn't stop himself from grinning in triumph.

"Even more than the exhibition at Berlinische Galerie?"

"Even more than that."

"And what about when I beat you at FIFA?"

Niklas didn't answer, but chuckled, sneaking his arm around her waist, and pulling her into him before planting a small kiss against her temple.

Thank you for reading! ♥

#footballer imagine #footballer oneshot #football fanfiction #niklas stark imagine #niklas stark #niklas stark fanfiction #footballer x reader #blurb #imagine #oneshot #soccer imagines #soccer fanfiction #bundesliga fanfiction

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 20

Ambling up the stairs to my room, I flung the door open and waited for Destani, Tameka, and Nalay to enter before closing the barrier behind them. After filling our bellies at the café, the girls decided to end the evening at my house and in my full and sluggish state I didn’t bother to argue. Destani lay sprawled comfortably across the span of my bed, while Tameka stood at my ipod dock flipping through the available playlists. Nalay sat across from me on the floor against an oversized teddy bear in the corner and I sat perched on the floor near the door, with a pre-calculus book flipped open in my lap.

“Sy I don’t understand why you won’t just tell us what the nigga said.” Destani complained after nearly five full minutes of silence. With an exasperated sigh, I rested my head against the wall behind me and shut my eyes “Dez… he just wanted to talk, that’s all.” “Well I know that, but what about? Was it just like a casual conversation or was the nigga trynna spit game?” She asked. Rolling my eyes, I chose to completely ignore her plethora of questions and instead gazed down at the book in my lap.

“Dez leave that girl alone. Always trying to get in somebody’s business… how about you get some of your own and get out of hers.” Nalay exclaimed. “Shut up Nay… I was just wondering, damn. I mean it’s not every day that we get to see Sy talking to niggas, so I’m just trynna make sure my baby girl knew what she was doing.” Destani retorted. “I knew what I was doing Destani… if I didn’t I don’t think he would have asked me to go on a date with him.” I mumbled and regretfully so… Destani’s eyes immediately lit up and she swiftly perked up from her position on the bed.

“What?” She blurted, extending her arm out and pointing her finger theatrically in my direction, “Did you hear what she just said? The nigga asked her out on a date!” “Girl what,” Tameka chimed in, turning to join the conversation, “Where ya’ll going?” With a shrug of my shoulders, I refocused my attention on my book “Oh it’s a surprise? Damn girl, this nigga is trynna show out… taking you on surprise dates and shit!” Destani exclaimed. “Girl I’m jealous. Can we say fancy? Shit, can I go?” Tameka replied, turning her attention back to the dock.

Before anyone could utter another word, the bedroom door flew open and I was forced to lean against the opposite wall to avoid being smacked in the face. “Hey Sy… where Sy’Diyah at?” The familiar masculine voice asked. “Well she was sitting by the door, until you swung it open like a freak of nature.” Destani retorted briskly. The door slowly eased away from my arm and I raised my gaze to meet the beaming bright copper stare of Chris “Shit, my bad. Can you come here for a minute?” He asked. I sighed while placing my book on the floor then stood to my full height “What Chris?” “Just come out here please.” He nearly begged.

“Nigga don’t come in here demanding nobody.” Tameka fussed, turning to face him with a hand placed on her hip. “Meka was I talking to your ghetto booty ass? No, so stay over there.” He responded and I quickly slipped out of the doorway behind him, hoping to prevent an argument between the two. Pulling the door shut behind me, I turned to stare up at Chris who gazed at me with obvious desperation “I need you to do me a really big favor.”

“Like What?” I asked, crossing my arms loosely over my chest. “I need you to come with me to my mama’s house and help me get some stuff before Ms. Joyce gets home.” He explained in a rushed tone. “Wait, what? Doesn’t she get off at six?” “Yeah, that’s why I need you to help me… like now.” “Chris,” I sighed, “Why don’t you just wait until she gets home and ask her if you can get some of your things then? Wouldn’t that be a lot easier than sneaking in, hoping she doesn’t pop up while you’re in there?”

Roving over the suggestion for only a moment, he nodded seemingly in agreement “No. I think that’s a terrible idea and I think we should do it now.” With yet another sigh, I dropped my arms dejectedly at my sides “Do you want me to get the girls to help?” “Yeah… yeah it’ll be easier with more hands.” I turned and stepped back into my room, only to find Tameka standing only a few feet away from the door with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a scowl on her face “Where that yellow ass nigga at? Popping off at me like he lost his got damn mind. Chris, I know you standing in this hallway!”

“Yeah my yellow ass is standing in this hallway! What you talking shit for Meka, huh? I bet you won’t say that shit to my face!” He shouted over my shoulder through the threshold of the door. Moving forward to usher Tameka further into the room, I used my foot to push the door shut in his face and turned back to face the girls. “If you two could settle down for just a moment, Chris actually needs a favor from all of us. He’s asking if we can help him move some of his belongings out of his mom’s house.” I explained quickly.

“Move some belongings where? To that trollips house? Oh hell no!?” Destani fussed, maneuvering around to sit at the edge of my bed. “No Destani,” I said with a roll of my eyes, "He'll explain when we get to his moms.” I moved toward my closet to retrieve a pair of shoes and smiled discreetly as I listened to the girls shifting around my room, preparing themselves to assist with Chris’s devious plan.

--

We trailed along behind Chris as if we were indeed on the set of a spy thriller. We were all alert and on the lookout for his mom, as the time was rapidly nearing six and she'd be arriving home soon. He led us down a darkened hall toward his bedroom and stopped once he approached the door. Slowly pushing it open, he stepped inside and we all followed. “Aww… I always did love your room Charlie.” Destani cooed as we moved into the large and tidy space. His room had always reflected his personality perfectly. Chris had always been one to express himself through the arts and the four walls of his bedroom displayed his talent like an eclectic museum. From a few of his favorite musician’s hand drawn in charcoal on canvas frames, to several varieties of graffiti style paintings… his style was one of a kind and innovative.

“Alight, if ya’ll could just grab like clothes and shit like that. I don’t really wanna take furniture or anything major because knowing my mama… she might file a lawsuit against my ass for stealing her shit.” He explained, moving toward his closet to retrieve two large duffle bags. “Chris, I’m so lost… where are we taking this stuff?” Destani asked. “Dez, I’m moving aiight. My mama found out about the baby and now…” Pausing to inhale a gust of air and releasing it exasperatedly… he shook his head, clenched his jaw, and tossed the bags down on the floor, “Now I’m moving.”

The room immediately washed over with silence and I peered at Chris as he nibbled at the corner of his bottom lip. With her motherly instincts kicking into full gear, Nalay stepped into place beside Chris and leaned against him to embrace him in a comforting hug, “Aw Chris I’m sorry. Do you at least have a place to go?” “Yeah… I have an apartment now so um… that’s where we’re taking this stuff.” He replied. I quickly slipped out of the way as Destani, Tameka, and Nalay surrounded him with hugs and praises for getting on his feet that quickly. I watched with exhilaration as I contemplated how blessed I was to not only have Chris in my life, but to be able to witness his evolution and transformation over the span of time I’d known him. He’d morphed from an angry, resentful little boy to such a thriving and established young man.

I quickly snapped back to reality as the girls finally moved to load up some of his belongings. I scooped up one of the empty duffle bags on the floor and headed for his dresser infamous for housing his tanks and basketball shorts. “Damn nigga!” I whipped around at the sound of Destani’s loud voice. There she stood with her arm raised high, near his nightstand close to the head of the bed… with a dangling row of small, golden packages in her hand.

Her eyes danced from the small square objects she gripped in her hand down into the open drawer of his nightstand “Strawberry, coca-cola, glow in the dark, fire and ice, and let’s not forget…” She refocused her stare on the objects in her hand before turning her gaze to Chris with a mischievous smirk, “… magnum?” She turned suddenly to face Tameka who’d plopped onto his bed with mirth “You might wanna get up Meka… I’m pretty sure that’s where they conceived the baby.”

Tameka rushed forward and nearly catapulted off the surface of the bed, causing the room to erupt into laughter as Chris stood proudly staring at Destani with his own impish smirk. He sauntered toward her, tossing an arm loosely over her shoulder as he reached around and slipped the golden wrappers out of her grasp “Don’t act like you’ve never seen a condom before baby.” “I mean I have, but shit homeboy… all these options! And magnum… Babyboy, I ain’t know it was like that.” She played into his humor as she reached back into the drawer and fiddled with the plethora of wrappers inside.

“And for your information, if any conceiving really did go down… it was in my truck.” He murmured knowingly and we all continued to laugh. “Damn freak… aye, let me use some of these flavored and fire and ice ones for real though.” Tameka said, shifting toward the open drawer and lunging her hand inside. With a shake of his head, Chris squinted and stared at her with his head cocked to one side “Use them with who Meka?” She smacked her lips and rolled her eyes theatrically “Nigga don’t play. You know this milkshake brings all the boys to my yard. I have hoes okay!”

“Yeah and when they see that your yard ain’t been trimmed, I bet all the boys run away.” Chris’s expression remained somber as Destani, Nalay, and I cackled loudly and Tameka stared at him with her mouth hanging open. She scoffed and slapped him on the arm “Fuck you Chris.” “Oh yes love, we can certainly do that… I mean we got the condoms, the bed, and even a live audience. What else do we need?” He asked, seductively pushing up against her with forged lust in his eyes. Tameka stared at him blankly before bursting into a fit of laughter “Chris you a damn fool!” With a shake of his head and a smile, he reached for a half full bag resting near his feet.

We continued to stuff the bags and load up several of his belongings, and by about five forty-five… we were done. “Alright, so we can take all this down to my truck and then I’ll take it over there.” Chris said. “Why we can’t go?” Destani asked. “I mean ya’ll can. I just figured you’d be too tired.” He replied. “Nah, we straight. I’m trynna see yo new crib nigga!” Destani exclaimed. With a chuckle, he snatched a full duffle bag from the floor and tossed it over his shoulder “Cool. Let’s go.“

--

What I thought would be a peaceful and scenic journey to the apartment quickly morphed into a small festival in the confines of Chris’s truck. With Young Thug’s Lifestyle blasting through the speakers, Chris and Tameka had managed to start a boisterous dance and freestyle battle. By the time Chris pulled into the apartment complex, we were all trying to control our laughter at their antics.

“Nigga I won that… you know I won that!" Tameka argued as she climbed down out of the backseat and stood squinting up at Chris. “You know what… I’ll let you think that Meka, but everybody in this truck knows who won that shit.” He said with a sly smirk as he moved past her toward his trunk. “Okay Breezy, alright. How about this… you give me a damn time and a location and I got you. You don’t wanna see me in a legit battle.” She exclaimed. “Meka, baby let it go,” Destani said, placing a hand on Tameka’s shoulder, “I’m not even gonna lie… he schooled your ass and the bad part is, the nigga was driving.” “Shut up Dez… Chris,” Tameka turned to glare at Chris, “I got you.” He lifted his hands and motioned for her to ‘bring it’ and we all laughed.

Following him to the back of the truck, we each grabbed a handful of his belongings to carry up to his apartment. Misjudging her own strength, Destani ended up with one of the two heaviest duffle bags while Chris lugged the other. “Chris… nigga you better get this damn bag before I drop it!” She exclaimed, struggling down the hall toward the elevator. With a sigh, he slowed in his tracks and turned to relieve Destani of the bag. Pulling it up onto his vacant shoulder, he silently faced forward and moved with ease down the hall as if the bags were as light as feathers.

“Dez, why would you do him like that? Nobody even told your ass to grab that bag,” Nalay fussed,” Here, get some of this stuff. You’re not about to walk empty handed.” “Nah… I’m straight.” Destani said with a smile as she trekked along. “Destani…” Nalay retorted in a firm voice and with a defeated sigh, Destani turned to snatch a few items out of Nalay’s hands.

Within a few minutes, we’d finally made it up to the third floor of the building and we stood behind Chris as he unlocked the door of his apartment. Pushing the door open with his foot, he stepped aside and granted us access to the open door of the space. I smirked inwardly as I listened to the girls gasp with excitement as they all ventured inside. “Damn nigga… this shit is lit.” Tameka noted, being the first to step through the doorway. “I know right. This is dope as hell! I’m not gonna lie, I was expecting to walk into some little hole in the wall, but this bitch is bad!” Destani blurted candidly.

Chris rolled his eyes impishly and with a gratified smirk, he moved down the hall toward his bedroom. Already having a complete tour of the unit under my belt, I offered to show them around the place while Chris put his things away in his bedroom. The girls ooh’d and ahh’d as I introduced them to each room and once we crossed into the master suite, they quickly veered into the restroom to find Chris in the oversized closet.

“Bro, I might have to come over here just to use this fucking bathroom… this shit is like amazing!” Destani exclaimed and I couldn’t help but giggle. They wondered around the spacious area just as I had the first night he’d brought me over… like curious little kids. “Dez wait you turning it too far,” Chris voiced and within a few seconds, his tone quickly escalated, “Destani! Get the fuck outta the bathroom before you break this shit!” Rushing out into the bedroom, Destani made her way toward me with a deep scowl as she glanced back over her shoulder “Damn, somebody is on their period tonight.”

With a shake of my head, I couldn’t help but laugh at the expression she held “What did you do?” “I was just trynna turn the faucet on, but I ain’t know the water wasn’t on yet, so when it didn’t come on I continued to turn the little shit thinking maybe the handle was just reacting slow or something.” She explained. “Well maybe you just shouldn’t touch anything else.” I suggested with a smirk. “Not if king divo in there is gonna freak the hell out again.” She said, easing toward the door and out into the hall with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Nalay and Tameka eventually made their way back into the front room with Destani… leaving Chris and I alone in empty space. He stepped out of the restroom with his hands tucked away into his pockets and released a deep sigh “I swear I shoulda just left them at your house.” “What makes you think I wanted them at my house… alone… free to tamper with any and everything while I’m not there.” I asked with a tone full of humor. “I don’t know man… they just can’t be doing all that shit here. I mean, I just got the place… haven’t even done a walk through yet!” He fussed.

“Well don’t stress. I know it’s your first place, but don’t let little things get to you. You should be excited right now, not worrying about the small things.” I said softly. With a smirk, he moseyed toward me and pulled his hands from the confines of his pockets “You know, I think that’s why I keep you around.” “Why?” I asked, batting my lashes at him with my arms crossed as he eased his hands down to my hips. “Because you know just what to say to make a nigga feel better.” He whispered. He leaned forward to close the gap between us and within seconds his plump lips were devouring my own. I instinctively uncrossed my arms and snaked my hands up over his hardened chest toward his broad shoulders, kneading at his chiseled abdomen along the way. My ears suddenly perked at the sound of Tameka and Destani’s loud voices cascading down the hall and it felt as if my heart plummeted into my stomach at the thought of them witnessing us in such a compromising position.

Chris tugged seductively at my bottom lip with his teeth, pulling back slowly before letting go and swiping his tongue out over his lips. A few more delayed seconds and we were sure to have been caught in the act… Destani and Tameka both stood in the doorway laughing at their own conversation and staring directly at Chris, who now stood calmly with his hands tucked away into his pockets.

“We just thought we would come get your permission to answer the door because someone is knocking.” Destani said. “Oh… you can open it…,” He paused, staring through squinted orbs at Destani, “Meka, you can open it.” “Whatever nigga.” Destani muttered as she raised a middle finger toward him as Tameka cackled loudly. They turned to move back down hall, with Chris and I trailing closely behind. Tameka reached to open the door and we all crowded around to stare at the girl who stood on the other side. She held a plate of cookies wrapped neatly in saran wrap as she beamed at us brightly.

“Hi… I’m Daynah… wow do you all live here?” She asked as her eyes scanned over each of us. Her traveling orbs halted immediately once she reached Chris and she openly stared at him, roving her gaze over his lofty frame. Her grin seemed to double once her twinkling eyes reached his face “Well aren’t you a lucky guy? You get to live with all these girls… how fun.” “I’m Chris,” He said, stepping forward and sticking his hand out to greet her,” I’m actually the only one who lives here.”

“Oh… well that’s cool,” She stated with a grin that never faded as her eyes lingered on his large hand that gripped hers, “Oh, where are my manners… these are for you all.” She pushed the plate of cookies toward Chris with one hand, still clutching his hand with the other. “Uh, thanks.” He muttered. “Anytime… I just sort of like to give my new neighbors a small welcome gift when I introduce myself and what better way to do that than with a fresh batch of cookies?” She giggled.

“Well, it was nice to meet you all,” She said, gazing at everyone before fixing her twinkling eyes back on Chris, “It was nice to meet you as well. If you ever need anything, I’m just down the hall.” “Alright and um… you know, the same to you. I’ll be all moved in next week… if you ever need anything.” He said, showcasing his million-dollar smile. With a single nod and a beaming smile, she stepped backwards away from the door “Well I guess I’ll talk to you later.” He nodded and tossed a hand up at her as she finally turned and sauntered away. "Interesting neighbors you got here Chris." Destani noted amusingly as she pushed the door shut and turned to face a still grinning Chris...

#chrisbrown #chrisbrownff #chrisbrownfanfic #jasminesanders #chrisbrownfanfiction #jasminesandersff #teambreezy #teambreezyff #fanfiction #fanfic