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eliemo · 3 years

Text

Solitary

Summary: Logan wakes up. He wasn't supposed to this time.

TWs: aftermath of a suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, self hatred and self esteem issues, hopeful ending

Notes: Mind the tags pls, I wrote this with no plan at like 1am. Platonic LAMP

When Logan woke up, the first thing he registered was a splitting headache, white hot pain spreading down his head to his spine like his skull was being snapped in two.

The next was the pulsing agony in both of his arms, shooting up to his shoulders with a sudden intensity that made him gasp before he could stop himself, only to be met with another stabbing pain in his throat.

“Hey hey hey, easy.” A vaguely familiar voice filtered in from somewhere nearby, but Logan was pretty sure the pain would only worsen if he opened his eyes to look. “Easy, Lo. You’re safe, you’re ok.”

All Logan was able to manage was an awful sounding croak. He felt someone running their hand gently through his hair, another holding the side of his face.

“Breathe, kiddo. You’re ok.”

Patton. A bit of the rising alarm faded when he recognized the moral side’s voice, but something still pulled at his chest when he realized how scared Pat sounded. What was going on?

“Can you open your eyes?” Patton asked, soft and concerned right beside his ear. “We really miss you, Logan.”

Patton’s voice broke a bit at the end, miserable and pleading, and that was enough for Logan to risk pain that came with the sudden light, making another weak noise in the back of his throat as he pried his eyes open, surprised and a little frustrated over how much effort it took.

Like he’d warily expected, the barrage of light did feel like someone was repeatedly taking a knife to his eyes, but it wasn't nearly as intense as he’d anticipated.

It took a second for everything to come into focus, but when it did Logan could make out that he was on the couch in the living room, a dark blue blanket draped over him, the curtains closed over the windows to keep the sunlight out of the dim room.

Patton was crouched beside him, fingers still running through Logan’s hair, slow and gentle. Virgil was perched on the other end of the couch, eyeshadow smeared and staining his face with dried black tears.

Roman was standing beside the armchair just a few paces away, looking like he’d just been startled out of his seat, face pale, eyes wide and shiny.

They all looked...awful. They looked about as bad as Logan felt right now.

“Wh-what?” It hurt to talk, voice raspy and shaking, but the confusion was only making his head hurt more. “What’s happening, I—”

“I’ll, uh- I’ll get him some water,” Roman said hastily, failing to hide the worried glance he sent Patton’s way. “Hang in there, Teach.”

Roman was gone before Logan could say anything, and his gaze wandered instead to Virgil who was still planted by his feet, shifting anxiously where he sat, glancing between Logan and Patton like he was waiting for someone to speak.

Luckily Roman wasn’t gone for long, hurrying back into the room within seconds and practically thrusting a glass of water in Logan’s face.

He moved to sit up and take it, only to hiss at the pain shooting up his arms at the tiniest of movements, falling limply back onto the cushions.

“Don’t use your hands, honey,” Patton said, a second too late. “Here, let me help you, ok?”

Any other time Logan would have protested. He was perfectly capable of drinking a cup of water by himself. But right now all he had the energy to do was give a tiny nod and let Patton help him to sit up.

He didn’t have the energy to fight, keeping his aching arms under the blanket and letting Patton bring the cup to his lips. The cold water eased the pain in his throat somewhat, even if it took a frustratingly long time for Logan to swallow a few sips.

“There you go,” Patton said when he saw done, and Logan hated how overly gentle the other side was being with him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Logan said, despite how badly everything hurt. “What...happened?”

He saw the three of them exchange worried glances among themselves, trying and failing once again to hide it from Logan. His head was still too heavy to remember what had put him in this position in the first place, but their concern was only worsening his rising anxiety. Or maybe he was just picking up on some of Virgil’s distress.

The anxious side shifted again, brows drawn together as he looked Logan over. “Do you not...remember what happened?”

Logan took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing against the lump in his throat, taking a moment to catalogue his aching body, his headache, and the searing pain shooting up his arms.

“Was I...injured?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Patton immediately burst into tears. To his dismay, Roman and Virgil’s eyes started welling up at the same time.

Oh, god. Logan was even less prepared to deal with their emotions than he usually was.

“Is that…” he trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “Is that a yes?”

Patton only began crying harder, and before Logan could try to apologize the moral side was throwing himself forward, arms wrapped around Logan as best he could, sobbing loudly into his chest.

“Patton, I—”

“I’m so sorry!” Patton wailed, only further growing Logan’s confusion. “I’m so sorry Lo, I’m so sorry! We didn’t- we didn’t know! I swear we had no idea!”

“Let him take a moment to wake up, Padre,” Roman said, still hovering anxiously. He and Virgil were being much quieter about their distress, but both of their faces were soaked with tears. “But we...we really are sorry. Gosh, Logan we’re so so sorry.”

Logan screwed his eyes shut again, still coming up blank when he tried to connect the dots. “What...what on earth are you apologizing for?”

“For not realizing you felt that way, Lo.” Virgil moved to put a hand on Logan’s leg, refusing to look the logical side in the eyes. “Jeez- you’re family and we never...we never noticed.”

Patton was still bawling into his shirt, Virgil tightened his own hold, Roman began pacing as he tended to do when he was stressed, and Logan still had absolutely no clue what was going on. Why wouldn’t someone just tell him what had happened?

“Patton...” Logan stopped, first from the pain that came with raising his hand to touch Patton’s shoulder, then from the shock of seeing his arms. “I—”

“Don’t look, baby,” Patton said, gently guiding his hands back under the blanket like Logan hadn’t gotten a clear view of blood stained bandages wrapped around his arms from his wrists to his elbows. “You’re ok.”

His arms were...had he...?

Roman cleared his throat, and Logan looked over at the sound. The Prince held a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand, crumpled and a little stained, and the writing Logan could just barely make out was suddenly alarmingly familiar.

“We, uhm. We found your note.”

And just like that it all came rushing back- the overwhelming pain, the emotions, everything spiraling out of his usually so strict control as he finally let everything out onto a flimsy piece of notebook paper.

He’d lost control, no longer able to see a better way out. All he’d been focused on was the horrible pain in his arms soaked with blood that signified an ending he hadn’t even been sure he really wanted.

It came back in a fragmented blur, and Logan abruptly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have woken up.

Oh. Oh no.

“I am...so sorry,” Logan said, at a loss for what else to do. “It was never my intention for you all to—”

“Your intention was pretty fucking clear,” Virgil snapped, and Logan was taken aback by the hostility in Anxiety’s voice. “Jesus Christ, Lo! What were you thinking?”

“Virgil,” Patton snapped, but the wavering in his voice overshadowed any vehemence. “That’s...let’s calm down, kiddo. Ok?”

Virgil wiped his eyes with his sleeves, shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Logan’s chest squeezed, guilt and panic overwhelming.

“How long was I...asleep?”

Patton gave a shaky sigh, going back to running his hands through Logan’s hair. “Since last night. It’s...I think three in the afternoon now.”

Logan’s stomach dropped, and the pain in his arms flared up again as he struggled to sit up, only to fall limp against the back of the couch. He’d been out all day, forcing the other sides to stop what they were doing and look after him.

He couldn’t imagine how much damage and stress he’d caused. The one thing he’d been trying to avoid doing any more of.

“I’m very sorry,” Logan said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “My intentions were not to be an inconvenience or cause any unnecessary stress. I will attempt to get back on schedule as soon as possible and—”

“Get back on schedule?”

Logan couldn’t remember hearing Virgil yell like this, shrinking back into Patton’s arms before he could stop himself, the anxious side having stood up from the couch, eyes wide and brimming with new tears.

Logan cleared his throat, struggling to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. “I...apologize for—”

“You think we’re upset over the schedule?” Virgil snapped, flinching when Roman moved closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to wake up after you tried to kill yourself and you think we’re upset because we’re behind schedule? Are you fucking serious, Logan?”

The screaming eventually dissolved into ragged sobs, and Logan watched as Roman gathered Virgil up his arms and pulled him close, the anxious side burying his face into the Prince’s chest.

Roman hadn’t stopped silently crying, silent tears sliding down his cheeks as he pressed his nose to Virgil’s hair, trembling with the strength it took to hold back his sobs. And Patton hadn’t let go of him, half of Logan’s shirt soaked with the moral side’s tears.

He hadn’t...expected this. Any of it.

Honestly, Logan hadn’t expected anyone to even notice his absence at first. He supposed they might not have known he’d...passed at all if he hadn’t been found before he’d finished.

He'd expected them to be mildly agitated when they found out he was gone, a little annoyed that he’d taken such drastic measures instead of continuing to ignore it and move on for Thomas’s sake. They'd have to make their schedules themselves now, and his death would likely push a few things back.

Things might be a bit less efficient without him but...they’d realize it was for the best eventually. They would be happier without him around. The air would be lighter.

It would be quieter. They wouldn’t have to constantly hide their annoyance every time he opened his mouth.

They wouldn’t have to deal with him at all anymore.

He hadn’t...expected anyone to be upset over the thought of losing him. He hadn’t even succeeded, he was perfectly fine, and every single one of them was in very clear distress.

“I am...very sorry,” he tried again, wondering if all he’d managed to do was ruin things irreparably. “I never wanted to upset any of you.”

“It isn’t about us,” Patton said, reaching over to quickly squeeze Virgil’s hand. “It’s not about our feelings. It’s about yours.”

“No, Virgil is right. It was selfish of me to—”

“It wasn’t selfish,” Virgil said quickly. He pulled away from Roman, just enough to look at Logan. “It’s not...it wasn’t selfish, Lo. It wasn’t your fault.”

Logan frowned, because that...was an exceptionally strange thing to say. Especially when he had every right to scream until his voice was hoarse. “Of course it was. I did it to myself. I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

That made Patton tighten his hold and Virgil’s gaze drop to the floor, but Logan didn’t falter. It was the truth. He wasn’t going to make excuses or pretend to be ashamed. He’d been convinced it was the right thing to do.

Roman suddenly sighed, trembling and quiet, the only one able to meet Logan’s eyes. “Sometimes our brains tell us things, Lo. They aren’t true and they’re awful but it’s...hard not to listen. You just need some help quieting the thoughts.”

“My thoughts are...perfectly rational,” Logan said, despite the situation. “I was simply mistaken. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“You thought we hated you!” Patton was crying again, sobbing with nothing holding him back, and Logan suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at the note left on the coffee table. “You thought...Lo, the things you said—”

“I was wrong,” Logan said curtly, even as a prickle of dread settled in his stomach. “I was...I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He was a bit taken aback by how quickly the three of them burst into affirmations, all of them suddenly crowded around him, holding him close as gently as possible. Keeping him safe.

“We love you,” Virgil was saying, and the anxious side had somehow managed to half commandeer his lap, his arms wrapped around his Logan’s middle. “I love you, Logan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not...your fault,” Logan said, wishing his arms didn't hurt quite so bad. He couldn’t even attempt to hug anyone back. “I shouldn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Roman spoke up, placing a gentle but grounding hand on Logan’s back. “I know it feels like you did, Teach. I know. But you didn’t.”

“I tried to...I- I thought—”

“You’re in a bad place and we didn’t notice,” Virgil said, barely audible from where his face was pressed into Logan’s shirt. “That’s our fault. We- I should have been there to help, I didn’t know you—”

“I was attempting to hide it.” Hiding it had become normal. He’d hoped it would all simply go away, or fade away to the background at the very least if he just pretended.

But it had only grown worse, leaving him feeling empty and numb and hurt each time he was ignored and talked over, each time an argument went a little too far, each time he felt like a burden for simply speaking his mind. For having a thought in the first place.

He’d thought they hated him. He thought they hated the sound of his voice, his presence in their lives, his existence. A bitter part of him had wondered if they’d celebrate his death before erasing him from their memories entirely.

He hadn’t been able to say it aloud. But he’d finally been able to sit down and put it all on paper, finalizing it into one last goodbye.

Logan has been stupid. Logic had failed, and he’d done something irrational.

If he couldn’t even do his job well enough to keep himself alive, what even was the point in keeping him around? Thomas might be better off without him after all—

“Logan.” Patton was right in front of him now, warm hands on Logan’s cheeks, effectively cutting off his spiraling thoughts. “We’re here now. We’re here and we know.”

Logan curled his shoulders and nodded, the thought equally comforting and terrifying. He’d never planned on having to face the consequences of this decision. Of his awful, irrational feelings.

“We’re gonna help you kiddo,” Patton continued. “You’re not alone, Logan. You never ever have been. I’m so sorry you thought you were.”

Logan swallowed, alarmed at how tight his throat was becoming, vision quickly becoming blurred. “I...I don’t want to cause any pointless stress. We’re all busy.”

“We’re worried about you,” Patton said softly, never letting go of Logan. “You worry about the people you love. You worry about family.”

“I...” he paused, closing his eyes as the tears finally spilled over. “I wasn’t...sure that I was.”

Virgil lifted his head and frowned, but Logan refused to look down at him, staring blankly at the wall instead. “You weren’t...what? Family?”

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t jump to correct the assumption because he...couldn’t. He’d questioned his place for so long, somewhere along the way he’d begun assuming nobody cared. That it wasn’t a question for anyone else.

The heartbroken noises from the other three sides made him flinch, and he melted into their touch as they rushed to assure him once again, hard as it was to focus on anything they were saying.

He’d been so stupid. How could he have mistaken this for anything but love?

“You’re family, Logan,” Roman said, holding him from behind with his head now rested on Logan’s shoulder. “You will always be family. I’m so sorry it got this bad.”

Logan wasn’t sure when he’d started letting himself cry in earnest, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

There were three pairs of arms around him, holding him close while he trembled and sobbed and tried to force out apologies that kept getting caught in his throat.

He’d been selfish, and he’d upset them all so much but…

But he’d been so hurt. He’d felt so hurt for months and none of them had noticed. Nobody had asked. He wasn’t angry, he knew they would never have left him like that if they could have known. But it didn’t change the fact that it had happened.

But it was...going to be better now. Logan wanted so badly to believe it was going to get better.

“We’re going to fix this,” Patton said, and Logan’s eyes slipped shut when the moral side once again began playing with his hair. “We’re gonna be right here, Lo. We’ve got you. It won’t ever get this bad again.”

Logan felt himself drifting back to sleep, the pain fading to a dull ache in the background, and he didn’t try to fight against it. His chest was still heavy, mind clouded with distorted thoughts and doubts, and he knew none of that would disappear the next time he woke up. He wasn’t naive enough to hope it would.

But he had a way to fix it now. A way that wasn’t quite so final as his original plan.

And his family would be there when he woke up. He didn’t have to do this by himself anymore. He didn’t have to be the only one trying to fix this.

Logan believed them. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. Never again.

#self harm tw #suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #crying tw #sanders sides #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #angst #hopeful ending #platonic lamp #fanfiction #writing

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maybankiara · 3 years

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TELL ME, IS IT WORTH IT?

pairing: JJ Maybank x Pope Heyward

summary: Pope proposes, JJ panics, and now he’s trying to explain why he said no (and why he shouldn’t have done it.)

w/c: 3.7k

a/n: angst with a happy ending, ignore all the typos bc this is entirely unedited (i might edit in the future)

masterlist | tag list

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It’s really unfair that when someone’s life falls apart, the world itself doesn’t. JJ thinks it should. It should be raining knives, hailing bullets, volcanoes should be exploding and the ground shaking shouldn’t be just his personal experience of reality.

But it’s not even a moderately hot day. It’s breezy, it’s perfect, and it’s one of the nicest days of the fucking whole year.

JJ hates it.

The Chateau has only got John B and Kiara under its roof when he barges in, teeth gripping on the cap of a beer bottle. ‘Don’t ask,’ he states, then drops in the empty space between the two on the couch. His legs find their home on the coffee table and he nearly downs the bottle. Burps. Sighs, dramatically.

He knows they’re exchanging glances, but he chooses to ignore it.

Kie’s consoling hand lands on his shoulder. ‘What ha—’

‘Pope asked me to marry him,’ he says, ‘and I said no. And I also said I think it’s never going to happen.’

John B should’ve made a dumb comment. Kie should’ve made a sarcastic remark. But they didn’t, and they won’t, because JJ feels the gravity of the situation weighting down his lungs. (It feels like being torn up inside out, like his heart is chewing on itself out of anger, or sadness, or betrayal. It feels like the moment when your heart skips a beat and you think this is it, this is how I die, except you don’t; except you’re stuck in that moment forever.)

JJ burps. It chips at the silence, but it doesn’t break it. Kie’s hand on his shoulder is frozen and the distance between him and John B seems like an ocean.

‘Yeah,’ says JJ. ‘I don’t think that was what he expected.’

A sigh comes from Kie, but he doesn’t look. ‘When was this?’

‘About twenty minutes ago. I drove straight here.’

‘Drunk?’ asks John B.

‘Does it matter? I’m here now. Safe and sound.’ He lets out a dry chuckle before he can stop himself, and shakes his head. ‘Physically, anyway.’

‘You’re not drunk,’ says Kie. It sounds a little like a scoff, so JJ looks at her, but he can’t figure out what her face is saying. Tight lips scream anger, but her eyes are soft as ever, maybe a little concerned. She glances between him and John B with one of her eyebrows slightly raised. ‘He’s a heartbroken idiot, but not drunk.’

‘Ah. Understandable. Should I—’

‘You know what being a heartbroken idiot means.’ Kie pushes herself off the couch and when JJ glances at his other friend, John B’s just as confused as he is. ‘I know a thing or two about getting your heart broken for a dumb reason. You two sort that out, and I’ll make sure Pope’s okay. Let me know when you’ve knocked some sense into him.’

Before either of the boys manage to comprehend her words, she’s out the door. The Kie-shaped void on JJ’s left side feels a little odd, so he pushes himself into that side of the couch. The beer is bitter at the back of his throat; he wishes some music would be playing.

John B calls his name, so JJ looks at him. He’s giving him the puppy eyes, trying to get him to talk, and it’s because neither of them really know how to start. (Their affection is physical, not verbal. Kie’s the one who’s good at that. Pope is—)

‘Did you panic?’ asks John B.

JJ shakes his head. ‘Don’t think so. Not until after I’ve said it, anyway.’

‘So what happened?’

There’s a pause, JJ feels his brow furrow, and then: ‘I don’t know.’

‘…you don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘So you panicked.’

‘No, I didn’t, it’s—’ With a sigh, JJ accepts the momentary defeat. He glances over and sees John B’s signature stare full of indecipherable intent, but nothing less than pure kindness. They’ve had their bumps, but they always came out on top. It’s the pogue way. Even if John B wears that stupid bandanna around his neck well into his married life of his late twenties. ‘I knew the answer was no.’

It’s John B’s turn to frown. ‘You’ve thought about it?’

‘No, I just knew. Like you know the ocean is salty.’

‘You know that because you’ve tasted it before,’ counters John B. ‘I doubt you’ve been proposed to before.’

‘I could’ve been!’

All John B offers is a long stare yet that is enough. He’s older by only a few months, but he’s also married and didn’t say no to the proposal (granted, it was him proposing to Sarah, but still) and kind of has got his life together. He’s still JJ’s dumb older brother, but he knows something JJ doesn’t.

‘How did you know you wanted to marry Sarah?’

‘Are you reconsidering your answer?’

‘No, I just—’ JJ sighs again and tries to wish another bottle into appearing in his hand. Doesn’t work. Probably for the better. He just leans his head back on the couch and stares at the ceiling, connecting the dots in his mind. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want you to tell me how you knew.’

He hears shuffling, and then feels John B’s feet in his lap. (He’s not going to comment on the boat shoes. There’s been enough deflecting. He’s got to listen, because Pope is threatening to burst into the forefront of his mind any second now.)

John B gives out the deep, heavy sigh that only comes with a slight aah whenever he’s about to tell a story. ‘When we were young, she made everything come alive. Everything looked brighter and clearer, and it was like I could finally breathe with the entirety of my lungs.’

JJ closes his eyes, trying not to gag. ‘Bro. I’m not listening to that.’

‘But that’s how I knew!’ He could just hear the grouch in his friend’s voice and now he’s threading the fine line between laughing and gagging. ‘Seriously, JJ, you asked. I don’t— I don’t know what to say. I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.’

‘I am.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re deflecting.’

‘Big word.’

‘See?’ John B scrunches his nose, shaking his head. His thumb and index finger grip the bridge of his nose. ‘I know you’re confused. And scared. I know you panicked when Pope asked, but I don’t think you understand how horrible is the thing you’ve done.’

‘It’s not like I broke his heart,’ scoffs JJ, but the words are flat and his heart skips another beat. He doesn’t need to look at John B to knows he’s got his head in his hands. ‘C’mon, it’s Pope. He’s tougher than he looks.’

‘Yes, but he proposed, JJ. He asked to spend the rest of his life with you and you said no!’

‘I didn’t say no to that!’ JJ flings himself off the couch and now he’s pacing around the living room of the Chateau, marching circles around the coffee table. His forehead is pulsating; he’s probably having a heart attack. That’d explain a lot. ‘I said no to getting married.’

‘That’s the same thing.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘It is.’

‘It really isn’t, John B,’ he spits out. Christ, he’s getting hot. Is that his blood boiling? ‘Marriage is… It’s taxes. It’s prenups. It’s joint bank accounts, it’s added tension, it’s fucked up. Half of the marriages don’t even last.’

(Pope’s always talked about getting married. When gay marriage was legalised, before they were together, before they were out of the closet, even then he was openly delighted about it. He’s been talking about the two of them getting married for a while now, or at least hinting at it.

He should’ve expected it. It didn’t come out of the blue. He saw the signs, just ignored them, because… because…)

‘If you’re scared marriage is going to ruin your relationship, JJ, I’ll have you know you’ve already done that yourself.’

This is about the point where everything just… It comes crashing down. The world does end the way JJ wanted it to.

He feels himself growing very, very still, like when he was younger and his father raised a hand. He feels his breath halting in his throat and ears tuning out all sound, repeating John B’s words over and over until the echo became the echo of itself. He could feel the ground opening beneath him despite not moving an inch.

When gravity drags you down to earth, your rose-tinted glasses shatter like porcelain.

He sees Pope’s face of shock, then laughter, then embarrassment and betrayal at once, once he’s realised JJ isn’t joking. He sees him get up from his knees, hands shaking as JJ fumbles over his words, unable to find an explanation or an excuse. He feels cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, blood turning to ice in his hands. He sees his mum leaving, his dad’s hand raised; he sees people arguing and JJ wants to cover his ears. He sees himself, alone, alone, alone.

And he sees Pope turning his back to him. Quietly. He doesn’t even argue back. Just takes the no and i’m sorry, i can’t do this, it’s never going to happen, not like this and doesn’t say a word. Just walks away.

It’d be easier if he screamed at JJ. At least he’d know how to deal with that.

Pope’s heartbreak is the quiet kind, the one that doesn’t ask for attention, just the opposite. Usually JJ’s there to hold his hand, to sit by his side until Pope’s ready to talk about it, or be somewhere around, far enough so that Pope deals with things himself, but close enough so that he’s there if he’s needed. He’s never been the reason for the quiet.

Fire replaces the ice. JJ feels like the sun itself is tearing him open.

‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Fuck.’ Then raises his eyes until he meets John B’s, blurry and barely visible. ‘I fucked up.’

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until his knees buckle under his weight and he stumbles to find his footing. John B shoots from the couch and pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him so tight JJ couldn’t have escaped if he wanted to. He didn’t. He wanted to be held, even if by a friend.

He doesn’t sob because the sob gets caught in his throat, too, but he lets out a cough that says all the same. ‘It would’ve been easier if you yelled at me.’

‘I know.’ John B pats his back, letting JJ rest his weight unto him. ‘Pope will understand. That’s why Kie went to talk to him. As long as you realise you’re hurting everyone by being an idiot, you can make it better.’

‘I thought—’ He stops, because his words get fumbled again, and now he’s pressing his eyes into his friend’s shoulder like he’s all he’s got. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone again.’

‘You’re not going to, okay? Just… Marriage is not all taxes, and you gotta understand that. It’s about knowing that if they get hurt, you’ll be allowed to see them. That you can get a house together, that you can look after each other if something goes wrong. That what you have is there to stay. Think of it as a promise.’

JJ snorts, but he doesn’t let go. ‘I don’t do well with people promising things to me.’

‘Then promise it to yourself,’ counters John B. The way he puts it makes it sound it’s as easy as breathing – JJ wishes he could feel the same. ‘Promise to stay with him. Promise to be around if something bad happens, but if something good happens, too. That’s what marriage is.’

‘I already promised that,’ he says. ‘His future and mine are the same.’

‘Then what’s the problem? Marriage is just making it legal. Making it formal. When what you have is honest and true, it doesn’t change anything. It just makes things better.’

JJ pulls out, feeling confident he can stand on his own two feet. He still feels a little lightheaded, but the thought of Pope possibly thinking that spending the rest of their lives together is the last thing JJ would want… That is the last thing JJ would want. Pope hurting because of him.

JJ can’t afford to be scared anymore; living a life half-way ready to run is not living.

He checks his phone; it must’ve chimed at some point because there’s texts from Kie, telling him where she is with Pope. His heart skips another beat, and at this point he thinks he could have enough heartbeats for a whole new person just from the ones he missed.

He’s not dying today. He’s not dying before he gets to live the future he’s almost ripped out of his own hands.

When he looks up at John B, he feels the hint of a weary smile on his lips. ‘I think I’ve got a promise to make.’

—

It shouldn’t be a surprise JJ finds them at the Boneyard, yet it’s still quite odd to see the scenario he’s seen a million times – Kie sitting next to the sea with her feet dipped into water as her fingers splash at the waves just about reaching her, and Pope… Pope sitting on the half-dunked log that’s been here forever, with his feet bare but not quite touching the water. His head is hung low and JJ can see the strain in his shoulders even from halfway across the beach; the cap is sitting on his lap, unused, despite the sun high above their heads.

The sight tugs at his heart and he falters in his step, but John B’s firm hand on his back encourages him forward. JJ gives a slight nod; he’s not giving up on the courage.

It’s Pope who notices them first and he stiffens even more; JJ sees Kie pat his knee before turning around and waving at them, then saying something to Pope. JJ wishes the wind would carry her words to him – is it encouragement or telling Pope he’s better off without someone who panics and refuses the one thing they’ve always longed for?

‘Don’t.’ John B pats him on the back. ‘I see you doing your dumb thought thing.’

JJ opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was that he meant to say, it’s gone forever. All he can do is try and keep his shoulders from slumping and hands from forming fists; he can’t allow himself to be angry at the world, or himself.

The sand creaks underneath his feet. He hates it in this moment, because it makes him aware of every step he’s got to take to get to Pope, and the steps drag into eternity.

Pope locks their eyes. JJ tries figuring him out, but he’s too far, and Pope’s too guarded.

(Not against me, Pope. Please. Not against me.)

When they get there, JJ feels like fainting, but he sets his foot firmly on the ground. He’s not escaping.

‘Hey,’ greets Kie, and John B returns the greeting. The feuded lovers stay silent, just taking each other in.

(JJ always wished he could paint. The lines of Pope’s face are shaped as if they were meant to withstand centuries instead of being washed away with age. He wishes he could offer to Pope more than just… himself.

He’s talked about this with Pope before, though. Feeling inferior to his boyfriend was always going to be JJ’s Achilles’ heel, yet he didn’t think it would come to this. He made another promise, ages ago – to try to see himself the way Pope sees him. The way other people see him.

To believe in himself the way he believes in other people, for once.)

The silence is heavy, but JJ forces himself to not see it that way. Instead, he looks over to Kie, to John B, and says: ‘Can you guys give us a second?’

There’s nods and then they’re off, with nothing between the couple aside from waves crashing into the shore. Pope’s head is hung and shoulders slumped, and he’s sitting on this log with one foot pulled up and resting on it, the other hanging in the water now. JJ’s fingers ache to reach across for his, but he tells himself it’s not the time.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Marriage scares me. I don’t know one that worked out, aside from John B and Sarah. I was raised to be on my own. Marriage means not being alone and that scared me, until I realised that… I haven’t been alone for a while now. The pogues, you… Nobody’s going anywhere. And if marriage is just a way to promise to you that I’m not going anywhere, either, and if it means so much to you, then I say let’s do it. I got scared, but never for a second did a life without you cross my mind. It’s — That’s my nightmare, Pope. Your future and mine are the same. Where you go, I follow. That’s the way things are.’

For a long time, it was JJ trying to come to terms with loving Pope – then it was Pope coming to terms with loving JJ. They’ve always loved each other, in a way, without quite saying it. It has never been the kind of love that is shouted from the rooftops – it’s the helping hand, the whispers of i got this, or you’re not alone in this, or i wish you could see yourself the way i see you. It’s the kind of love that’s etched into the air around them, existing as a part of themselves rather than something external. They’ve grown into it, shaped their lives around it.

It’s always been the beach for them. Their first kiss when they were seventeen, their first fight, their first promise to stick together through thick and thin. Every time something happened, something that mattered, etched itself into the back of JJ’s mind like the sound of his mother’s voice, it was always accompanied by the sound of waves on the shore; by the wind howling over the bay. It was always people chatting in the distance, or some music playing from a half-working speaker. It was always them, in the midst of other people’s lives.

Pope proposed in their flat.

When JJ drops to his knees, he doesn’t do his dumb thought thing. He doesn’t even think about it – for once, his gut isn’t telling him to run, but stay. ‘Pope Heyward.’

‘JJ—’

‘Can you let me do this?’ asks JJ. He laughs a little, shakes his head, and tries not to think about how ridiculous this looks. ‘I know I already had a monologue, but I don’t think I got my point across.’

Pope shakes his head, too; he isn’t smiling, but his eyes aren’t as strained anymore. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to—’

‘I want to. I want this, okay? I want you to hear it.’

He can see Pope’s Adam’s apple bob, and he can see his shoulders slump in a relaxed way. The lines around his eyes soften and his lips nearly turn upwards, just a little bit. A little twitch is enough to shoot electricity to JJ’s heart.

‘Pope, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life saying it to you. You’re my best friend, my boyfriend, and my fiancee, if you’ll have me after the shit I pulled today. Husband, then. Father of your children, because I know it’s what you’ve always wanted, and I want it, too. Whatever you’ll be, I’ll be by your side. It’s all I want. No matter what our status is, we’re always Pope and JJ. We’re always just us. And I really haven’t thought out what I’d say next because—’

Pope’s lips crash into JJ’s, his hands grasping at JJ’s face, and world pulls itself together again. When they part their foreheads lean against one another, and he can feel Pope’s breath on his lips, and he feels his hands burning on the small of Pope’s back, and he can breathe and breathe and breathe like his lungs have never worked properly before.

(He understands John B now. Not like he’d ever admit it to him.)

He lets out a chuckle, and then he’s kissing Pope again – a small, chaste kiss, just to feel the softness of the touch. His fingers grip the back of Pope’s flannel and he’s laughing into the kiss.

‘You’re an idiot,’ says Pope. ‘I should break up with you.’

‘Can’t. I’m too irresistible.’

‘Shut up. You’re cheesy. That entire speech would put John B to shame.’

JJ shakes his head again and then his thumb is tracing the line of Pope’s jaw, eyes transfixed by his lips. He almost lost this. He almost gave up everything out of fear after promising to never doing it again. (He’s making a vow, this time. It holds more weight.) ‘You loved that speech.’

Pope rolls his eyes, in the way that tells JJ he’s right. ‘Kie told me you were freaking out at the Chateau.’

‘I was,’ admits JJ. What’s the point of holding back the truth? ‘I was freaked out of my mind. I thought I’d ruined everything.’

‘You forget how well I know you, JJ. I was hurt, but I knew you would come back. Old you would run, but Kie came and said you’re at the Chateau, and you wouldn’t have gone there if you meant to run.’

‘I couldn’t ever run from you.’

‘You better.’

JJ rolls his eyes at the teasing tone in Pope’s voice, then pulls him in for a hug. It’s not long until Pope buries his face in JJ’s shoulder, and JJ kisses the side of his head. ‘I do want to marry you, if you’ll have me.’

There’s a pause and JJ feels Pope chuckle against his neck, shivering a little. ‘What is it that you said? My future and yours are the same? That better be in your vows, John B.’

‘Shut up.’ JJ feels himself burning, neck up this time, and tries to laugh it off. ‘I get to be cheesy once.’

‘Just save it for the wedding. I’d like to hear it again.’

JJ angles his body so there’s some space between them; he doesn’t hesitate before planting another kiss on Pope’s lips, reveling in the ease of movement. This is what coming home feels like, and if this is what future has in store for him, who is he to complain?

#outer banks #obx #mayward #jjpope #mayward fic #jjpope fic #jj maybank #pope heyward #my fic #god a part of me adores this and another part hates it #if i don't post it in the first draft version i'll never post it #obx fic

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good-forthe-weekend · 3 years

Text

a Gwynriel post

All of first. No, I am not interested in ship wars. As long as my dear sweet child spy Az ends up happy, idgaf who he ends up with, and will be happy if he ends up with either Gwyn or Elain, as long as both women get to have their own story told separate from Azriel.

But. I do think that Gwynriel is adorable, and have taken a preference to that ship over Elriel.

Please, for the love of christ, no hate. The block button is my friend. This is a ship drama free zone.

Anywhoozles. Gwynriel.

[Trigger warning: SA]

I mentioned in THIS post that I think it would be neat if we got a romance arc between Gwyn and Az that involved Gwyn wanting to take their relationship slow or focus on herself. I kinda wanted to just elaborate on that.

After seeing a tiktok (and a couple tumblr posts) about people being presumptuous with how they feel Gwyn will for sure feel about being in a relationship/having sex given her SA survivor status, I wanted to clear a couple things up, because my original wording is just vague enough to be a lil problematic.

I don’t want it to seem like I think Gwyn would respond to her assault any particular way. We simply don’t know enough about her to know exactly how she’d respond, and I agree that it’s problematic to assume. When I say that I think it would be cool for her to want to take the relationship slow, I mean the whole ass thing. Emotions too. She’s explicitly stated that she has a lot of trauma to work through outside of the SA. She has survivors guilt, self hatred issues, and doesn’t feel safe outside of the library (which, by the way, I hope we get an exploration of how traumatizing it must have been for Gwyn to be abducted the ONE TIME she decides to leave the library overnight).

We’ve had 2 romantic arcs that are entirely entwined with the respective heroines’ growth past trauma. I think it would be cool and different representation to show someone who says “Hey, I‘m in no shape to be tied to anyone right now. I care about you too much (and respect myself too much) to get into a relationship at this point in my recovery. Can we take this slow and be friends first?”

Not that you can’t be in a relationship if you’re not fully healed from trauma, but both of them have some pretty serious issues that *are* things that would block them from being able to love in a healthy way (ex. Self hatred, Gwyn not being able to live in the present, and Az not feeling worthy of love)

NOTE: I low key want this story to be more YA than NA (at least with regards to spice), to squeeze out a lot of angst from the story, and force the Horniest Bat Boy™ to analyze his feelings from a non-horny POV. Make him really think to himself “Is this lust, or love?” Not saying I don’t want sexual banter/tension, but it definitely for sure doesn‘t need to be Nessian level fae porn

I also think that she would bring up Mor and Elain (because of course this conversation happens AFTER the whole necklace comeuppance happens), and bring up that Az has his own shit to work through before trying to be in a healthy relationship.

“You haven’t been alone in 500 years. Not really. You pined after Morrigan for so long, carried a torch for her for all those years, and the only reason you let her go was to move on to a girl that looks exactly like her, but who wanted you. A girl that you knew you couldn’t have. And now I’m supposed to believe that you’re just....suddenly over it all? That you wanting to race into this relationship is anything more than trying to leverage our status as mates so you don’t have to be alone? I care for you, Azriel, and it’s because I care for you that I can’t jump into a relationship with you just like that, when both of us have healing to do.”

Az probably wouldn’t love being called out like that, but would ultimately agree, or at least acknowledge that he can’t force this. So he agrees. They need to work on themselves. And they set boundaries. Just friends, nothing more. (This is, of course, exactly like Nessian and Feysand saying they want ‘just sex’. It damns them to feeling like they need more)

It would also be so bittersweet if this happened *after* they realize they’re mates. For maximum yearning and angst potential.

Like...imagine. They realize they’re mates fairly early in the story, but decide to stay just friends for now. So we get half to two thirds of a book where they’re friends, trying desperately to resist this bond, and trying to respect each others’ boundaries, trying to heal so they can love each other right. But they’re also fighting against the mating bond, which is exacerbating the sexual tension that was already there.

Think of all the Pride and Prejudice level sexual tension we could get! I think it would be less in your face than Nessian’s tension ever was (shit, they were never subtle), but I think there’s a lot of potential for stolen glances with intense thoughts, glancing touches, hand flexes, aching for each others’ touch, innocent training related touches that are just SUPERCHARGED with intentions, all the good yearn-y stuff. (All inspired by the romance novels that Emerie and Nesta give her)

I also think this could play into THIS theory I had about evil!Elain. Here’s how I picture it:

Az and Gwyn realize they’re mates

After a discussion, they’ve agreed to take things slow and focus on their own respective mental health.

They have agreed to stay close friends for the time being, and to continue to train together (well, in the Valkyrie group), and to try to keep the whole mates thing quiet as they can for now, just so no one bothers them about it

The IC has no sense of boundaries though, and it gets out to them because of course it does. Gwyn probably told Nesta, who accidentally let it slip to Cas, who she threatened within an inch of his life to keep quiet about it. But of course he didn’t. He brought it up to Az, Rhys overheard, which of course means Feyre knows, and long story short, Elain hears about it.

When Elain hears, she FREAKS. Silently, of course, but she freaks nonetheless, which leads down the arc that I detailed in the post I linked above

Outside of that, Gwyn and Az grow.

Az puts in legwork to confront his demons, accept his past (both Mor related, and his family history. A confrontation with his mother would be impactful)

I’m not entirely sure how he would get there (if I figure it out, you KNOW I’ll post about it) but he does come to a point where he knows he wants Gwyn, and for the right reasons. He consciously chooses her.

Not saying he goes from 0 to fully healed, but he does enough legwork to be able to enter a relationship without it being doomed from the start

(This should totally involve him talking to Nesta, the queen of self destructive romantic behaviors, and a development of their budding bromance. He’s always been one of the only people to treat her like a person, not a weapon, a threat, or a nuisance/pest, and she’s always treated him with a softness most don’t afford him. She’s also canonically one of the only people not afraid of him and his shadows. They’re my bro-tp. No I will not be taking criticisms on this)

Gwyn, for her part, has been leaving the library more and more. For daytime outings to visit Nesta, Emerie, Azriel. To train Valkyries (I like to imagine that the Valkyries will get their own camp at some point, or at least space in Velaris to stay/train). To see Velaris.

I think it would be fun if she started to offer singing lessons like Feyre does painting lessons. Maybe she visits Nesta (who started offering dance lessons in Feyre’s newly expanded Velaris Center for Community Art), and Nesta convinced her that it might help her heal if she started to give back to the community and share her passion. (Bonus points if we get a scene where Az stumbles past and hears her singing to her students, and is just entranced by it)

She’s still taking advantage of the services the Library offers (it’s never explicitly stated, but I can only assume therapy is among those services), but she’s coming into her own, and starting to feel more comfortable outside the Library. Starting to heal. Starting to create a life in the present and move beyond her past. She’s starting to believe she deserves a bright future.

She’s also developing quite the friendship with Az. They quickly become best friends, confiding in each other, leaning on each other, joking together, generally being there for each other and bringing out the best in each other.

Az likes to bring Gwyn lunch/dinner in the library sometimes, Gwyn keeps track of when he’s away on spy business, and makes a point to visit him when he comes back, little things like that, that show they care about each other.

Clotho notices all of this, and brings it up to her at some point, telling her that she’s going to have to make the choice to leave at some point, and that she can’t keep straddling the line of living inside and outside the Library.

Gwyn shrugs it off, and continues living her life, thinking that she’ll be able to put it off for a while longer.

Cue Elain kidnapping Azriel.

Gwyn knows she has to go save him, but Clotho tells her that if she does this that she can no longer live in the Library. That she will always be welcome to visit, even to work as a scholar if she so chooses, but this mission will mark the end of the Library being her place of residence.

(I don’t know what reason Clotho would give Gwyn, but on the inside she’s doing this because she knows that Gwyn is ready to fly the coop, and needs that final push to have to acknowledge that she’s ready to leave. Clotho also knows about her and Az being mates, because of course she does. Clotho knows all.)

Of course, Gwyn leaves. She has to save Az. She loves him. He’s her best friend, her love, her soulmate. Her mate. It’s a very emotional moment, and also the perfect metaphor for her being able to leave behind her past to be able to live in the present and chase her future. It’s used to represent Gwyn choosing Azriel, if he’ll have her.

Bonus option: Gwyn takes Truthteller. Grabs the knife on her way to go save him. Doesn’t kill Elain with it, but does kill some guards with it on her way into where Elain has Az holed up.

After she saves Az, when they finally get a moment alone, Gwyn reveals that she needs to find a new home. She no longer lives in the Library.

There’s this tender moment where they bare their souls and basically agree to be together romantically and help each other heal.

They acknowledge that the idea of becoming entirely healed before a relationship isn’t wholly realistic or reasonable, and that they’re able to be together even if they’re still healing a bit.

Gwyn: I think....I think I’m ready to move forward. Catrin wouldn’t want me to keep living in my own shadow. She’d want me to live colorfully again, and be with the person I love. And I totally understand if you’re not there yet! I’m not trying to rush you or anything, I just want you to know that I’m ready for this. Whenever you‘re ready, I’ll be waiting for you with open arms, and an open, healing heart.

Az: *shakes head* I’m not sure I believe I deserve that, Gwyn. But gods if I don’t want to prove myself wrong. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, I can’t promise that we won’t stumble, or that I won’t retreat into my own mind sometimes. But I can promise that even if I do, I’ll still love you with my whole heart. A heart that’s only ever really belonged to you.

Basically, in my mind, their story would be super tender and sweet, and sexy in a much less brash way than Nessian, or even Feysand. Not that I don’t think there’s potential for these two to get kinky and sexy as FUCK once they’re together, but I just feel like their love story would be different. More innocent (at least in comparison to High Lord and Lady of Shaking The Mountain and Commander General/Goddess of Fucking In Common Areas) and more centered on their respective healing arcs, leading into them falling in love.

Like always, feel free to interact, add, tell me how wrong you think I am, etc. I’m desperate for people to talk to about these books. Just be respectful about it lol (and again, because it bears repeating, keep me out of ship wars)

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #Gwyn Berdara #Azriel #Gwynriel #Elain archeron #cassian #nesta archeron #Theory #headcanon #Rhys #feyre archeron

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

I Have a Heart Condition, You Dick

Tony lets it slip to Steve that he has a heart condition.

Steve wants to make sure Tony is okay and not needlessly hurting, but Tony thinks Steve is babying him and thinks him incapable of taking care of himself. They talk it out.

On AO3.

Ships: none, could be interpreted as pre-slash Steve/Tony

Warnings: mentions of medical condition

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

It started when Clint dropped out of a vent behind the obviously tired genius, who was waiting for a desperately needed cup of coffee, and said: “Boo.”

Tony jumped in the air as he startled violently and clutched his chest as he exclaimed: “Jesus fucking Christ, Birdbrain, you can’t do that! I have a heart condition, you dick!”

Steve had been enjoying his breakfast when the spectacle occurred and looked up in alarm as he asked: “You have a heart condition?”

“I have a heart condition? I have- are you fucking serious, Steve?” Tony ranted, “What do you think this is, a fancy night light?” he tapped his reactor harshly, then saw the faces of Steve and Clint, with a disbelieving voice he said: “Oh my God, you two didn’t know I have a heart condition.”

“That’s important information, you idiot. I could have killed you,” Clint sounded distressed.

“Blah, blah, it was mostly a hyperbole,” Tony waved his concerns away, “I thought it was in my file, granted I did delete a lot about the arc reactor, so maybe it was unclear. Hmm, that would explain why Agent threatened to tase me.”

“Tony, a heart condition is nothing to joke about,” Steve said, looking at Tony intently in the hope his message got across.

In turn Tony only rolled his eyes: “I am aware, Capsicle. Might surprise you, but I’ve actually been living with it for a few years, I know my limits and I’m not going to be a liability out there. Trust me, geez.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Spare me the lecture, Spangles,” Tony got his coffee and left the two there.

Steve looked at Clint and said: “I swear that’s not what I meant with that.”

“I could have killed him,” Clint merely repeated, still distressed.

“No, you couldn- well, maybe, but I don’t think so. Tony will need more than a small scare to take him out,” Steve assured him.

“How would you know?” it was obvious that Clint didn’t believe him.

“Because I used to have one, Clint,” Steve smirked, “A lot of people seemed to forget I was a little squirt from Brooklyn with a list of medical issues longer than army paperwork.”

Clint looked him up and down with distrust, before seeming to take his word for it. Though he did vow to be more careful around his favorite snark buddy and it seemed Steve had decided to do the same, because after that things were different.

Not bad different.

Not even obviously different.

Just different.

It was mostly Steve, though. Clint only started to announce himself when he entered a room Tony was already in and made sure not to scare the man too much.

Steve on the other hand researched foods that were good and bad for heart conditions and made sure to only cook with the good kind for Tony. He also remembered the unpleasant sensations of when his heart was beating too fast from before the serum and made sure Tony didn’t have to do anything too straining and checked in on him during battle. On top of that he started to nag Tony, that was not what Steve called it of course, Steve called it making sure he didn’t overwork himself and died of stress, but same difference.

And Tony noticed.

Of course, he did he wasn’t stupid. He was the opposite of stupid, actually. Though it did take him a while to add it all up.

It had started with a sandwich, which doesn’t sound that dramatic and it wasn’t either, honestly. Just one day, Steve knocked on his shop’s window and held up a plate. He’d done this before of course, but this particular sandwhich would be the start of getting Tony to eat regularly.

Tony had been down there for nearly three full days, living off granola bars, smoothies and coffee, so he merely appreciated the food as he waved Steve in. Snatching the sandwich up, he asked: “What brings you here, Cap?”

“Nothing much,” Steve shrugged, “Just hadn’t seen you in a while, figured you’d be neglecting to eat down here.”

“All I’m hearing is blah blah blah, Stevie,” Tony grinned, there was usually a lecture attached to food offerings, which he allowed because food, “You’ll be talking differently when you see these fire resistant suits I’m making for the squishy members.”

“Fire resistant?” Steve questioned.

Tony lit up: “See, I knew you’d see my wa-”

“Is that safe?” Steve ruined it.

“Is it- He asks if it’s safe. I’m making it, of course it’ll be safe,” Tony said indignantly.

“No, that’s not- I trust your engineering skills, just not your self preservation,” Steve clarified, “How are testing it? Is that safe?”

Tony blinked a few times, not expecting that response. No one had really cared how safe he was before, if he got the results.Then he laughed and deflected: “Steve, Stevie, Capsicle, Star Spangled Man With A Plan, I’m never safe,” Steve looked like he was about to interrupt, “But – and the buts make it important – but I am also never stupid.”

He was well aware that that was a lie and JARVIS had many tapes to prove it, but Steve didn’t have to know that.

“Are you sure?” Steve checked.

“Yeah, Cap, sure,” Tony assured him, “I’ll be as safe as humanly possible.”

“That sounds fake,” Steve eyed him suspiciously.

“And that is your cue to go, thanks for the food,” Tony shoved him out the workshop with a small wave, leaving him stunned for a second, “JARVIS, lock down, don’t let Mr. Health & Safety back in here.”

“Sir, do you think that is wise?”

“I do think that, I also think that a community college would be happy to have you, buddy,” Tony snarked.

“Tony. Tony,” Steve tapped on the glass when Tony didn’t respond, “Stark.”

“What?”

“Don’t do anything too stupid. And rest.”

“Whatever, Mom,” Tony rolled his eyes and got back to work.

It was little things like that which started to add up. They had already been happening, since Steve was unable to let anyone ruin their health in peace, but now their frequency increased.

Then it happened more overtly during battle, Tony had lost his suit and was running down a street, hoping to not get eaten by mutant rats, which was just iew.

His breathing was coming kind of ragged and it was uncomfortable, but he was managing. He still had a gauntlet and determination since he wasn’t going to admit to anyone that he’d been practically useless by some rats.

“Iron Man, status update,” Steve’s voice crackled over the coms.

“Down- Town- Chased-” Tony heaved, firing his repulsors, “No- Suit- Got- Three- Here- Handling- handling it.”

“Thor, get Iron Man out of there,” Steve ordered.

Tony wanted to protest, but he was too out of breath to do so and a small guilty part of him was glad the God of Thunder was coming his way, because- fuck.

He was nearly being chowed down by a rat when Thor appeared and came down with a mighty swing that decapitated the rat. Tony weakly raised a hand and wheezed: “Thanks, Thunderstruck.”

“No problem, Shieldbrother Stark. Are you alright?” Thor bellowed, dealing with the leftover rats in the alleyway.

“I- I’m fine,” Tony said.

Steve injected over the coms: “Get him to a high place out of the fight, Thor. Then head to the Hulk.”

“Aye, Captain,” Thor said, cutting off Tony’s protest of how he was still able to fight as he dropped Tony on top of a building before flying off.

“I know you’re still able to fight, Tony,” Steve sounded tired, “It’s just not a smart idea and we have it handled. Get started on prep for clean up in you want to help.”

Tony grumbled something, but didn’t comment further. He wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight right now and overall fighting didn’t sound very appealing. Steve wouldn’t lie about needing him and he’d done quite enough today.

It was only after that that Tony began to suspect something was up.

He first realized the visits to make sure he rested and ate had become more common. Then, when Steve asked about his schedule, he realized that had become a thing lately, before he noticed the food and added it to the most recent check up in battle.

Steve was babying him.

Once he had made that conclusion, he started to rewind to when it started to see what on earth he had said to make the other man think he was incapable of handling himself. It hit him when he went to grab some coffee and saw that Steve had left a bag decaf for him last time he was here.

“That motherfucker,” Tony said.

“Sir, I do not th-”

“Mute,” Tony didn’t want to listen to that right now. He had confessed a small weakness once and immediately Steve had jumped on it to treat him like less, he didn’t want to hear excuses for him, least of all from his own AI, his JARVIS.

He let the anger built up, he usually wasn’t one for not poking someone’s buttons when they had pissed him off, but he was smart enough to realize that a big fight between them would be bad for the team.

Because no matter how he spun it, they both kept everyone alive through communicating. Tony could see what needed to be done and Steve could strategatize a plan on the fly that completed that goal.

They needed to work together.

Naturally when Tony was pissed at someone, he didn’t want to communicatewith them, which was a minor detail he had forgotten in his grand master plan of ignoring.

His anger only grew each time he blocked Steve entrance from his workshop, denied his requests for his schedule or sparring or when the man wanted to know how he was doing. JARVIS wasn’t any help either and after too many times of trying to talk to him, Tony had ordered him to stop talking about Steve or his health for that matter.

When after two weeks of ignoring everyone – including his own body – the call to assemble went off, Tony suited up, despite the tension. He wasn’t letting New York be in peril when he could stop it, just because Steve thought he was too weak.

Steve would eat his words, or his motherhenning in this case. Tony wasn’t fragile, nor did he need special treatment.

The battle with the squid-robot-type creatures could be described as a proper disaster.

If Steve said go right, Tony would go left. If asked for imput, Tony would just do what he calculated to be right without saying a thing. If someone talked, Tony blasted music.

Sure, his moves worked and if anyone needed air support, he would show up out of nowhere, but he was being unnecessarily reckless.

He didn’t stay when the battle was over, just shooting off to the Tower on his own, giving everyone the cold shoulder. They walked into the Quinjet as Clint frowned: “What did we even do? Did any of you piss him off?”

“No, he just started shutting me out two weeks ago,” Steve said miserably, “From one day to the next I wasn’t allowed into the ‘shop anymore, I have no clue what I did. I didn’t even think it was this bad until now.”

“Well, you better go talk it out, Captain,” Natasha said, “Because that was a disaster.”

Steve sighed: “I will, but let’s just direct clean up for now. Everyone, you did good, let’s get some rest, alright?”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Clint saluted lazily from where he had collapsed onto the Quinjet pilot seat in exhaustion.

Tony naturally avoided all attempts at communication again afterwards, until it came to a head. Steve had ben asking permission to enter the workshop for the past few days, never yielding any success, so he was trying a different method: “Tony, please come out of the ‘shop, I made food. Just come and eat something.”

“JARVIS why am I hearing Captain America in my workshop?” Tony asked icely.

“You stated – and I quote – “I do not wish to see Captain America or anyone unless the world is ending and they’re all on the brink of death” end quote. There was nothing about hearing, Sir,” he replied.

“J, remind me to donate you to the local High School,” Tony huffed.

“Noted, Sir,” JARVIS said, “Though I would advise to take up Steve’s offer on food. You have been here for 71 hours Sir and have not eaten in 21.”

“Blah, blah, I’m sure I have an energy bar somewhere around here,” Tony waved him away, “If I eat that, will you leave me alone?”

“I would, Sir, however, your emergency supplies have run out,” the AI informed him.

Tony cursed, he was kind of hungry now that JARVIS had mentioned it, but he didn’t want to admit weakness and eat Steve’s food.

In the end hunger won out and Tony mopily made his way to the kitchen.

It seemed like the whole team was there, each as surprised as him that he actually heeded their call for food. Tony would never admit it, but the loneliness had been setting in and getting yelled at and belittled sounded better than being by himself. He’d realized that the moment he’d heard Steve’s voice.

Steve smiled and handed him the plate: “Tony!” the smile faded when he took in the engineer’s state, but Tony ignored that in favor of taking the plate.

It was fish with veggies and nuts.

Health food.

Helps-gainst-a-heart-condition-food.

Fuck this.

Tony snapped, he was tired and hungry and had been beating himself up for weeks for allowing himself to show weakness, knowing what could happen. And now here it was, being shoved in his face yet again.

He just didn’t have the energy for this.

“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?” he demanded angrily.

Steve frowned: “I don’t understand.”

“Oh sure, play dumb, Captain Perfect,” Tony spat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tony,” Steve sounded frustrated, “Talk to me about what’s bothering you.”

“Like you’re not perfectly aware of that.”

The rest of the team was watching the argument like a tennis match, no one daring to interrupt the two, but all wanting to know how it ended.

“I am not aware of it, okay,” Steve threw his hands up, “I try to help and all I get is this attitude back. What am I doing wrong?”

“The healthy food, the constant checking up during missions, the benching me during straining stuff, the forcing me to sleep, you knew my goddamn schedule at some point, Rogers,” Tony told him, “I don’t need to be babied, I don’t need your coddling. I tell you one thing – just one – and you jump on it immediately. So, shove off, Mr. Pinnacle of Human Perfection or whatever. Just for once believe that I know what I’m fucking doing.”

Steve connected the dots to Clint scaring Tony all those months ago and sighed. Of course Tony would think that Steve was smothering him unnecessarily.

“Tony, I’m not babying you,” he started, “That was at least not my intention, I just wanted to keep you alive for as long as possible.”

“Because you think I can’t do that on my own,” Tony filled in the nonexistant blank, “Newsflash, I’ve been keeping myself for a long time already.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable, goddammit Tony, just fucking listen to me,” Steve yelled, everyone shocked by the cursing, “I care about you, you’re my teammate, the closest thing to family I have left. I just don’t want you to suffer needlessly, okay. I know how much it sucks and if I can help in the little ways, you can bet your ass that I will.”

Tony opened and closed his mouth while thinking of an answer. People caring for him was a bit new and he didn’t know how to accept that at face value, so instead he grumbled: “How would you even know it sucks.”

Steve smiled, he knew Tony wasn’t trying to be difficult, then answered: “I know for everyone else it is a long while ago, but from my perspective I was running around with countless health problems, including a heart condition, just a few years ago.”

“Oh…” Tony said, remembering the file he’d read on Steve, how stupid to let that slip his mind, “I- uhm, well, I guess that can be a reason.”

“Drop it in the hat of forgive and forget?” Steve held out his hand for Tony to shake.

He shook the hand and shrugged: “Might as well,” he was just glad he hadn’t fucked this up, that they didn’t think him weak.

“I for one am glad mom and dad made up,” Clint commented, finally breaking the silence the rest of the team had held while Steve and Tony made up.

“For that comment, you’re grounded, young man,” Tony said with an eyeroll.

“Resent that statement,” Clint shot back, “Especially coming from someone who’s swaying with hunger and exhaustion. Just eat your damn food and take a nap, Stark, then you can talk about grounding.”

Tony just flipped him the bird as he attacked his food with vigor while the rest started up all sorts of conversations around him.

Later he would get lectured anyway about not taking care of himself, but afterwards he would get pulled into a hug and maybe the next time Steve bothered him with food or sleeping a bit. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be that much of a bother anyway.

~~~~~~~~

DISCLAIMER:

God, I am not a medical person, please for the love of God and everything that is Holy to you: DO NOT and I repeat, DO NOT take anything in this fic as a fact without checking.

#RR writing #MCU #Marvel #Avengers #2012 Avengers #with AA and EMH spice #Tony Stark #Iron Man #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Steve & Tony #Iron Man & Captain America #Arc Reactor

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jesuschristtakethewheel · 4 years

Text

Wanna Bet?

Summary: “I bet you can’t go 24 hours without cussing.”

Warnings: Lots of explicit language. Very creative explicit language. Basically crack humor.

Word Count: 2178 (Officially the longest thing I have ever written)

This is for @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 ‘s writing challenge (i finished with 3 hours to spare lol) and the prompt that I used is bolded below. Although it isn’t smut, I really hope you enjoy!

It started as a bet, as most things do. You couldn’t believe the whole world thought Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, was the epitome of chivalry and good manners. You guess people idolized the 40s as having chivalric gentlemen, who could do no wrong. If you went on national television and told everyone the all-American, patriotic Captain America said twelve variations of the word “fuck” in the last minute, not a single soul would believe you. It was honestly ridiculous and a bit naive of the public to think a man from Brooklyn in the 1930s, who served in the US Army, who had been standing up to bullies ever since he could walk, wouldn’t ever curse.

When you were preparing to meet Captain America for the first time, you understood that he would be different from what the media portrayed him to be. But you really didn’t expect that you would meet Captain America while he was cursing out a bag of broccoli. The fact that Captain America cursed wasn’t surprising to you, but the fact that Captain America cursed like a sailor -- very, very creatively and for the dumbest of reasons -- was, frankly, both hilarious and offsetting. You didn’t think you would ever be able to get the thought of Steve describing broccoli as “fuckin’ green dickweasels who’re making a mockery of actual trees” out of your head.

It was an hourly occurrence to hear new inventive curses from Steve, such as “wankhammer”, “fopdoodle”, “douchenozzle”, and “cockwaffle”. Your personal favorite was “fucktangular”, but “asstrumpet” was a close second.

_________

You knew two things: you were exhausted and the world was safe for now. Each step leeched the remaining scraps of energy from your body as you trudged, one step at a time, back to the Avengers Compound. The lingering slime from the aliens that attacked had made its way everywhere - inside your combat gear, in your hair, and even in between your toes. Every movement you made was accompanied by a cacophony of squelches, curses and groans, both from you and the other Avengers. Steve didn’t disappoint, commenting that “the arsebadger aliens could have been cleaner” while futilely attempting to wipe the slime off his shield, only managing to spread it even more.

Entering the elevator with the others, you leaned against the side rails and waited, transferring some alien remains to the elevator while doing so. Too tired to do anything, but too wired to sleep, you collapsed on the couches in the lounge and the others followed your lead.

“Fuck.” Steve groaned. Everyone turned to look at him and found he was sprawled like a starfish on the floor. The supersoldier had fallen off the floor. If you had the energy to do so, you’d be laughing your head off.

“I thought you could do this all day, Mr. America?” Bucky smirked. He was the only one still standing, and wasn’t even looking at Steve. He was sharpening his knives in the corner of the room. Fucking supersoldiers with enhanced senses.

“Leave me alone, dickweasel.” Steve muttered, rolling onto his side while flipping Bucky off.

“Hey Cap,” you called, voice slightly muffled by the couch cushions. “You curse so often that I bet you can’t go 24 hours without cussing.”

“Capsicle can’t go an hour without cursing, let alone a whole day,” Tony said, grinning. “He’d never take the bet.”

Steve huffed. Everyone knew about Steve’s competitive streak. He would never back down from a bet. “It’s on. Starting at 12 tomorrow, I’m not allowed to use any curse words for 24 hours. I’ll be tracked by F.R.I.D.A.Y all day so there aren’t any complaints. If I win, Y/N has to do both of our mission reports for a month.”

You narrowed your eyes, knowing Steve was well aware of your tendency to procrastinate on or even forgo doing the mission reports entirely. “And when I win, you’ll allow us to get a team cat! And I get to name them.” You were met with groans from your teammates.

“But you always pick the stupidest names,” Sam said, crossing his arms and glaring at you. “Remember your plants? Who names a succulent ‘Eggboi’?”

Before you could respond to Sam’s slander of your naming abilities, Steve cut in. “Deal.”

_________

It was 11:59 am and the Avengers were gathered in a circle, surrounding you and Steve as you shook hands.

“I think I’ll name them ‘Le Ole Razzle Dazzle’. It has a certain ring to it, wouldn’t you agree?” You smirked. “Or Razzmatazz for short.”

Steve frowned. “First of all, that’s a terrible name. Secondly, you’re severely underestimating my self-control -”

“This bullshit’s coming from someone who jumped out of a plane WITHOUT a parachute,” Bucky interrupted. “Self-control, my ass.”

While Natasha was kind enough to cover up her laughter with a cough, no one else gave Steve the same courtesy. With tears in his eyes from the laughter, Sam announced, “The bet starts in three. Two. One.”

When it became clear that nothing interesting was going to be happening for the time being, everyone left to do their own thing, leaving you and Steve alone. You smiled at Steve as innocently as you could, fluttering your eyelashes to seem less suspicious. He just looked at you weirdly.

“You’re planning something.” It wasn’t even a question. You should have known Steve was too smart to fall for your puppy eyes. The fact you tried using the puppy eyes trick was quite ironic as you were planning on winning a kitten.

“Mayhaps, my good friend. But you can’t stop me.” You laughed as you ran out of the room, leaving Steve shaking his head at your antics.

Time for Phase Two.

_________

You held your breath - afraid that one wrong move would alert the enemy to your position. Slowly placing your hand on the metal grate in front of you, you peered through the bars of the vent to make sure the target was still in sight. Although crawling through the vents was a bit more Hawkeye’s style than yours, you needed to be as stealthy as possible.

Your mission was simple - subdue the target by any means necessary.

Lifting the grate slowly, you managed to lift it enough to pass through. There was a small clang as you moved, and you held your breath to make sure no one was looking or had noticed you before sliding feet first out of the hole. You were free-falling for only a couple of seconds, with your legs together, making sure to point your feet. Your arms were above you, hair floating above you. You couldn’t help but revel in the glimpse of weightlessness which made it seem like you could fly.

You landed, exactly as you intended, on your target’s shoulders, twisting until both yourself and Captain America were on the floor, with you on top. You hoped that wasn’t the last time you were on top of Steve.

“Jesus Christ! What the fu-” Steve stopped and took a deep breath, craning his neck to look at your smug face. “Fudge.” You pouted. “That was dirty, Y/N. I didn’t expect this from you.” You couldn’t believe he was using the patriotic Captain America gaze of disappointment on you.

Grumbling, you picked yourself off the floor and dusted yourself off. You extended your hand out to Steve who, after narrowing his eyes at you, took it. He was honestly right to doubt your intentions. As soon as Steve turned around, you took the liberty to smack his ass. Hard.

Steve whirled around with a wounded look on his face. “Y/N!” he shouted, hand reaching back to rub his butt. Seeing the innocent smile on your face, he huffed and walked out, completely ignoring the sniggers from the rest of the people in the room.

“Love you too, Cap!” you called out after him. He just flipped you off.

_________

Steve was fed up with the bet. You had been provoking him all day, popping up at the most random times to cause chaos and get him to break. He bet you could give Loki a run for his money for his title as ‘God of Mischief’.

Sometime while he was training, you had snuck into his apartment and had rigged his bathroom door to dump a bag of flour on his head, so he literally could not take a shit in peace. Fuming, he punched a clean hole through his wall, which Tony was certainly not happy about, and tried to lay down on his bed before realizing that someone had replaced his bed with one that was too short so his legs hung off the sides. Steve had to take a minute to stop himself from giving you a piece of his mind.

That wasn’t all. Even Fury was in on the bet. On Y/N’s side. He had been called into Fury’s office under the guise of getting a new mission but was instead locked in the room with the song “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley blaring on the speakers for an hour. He ended up punching the window and jumping out of the building to escape the torture. It definitely was not one of his finer moments. Y/N was going to pay for what she did.

_________

There was only an hour left of the bet. Steve had survived a feather ambush, a cactus crowd, and a salt shaker stuck to his leg. (It was still stuck. He couldn’t get it off.) All things considered, Steve was feeling pretty smug, certain that he would win. But when he took one look at Y/N’s face, he immediately thought again.

Trying to escape, he speed-walked into the lounge, trying to escape from Y/N, but not wanting to be rude. Instead of an empty room, every single Avenger was there. Raising one eyebrow, Steve walked past Bucky, who smirked at Steve, and tried to open the door. When it didn’t open, Steve looked back at all of the smiling Avengers.

“Why am I being locked out?” All Steve wanted to do was wait out the rest of the bet in his room, but sadly, the Avengers were a bunch of nosy bitches who liked to bet on his life.

“Well, I didn’t want you to miss out on the main event,” you drawled, tilting your head slightly with an innocent look on your face as Steve slowly turned around and pouted.

“Just get on with it.”

You beamed, pulling out a tablet. “It will be my pleasure.”

The lights dimmed dramatically, leaving the room in darkness except for the spotlight, which shone directly at the corner of the room, where Bucky just happened to be leaning against the wall. Picking at his nails with a knife, Bucky was unbothered by the stares and the cameras pointed at him, taking his time to start talking.

“This is what I call the incident of a thousand seconds.”

Bucky didn’t even get two sentences in. “Absolutely not.” Steve wanted to curse up a storm. “No way.”

Natasha cut in. “Well, now I’m intrigued. Spill.”

“I’m just saying. You know exactly how to end this, pal.” Steve just glared. There was no escape. If Bucky put his mind to something, there was no stopping him.

“As you know, Steve respected one Peggy Carter.” Steve groaned loudly, shoving his face into his hands. “One day, Peggy wanted to ask Steve about some battle strategies, but it wasn’t the right time.”

“Do you really have to make puns about my misery?”

As if Steve hadn’t spoken, Bucky carried on. “Steve had just gotten back from a successful mission and was celebrating with the rest of the Howling Commandos. Peggy came by and asked Steve if he ‘had a sec’. And poor, poor, Steve. Without even thinking, he responded ‘Yes, I have a lot of--’”

“Oh fuck off, Buck.” The room spun around to face Steve, whose face paled. “No.” His eyes widened. “I didn’t say that out loud.” But, looking at Y/N’s grin, he knew he had messed up. “Fucknugget.”

_________

Steve wasn’t one to go back on his word. The next day, he signed the paperwork for Y/N to adopt a pet. He hoped that with Natasha going with you to the animal shelter, she would stop you before going too far, but he very much doubted it. The newest addition to the team was set to arrive any minute, and he could tell that Sam and Bucky were the most excited.

“And a drumroll please,” you shouted, always having a flair for the dramatics. Steve didn’t move an inch. Unbothered, you held up a gray kitten like it was Simba from the Lion King.

“Introducing… Princess Avocado Elizabegg Eggbert.”

Steve let out a wail of anguish. “Please. I’m begging you. Please change her name.”

“No.” Cuddling Princess Eggy closer, you made indecipherable high-pitched sounds at your new baby“Please?”

“You’re such a sore loser.”

__________

@tessabennet Thank you for reading this and encouraging me to finish!! :)

If you want to be added to my taglist, just shoot me a comment or an ask!

Reblogs, comments, and likes are all greatly appreciated.

#shamelesshoesforchris #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #avengers #marvel #steve rogers #steve #crack humor #crack #tw swearing #swearing #writing #my writing #this is my type of humor

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krabmeat · 3 years

Text

𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: Dream, Sapnap, (next are only mentioned) Quackity, Wilbur, Schlatt 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: politics, toxic friendship, mentions of chaos, mentions of bloodshed, mentions of drunkeness

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

this fic is for @mcyt-sh1t ‘s 100 follower event!! congratulations to her, they deserve each and ever follower and i am so damn proud!! thank you for being such a kind and wonderful moot :] anyways, this fic is based off of the song I Know Him from Hamilton, enjoy fellas!

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

“They say, WilburSoots yielding his power and stepping away.”

Dreams' eyebrows raise in surprise from the sudden information that his good friend Sapnap had laid onto him. He wasn't up to much, just rummaging through the chests of the community house in search of something to snack on before he had been as shocked as he was.

“Is that true? I wasn't aware that was something a person could do…”

At the moment, not very much is in his mind but yet he still had the mental capacity to spit out that lie. Of course he and Sapnap are friends, but Dream knows when to keep his thoughts to himself regardless of who it is. He was actually surprised that Wilbur even allowed some sort of democracy in L’manburg. Everyone thought from the very start of that country that democracy wasn't going to be a recognized thing in L’manburg, evidence being Wilbur self proclaiming the role as president as well as his announcement of a presidential election that clearly was intended to only have his party as a ballot option.

“I'm perplexed! Are they going to keep on replacing whoever's in charge?”

Sapnap leaned casually against the wooden walls, shrugging his shoulders in a confirming manner.

“If so, who's next?”

Dream reminisces on the pitiful and downright irritating faces of L’manburg, mentally looking through them like looking through a closet of shirts. Coming to a conclusion and chuckling to himself before making his thoughts vocally known to his friend.

“There's nobody else in their country who looms quite as large!”

“Well actually,” Sapnap speaks up after listening to Dream ramble, getting bored of his astonished tone already. Reaching into his pocket and taking out his hand with a folded up piece of paper within it, handing it to Dream. He takes it curiously, unfolding the slightly yellow paper. It smells of forest dirt and ash, making it safe for him to assume that the paper probably has information on the infamous L’manburg inside. As the paper folds away from the contents inside he is met with two smug mens profile, smirking into Dreams porcelain mask. The face on the left hand side of the paper does not surprise him, Wilburs smile with his signature beanie whilst also sporting the ever so iconic L’manburg uniform. The face on the right however, made his eyes go wide underneath his mask. Another man sporting a beanie but this one a dark gray with white letters spelling “L A F D” on the seam. A tanner complexion than Wilbur, his eyes hidden behind plastic sunglasses and to add on to his less formal apparel a navy tracksuit to tie the man together.

“Alex Quackity?!”

Dreams head shoots up from the paper once the information is processed. The news is making him more and more curious about the situation. If there weren't any other parties in the running then Dream would have just stayed out of it since he and L’manburg had already settled the country's independence and didn't think it would be a fun place to further toy with. Dream glances back down at the paper and back up, tipping his head to the side at the vaguely familiar man unde the campaign name ‘SWAG2020’.

“I know him! That can't be? That's that- little guy who spoke to me.”

This surprises Sapnap. Dream usually doesn't go outside of the people he knows and trusts, but at the same time Sapnap doesn't know Dream's general true intentions. “You've met Quackity? When did that happen?” Dream paces along the flooring, supposedly thinking about the details on Quackity he remembers.

“All those years ago. What was it, eighty-five?”

Of course the two haven't known each other for that long, but Sapnap doesn't know that. He's too loyal to his friend to question the obvious lie though, so he stays silent. In the meantime, Dream beams in astonishment.

“That poor man, they're going to eat him alive!”

Both of them have limited information on Quackity, but Sapnap ignorantly decides to not acknowledge the fact that Dream is more educated despite only being told the information seconds ago. “What are you even talking about, Dream? You were always saying how dumb you thought the L’manburg guys were. And now look at you, talking sh*t about their opponent already. Who's dumber, just pick one!” When Sapnap decided to talk back to him, that was his first mistake. The second was his attitude, and his third was questioning his intuition. Dream barely spares him a glance or words, yet he puts just enough annoyance in his responsive, “You.” to catch Sapnap off guard and make him upset and confused. But this was something that Sapnap deserved. He shouldn't have questioned Dream because Sapnap knows full and well that he is and will always be below his friend. Dream's back is turned on his upset friend, now thinking out loud to himself.

“Oceans rise, empires fall. Next to Wilbur they all look small!”

The man himself walks by the community house, shades propped up on his head while wearing the exact beanie and tracksuit from the poster. Dream smiles as wide as cheshire underneath his mask, rivaling the smile design already present on his mask.

“All alone, watch them run. They will TEAR each other into pieces! Jesus Christ, this will be fun!”

The idea of this would normally be appealing to Sapnap. Chaos and bloodshed is traditionally up his alley, but he doesn't wish to participate with Dream. Still confused and upset, Sapnap exits the community house quietly after hearing the hysterical laughter of Dream. ‘Yeah, he can keep himself entertained.’ Almost as frantically as he looks, Dream searches and rummages messily through the chests of the building keeping an eye out for a book and quill. Eventually when he finds it, he quickly scribbles down a letter that will be sent to Quackity soon after. Dream mainly addresses the elections, asking for details on his views and intentions to gather as much information as he could. Dream was going to play with the elections, and he knew just the drunken, horned man who he needed to get roped into the democratic situation. Dream finishes the letter with simple five words sucking up to Quackity. Simple work, but intended and is already fitting into Dreams plan perfectly.

‘President Alex Quackity,

Good luck!’

#sara's 100 follower special :]#dsmp fic #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fic #mcyt fanfiction #dream fic #dream fanfic #dream fanfiction #sapnap fic #sapnap fanfic #sapnap fanfiction #quackity fic #quackity fanfic #quackity fanfiction

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found (Fourteen)

MASTERLIST HERE

**************

56%

“JARVIS?” Pepper poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced down the hall towards Tony’s bedroom, then towards the stairs leading to the lab. “Is Tony awake yet?”

“No, Ms. Potts. Both he and James are still in the master bedroom.”

Pepper paused with the cup part way to her mouth, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh...my. Spent the night together?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts.”

“Oh my.” she said again, and sipped thoughtfully at the coffee. Never once in all her years of escorting Tony’s guests out of the house had there been any indication Tony stayed in bed longer than the required amount of time necessary to complete their… moment. Never once had she seen Tony leave his room with someone at his side, nor had she ever gotten to the kitchen at six am without having to make a second pot of coffee because Tony had already blown through one.

But this morning…

“Like, together together?” she asked again, and JARVIS answered, “Yes ma’am. Should I wake them?”

“No, let Tony sleep. God knows he needs the rest.” Pepper took another sip and smirked to herself. “And if he didn’t before now, I’m sure he does after a night with James.”

“How very inappropriate of you, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper laughed up at the AI, then topped off her cup and grabbed her purse to hurry out the door. She had business meetings today, and tabloids to scroll through to check for any possible damage control because even with the marked absence of the birthday boy at the party, things had escalated quickly towards shenanigans. Somehow the house was still in one piece, but she needed to call the cleaners and the pool maintenance guy and keep dealing with the fall out of Monaco and since Tony was…. otherwise occupied, Pepper would have to do it herself.

Same story, different day.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts.” Natalie stepped from the waiting town car with one of those enigmatic smiles, green eyes cutting over Pepper’s figure and lingering at her legs. “Busy day today?”

“Always.” Pepper slowed her walk maybe just a bit simply because it was nice to have someone notice just how good she looked in this particular outfit. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

**************

Tony woke up as the town car pulled from the drive, yawned and stretched and curled right back into warm arms and a solid heartbeat in his ear. A deep voice rumbled, “G’mornin’ sweet thing.” and Tony smiled sleepily and snuggled a little bit closer to heat and heavy muscles and oh hello look who is feeling perky, this was nice.

Pre-Afghanistan, Tony hadn’t believed in sleepovers. If whoever he started the evening with wanted to finish the night in his room, Tony usually slept down in the lab. Occasionally he’d take a car out for a midnight drive, once or twice he’d crawled into bed next to a very grumpy Pepper and stolen her pillows for his own. Spending the night with someone led to awkward morning after conversations, expectations of breakfast and planning for a second date Tony never had any intention of keeping, so it was better to skip the whole mess.

But this morning…

“Happy day after birthday to me.” Tony mumbled into James’s t-shirt, bunching up the material in his fingers and inhaling the remnants of last nights cologne. “Did you carry me to bed again?”

“Nah, you walked.” James hid a yawn in Tony’s hair and inched closer, winding their legs together and humming in contentment when Tony did the same. “Don’t remember? We about ended up in the ocean when you went all weak kneed on me.”

“I had three bottles of wine.” Tony flattened his palms to James’s abdomen and thrilled clear to his core when the muscles flexed in response. Jesus his soldier was-- the soldier was-- no, his soldier was gorgeous. “I’m lucky I remembered how to stand, much less how to walk. Did um... did I ask you to stay?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.” James’s arm tightened briefly at Tony’s waist, his voice dipping uncertainly. “S’that okay?”

For a split second, Tony thought he’d make a quip, a joke, bring an end to the moment with a laugh because this was brand new territory for him and he was brave in a lot of things but none of those things included relationships.

But then he thought about last night, about the honesty in James’s eyes and the quiet moments of shared vulnerability and how good it had felt to hold someone and be held in return, and god Tony was so tired of over thinking and double checking and doubting--

“It’s great. I’m glad you stayed.” he finally answered, truthful and maybe a little shaky and James gathered him up closer under the blankets and sighed in relief.

“We didn’t do nothin’ sugar.” the soldier told him quietly. “You were too tipsy and I just wanted to hold you.”

“I know.” Truthful again, but this time with an accompanying smirk. “I’d never be too tipsy to not remember why my butt is sore the next morning.”

James chuckled and gave the aforementioned butt a quick swat so Tony would jump, then settled back in for another few minutes of just holding each other.

This was nice. Warm and safe and for the first time in a long time, Tony didn’t feel like he needed to run the hell away from anything resembling domestic. He didn’t even feel like this was moving fast between them, going from hello to waking up in bed together in a month--ish…. Had it been a month? Tony was having a hard time keeping track of the days anymore, everything dialing down to each step forward with James and the numbers on his toxicity monitor. It might have been more than a month, it might have just been a few weeks but either way things were good.

James changed a little more every day until he hardly resembled the cold, stilted man Tony found in the diner. The Brooklyn in his speech, the light in his eyes when he smiled, the sweet thing--

--oh yeah, Tony was smitten and it had only taken forty something years and the quick descent into dying to force him out of the closet and into taking a chance.

Better late than never.

“Wha’d’ya want for breakfast?” James’s voice was still sleep blurred and rough and gorgeous, the solid steel of his left hand low at Tony’s waist and drifting idly over the curve of his ass. “Still sorta your birthday, right? I’ll buy ya breakfast.”

“Then you’ll buy me donuts.” Tony promptly responded and James’s frame shook with laughter.

God this was easy, so easy to laugh together and touch each other and stay wrapped up in bed like they’d been doing it for years instead of discovering it for the first time.

“Where’s your favorite place to get donuts, sugar?” James wanted to know, nuzzled at Tony’s temple and dotted a kiss to Tony’s cheek. Tender. “You gotta call the driver and get directions and pay for gas over there but I got some pocket money to take care of the rest.”

“Oh, is that all I have to do?” Tony chuckled and turned into a kiss that had no business being quite so sweet or quite so good when they both tasted like last night’s snacks and too much wine. “Well if you’re buying, then there’s a place along the beach that makes the best glazed and sprinkled donuts you’ve ever had.”

“Dunno if I’ve ever had donuts.” James closed his eyes and shivered when Tony’s hands slid under his shirt and met bare skin, rucked the material up until he could get to the solid plate beneath James’s torso and the scars that melded into steel. “But you keep touchin’ me like that and I’ll let ya feed me anything you want.”

“Were you always this easy?” Tony teased lightly. “Or is that a recent development?”

“Dunno.” James said again and captured Tony’s mouth in another sweet kiss. “Don’t think it matters, Tony. There’s a whole lot I don’t know about myself but I know about you, so that’s alright for now.”

“Christ.” Tony swallowed, leaned away enough to meet James’s eyes. “You mean that?”

Are you as crazy about me as I am about you?

“Oh, sure thing.” James pressed at Tony’s waist, then slid from beneath the blankets and headed to the bathroom, pausing at the door to wink and finish, “Sweet thing.”

Tony fell back onto the pillows with an arm over his eyes and a smile on his face. It was silly to be acting like this at his age, sillier still to be acting like this when there was a million other things to think about beyond whether or not he could share a shower with James, and then whether or not he’d ever shared a shower with anyone even for some shower nookie, and then whether or not James thought they were moving too fast or if they were actually moving at a geriatric pace but since Tony didn’t have a previous relationship standard to go by he had no actual clue.

So many things to be thinking about, but all Tony could do was lay there and smile.

“All my clothes are in my room.” James was a sight to behold with bed-head and boxers slung low on his hips, shirt hiked up a little as he rubbed at his stomach. Wow. “So I’ll shower there and then we can get donuts?”

“Sounds good.” Tony sat up in the bed expectantly and James grinned, bending down to give him another kiss. “See you in a bit.”

Tony was smiling again when James left the room, smiled all the way through a shower and couldn’t find it in himself to care that he looked damn goofy still smiling as he trimmed along his goatee and mustache.

James held his hand in the town car and even though Happy rolled and rolled and rolled his eyes in the rear view mirror, Tony kept right on smiling over to the donut shop and in and out of line with his box of goodies.

“Yeah.” Happy said into the phone with Pepper. “Yeah, he’s grinning like a goofy gooberson. Looks like he’s got a coat hangar stuck in his mouth with it stretched like that.”

“I’m sure it was something other than a coat hangar that has his mouth stretched, Happy.” Pepper informed him, and from outside the donut shop, James and Tony looked up in confusion when Happy started swearing and honking at the horn in frustration and maybe a little horror.

“What was that all about?” James took a bite of a jelly filled donut and moaned in surprise when it burst tart and delicious. “Aw hell, this is my new favorite thing ever.”

“Wait till you try the glazed ones.” Tony countered. “And I don’t know what’s up with Happy lately. I think spending all that time with Natalie and Pep is starting to get to him. Driving women around is a lot different than driving me around. Probably less fun too.”

He looked up over James’s shoulder, then nudged him and motioned towards the giant donut on the roof. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

James looked where Tony was pointing, back at the car where Happy was waiting, then crammed the rest of the donut in his mouth and bent down to clasp his hands together so Tony could step in. “C’mon, I’ll give you a boost. Let’s hurry before Happy gets impatient again.”

“Happy birthday to me.” Tony clapped his hands in excitement. “Can you hold me?”

“You don’t weigh nothin’, Tony.” James assured him. “One, two--”

--Damn it, hold still! Keep wigglin’ like this and we’ll get caught!--

--Hold me steady then! You can’t make fun’a me for bein’ tiny then not be able to hold me!--

--Jus’ shaddup an’ get the cookies, punk.--

“--three.” James boosted Tony up no problem, but it was a blink or two before he got himself sorted enough to climb up the rough walls and join Tony in the hilariously over sized donut.

Had that been a memory? A flash from his childhood? Who was the blond and why were they stealing cookies?

“You good?” James pushed away the snap shot and the almost immediate accompanying headache, and settled in next to Tony on the roof. “Tall enough to finally see everything?”

He’d said that before, a hundred times before, always teasing and always after hoisting someone up on his shoulders or up a ladder or up to mess with the lights just before a church service, right?

Right?

“Thank you for this.” Tony picked another treat from the box and munched into it happily, reclined against the inside of the giant donut with legs splayed on either side. “For the donuts and for the boost up here and for last night. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

--Thanks, Buck. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had, specially since Ma passed--

James shook his head-- who the hell was Buck-- then shook it again to force the words away. He didn’t want to be slipping, not today, not now with Tony.

“Good.” he managed, but it was harder than he meant, sharper edged and cold and James grimaced when Tony’s dark eyes flickered uncertainly.

“I mean um--” James cursed mentally, then forced himself to soften, to be tender, to lean in and wipe the powdered sugar from Tony’s lips and follow it with a gentle kiss. “I’m real glad to hear that, Tony. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had, too.”

“You don’t know your birthday.” Tony hazarded a guess and James shook his head, no.

“We can just share this one, then.” Tony decided and didn't say anything about the way James had gone stiff, didn’t say anything about how cute the soldier was with jelly on his cheek, didn’t say anything about how this was his last birthday so it didn’t matter, James could have the day every year after this one.

“We’ll share this one.” he said again.

James ignored the push of a headache and pressed at Tony’s palm one more time before reaching for another donut.

He didn’t want to be slipping today.

*****************

After dancing, after Monaco, after the birthday party, Tony and James’s way of orbiting each other tightened into a routine that kept them at each other’s side near constantly.

James made breakfast most mornings, meeting Tony in the kitchen for eggs and oatmeal because he knew he could make those things. The soldier never failed to exclaim over just how many eggs came in a container because he was sure they were way too expensive to have on hand, and it took Tony almost hacking up a lung to convince James to add more than the measliest pinch of brown sugar to the oatmeal.

“It’s not supposed to be gruel, James.” Tony gulped down milk in exasperation, and James defended, “Sugar and cream is expensive, Tony!”

“Is it, though?” Tony met the soldier’s eyes in a dead eyed stare as he poured at least a cup of brown sugar on top of the oats, added the rest of the nutmeg container, and then a healthy dose of milk. “Is it really?”

There were afternoons down at the beach since Tony decided sand and water was better than staring at computer screens all day and to be honest, with James around he didn’t feel that need to work work work all the time. His mind slowed to as close to calm as it had ever been with the big brunettes steady presence at his side, so why spend the day cooped up inside?

Beach meant music and James hissed and booed at the Beach Boys, turned off Pink Floyd but settled down long enough to listen to the Rolling Stones. They ate lunch and kissed in the sunshine to the tune of seventies rock, napped a little to the best parts of Paul McCartney and let their hands wander when the tide came up and lapped at their feet as Aerosmith wailed about ‘not wanting to miss a thing’.

Board meetings were scheduled and missed as Tony started ignoring calls in favor of movie marathons, a press interview blown off when James read about the redwoods and Tony realized he’d lived in California for years and never once took Highway One up the coast to see the forest.

“A damn shame.” he decided, and they left Malibu that same afternoon.

The Saleen S7 took the meandering curves and straightaways at several notches over a hundred miles per hour, with Tony easing the car faster just because it felt like flying, and James torn between worrying about a potential accident and urging Tony on because it felt like flying.

The trees were ancient and ethereal, reaching towards the cloudy sky and disappearing before James could see their tops and the soldier stood in awe of the beauty. Tony spread his arms wide to turn in circles among the massive, gnarled roots, stepping through the filtered patches of sunlight and nearly disappearing in the heavy fog that dripped from the branches and hell, the soldier was in awe of that beauty too.

James pulled his phone out his pocket and used it for just about the first time ever-- fumbling with the camera settings until he got the right angle to capture Tony mid spin, mid smile, and absolutely gorgeous.

“Take a picture with me.” Tony cajoled, and then, “That might be the first time I’ve ever said those words. Congratulations, you’re the first person I’ve ever actually wanted to take a picture with.”

“You got all sorts of picture with the Colonel.” James countered and Tony said right back, “Those were all involuntary.”

“The hell they were.” James swept his fingers through his hair to get it off his face and smiled into the camera alongside Tony. “Never seen anyone look half as happy as you do in those pictures with your Honeybear.”

“Hm.” Tony huffed a laugh and showed James their selfie. “I don’t know, I look pretty happy here.”

“You happy here, sugar?”

“You tell me, a picture’s worth a thousand words, right?”

Traveling came with new experiences in the form of offering to teach James to drive-- “I think th’fuck not, babydoll.” and stopping for piles of tourist things as James finally gave in to some long buried curiosity and wanted to everywhere and see everything and taste…. Well, almost everything.

“It’s salmon.” Tony held up his fork to James’s mouth as they sat in a swanky restaurant along the river. “Fish. It’s delicious. Try it.”

“I know what it is and I ain’t eating it.” James denied stubbornly. “Didn’t like it from the docks back then and I sure doubt I like it now.”

“From the docks back when?” Tony stopped mid bite, eyebrows raised. “Which docks?”

“ I don’t…” James’s eyes dimmed, mouth pulling down in a frown. “I don’t— know. Dunno why I said that. Didn’t mean to, it just sorta slipped out.”

“No, that’s good.” Tony finished his mouthful and reached for the wine. “That’s good if pieces of your memory are coming back unprompted. Between that Brooklyn talk I like so much and you remembering getting fish directly from the docks instead of at a store, that helps. It does. I can use it to figure out who you are.”

James sighed and motioned for the fork to try the fish and look at that, he disliked the taste just as much as he had when they used to get it cheap from the docks at the end of the day when it was starting to go bad and had to cut off the gross parts and cook the rest mostly charred cos the stove didn’t work quite right in the apartment and—

“You look like you’re getting a headache.” Tony dug for a couple of the migraine pills he always kept around and James obediently swallowed them back without telling Tony the medication never did anything.

The medication never did anything just like the wine never did anything and no matter how good it felt to have Tony in his arms the once, twice, three times since the birthday party that they’d shared a bed, sleep never did anything for James either.

Tony made him feel human, but in a million ways James didn’t understand, somehow Tony made him aware of all the ways he wasn’t human and that was a nagging fact not even their recent run of fun could overshadow.

The fun included mini-golfing with a truly outrageous Happy, the driver proving more to be a player of opportunity than a player of skill. He shamelessly guilt tripped Tony for half an hour about never coming to play with him anymore, then handed the brunette a distracting cheeseburger so Tony was too busy eating to worry about how many times it took Happy to sink a putt.

“Are you letting him win?” James asked and Tony shrugged, “It’s not about winning. It’s about having a good time with one of my favorite people and eating cheeseburgers. Who cares about the score?”

“He does.” James pointed at where Happy was running in circles and finger gunning at his legitimately accomplished hole in one. “He cares.”

“Yeah.” Tony laughed and rubbed at his chest, throat tightening as he mentally checked another last time off his bucket list. “Yeah, he sure does.”

************

“It hurts you, right?” James asked one night in the lab as Tony painstakingly fit individual pieces of steel together to assemble a new arm for him. “The reactor? The black lines around it?”

“Probably about as much as that heavy plate you’ve got protecting your heart and all the hardware melded into your shoulder.” Tony’s eyes were comically big behind magnifying goggles as he worked. “The black lines are just a side effect of the trauma. Doesn’t hurt any more than the rest of it does.”

“You sure?” James pushed at the heavy piece beneath his skin, frowning over the weight and then the mangled parts where it came out from his collarbone and shoulder and ended in the solid stump where the prostheses disconnected. “Cos it looks like it hurts a lot.”

Tony’s hands shook a little around the next piece thinking about just how badly he hurt all the damn time, but he still smiled and lied to assured his soldier, “It doesn’t hurt very much. Not sure if it’s damaged nerves or I’m used to it after the last six months. Don’t worry about it.”

James smiled and dropped the subject, but he worried anyway. He worried when Tony grabbed that little monitor and pricked his finger first thing in the morning, worried when he ripped Tony’s shirt off and saw the black lines getting thicker, worried when sometimes they finished together and Tony trembled and trembled and trembled in his arms like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

James worried, and he knew Pepper worried because when she pulled Tony into the lab or even into her bedroom for a talk that inevitably ended with shouting about shirked responsibilities and unnecessary stress and hair going gray, the indomitable woman always left with tears shimmering in her green eyes and Tony retreated to his room to be alone, the door locked and windows shuttered.

“You should just move into my room.” Tony said one night hours after Pepper left and James found him eating ice cream in the kitchen, spoon in one hand and carton in the other. He smacked James’s hand away when the big brunette tried to eat some too, smacked it away a second time, but finally relented under a kiss that was clearly worried as James gathered him in close and sealed their mouths together with a long kiss.

“Fine, have a bite.” he handed over the spoon and folded his arms, cleared his throat and repeated, “James. You should just move into my room. Please move into my room.”

James met his eyes over a big bite of ice cream and Tony plinked at his arc reactor a few times. “I um-- I’m in my forties and I’ve never had anyone I could call a partner, anything I could call a relationship beyond what I have with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and they’re-- they’re--”

He swallowed again. “I love them. But I’ve never had anyone but them and I’m lonely and a lot of that is my fault and the way I’ve lived my life but that’s-- I’m trying to change that. And I think a first step would be having my live in boyfriend be an actual live in boyfriend and live in my room.”

James was quiet and Tony worried at the inside of his cheek nervously. “Unless that’s not what you want. Or if it’s moving too fast. Shit, James I don’t know how to do this. I can fix your arm and I clearly have no problem getting in bed with you, though the getting out of bed and walking the next morning is sometimes iffy--” James snorted a laugh. “-- and if we’re going to be honest and probably weirdly vulnerable, I’m just going to tell you that the nights you don’t stay with me sort of suck.”

James nodded slowly and Tony spread his hands in a shrug. “Where are you at with all this? Moving us too fast? Not fast enough? Sort of dumb to suggest it when we’re both grown men and not broke college kids trying to save money on rent? We’re good togther, aren’t we? You haven’t had a panic attack in ages and whenever I start getting close, you always manage to calm me down. We laugh together and get along both in and out of bed and I don’t--”

Another one of those shrugs and the sort of motion that spoke of anxious and vulnerability. “Brooklyn, I don’t want to be away from you anymore. Not anymore than I have to be. Move in with me. Or-- or at least tell me what you’re thinking.”

The ice cream went back in the freezer, the spoon in the sink and James said softly, “This is what I’m thinking, Tony.”

Both hands swept into Tony’s hair, tangling in the curls and tilting his head back for a long kiss that tasted of cool cream and Rocky Road. “I sure do like it when you call me Brooklyn.” the soldier murmured, pinning Tony to the counter and freeing his left arm to wrap tight around Tony’s waist, the individual plates click click click re-aligning and recalibrating with each minute movement. “And I can’t think of nothin’ better than spending every night with you, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded into another kiss and then another, went up on the counter when James palmed over his rear and hefted him easily, opened his legs and moaned when James pressed in hot between his thighs. “Yes. Please.”

Tony loved to be carried, he used to beg Rhodey to give him piggy back rides or to swoop him dramatically up bridal style when he got tired of hiking or shopping or walking the halls of MIT.

He loved to be carried, but being carried like this-- held so easily aloft with his legs around James’s waist and his arms around the soldier’s neck as James hurried up the hall to Tony’s room and the waiting bed-- this was amazing.

Tony loved to be carried, loved to be cared for, loved to be loved....

…. “Sugar, what’s going on?” Two am and James woke up to an empty bed, frowned at the cool sheets, then followed the light to the bathroom where Tony was bent over the sink. One hand was on his chest, the other still spotting blood from a puncture at the tip of his finger, the little device Tony used to monitor-- something. something-- there on the side of the sink. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Tony lied and he was too worn out to even try and hide it. “Don’t worry about it. This is just um-- just uh--” he closed his eyes and gripped the sink and tried to control the waver in his voice. “James, this is just uh--”

Shit.

Something awful lodged in James’s throat, in his heart, in his soul when Tony lied to him.

No no sugar, don’t lie to me.

“It’s um--” Tony’s hand went to his chest again, black lines straining out from behind his fingers and the reactor casing. “It’s just--”

“It’s okay.” James came up behind Tony in the mirror and hugged him up close, spread his left hand over Tony’s to cover the marks and the reactor and all the pain. “Sugar, it’s okay. Just come back to bed. Come back to bed with me.”

Tony didn’t put up a fuss when James dragged him up to bed, bit back a helpless, needy groan when James rolled him against the pillows and kissed him soundly, when the soldier turned him onto his side and budged up behind him.

“James, please--” Tony gasped when his body stretched over again, shivery and tender but needing needing needing to forget and to remember and to still be alive for just a little longer. “Please.”

“I’ve got you.” James hid misery in Tony’s shoulder, mouthed silent apologies along the curve of Tony’s throat and jawline. He didn’t know why he was sorry or what he could be sorry for, but he was sorry Tony was hurt, sorry Tony was lying sorry sorry sorry that he couldn’t do anything fix it.

“Don’t let go of me.” Tony whispered when James tried to touch him, to stroke him back to full hardness and towards release. “No Brooklyn, don’t let go. Just hold me.”

“I’m not going to let you go.” James kept his hand over the arc reactor, over Tony’s heart, protective and careful and always always tender. “C’mon babydoll, c’mon…”

Tony’s grip never loosened so they fell asleep right there, James still buried deep in Tony’s core, skin sticky from sweat and spend, hands clasped together, tears drying on Tony’s face.

Don’t let me go.

In the bathroom, the blood toxicity monitor blinked on at sixty-one percent, then blinked off and went dark.

61%

Don’t let me go.

****************

Notes:

Eggs were rationed during WW2 so Stucky getting any would have been rare which is why James is shocked by them. It’s a memory he doesn’t realize he remembers.

Also, I didn’t expect to get so sad writing this chapter, totally played myself.

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

***************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @justaniche @actual-demon-belial

@quietgayguy @bluedreamdino @akimi-youngblood @blackstar1602 @dixiehellcat @travellover1245 @capnstarkey @the-awkward-teenaged-one @thanossucks @peteryoulittleshit @tony-and-steeeb @striving-artist @roe-sesandthorns @coolsidedpillow @i-am-worth-it-25 @firelightmystic @maligatorthealigator @simsccsol @a-tardis-in-221b @happyendingrequired @everygoodoneistaken11 @pootie-and-the-snoots @megahuffledor @xkissmeimirishx @crystalskrull @hazelbeatsturtle @wecollectnightmares @endrega23 @saganarojanaolt @the-crazy-house @ravynfyre @yomama-umbridge @lovely--tony @gayspacesprinkles @elliotkaingrey @warmachinesocks @glitternotgold73

#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 33 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 32 here. Part 34 here.

Summary: A perfectly normal, innocent car ride goes perfectly normally and innocently.

Words: 4100

Warnings: unsafe driving

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HELLO, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Honestly, we needed a break from the drama. Sometimes a girl just wants to have fun, and that girl is ME!

Wanted to let y'all know I was overwhelmingly flattered by the response to the previous chapter. I know I can't respond to every comment, but please know that I appreciate every single one, and feel so lucky and grateful for y'all.

Hope y'all are continuing to stay safe and healthy. Love y'all so very very much. Thank you thank you thank you. <3

The crack of thunder jolted you awake and you squealed, snapping into yourself. Underneath the sheets, you trembled into consciousness, awakening to a massive mattress that was devoid of any body but yours. You blinked, rolling for comfort, finding only the rustle of cold sheets, an endless valley of cotton around you. Rain tinkled the windows at the sides of the bed, steel morning sun pouring through the blinds and spilling over the hardwood.

The walls rumbled again with thunder, and you shivered, gathering the covers around you. Showers were one thing--but you’d never been particularly fond of storms. Swallowing, you glanced around the bedroom, spying light from the adjoining bathroom, running water muffled beyond the door.

“Kylo?” It was strange to call his name, to summon him in familiarity, as if he were a man you were bound to in domesticity and not, lawfully, in slavery.

All the same, the water stopped, and relief trickled over you. Shuffling beyond the door, and he stepped out, toweling himself dry, damp skin silvered in the dim light. The steam had reddened his pink lips, roused flush at his cheeks, and his hair clung in black tendrils to his face, his rounded ears poking through. A streak of warmth shot through you; Kylo Ren was destructive in his beauty, devastating in his power--but he’d never looked so… sweet.

He glanced over the room, ruffling his hair with the towel before meeting your eyes. There was no affection or concern inside of his gaze that you could identify. And he said nothing.

You blushed. “Um. I was--” Lightning flashed outside, and you flinched. “Was wondering where you were.” It was difficult to stop your attention from roaming his body, from settling between his legs. Just looking made your mouth water. “Good morning.”

Kylo stepped forward, deviance flickering across his face. “Poor little bird.” Husk edged his voice, and he drew closer. “Helpless without me.”

Lust thickened your throat, heated your neck. “I just get nervous during storms,” you said with a laugh. “I always have.”

“Hm.” He took another step, hooked the towel on the door, and meandered to the side of the bed. His cock twitched, swelling with blood as he watched you. “What else makes you nervous?”

“The dark.” You wet your lips, shifting toward him, focus dancing between his face and his growing erection. “You.”

He tilted his head, studying you, only feet from you, now. “Me.”

“Yes.” Your heart leapt, your thighs tensing. “You.”

Kylo loomed over you, growing harder with every passing second. “The way you’re looking at me might betray that.”

“Really?” More heat coursed through you, and you bit your lip. “And how am I looking at you?”

His face darkened with desire. “Like you want to take my cock in that dirty mouth.” Strong fingers gripped your chin, wagged your jaw. “Like you want to swallow my cum.”

“Christ.” Air caught in your throat, and you shuddered, staring into his blackening gaze. “Maybe I do.”

He huffed. “Of course you do.” He released you and patted your cheek. “Little whore.” Turning, he crossed to his dresser, even as his dick stood with need. “But we’re leaving.”

“Oh.” Crestfallen, you flopped against the mattress, skin tingling. “Now?”

He didn’t respond, having already started pulling on clothes. You sighed, rolling over, reaching for your dress in the ball of fabric by the side of the bed.

“Do you listen?” Kylo looked at you, somehow knowing what you were doing without having seen you. “I don’t want that on you. Again.”

You frowned, raising a brow. “What do you expect me to wear?” you asked. “You should be well aware that I don’t have anything else but my nightgown.”

Kylo considered you while he finished buttoning his trousers. Then, without a word, he turned and left, and you sat, confused, listening while he marched through the hall and down the steps.

A slow sigh escaped you, mind spinning with the realization that your Commander was fetching something from your room. For you. It churned your stomach, in reality, this veneer of--would you call it thoughtfulness?--over him, as if you’d be able to walk out of this home and function as a free woman. Your own personal agreement with him that your existence amounted to more still did nothing to soften the legal definition of your life. Even though the previous night still had your heart flooded with joy, time’s passing had wound new anxiety around your heart in anticipation for it to collapse and smother you like a peat moss ceiling.

When he returned, he brought your nightgown with him--and only that, neglecting to provide another pair of socks, underwear, or really anything else a woman might need. He offered it to you without pretense, and you took it, rationalizing that you’d only worn your underwear for approximately all of a couple hours the previous day, anyway. Both of you finished changing in silence, and when you were finished (bonnet included, obviously), you glanced down at yourself, recognizing that despite its modest silhouette, a bright, white, billowing dress still seemed too conspicuous outside the secrecy of his room.

Kylo held you in an empty stare, and then pulled a coat from his closet--long, black, hooded. You looked between him and the jacket, folding your arms over your chest, the anxiety curling tighter. His acknowledgement that you were not yet free tickled the terror buttons in your brain.

Despite this, you accepted it, pulled it on, and immediately drowned in it. It was almost comical, how big it was on you--you wagged your arms, letting the sleeves flop around, glancing at him with red cheeks. He observed you, expression flat, lingering there for longer than you expected before grabbing his own coat and shrugging it on. It concealed his shoulder holster and pistol, as always--but with the rain, it served its intended purpose for once.

There was no glance of agreement before Kylo Ren exited the room, leading, as always, with the assumption you would follow--and of course, you did.

It must have been early, since no one else in the home appeared to be awake. Another blink of lightning, grumble of thunder; you squeaked and quickened your pace, seeking comfort he appeared unwilling to offer. Outside, you flipped up your hood as you trotted to the Audi, squeaking again and hopping in when the sky flashed; before you even felt situated, Kylo started the car and pulled into the street.

The ride began in silence, as you’d expected--but you were content to watch him drive, mesmerized by the size of his hand on the stick shift, how long and large his fingers seemed, even out of gloves. Your thighs pressed together in reminder of your budding desire--in these untread waters of tentative see-saw equality, anything seemed possible. Anything up to and including getting your Commander to finger you while he drove. Anything up to and including sucking his cock and finally making him cum.

You shook the thoughts from your head. There was a more pressing matter on your mind.

“I was wondering,” you said, “if you’d already read my file, why did you ask for my name?” You looked at him. “You already knew it, didn’t you?”

Kylo blinked slowly, tongue pressing against the top of his palate. “Choice.”

You frowned. “Choice?”

“Your name was yours to give,” he replied. “Not mine to know.”

“If I hadn’t told you, would you still have used it?”

“If you hadn’t told me.” He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “You wouldn’t be in this car.”

You shifted in your seat. “What would you have done?”

He paused, eye twitching, and he stole a glance before refocusing on the road. “I don’t know.”

An ache spread in your chest--this intent to create choice when he’d inadvertently taken it from you, this attempt to offer you ownership of your own identity, this concession that your name was yours--somehow seemed more precious to you than his asking at all. Strange, how there could be such meaning attached to the typical foundation of any relationship, but Gilead had ravaged any former definition of intimacy. Between Handmaid and Commander, it was up to you to forge it on your own.

“So…” you said. “We’re kind of saying forget your Wife, then, huh?”

He didn’t respond.

“I mean that you seem to believe she won’t report us, or anything.”

Kylo exhaled through his nose. “She won’t.”

“You’re really sure of that.” To be fair, after your last couple interactions with her, you seemed convinced of that, too. You glanced out of the grey-veiled window. “I just don’t get why she hasn’t gotten rid of me yet.”

“The more quickly she cycles through Handmaids,” he said, “the less generously she is received.” A pause. “Dead Handmaids have a difficult time producing children.”

You swallowed. Supposably, that was true. Perhaps she’d become willing to let you and your Commander fuck as many times as needed until she got what she wanted. After all, you knew as well as anyone how inverse the relationship between desperation and the tolerance for misery could be. The both of you being gone in the early morning was another tick to her endurance meter.

“She’ll be mad when she wakes up, though.”

He huffed. “She can take it up with God.” His voice was low. “Or take it up with me.”

“Oh.” The acknowledgement of God seemed awkward, given everything you’d shucked together in the past twenty-four hours--you scanned him, more words lingering on your tongue, a desire to know. Anything seemed possible. Up to and including... “Do you think God exists?”

Despite what you considered to be commendable bravery in your question, Kylo Ren was silent. He shifted down, peeling onto a highway ramp, staring through the downpour.

“I don’t think he does.” You looked at your hands, then out the window. The skies were dark for miles. “Or, if he does, he doesn’t listen to me.”

“He exists.”

You blinked, seeking his gaze. “Oh?”

“If as nothing else but an idea. An existence in shared consciousness.” Kylo glimpsed you for a second. “That's existence.”

“It is.” Interesting how his power in shared consciousness had resulted in the complete upheaval of your entire life. “But it would be nice if he were around so he could tell people what he thinks.” You paused. “You know. If he could offer approval or disapproval.”

He paused, brow drawn in thought, throwing the stick forward and back as you cruised down the empty road. The absence was by design, you were sure--less chance of being questioned by anyone else, even if you were in the Lead Commander’s car. A twinge in your chest. Another reminder of your societal place.

“If a person feels conviction in what they believe, then the origin of that conviction matters little.” He paused. “We cannot ignore our destinies, regardless of who created them.”

That word destiny again, as if he were shackled to it in that same hopelessness with which you’d grown all too familiar.

“What is your destiny, Kylo?” You searched his face. “Better yet, what’s mine?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. His jaw tensed. “We’ll see.”

His reticence panged in your chest--you chewed your lip, heart thumping with what you were about to do. “Maybe they’re more similar than we know,” you murmured. “Maybe we get to find out together.” You reached out, placed your hand over his on the gearshift, thumb petting his thick knuckles.

Lightning cracked the sky, and hunger crashed over you, spurred by the connection of skin, leaving wildfires on your flesh. Your chin quivered, thighs forcing friction between them, and you gazed at Kylo. His pupils were dilating--you clenched. He felt it, too.

Pulling your lips in over your teeth, you scooted toward him, guiding your hand over his, tracing the valleys of his veins, the knobs of his joints, following the tendons that led to his fingers. Kylo was silent, stoic, watching the road, the only betrayal of his desire a soft swallow. You grinned, taking a single digit and drawing along the edge of his palm, up the side of his own finger and around the nail, trailing back toward his knuckles, caressing the sensitive tissue there. His chest swelled, grip tightening on the knob, and your cunt pulsed.

Emboldened, you slipped two fingers forward, skating over the tops of his, and loosely gathered his first two digits. You stilled and stroked them in a long, languid motion, grasp tightening as you slid up. Kylo’s breath hitched, and you stroked them again, gliding up and down, thumb dipping into the divot between them, skimming the pads of his fingers when you reached the top. When he sucked in air through his teeth, you whimpered, squirming in your seat.

“Naughty thing.” He was getting hard--you could see the tent forming between his legs. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

You nodded, continuing to pump his fingers with your own. ”Yes.”

“Yes?”

Your cheeks burned. “Yes, Kylo.”

A short, sharp inhale. “You want my cock.” Said cock was now straining in an urgent bulge. “You need it.”

Swallowing your need, you nodded again. “Yes, Kylo,” you said. “I do.”

Kylo grit his teeth, and he glanced over you. “Fuck yourself.”

“W-what?” You throbbed with excitement.

“Lift up your skirt. Take off your underwear.” He drilled you with his gaze for a brief moment. “Spread your filthy little cunt, and fuck it.” Shifting forward in his seat, he adjusted his erection. “Make yourself cum, and I might let you suck me off,” he said. “Like you’ve wanted.”

Heat suffocated you. The thought of being able to wrap your lips around his dick made your stomach drop with greed. You didn’t need a second prompt--you released his fingers, popped your seatbelt and lifted your hips, sliding your underwear down and leaving it crumpled on the floorboard. Kylo’s eyes darted between you and the road as you eased back, gathered your skirt around your waist, and grazed the lips of your pussy.

“Oh.” Pleasure rippled through your thighs, your heartbeat thumping in your core. You sank into the seat while you teased yourself, glancing over your folds, face hot with the realization of how wet you already were. “Shit…”

“Good girl.” Lust laced his voice. “You wish I were touching you instead.”

You nodded, smoothing your hands over your inner thighs before brushing your cunt again, more demanding in its heat. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Whimpering, you peeled yourself open, coating your fingers in your slick. “I want your cock.”

“Mm.” Kylo palmed at himself through his trousers. “You want me in that tight pussy, don’t you?” His breath was shallow. “You want me stretching you open.”

“Yes.” You circled your clit, gasping at the gush of delight. “Fuck, yes…”

“Fuck.” He fumbled with his pants, pulling at himself until he’d released his long, hard cock--he fisted it with his right hand, his left still on the steering wheel, and his hips snapped into his grip. “I don’t think I asked you to stop talking.”

Heat scorched your blood. “I wish this was you.”

You positioned two digits at your pulsating entrance and sighed, head falling back when you pushed in, relishing the soft squeeze of your own walls. Arousal fogged your mind, imagining your core clenching around his cock, massaging and milking it as he thrust into you, how good it would feel to him--and you groaned, curling into yourself, two free fingers rubbing your clit. Kylo hissed in approval, painting pre-cum around the pink head of his dick, working himself in rhythm with your hand.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said. “Tell me how wet you are.”

You shuddered with embarrassment. “I…” The last time he’d been inside of you, it hadn’t been pleasant for either of you. He was looking for undeniable proof that you wanted him. “I’m… really wet for you.” The admission brought a flutter around your fingers, and you flicked your clit faster, panting with delight. “You’d love how it feels.”

He snuffed a moan. “I know I would.” He drew lines along his shaft, making it twitch in need before he gratified himself with slow, deep strokes. “Fuck--I’ve thought about that pussy every night… thought about fucking it.” His hand tightened, and he sucked a breath through his teeth. “Thought about making it cum.”

A blissful groan escaped, and you leaned into your seat, legs spreading wider--you crammed a third finger into your cunt as it thrummed around you, other hand swirling tight circles around your clit. Ecstasy flooded you, and your jaw dropped open, hips rolling, mimicking a reality where he was fucking you. Kylo grunted, focus torn between the highway and your unraveling rationality.

“That’s right,” he said. “Look at that. So shameless.” He growled, jerking his cock, breath quickening. “You want me to fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

“Oh?” You forced a half-smirk through your open mouth. “And how do I--ah--how do I deserve to be fucked, Kylo?”

“You deserve to be fucked like the nasty little slut you are.” He swallowed, smearing more precum down his length. “You deserve to have that cunt pounded so hard you forget how to breathe.”

“Jesus.” You were vibrating, now, heart skipping, one hand fast and slick on your clit, the other crooking and thrusting into your core, bliss engulfing you to near-drowning. Every pass on your nub made it twitch, made your walls tighten, made your legs shake with your rising orgasm. “Fuck, I wish you were in me,” you whispered, “I wish you could feel me clench like this around your cock…”

“Such a whore for me,” he groaned, pumping his dick. “Fucking yourself just to taste my cum.” The car wobbled for only a second. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, whimpering and heaving as you stuffed your cunt full, stretched yourself wide, heat blossoming between your thighs.“Please, Kylo, please, please, let me cum for you, let me suck you off--”

“Earn my cock,” he snarled. “Cum like a good girl should.”

With a cry, you obeyed, every muscle below your waist convulsing with euphoria--you jerked, trembled, eyes squeezed tight as your pussy pulsed and spasmed on one hand, your other rubbing you to squealing. Then it broke, a wave over your flesh, and you gasped, thrown forward, your skin buzzing with the remnants of your climax. To your left, Kylo’s face was tight with restraint while you caught your breath.

“Good girl,” he purred, seizing your head. “Now take your reward.” Jaw tight, he shoved you toward his dick.

There was no argument there--you dropped your jaw and shifted onto your knees, humming as his hot, heavy length drove past your teeth and hit the back of your throat. He held you there, canting into your mouth, and you moaned, lids fluttering, his size straining your jaw, inspiring drool down your chin. You sealed your lips around his girth, hollowing out your cheeks, and sucked, his cock throbbing when you pressed your tongue against it.

God, just to have him in your mouth again was enough to grind your thighs together, sore clit swelling for more--groaning, you clutched his thigh for balance, bobbing your head, swallowing inch after inch with every dip of your neck. Saliva flooded your cheeks, mixing with the hint of pre-cum that glazed his cock, sweat already beading at your hairline.

“That’s it.” Kylo dug under your bonnet, gnarling your hair to halt you, adjusting you so he could plunge into your throat--you wailed, muffled by his length as he drove deeper and deeper. “That’s it--fuck--listen to you. You need me to fuck your pussy like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t respond--he was slamming into your mouth. Tears brimmed your eyes, and you folded your lips around your teeth, sucking hard against him. He growled and ripped you from his length, holding you by your hair.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Yes,” you whined, shame searing your skin, “yes, I need you to--I need you to fuck my pussy like this.”

“Of course you do.” He sank into your throat again, hips snapping with fierce, angry strokes. “You’re a fucking whore.” The pulsing at your tongue became desperate, rapid--he was close. “You love my cock, you love having it inside of you--”

You moaned in assent, trying to breathe through your nose, writhing with the effort. Kylo choked, dropped his seat back, snagged your hair with both hands and pushed your nose to his base. His knee steadied the wheel while he watched you gag and wretch on him, watched spit dribble onto his skin. Seething with pleasure, his hips thrashed, and he yanked your head free, holding it still while he savagely fucked his fist.

“Beg for my cum.” His voice was ragged, he shuddered as he held off his peak. “Beg for it, bitch.”

You whined. “Please give me your cum, Kylo, please!”

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, “fuck--”

A deep moan choked in his throat and he sputtered your name, his cock twitching as it shot jets of white cum onto your tongue and cheeks--the last load hit you in your closed eye, and you squeaked with faux-pain, recoiling.

Kylo released you, tucking himself away, and you sat, gathering his release from your face and eye. It was thick and viscous in your mouth--you hummed in happiness, swallowing it and giggling as you wiped at your sticky lid. Your Commander had sat forward, still chasing quiet breath, hand on the wheel while he observed you. While you cleaned the last of it from your face, thunder crackled, and you cowered, neck hot with embarrassment.

His gaze glimmered, lip twitching, and he sniffed. “Perhaps you could tell me what doesn’t frighten you.”

“Well, getting cum in my eye isn’t exactly a common occurrence for me,” you replied, pouting playfully.

A tiny smirk twisted his mouth. “Would you like it to be?”

You couldn’t help yourself; you laughed, smacked his shoulder. “You’re nasty!”

“Mm.” He reached over, thumbed an errant glob from your cheek, and swallowed it. “Very.”

You giggled again--in that moment, your eyes met--and the air, the rain, the passing seconds all paused, paralyzed by a breathless, infinite inevitability, something so impossibly imminent, it felt almost like fate.

Like destiny.

Kylo shattered the stare, attention back on the road.

It was as if he’d plucked your heart from your chest and set it on fire--a fire that would smolder and glow in your blood, keeping you warm through the night. A long, shaky sigh left you, and after pulling your underwear back on, you rested your head on the window, watching the watery world wave past, wondering if choice and destiny could exist simultaneously, and wondering, if not, which one had possessed you.

“Are we there yet?” There was a lilt of sarcasm in your voice.

But he only glimpsed you for a second, and did not respond.

The highway stretched for longer than you anticipated--and only one or two other cars passed by on the road--until Kylo shifted into an exit lane, taking a winding ramp down along the edge of a forested area. He coasted through the receiving lane and turned down the road, tossing the car into a high gear as he accelerated through streaming puddles.

It took a couple more turns before he slowed, decelerating with the gearshift to avoid hydroplaning with the brakes, and turned through a grand, broken gate, drifting down an untended path.

Small hills rolled out around you, the landscape consumed by neglect. Foliage had eaten the trees, monuments stained and forgotten. It was only after staring into the wild green valleys that you realized there were hundreds of monuments, which seemed strange, almost indulgent. There were thousands, even, all stone-marble-grey-white, all etched with intention, decorated in lost memory. Then it smacked you: they weren’t monuments. Anxiety streaked through your veins, your mouth dropped dry, chest crushed with dread.

Whatever Kylo Ren was showing you, he’d taken you to a cemetery.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #road head babey!!!!!#he's a good driver it's fine

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lochrannn · 3 years

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AU_gust: Let me play among the stars

Read on AO3

Prompt no 17: Wings

Relationships: Lila Pitts & Allison Hargreeves, minor Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Characters: Lila Pitts, Allison Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves

AN: So, you may have noticed that David Castañeda can’t wink and I’ve checked, canonically neither can Diego, so this comes up.

It’s half eleven in the morning at the Schiphol Hilton hotel bar and the staff have apparently taken pity on Lila and Allison and have not queried why they decided to drink Scotch before midday.

Lila took on her very first flight as first officer to Captain Allison Chestnut only about eleven hours ago and yet she feels like it has been a life altering experience. Or at the very least, after hundreds of hours of flight training, this trip has been the weirdest thing that has ever happened to her and in hindsight she thinks she was desperately ill prepared to contend with either members of the public or the fucking airline crew itself.

Roughly 11 hours earlier

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Allison Chestnut, I’ll be your captain for our overnight flight. With us today is First Officer Lila Pitts. We’re expecting clear skies ahead and with some tail winds we are hoping to arrive in Amsterdam about thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Once we’ve fully ascended, our cruising altitude will be approximately thirty five thousand feet. I wish you a very pleasant flight on board our plane and now I’d ask you to pay close attention to our cabin crew, headed up by chief flight attendant, Klaus Hargreeves, for the safety announcement.”

Allison clicks off the com and turns down the volume of the cabin announcement, and Lila can just about make out the cheerful voice of Klaus, who she only met while they were doing the final checks of the aircraft but took an instant liking to.

Lila is extremely nervous and doing everything in her power not to show that she’s intimidated by the fact that her first flight in a position of actual authority is with one of the most senior captains in the airline.

Even the relief crew seem significantly more experienced than Lila herself. At least that’s her impression with how Allison greeted the relief first officer, Vanya Cooper. The other pilot completely slipped by her, but Lila could have sworn she heard Vanya and Allison refer to him as Five. Must be some kind of nickname.

Despite her rank, Allison spends a lot of time chatting to Lila, as they don’t have that much going on once they are cruising. The other pilot tells Lila about her kid, her husband, who is apparently a professor, about her recent trips, and how much she loves the job.

She asks Lila how she came by her accent and they talk about how Lila ended up working for an American airline after effectively fleeing the UK and from a bad break-up.

Eventually Lila decides to ask about the thing that surprised her the first time she read the flight roster. “So, do you often fly with a crew where so many of the pilots are women compared to an all male cabin crew?”

“Huh, I hadn’t even thought about that,” Allison muses, then goes on, “It’s a hell of a combination of stewards, though, some of the nuttiest people working for this airline, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them all fly together. I’m sure it’s absolute mayhem back there.”

“How d’you mean?” Lila asks.

“Well, there’s Klaus, who is very good at his job, but an awful flirt and, well, he’s garnered a bit of a reputation. Then there’s Luther. Genuinely lovely guy, everybody loves working with him, but he’s just really not very good with passengers. Diego’s the complete opposite. Passengers love him, he makes a new best friend on every flight. Most people who work with him, though, think he’s kind of an asshole. Except maybe for Klaus and Ben, they seem to get on with him. Ben is actually the only one out there who I’d say is unquestionably competent, very snarky, but charming nevertheless. I’ve not flown much with Elliott, so can’t tell you much about him and I’ve never met the other guy. Axel was it?”

Lila checks the roster, nods and says, “Yupp.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of opportunities to make up your own mind about these guys. I will say this though, I’ve seen them all in bigger and smaller crisis situations and they really do all step up then.”

Lila is grateful for the amount of information Allison is willing to share with her. She wonders if this is considered gossipy or if it’s just a necessary exchange of intel with a coworker. Either way, she thinks it’s really useful.

About three quarters into their flight time, Allison and Lila are relieved by Vanya and “Five” and when they step into the cabin the light is already dimmed in an attempt to get the passengers to settle down in a hope that they will sleep.

Just after herself and Allison get comfortable in their seats Klaus turns up in the aisle and says in a low voice to Allison, “Uh, skip, it seems we have a bit of a situation in coach and we were wondering if maybe someone with a bit more authority is just the thing we need to nip this in the bud.”

Allison pulls her sleep mask off her eyes, turns to glare at Klaus and then turns to Lila with a glint in her eyes that definitely juxtaposes the pleasant smile she directs at her and says, “Oh, I think this would be a great learning experience for our new first officer, don’t you think, Klaus?”

“Sure,” Lila says with all the confidence she doesn’t feel, gets up out of her seat and follows Klaus into the back section of the plane.

Back at the hotel bar

“So, was this one of the weirder things to happen on a flight, or would you consider shit like this to be normal?” Lila asks Allison in a congenial tone.

“I’ve definitely seen shit that was way more crazy than this,” a far more gruff voice than she expected, answers Lila’s question, before Diego sits down on the barstool next to her.

Lila looks over at him and he does a thing with his eyes…. if she had to describe it she’d say he’d blinked at her with... intent… is that supposed to be a wink? Lila’s almost embarrassed for him, but somehow he pulls it off. If he was any less handsome, he most definitely wouldn’t have, so Lila decides simply not to dignify that nonsense with a response.

Instead she turns around to Klaus, who’s just sat down on Allison’s other side, is pushing his hair back dramatically and drawls, “Oh Schätzchen, you’ve not seen weird until you start dealing with dead bodies at forty thousand feet above sea level.”

Lila snorts into the drink she’s just brought to her lips.

About 6 hours earlier

On their short walk Klaus gives her the cliffnotes of the issue. “This weirdo English guy keeps demanding to go into the hold because he has some apparently precious cargo to check on and we’ve been trying to keep him calm, but he’s starting to wake up the passengers around him. Diego’s talking to him now, but I don’t think they’re getting on very well.”

Up ahead Lila sees a man about Klaus’s height, with dark hair and a tight fade, leaning into one of the rows of seats and it seems like he’s talking to one of the passengers intently.

She probably shouldn’t, seeing as their coworkers, but she does notice right away that he fills his uniform out very nicely and that he’s clearly got some deliberate designer stubble going on to enhance the sharp cut of his jaw.

But Lila pulls her thoughts back to the situation at hand and the fact that she probably has never had a situation where she needed to be as professional as now.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man… Even if you have the queen of England in a crate down in the hold, we just can’t let you go down there mid flight!” the steward, who Lila assumes must be Diego, explains to a man with grey hair, a tidy Van Dyke mustache, and… Christ, how pretentious can one guy be? … a monocle, sitting in the seat by the window.

She takes a deep breath and walks up to the commotion.

“What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?” Lila asks as calmly as possible.

Diego opens his mouth, presumably to explain what’s going on, but he’s interrupted by monocle guy, who says in a clipped accent that reminds Lila uncomfortably of one of her old headmasters, “Ah, finally someone with some seniority. I am entirely exhausted trying to explain to this imbecile that I have important scientific business to take care of in the hull of this aeroplane. Young lady, would you do me the favour of providing me with access to my work?”

Lila ignores the scowl that comes across Diego’s face and instead says, again calmly, though she’s quickly understanding why the stewards have reached the end of their patience, “First officer Pitts, please.”

“Apologies, madame!” the pushy passenger shoots back, and Lila is annoyed by his lack of sincere contrition, but at least Diego sniggered next to her as she pulled rank, so that’s something.

“I am really sorry, Sir, we just cannot let you go down there, but may I ask what’s so important, you’d risk decompression in the cabin, endangering all of your fellow passengers?” Lila uses her poshest voice, hoping that she’ll appeal to this guy that way, and she really hopes she’s not veered into parody. At least her fellow stewards wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Says he’s got a sedated monkey in a crate,” Diego drawls before the passenger can answer and earns himself a withering stare by the grey-haired man.

“It’s a chimpanzee, you nimrod!” monocle guy spits at him and Lila ignores the way Klaus’s hand lands on Diego’s shoulder as he twitches forward.

Instead she addresses the passenger again, “I’m sure all the necessary precautions were taken to keep your chimpanzee comfortable and safe on this flight and I have to urge you to calm down. There is absolutely no way we can allow for you to go into the hold and I must point out that you’re beginning to upset the other passenger.”

“This is ridiculous!” the man exclaims and then completely surprises Lila by getting up abruptly, pushing past her and Klaus and making his way swiftly along the aisle towards the front of the plane.

That’s when things go bananas, because before either herself or Klaus can respond, Diego has launched himself past them and after the monocle guy, rugby tackles him to the ground, and to Lila’s complete horror, a huge, blond man in a steward’s uniform appears at the other end of the aisle to help Diego wrestle the unruly passenger into the middle section of the plane, where they swiftly draw the curtains so the passengers near them, who’ve been roused by the commotion, can’t see what’s going on.

After two more rounds at the Schiphol Hilton hotel bar

“... so we had to get the fire crew to bring on a wheelchair so we could weekend-at-bernie’s that mofo and get his corpse off the plane before the other passengers even found out that anyone had died.” Klaus finishes his tale.

“Jesus,” Lila breathes. Allison just shrugs her shoulders.

“Right, Tom Bradey over there and I have to get going. You see, Lila, cabin crew don’t get the same amount of rest time during turnaround as the VIP do. That’s what I call the Very Important Pilots, ya know,” Klaus says and winks at her, then gives Allison a quick hug before he walks away.

The two women turn to Diego and he suddenly hesitates. Then he says, “See you around, I guess,” and taps the bar top with his fingers before he also heads away.

“Huh,” Allison says, a bit bemused, but then Lila notices that Diego wasn’t tapping just the surface of the bar but had actually shoved his cocktail napkin towards her. She picks it up and realises that he’s scribbled something on it. It reads ‘come say hi’ and then what she presumes must be a room number underneath.

“I thought you said Klaus was the one with the reputation,” Lila says, her mouth’s gone a bit dry as she turns around to Allison to show her the napkin.

“Huh! Never thought that grumpy asshole had it in him.” Allison intones almost more to herself. “You must have really impressed him,” she says to Lila then, with a bit of a laugh in her voice.

“Mmmh, but I mean, obviously I can’t go up there... right?” Lila says hesitantly, not quite sure she knows how she wants Allison to respond.

“I mean, obviously I’m a married woman, so maybe I’m the wrong person to ask, but I can only tell you it happens all the time, so I’d say go for it,” Allison offers with a shrug.

“Nah, I really shouldn’t, but I do think I'll also head to bed now. It was really nice flying with you Allison, even if things got a bit weird.” Lila says to Allison with a smile and a wave.

“Yeah, was great flying with you, too. I’m sure we’ll have many more opportunities to do so!” Allison responds as Lila starts walking away.

Then Lila stops, pivots on her heels, picks up the napkin and then whines a “shut uuuup!” at Allison when the other woman bursts out laughing.

#otp: just be gentle #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #tua #the umbrella academy #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #david castañeda #lochrannn lxd au challenge

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k-she-rambles · 3 years

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everyone's already done this, I'm sure, but here! have another analysis of Rose by the Oh Hellos, one of their most overtly religious songs...

Okay, so:

"Wars are raising for her Crusades to adore her The light of your afterword"

This one gives us who we are talking about, by context: Popularly, the Crusades were fought for the honor of the Church. (It's not exactly true, but that's the trope you think of.) Today, lots of little fights are still started over her honor (it's traditional to talk about the Church as a Lady --a mother, or a bride, or a much-loved child)

"The light of your afterword" is a little trickier, and there are multiple things this could bring up: the future promises of Revelation --the end of all corruption and empire, etc. More likely, though, we're still talking about the Church --not as the entity, but the people which comprise it. The full name of the book of Acts is "The Continuing Acts of the Disciples," and it's more or less the afterword of the gospels: Luke wrote Luke and Acts to the same person, they're a set. The acts of the Church (of the people who make up the Church) are the afterword of the Bible.

Are you losing her true nature When you loosen nomenclature When you gift another moniker?

I don't know what's going on here. I'm SURE there's some drama that I don't know about. But the question stands on it's own: If you're changing the name of what the Church or Christianity is, does it change the nature?

(This was the bit, honestly, that made me think that maybe the song was NOT religiously themed, and they were thinking of changing the band's name at one point.)

What's true is like a sickle It'll cut you to the middle Your rose is without a thorn But no, my mouth don't taste of metal From the pot here to the kettle I think we got a lot we gotta learn

OUCH, okay, honestly that is blistering condemnation of the modern Church and Maggie's sweet voice and trying to temper it with the "we" at the end makes it worse.

What's true is like a sickle It'll cut you to the middle Your rose is without a thorn

So this seems like a pretty clear reference to Hb 4:12-13 ("For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.")

The rose being without a thorn is a BAD thing. If we take the rose as the Church (or as the Gospel, the central message of the faith, which I think is more likely) the singers are saying that the Church is fighting wars over a Gospel that is DEAD. It is NOT sharp, NOT living and active, CAN'T cut to the heart of things. If every rose has it's thorn, is this even a rose at all?

The context of the referenced verse is important too. (Quoting Hebrews is difficult. It's a sermon, so each thought leads to another fairly interlockingly. And you know ancient languages. ALL the run-on sentences. ALL of them.) It's in the middle of a section encouraging the listeners to avoid the pitfall of a gospel of works: running themselves ragged trying to be a good enough person to please God, when the real method of doing so is to rest from trying; let someone else do the work, set the pattern for them to follow. If they keep striving, keep fighting in the pattern of wars and Crusades they have now, they WILL fail...and be blind to the ways they have failed. But no, my mouth don't taste of metal From the pot here to the kettle I think we got a lot we gotta learn

The singers identify themselves with the people they are excoriating. They are not pots calling the kettle black, they realize that they are the same. In tvtropes lingo it's "HEY! I resemble that remark!"

And even though by any other name Her scent would linger sweetly, all the same Call her briar long enough And you'll tangle up the true and the fable

So the singers maintain that whatever is being done to the name of the Church/the Gospel can't change it's essence (this is v. important in Christianity and I could go on about how Christianity has a scripture but NOT a sacred text.) But! They can't kill the message with their mincing language but they can mix it up. Tangle the true and the fable, make it unclear, and inaccessible. which is um. a thing that tends to piss Christians off. See: the Reformation, the Counter-Reformation, the previous verse...

Your dowry isn't fooling The pyrite is showing through It won't buy you that empty tomb

So here's were I got the idea that the entire section of Hebrews was being referenced. The people who are causing this trouble "renaming" the Church, muddying their language, removing the truth from their gospel...they're trying to buy something, some kind of reward. Specifically, Jesus' empty tomb...i.e. salvation and eternal reward. But what have they saved to buy it with?

The Church is often described as a Lady. A bride. What is the dowry the Bride is bringing to the marriage? What have they saved to buy salvation? Pyrite. Fool's Gold. The wages of their works, the afterword of their gospel of works, it has all been Fool's Gold.

And no alchemic incantation For a counterfeit salvation Can appease your leviathan groom

No alchemy can turn it into real gold. They're still buying their "fable." Their groom is not the Christ, it's Leviathan (real Exeunt, Pale White Horse/Where is Your Rider vibes here). And they may not even know it.

No, love'll get you slaughtered Like a ram at the altar What is safe ain't the same as what is good

The rose still needs its thorns to be true to itself. And what is that truth? That love can be a violent, sacrificial thing. That doing good isn't safe. That truth isn't safe. It lays you bare.

I'm having a hard time saying words about this one. Love can feel like dying. You dying. Your pride dying. The call the singers are getting at is following the pattern laid down by Jesus, whose love did get him killed. The people being spoken about are not following this pattern, but they are called to.

(also, scope the Narnia reference! "Safe? Who said anything about safe. But he's good. He's the king, I tell you.")

So lay compress to the aching Of your body made for breaking When we've got a lot of breaking left to do

Following the thread of the previous verse, being part of the Church is to be "made for breaking," which the people making up the Church need to get better at.

Um. 'scuze me while I go a little feral here.

Along with being a Lady the Church is also described as being "the Body of Christ." You speak of a church congregation sometimes as a "Church body." Part of the idea is (among other, cooler things I am not qualified to explain but fully willing to keysmash about (the theological concept is "mystical union")) that Jesus identifies so closely with humanity as a head does to a body. Heaven meets earth in a Person, not a temple anymore...and then, when that Person is away, heaven meets earth in people by union with Christ.

But also, the symbol of the new covenant (which God swears by himself, making it unbreakable.): take, eat, this is my body broken for you. His body made for breaking. Church body made for breaking, for being given to feed others.

And again the singers join hands with the people they are scolding --it's their body too. They all need to love better, break better, not be afraid of finding the truth even if the truth will hurt.

'Cause even under any other creed The crucifix and the hangman, they both agree Change comes so cheaply For those of us already at the table

Pulling back, the singers say "even under any other creed." That is, what they're about to say is something they consider a universal statement, regardless of faith. Then they repeat this idea of a universal statement: the "crucifix" and the "hangman" are two ways of dying --a death that has come to represent life for some and a death that has come to represent judgment of the law for some.

And that universal statement? "Change comes so cheaply for those of us already at the table."

Some people have already been breaking. Some people have already been feeding others. To the ones already giving and sharing and breaking and healing, being forced to buck up and do so? It does not cost as much to them as it does to the people who have been convinced that their Fool's Gold was worth something.

It's a somewhat unfinished ending. I think this is the turn of the album, if you treat it like a sonnet. After Smoke Rising Like Lifted Hands it's just Boreas and Glowing as the final couplet.

#the oh hellos #boreas #bandom i guess

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lovinlikeloki · 3 years

Text

The Lone Wolf

Masterlist // 05

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 4.2k

I was in my wolf form when my cage was being opened, I looked to the twins' cells, Wanda nodded to me ever so subtly, flickered her hands slightly and I knew. It was time. The guard opened the barred door and I took my chance, I dug my claws into his chest, he began bleeding and I pushed harshly past him. I turned back to my human form and knocked him over the head hard enough to knock him out.

I took the keys to the twins' cells from his unconscious body and swung them around my left index finger. I smiled to the twins and they smiled back.

"So..." I smirked at them, "Who wants to escape from some science Nazis?"

I shoved the key into the lock of Wanda's cell and turned it, opening the door and she smiled at me, she ruffled my hair as she left the cell and we moved onto my beloved's cell. I put the key in and turned it impatiently, wanting to see him free. When the door opened he spared no time running over to me and engulfing me in his arms.

"I knew you could do it mi prințesa," he said into my hair and I pulled back from the hug.

(My princess)

"Of course, mo chroí, have I ever failed you yet?" I quirked an eyebrow at him.

(My heart)

"Enough," Wanda interrupted his answer, "You'll have time for all that when we are gone."

"She makes a point, a stór," I looked in my love's eyes before turning away.

(Darling)

"Wanda, you got the cameras in here, you have to do that before every room we enter, even then they probably know that we're escaping. Piet, I need you to get me a gun, as quick as you can, without getting caught. I'm busting us out of here and I don't care how many people's blood I spill as long as we get out alive," I order, I may be younger than them, but our escape was mostly my plan and they don't have any less respect for me because of my slight age difference.

"Got it," they replied before doing as asked. Wanda fucked with the camera in the next room and we took down the guards, Pietro picked up a gun and threw it to me, I caught it and felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I fiddled with the trigger.

I nodded to them and we began moving through the base. We made quick work of the guards that tried to capture us, a bullet shot here, some telekinetic intervention there, all in all it there didn't seem to be any problems.

We made it to the back exit and began leaving. That was when it happened. When we failed. When we were split up. We were running as fast as we could, leaving the god forsaken place when I turned around, just for a second, and saw Wanda missing.

"Mo ghrá, I said, "Where's Wanda?"

Pietro looked behind him and saw her gone as well, "I will find her," he told me before giving me a kiss on my forehead.

"Be quick," I told him, "Be safe. Come back to me."

"Always, malen'kaya Volchitsa."

And with that he turned and ran back to find his sister while I kept running away.

I jolt awake, sitting up and gasping for air, eyes wide. It was just a nightmare... no, not a nightmare, a memory. That day was the last I saw of them. The last I saw of him. I didn't even get to say a real goodbye. Now he's gone.

My panting and shaking awakens Wanda, she sits up slowly before taking my hands in hers. She smiles sadly at me as tears stream down my face.

"Este în regulă draga mea, ești bine, totul este în regulă," she comforts me.

(It's okay my dear, you're okay, everything's fine)

"Níl sé, níl gach rud i gceart. Tá achan rud ag titim as a chéile arís. Ní thig liom thú a fhágáil. Fuair duine againn bás an uair deirneach," I sob to her.

(It's not, everything's not okay. Everything's falling apart again. I can't leave you. One of us died last time)

"Nu, nu este. Ultima data a fost diferită. De data aceasta vom rămâne în legătură. Mi voi fi niciodată mai mult decât un telefon depart."

(No, it's not. Last time was different. This time we will stay in touch. I will never be more than a phone call away)

Phone call. Phone call. My mind sobers as I realise what must've happened back home and I haven't even taken the time for a phone call.

"I- I have to go," I say, slipping out of my mother tongue and into English, stepping out of bed and grabbing my phone.

"Where are you-" I cut Wanda off.

"I need to make a phone call."

"Fianna, it's late."

"I have to."

With that I leave the room, I don't know where to go and so I just kinda linger in the hallway, pacing back and forth. I unlock my phone and go to my contacts, I scroll until I hit it, 'Eo' it's my contact for Eoghan. It's not what I would want my father figure's number as, but I try to keep it professional so...

I hit call and wait as the phone rings. Once. Twice. And on the third he picks up. I let out a breath as he greets me.

"Hello? Fianna? Are you okay?" he asks me.

"Ye-yeah I am," I say before biting the drawstring of my hoodie, "That's a lie. I'm, I'm not okay Eoghan," I confess to him.

"Talk t' me. What's wrong?"

"I uh, I had a nightmare," I tell him, shoving my spare hand into the pocket of the hoodie.

"Okay, nightmare," he repeats and I can practically see him nodding in understanding, "Do you want to talk about it Fi, or do you just want someone to talk to?"

I shake my head, knowing he can't see it, "Talk to someone. I actually called you to, um, to apologise. I know that you probably got dragged into my mess and I wanna make sure that you and Orlaith and the rest of you are doing alright."

There's a slight hesitation before Eoghan speaks again, "What are you talking about?"

"I mean when the feds showed up... right after I busted out of the Raft," I say slowly, confused by his confusion.

"No one showed up here Mactíre," Eoghan assures me, slipping in my merc name. "I haven't a clue what you're on about. What do ye mean busted out?"

"Okay, look, when Wanda called me I was gonna fight a couple of her friends, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well basically it all went down in this airport runway. To be honest with ye there was like twelve of us all together and it looked more like a scrap between a few chavs in a Tesco car park than a fricken civil war between the Avengers."

"Okay," Eoghan laughs at that, which was my intention, because he won't be laughing in a second.

"Basically there was this thing called the Sokovia Accords, it basically bans the Avengers from fighting without their ma and da, a bunch of governments, saying they can. Mister America and his old bestie broke that rule and so they became criminals, I and some others helped and that made us all criminals."

"Heh, I'm sorry, what the fuck?" Eoghan asks in a slightly higher octave than usual, yeah, he's pissed at me.

"Yeah... and so we were sent to this superhero jail that was in the middle of the fuckin' ocean. After a couple o' days Stars and Stripes teamed up with some Emo Hello Kitty looking fella and the freakin' Black Widow to bust us out. We're staying in Wakanda right now."

"Okay... let me get this straight," Eoghan says, exasperatedly. "You, and some of America's little mascots, fought the other half of America's mascots. Then you were thrown into a jail cruise ship-"

"It wasn't quite that luxurious Eo, I had a shock collar on," I interrupt with a deadpan tone.

"You fucking what?! Let me continue, you were thrown into a submarine jail, with a shock collar on. Couple o' days later you get broken out of said submarine jail. And now you're staying in a third world country?" Eoghan questions, clearly regretting emotionally adopting me. I don't blame him either, I'm a real problem child.

"I- technically yes. But I'm not coming home is the main point here."

"Why? Why not? Fianna this place is your home, we're you family."

"You are," I agree, fiddling with the zipper of my hoodie nervously. "But if I show up back home then word will get out where I am. I don't want to endanger my family and their jobs. Trust me. Besides, I have a place to stay."

"Where? Where the hell are you staying that would be safer than here?"

"Listen, I hate it as much as you do... probably more. I'm going to New York to stay with... Stark," I sigh, stopping my fiddling.

"Stark? Why would you do that?" Eoghan asks incredulously.

"Because it'll keep us all safe. Me away from that floating ocean pokey and the feds away from you. Trust me, it's for the best."

"But Fianna, you hate him. What about what he did? Don't you remember the pain it caused you? The pain that you caused? Mactíre," he says dangerously.

"Eoghan," I say in a low voice, laced with anger, "Don't go there. I don't want to do this, but it's for the best, if it were up to me I'd be going home... or Madripoor."

"Jesus Christ," he whispers, "Right, well you'll stay in touch, that's for sure. And you'll call Orlaith in the morning, she's worried about you... Tommy too."

I perk up at that, "Tommy? How is he? Is he okay? Have they done anything to him? I swear I'll kill them if they touched a hair on his head," I fire question after question.

"Tommy's fine, he just wants to know how you are, what you're doing etc. They haven't done anything to him, not that I know of at least. Look, I'll get Orlaith to call you in the morning, she'll have Tommy with her and you can talk to them both, okay? It's getting late."

I sigh and look to the ground, "Alright, I have to go back to sleep anyways."

"Oíche mhaith, m'iníon. Go mbeadh aisling aláinn agat."

(Goodnight, my daughter. Have sweet dreams.)

"Oíche mhaith daidí, go raibh míle maith agat."

(Goodnight dad, thanks a million.)

And with that I hang up. My eyes fog over with tears and I simply let them fall. I've been crying a lot more lately; I feel like a fricken crybaby. A lot of emotions have been stirring up and I hate it, I hate the weakness that's overcoming me. I can't let myself feel so deeply, especially negatively... not after last time.

I go back into the bedroom and get into bed. I hug myself and shrink into the hoodie as best I can. It used to be Eoghan's, this hoodie, he gave it to me when I first moved into St. Marie's. I barely had anything and he just gave me the hoodie, it's definitely not perfect, it has burns around the cuffs and the zipper always gets a bit stuck halfway up, but I wouldn't give it up for anything. It's like a safety blanket for me, it makes me think of him and feel safe. After a few minutes I eventually drift off to sleep.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆°

I stayed in the bedroom most of the morning, on my phone messaging a tumblr mutual. Her URL is FriendlessGhost17, mine is Coilean07. We met last year, round abouts when a week into me living at St. Marie's. She lives in NYC and so it might be a good idea to talk to her in case we end up running into each other. We've facetimed and called many times but we've never actually met in person.

I say my goodbyes and sigh. Life just sucks a lot at the moment, but what can I say? That's what happens when you go down the road of off-the-books illegal experimentation, I guess.

I hear a knock on the door, "Come in," I say, not looking up from my scrolling.

"You gonna join the land of the livin' today?" I look up and see Sam, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

"Uh, yeah, I just- I was messaging a friend," I tell him.

"Nothing revealing though, right?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Of course not," I dismiss, "I'm not an amateur. I told her I was with my sister but have to leave her again. I don't always tell the truth, but I'm always honest. It's a fine line to walk but a good loophole to have."

Sam ventures further into the room, "So you're good at what you do, that's reassuring... I think. Look I know this isn't gonna be fun for you, staying with Stark, but sometimes that's just how it is, that's how life is."

"Not gonna be fun? You really don't know me, do you?" I laugh humourlessly.

"No, no I don't," Sam admits, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed next to me.

"Well, essentially Stark has hurt everyone I love and, I can hold a grudge like nobody's business. It's not just gonna be 'not fun' it's gonna feel like a betrayal. But I don't wanna focus on that, I wanna enjoy my time before I go to that stuck-up, narcissistic ass."

Sam smiles for a second, "You know, Steve would be disappointed if he heard that kinda language out of you."

I raise an eyebrow, "He was in the army and from the 40s, I'm sure he has no room to talk. I bet people make assumptions and he just doesn't dispute them. I bet his birthday isn't even the fourth of July, someone assumed it was and now he lives in fear of anyone finding his birth certificate."

Sam laughed out loud at that and I had to join him, I've been on tumblr long enough to have to many thoughts about America's favourite boy scout. Sam and I talk for a while, about Steve, about Wanda, I even get some stories about his old days in the army. He tells me about the missions he flew and I learn more about his wings. Then he tells me how he met Steve and Natasha.

"So he, he lapped you how many times?" I ask incredulously.

"Thirteen. He lapped me thirteen times! And he kept saying 'on your left' to like warn me he was lapping me, like it felt like he was doing it on purpose," Sam scowls.

"He probably was, I mean I read about him a bit in school and apparently he was always a little shit, he just got away with it since he was a stick and had like every illness to ever exist in the 30s," I tell him.

"Maybe," Sam says, "But yeah, that's how we met. And then a few days later he shows up at my house with Natasha and tells me 'everyone we know is tryna kill us' like no hellos, no 'how are you's, just straight to the point."

"And you just let them in?" I cock an eyebrow.

"Well yeah, Captain America shows up at your door, what are you not gonna let him in?"

"It would make a pretty funny story don't you think? 'Captain America and Black Widow showed up at my house and I turned them down.' I think that'd be hilarious. But naw, I'd let them in surely."

Then there's a vibration from my phone. I look at the screen as it lights up and see that Orlaith sent me a snap.

I look back up to continue the conversation with Sam but he shakes his head.

"You can talk to your friends, don't worry. I just talked your ear off for the last hour or so, you can get back to your friend now," he tells me.

I smile at him softly, "Thanks Sam. And this talk was good, by the way, you didn't talk my ear off. You distracted me and I appreciate it."

He gets off the bed and turns to me, "That used to be my job you know, helping other Vets with PTSD. I thought you'd prefer to be distracted than reminded of what's happening and so I just catered to that rather than pushing you."

"Really Sam, thank you. But now I gotta have a difficult conversation about what's happening so... I guess I can't put it off any longer," I sigh.

"Good luck, Fianna, you can do this," Sam tells me before leaving and closing the door.

I open the message from Orlaith.

I find Orlaith's number in my contact list and hit call.

It only takes one ring and she picks up, "Hiiii, how did it go?"

"It went good Orlaith," I tell her, a smile already on my face from hearing her voice. "And I got to see Wands again which has done me wonders, really."

"That's great to hear, oh and you're on speaker," Orlaith tells me.

"Hey Fi," I hear Tommy's voice and I nearly start crying.

"Mo dearthair bheag Tommy, ta sé ar dóigh le do guth a cloisteáil arís. Cad é mar atá tú, coiléan bheag?" I ask, slipping into my first language after hearing my baby brother's voice for the first time in a couple weeks.

(My little brother Tommy, how amazing it is to hear your voice again. How are you, little pup?"

"Táim I gceart, Mactíre," he mocks, "Agus an miste leat gan ag cuir sin orm? Ní páiste mé níos mó!"

(I'm fine, Mactíre. And do you mind not calling me that? I'm not a kid anymore!)

"Ach is páiste thú dom. Bheul, ar a laghad is dearthair bheag s'agam thú. Má chuireann sé isteach ort an méid sin, stadfaidh mé."

(But you're a kid to me. Well, you're my little brother at least. If it annoys you that much I'll stop.)

"Hey! Is grá liom go bhfuil sibh in ann labhairt le chéile ach tá mise anseo fostaaa!" Orlaith butts in.

(Hey! I love that you're able to talk but I'm here toooo!)

"Ceart go leor, sionnach," Tommy says, "Cad é ar mhaith leat a labhairt faoi?"

(Fine, Fox. What would you like to talk about?)

"First of all, that nickname is so old, like first year old. And that was like four years ago. Anyway, let's start with where your big sis is? Huh, how about that?" Orlaith begins, slipping back into English.

"Well... I may or may not be in the palace of Wakanda," I reveal. I can trust them, they won't tell.

"You're where?" Tommy questions.

"Wakanda."

"Get de fuck!" he exclaims.

"I'm not messing Tom. And I'm not staying here much longer either."

"You're coming back home again?" Orlaith asks.

"Not- not exactly, Orls," I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to figure out a way to tell them, to tell Tommy that I'm not coming home. "I'm going to New York, I'm going to New York, a thaisce, and I have to stay with Stark."

(Love {term of endearment})

"With- With Stark as in Tony Stark?" Orlaith asks.

"As in the one who you despise with a burning passion?" Tommy adds on.

"Yeah, that's, that would be him," I sigh.

"How are you- How will he survive that?" Tommy asks.

"Why do you have to go to that cunt?" Orlaith questions at the same time.

"Orlaith!" I hear Eoghan scolding her in the background, they must be at St. Marie's.

"Sorry Eoghan, sorry Tommy," Orlaith apologises.

"Hey Eoghan," I say into the phone.

"Hey Fia, I'm just making sure these two got through de ye. I still think ye should be here, but never mind me, keep yer chin up, I'll talk de ye later," he tells me, his parental feelings slipping through the professional mask he tries to wear.

"Of course Eo, we'll talk later," I reassure.

"I have de leave now, Liam's looking another pint," he tells me.

"Bye Eoghannnn," I sing.

"Goodbye Fianna."

"Well, back to our conversation," Tommy says, "Why are you going de Stark of all people?"

"Essentially I might have accidentally made myself an international criminal when helping Wands," I say, my voice raising octaves as I speak.

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey they rode in on. How did ye manage that Fianna?" Tommy asks incredulously.

"Tomás Ronan McConnell!" I reprimand. "What have I tol' you about blasphemy?"

"Not to," he grumbles.

"Exactly, so would you like to rephrase that?" I raise an eyebrow and I know he can feel it through the phone.

"How did you manage de be a criminal helping your sister?" he rephrases the question.

I smile at Tommy calling Wanda my sister, he might never have met her but he still considers her my sister, and even his in a way.

"Look, it was just a job gone wrong. It's not even... it's not my choice, I have de go t' Stark because he can protect me from the Feds. But... I won't be with him for long," I lie. I don't want to lie, but I need to protect them, if they think I'm coming back then they won't take it so hard.

"Right, well ye better get back soon okay? I miss my bitch of a big sister!" Tommy tells me and tears prick my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be back soon," I nod, tears falling as I keep my voice steady, "And when I get back we're spending the whole day together, I don't care what Erin and Shéa have to say about it."

"All three of us," Orlaith adds, "And we're gonna have the best time, right? We'll go to The Amusements and we'll go de the cinema and we'll go to Foyleside and just spend the whole day together.

"We will," the tears falling with ease but I keep my voice level, "God, I can't wait to see you two again. When I get back yous'll be sick of me, clinging de yous like a wane."

There's a beat of silence as we think about that day... the day that won't come for a long time. Not that they know that. It still hurts though; I miss my brother and my best friend. But no more tears, I wipe them away and clear my throat.

"We have to go," Orlaith says guiltily. "Mam is looking me back in ten minutes and Tommy needs to get back before they realise how long he's been gone."

"Okay, okay," I inhale sharply "Slán Tommy, slán Orlaith. Is grá liom sibh béirt le mo chroí iomlán. Feicfidh mé sibh gan mhoill, yeah?"

"Slán Fianna, is grá liom thú. Feicfidh mé thú níos moille," Orlaith says.

"Slán Fianna, chonaic mé thú níos moille. Is grá liom thú," Tommy says and I laugh a little.

"Bye," I say and I hang up.

I hear a knock at the door and wipe my tears quickly, erasing any evidence of my crying. I tell them to come in and it's Bucky. We haven't really spoken much, between not knowing each other and wanting to stay close to the ones we're leaving we haven't had the time to bond, I guess.

"Hey," he says timidly, staying in the doorway.

"Hey," I reply, just as timid.

"The others are discussing their plans, I think everyone's moving out tomorrow," he informs me.

"Okay, thanks for letting me know," I say, putting my phone in my hoodie pocket before standing and making my way to leave the room.

#peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x reader #peter parker #fianna macbhfloscaidh #the lone wolf #the lupine saga #nyx writes #jynx writes #pyre writes

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sourbat · 3 years

Note

omg 17 feels so magnus/toki to me 8) if you wanna, of course!

Aw, thank you. Nothing like a dose of playful magtok to end the day :)

Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

This took a slightly different path than intended, but hopefully it brings a smile. Thanks again for the request.

Three hours after Magnus arrived at the luxury resort, some jackass came running into the lobby with a makeshift bomb, demanding that he see Dethklok or blow up the entire building. He and Toki didn’t catch wind of the event until making their way out of the elevator, intent on leaving the building for rush of the city, only to have the band’s manager and several hooded men warn them the entire resort was on lockdown for the next several hours.

Not willing to let one crazed fan get in the way of their fun, Toki took Magnus back to their shared room and forced him into a pair of swim trunks before dragging him down to the poolside. With the resort on lockdown, the massive cool area was more crowded than usual, and Manus used it as an excuse to not remove his shirt and remain comfortably situated by the poolside, reclined on top of a cushioned seat. In truth, Magnus didn’t care too much for the crowds, but there was no way in hell he would be caught dead shirtless, exposed in front of strangers and contrasted against his younger, more svelte half currently poised to take a dive.

“Hey, Magnus!” Toki waved an arm up high in the air, catching the attention of Magnus and a small collection of onlookers who didn’t recognize him with goggles on. “Looks!”

Magnus lowered his sunglasses, right eye twitching until is adjusted, and quickly fixing in on Toki. “I’m looking,” Magnus repeated, voice dropping as his stare cast downwards, internally screaming at the streaming trails of cold, pool water dripping down Toki’s sculpted abdomen, making him glisten under the sunlight. Toki performed one final wave, earning a slightly strained smile from Magnus, then turned around to face the water. Back now turned, Magnus went ahead and slowly traced the indent of Toki’s spine before leading into a pair of dark swim trunks. His stare further narrowed as Toki’s back stretched into position. “Boy, oh boy. I’m looking.”

And Magnus liked what he was seeing.

No amount of jet lag or exhaustion could tear his eyes from Toki’s long, slender legs. Nothing short of having his good eye being gouged could tear him from that sculpted side profile, that wonderfully crafted abdomen and Toki’s sheer ignorance of the effect he had on him and others.

Toki took a dive, and though Magnus was at quite a distance, blinked and felt a chill settle as he watched and waited for Toki to resurface. He stared at the chlorinated pool water, grinning once Toki breached the surface and showed off his long, dark hair cling to his face, those long, flexible arms of his reaching to pull it all back and, in doing so, exposed that delectable set of muscles, shallow belly button and Adonis belt.

Just then, Toki sank underneath the water. With a kick of his legs, he jettisoned over to the edge of the pool, then resurfaced in front of Magnus.

Magnus pulled himself upright, enjoying how the water reflected the sun’s ray and gave Toki’s already glistening body a more otherworldly glow. “You look like you’re having fun.”

Toki rested his arms on top of the marbled edge. “Comes swimmins with me!”

“Oh, well.” Magnus looked around the pool area. The crowds had admittedly started to dwindle. No big surprise seeing that it was getting close to lunch, and Magnus had caught a glimpse at what the buffet lines were offering before entering the poolside. It was also getting warmer, and Magnus knew they only had half an hour left before the sun became too much for him to handle with just an umbrella covering his top half. He really ought to join Toki. This was Toki’s day off, after all. Magnus let a hand slip over a button, but when he thought to remove it, felt his anxiety double and push against his chest. “Maybe later,” Magnus said, watching the side of Toki’s mouth slant into a disappointed, but understanding frown. “I’m still recovering. Jet lag.”

“Oh. Okays.”

Some time passed, and just as he predicted, it got too hot for comfort. Magnus grew tired of pretending to read, and looked around the poolside to locate and convince Toki that they return to their room. He couldn’t find the guy anywhere, at least not without doing a thorough search underwater, but he did see that the nearest poolside bar had no lines. Magnus checked the time, figured he could do for ten more minutes if booze was involved. A fancy mixed drink just might be the ticket he needed to get Toki back inside, and just the way he liked him: grabby, flirtatious and overly ticklish.

He left the seat and ordered two drinks, picking out a top shelf bourbon for Toki’s orange mint julep, and the second he mentioned the younger man’s name, had the two drinks awaiting him in only a few minutes. Magnus carried the cold drinks back to his chair and accompanying table, placing his down first before giving one auspicious glance at the fruity, refreshing scented drink.

“Whatcha doins?” A voice rang up behind him, startling Magnus and nearly causing him to spill the overpriced julep.

“Christ, man. You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Magnus complained, grabbing his shirt and watching Toki sink in reaction.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Magnus offered the glass to Toki. “Got you something,” he said, heart returning to a calm rhythm once Toki’s mouth parted, finger pointed at himself in disbelief at being offered any kind of gift. Fuck, if that wasn’t the cutest thing ever. Toki took the drink, cheeks rising into a perfectly pink smile as he brought the straw to his lips and sipped. The heat grew more pronounced as Toki swayed in place, cupping the glass and nursing a few more gulps and unassumingly awarding Magnus with glimpses of his drenched, flexible physique.

“This ams good!” Toki hummed a pleasing noise, rubbing the side of his face as he knelt to place his half-consumed drink next to Magnus’. Once finished, Toki stood up, took Magnus’ hand in his, and Magnus shivered against the cool, wet hand, and frightfully cold fingertips. Toki leaned forward, closing in the gap until Magnus could feel the evaporating pool water covering Toki now being to sprinkle across his face. And then, Toki grinned. Not his usual, opened-eyed or coy grin, but a mischievous snicker; one that harbored a tongue firmly pressed between his shiny teeth, and playfully luring Magnus closer.

“What’s this?” Magnus asked, letting his exhale shift into a mild chuckle as Toki dared to brush his wet face against Magnus’. The cold, wet hair made his entire left side shudder.

“Just thinkins about how I ams going to rewards you for the drinks,” Toki replied, lowering voice sending an exciting throb down Magnus’ abdomen.

No longer suffering from the lag, Magnus asked. “What’s my reward?”

Cool, wet minty-orange tasting lips smashed into Magnus’ thin grin, nearly causing him to stumble back, were it not for Toki’s generous hold. His nose flared, and he inhaled that scent of chlorine, sprinkled in with a bit of the refreshing mint and heat of the sun, and Magnus happily allowed himself to close his eyes and get lost in the sweet taste of Toki’s lips, the feel of the sun and Toki’s hand slowly riding up his arm. Should’ve got him a drink a while ago, Magnus privately mused, widening smile daring to end the kiss, and Toki fighting it with increasing vigor and possessive yearning.

Then, suddenly, a hand slipped under Magnus’ shirt, and shockingly cold, wet fingertips felt up his back. He hissed out a gasp, breaking the kiss as he stiffened, goosebumps springing up as Toki’s fingers continued to trail across his back. Startled, Magnus jumped back from the overwhelming sensation. In his mind, it was the perfect thing to do. With Toki snickering at him, it was the premeditated, totally rational thing to do. Anything to get away from the onslaught of cold, probing fingers. In his haste, Magnus failed to consider their positions, and it wasn’t until he tried taking another step back and realized his foot failed to touch land, did he remember that it was Toki whose back was towards the table, his to the pool.

Toki’s eyes turned wide and white. “Magnus!”

Toki grabbed Magnus by the wrist, yanking and barely stopping the older man from falling into the pool. There was a wet pop from his wrist, and it was more loud than painful; but otherwise, Magnus was safe. Another sharp yank, and Magnus slipped forward, straight into cold, wet arms.

“Fuck.” Magnus complained at the unwelcoming sensation, but a wet hug was far better than slipping and possibly cracking his head against the pool’s inner walls. Or just making a huge ass of himself. Both would have been equally humiliating for Magnus, though the constant Norwegian whispers uttered by a still frantic Toki suggested things could’ve been far worse. Hearing the skittish prattle made the hug feel less invasive, and after a few seconds, Magnus calmed Toki down with a returning embrace. “Thanks, man. You saved me.”

Toki nodded into Magnus’ shoulder. He continued murmuring, first in Norwegian, then in English told Magnus to be careful where he was jumping, and then finally settled into silence. Magnus pet Toki’s crown, waiting until he could no longer feel that racing heart beat against his own before dropping his hand to the side. “You can let go of me now.”

Toki shuffled, pushing his face into Magnus’ shoulder. The grip around his waist tightened.

“Toki?”

Another squeeze. “Magnus?” Toki whispered into his ear. “Wants to go swimmins with Toki?”

Fear rattled up Magnus’ spine at the question. He grabbed an arm, only to feel it withdraw and strengthen its hold on him. Then, came the push, and Magnus felt his heart rate spike up, and he became painfully aware of his bare, wet feet, and the lack of friction he had compared to Toki’s strength and determination.

Magnus quickly glanced over his shoulder. “Toki, don’t you dare, he warned, then turned back to see Toki peering over his opposite shoulder, concentrating on devising what Magnus guessed would be a safe, shared dive into the pool. “Toki, I’m fucking seri–” Magnus started, but then shifted into a yelp that he just knew everyone around the damn pool heard once that same miserable slip from before returned, only now couple with the weight of an additional man pushing him into the sparkling depths.

The last thing Magnus witnessed before hitting the water was Toki’s inquisitive, curious stare, followed by that once innocent, coy grin. Then, the cold blast. The defeaning fold as chlorinated water toppled over him. Once submerged, Magnus opened his eyes, and he saw the same, menacing profile circling around him, smiling and pushing bubbles through a satisfied grin while he bitterly sank to the bottom of the pool.

#lampmeeting #kissing prompt thing #woohoo #this was fun #magtok #hammertooth #Thank You

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

Text

Love Me Less

A/n: This was up on Patreon a week before I posted it here, I release fics around a week early over there and have some Patreon exclusive drabbles, fanart, so feel free to check it out at my Patreon. Commissions are also always open. I’m going to be doing profiles and such for characters here too, so stay tuned!

Summary: Jimin is an undercover cop, and you know he’s lying to you. But he’s trapped in a huge mess, and he doesn’t want you in the crossfire. Multifandom Mafia AU (BTS, EXO, Got7)

Warnings: Some violence, mention of drug use, angst

Word Count: 2892

Jimin winces when the door shuts too loudly, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re sitting at the kitchen table and there’s a bag packed by your feet and his heart sinks to his toes. Suddenly he’s so tired he can barely hold his head up, and you’re looking at him warily and he can’t help thinking about how this all started.

Jimin couldn’t help but notice you bartending at this little place near the freeway, a dive bar called the Dirty Dozen and owned by Min Yoongi, who was well known for playing all sides of the game, letting certain gangs drink free depending on who owned the area that month. He’d been trying to blend in, trying to be just another thug ordering soju from you, but he couldn’t help catching your eyes when you brought him a drink in these little cut off shorts, asking you about the tattoo on the long line of your thigh.

It’s second nature, flirting with a bartender, especially one that looks like you, and your easy smile made the two years he’d already been undercover seem just a little bit lighter. It’s fun and casual and easy, and he tells himself it’s just for intel, buying you soju so that your tongue gets looser, maybe you’ll slip out something about Kim Yugyeom since he was always hanging around you at the bar.

A month later, he has a drawer at your apartment and he’s spending four nights a week there, barely making it out of the house to meet with Namjoon and Hoseok because he just can’t stop kissing your upturned mouth.

Hoseok gives him a wary look the sixth time he shows up with your nude lipstick on his collar, and throws a few pictures on the interrogation table. Jimin only glances at them, sees they’re mostly of you with those long thighs draped over his lap at the bar, and looks up at Hoseok expectantly.

“What? You gonna tell me you never got some strange while undercover?”

Hoseok shrugs, sits down across from him, slumped in the chair a bit, legs spread wide.

“Sure. But that’s not what this is, and we both know it.”

Jimin leans back in his chair, smirking a little, putting his hands behind his head. He hasn’t even seen Jung in a couple of months, not since he’d given him the poke and stick “Nevermind” across his ribs, telling him if he’d be telling people that he’d done time, no one would ever believe he got away without a mark.

“It’s not? You know something I don’t?”

“I know you’re spending an awful lot of time at her place.”

Jimin shrugs. “That Yugyeom kid from the Im gang is sweet on her. Sometimes he tells her stuff.”

“Yeah? You think he’ll keep doing that after you threw him up against the bar wall last night?” Hoseok says, deadpan, and Jimin laughs a bit.

“What can I say? I’ve always been a bit territorial.”

“Just tell me you aren’t getting too deep, Jiminie,” Hoseok says, softly, and Jimin loses his smile, sighs and places his forearms on the table.

“Maybe I am. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell, Seok. At first it was just a pretty smile and long legs and intel, but now… I’ve been in this what? 18 months now? It’s easy enough to believe a street kid from Busan chose a different path. Hell, sometimes I believe it myself.”

Namjoon comes in, then, with a huge file, and Hoseok groans.

“Fun’s over. Christ, look at that paperwork.”

“It’s good news,” Namjoon promises, throwing it down on the table with a thud. He looks as if he’d had one too many late nights, his white button up wrinkled and stained with coffee, hair mussed and too long at the collar.

"Good news?" Hoseok looks skeptical.

Namjoon slides a photograph out of the file and flashes them at Jimin.

"This is your girl, yeah?"

Jimin stiffens a bit. It's you, all right, piggybacking on this muscle pig's back, he'd recognize those legs anywhere.

He nods. "Who's the beefcake?"

"Lee Hoseok. He was high up in Hyunwoo's crew until he went ghost a couple of months ago. Everyone thought he was dead along with Hyunwoo, but turns out both of them have been in lock up over in Daegu. Turned themselves in, been ratting out all their friends for weeks. We just got the file."

Jimin groans. "So you're telling me the crew I've been trying to bust for a fucking year and a half just rolled over? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Namjoon agrees, but he's rifling in the file again and Jimin knows there's more.

He slides a photograph across the table to Jimin.

Jimin looks it over curiously. The guy is tall, lean but his suit is expertly tailored and there are muscles there, for sure. His first undercover stint had been in an underground fight club and he hadn't broken the habit of sizing people up. Probably not too strong, but fast, likely, well balanced. His hands look manicured so he probably didn't get his hands dirty, and that suit…

"New player? Family ties, I'd guess?"

Namjoon nods. "Good eye. He's Kim Junmyeon's cousin, and mostly we'd dismissed him because he stays quiet, to himself. Lately he's been seen with Do and Zhang, though, and the rumor is that he's up to take over for Kim."

"He looks young," Jimin muses. He's handsome, full mouth, charming smile.

"He's only a few years older than you. We'd expected Minseok for next in line but he's been in the spotlight so much, been arrested five times this year. This kid... Jongin... he's clean. No record at all."

Jimin throws the photograph down on the table. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Turns out he drinks at your girl's bar. Not only that, Min says he tips double when she serves him."

Jimin frowns. "Min's giving intel again?"

Hoseok snorts. "Yoongi would sell out his own mother for a few thousand won."

Namjoon nods, his eyes going wide and bright like he gets when he's chasing something.

"Your girl has all the connects. She used to live with this Lee Hoseok and now someone from Im's crew and Jongin have the hots for her? You've gotta stick with her."

"She's popular," Hoseok grins, and Jimin wants to punch him in his perfect teeth.

"So you brought me in to tell me to use my girlfriend for intel?"

"Oh, she's your girlfriend now?" Hoseok teases, but Jimin ignores him.

"She's got ties to three of the major players in Seoul, Jimin. You know how to pick em."

Jimin leaves soon after, popping the collar of his leather jacket against the wind. He's pissed off, having them tell him to stay with you as if he'd ever had any intention of leaving.

Hoseok was right. He'd been in over his head since the moment you'd smiled at him and now that he knew you lived and worked in a snake's den, it made panic claw up his throat to think that he couldn't protect you.

First, Kim Yugyeom with his predator's eyes and wolf's smile and now the fucking future head of the Kim crew?

Jaebeom and Hyunwoo were small potatoes compared to Kim, dabbling in carjacking and marijuana mostly.

Kim had his fingers in all the pies, heroin and cocaine smuggling, black market guns, whores, every crime you could think of, they were committing...and most of them got away clean.

Only a couple of them even had records and it was for petty shit like battery or simple assault.

Jimin would have stayed with you anyway because of the way he felt waking up with your long leg looped over his hip, the way you'd grumble and tuck your face into his neck in the mornings.

But now? He had to make sure you were safe, no matter what that meant for him.

It's less than a month later when everything falls apart for Jimin, and he can't tell you a single word of it.

Jimin manages to track this low level crew boss, a foreign kid, not even 21, goes by Lucas to an opium den.

He catches him outside the abandoned building, has the arrest warrant based on pictures and intel already. There's no one in the alley so Jimin cuffs him on the spot as he whines in protest. Then he hears a familiar verse and drops the kid on the ground, cursing.

"Well well well," Yugyeom drawls. "Park Jimin the piglet. I can't fucking believe it."

"Don't fucking try me, Kim. I could bust you right now."

"Bet you won't. Bet you won't want that pretty little thing of yours knowing how clean you really are, yeah? She wouldn't like you as much."

Yugyeom is grinning, eyes glassy from alcohol or weed or god knows what and he's getting closer to Jimin.

"Don't-" Jimin warns, already instinctively spreading his legs, in a fighting stance while barely realizing it.

"Baby likes it dirty," Yugyeom continues. "She likes to slum it, I should know."

Jimin's hands are itching to clock him, right on the chin because Yugyeom isn't protecting himself at all, too drunk or stupid to block, but he waits for him to get closer.

Yugyeom is tall and lean, has a higher center of gravity and the closer he gets the better, and they always do, the tall ones, think because they tower over Jimin they have the advantage.

But they're easy, always go high, swing wide without protecting their middle and when Yugyeom swings, Jimin ducks and punches him in the gut, a sharp jab that takes the younger man's breath.

While he's gasping for air, doubled over, Jimin grabs him, swings him around and puts a knee in his lower back, taking him to the ground easily.

Yugyeom is still laughing and Jimin presses down on the back of his neck, grinding his face into the gravel.

Lucas is staring wide eyed at them, having turned over on his side, but Jimin ignores him.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Jimin growls, and Yugyeom's snorts, blood spurting from his nose when Jimin presses down harder.

"Now I get to do whatever I want. You can't fucking touch me."

Jimin's heart sinks and he hauls them both into the station but of course, Yugyeom is right, he sings like a canary and now he's an informant and Jimin can't touch him with a ten foot pole.

Now instead of shoving him into the bar wall for palming your ass when he slips a tip into your back pocket, Jimin has to grit his teeth and ignore it.

Jimin buys a ring after nine months, keeps it in a sock in his underwear drawer because he can't get down on one knee when he's lying to you.

He starts to drink more than he should, stays out too late because he can't bear to come home and lie to you about where he's been.

The third or fourth night he gets home and you're already asleep, you wake when he plops down clumsily on the bed, turning over and trailing your hand across his chest.

"Baby," you murmur. "What's wrong?"

There's something stuck in his throat, all the secrets he's been keeping from you and he snakes an arm around you, squeezing you tight.

He can't bear to say "nothing" because that'd just be another lie so he tugs you on top of him and kisses you silent.

When he's got you flipped onto your back, buried inside you, he says the one thing he can, the one truth he can tell you, over and over.

"I love you, jagi. You know I love you, yeah?"

But of course, love isn't enough.

He ends up here anyway, with you looking at him with hollow, wary eyes.

"Jagi-" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Is there someone else?" You ask, your voice low and shaking.

Jimin scoffs. He's barely noticed other women even exist since you'd come into his life, but when he puts himself in your shoes, he supposes it isn't a far stretch.

"Not since the moment you smiled at me, jagi," he says earnestly, and your face softens.

"Then what is it? What's going on?"

You stand up, come around the table to wrap your arms around his waist and Jimin wants so badly to tell you everything, to pour out all the secrets that burn like acid in his throat.

"You're leaving me," is all he can choke out, his voice hoarse, and you sigh and rest your forehead against his chest.

"I don't want to," you admit, locking your hands at his back.

"Then don't. Jagi. Y/n. Please don't."

You shake your head against his chest and Jimin's heart cracks right down the middle when you look up at him, tears standing in your eyes.

"All you have to do is tell me the truth."

His throat works and you sniffle.

"Jiminie...please. I don't care what it is. We'll work it out just...just tell me."

He feels tears rolling down his face and he doesn't bother to stop them.

"Please," he pleads, and you release him, put a hand on your suitcase and Jimin wants to rip it from you, throw it across the room but all he can do is stand there and watch you, a sob catching in his chest.

He can't watch you leave, stands with his back to you, and when he hears the door close behind you, quiet and anticlimatic, something inhuman rips from his chest and he grabs onto the back of the dining room chair when his knees give out.

Jimin lets himself wallow, turning off his phone so that he doesn't call to beg you to come home, crying into your pillow because it smells like your shampoo, going only as far as the corner store to replenish the soju he replaces all his meals with.

It's Hoseok that finally nearly breaks down his door and Jimin stumbles to the door and jerks him inside, rubbing at the stubble on his chin and blinking at him blearily.

Hoseok looks around at the bottles of soju littering the table and Jimin gives him a look.

"Don't, Jung."

Jimin expects him to berate him, tell him he was stupid for falling in love and losing all their intel, but he doesn't.

Hoseok just puts a hand on his shoulder, pulls him into a hug, and Jimin can't stop the tears that are always so close to the surface.

After Jimin is sniffling instead of sobbing and Hoseok has gathered all the bottles to throw in the garbage, he sits down at the kitchen table.

"Jimin...I came to tell you something."

"Fuck," Jimin mumbles, rubbing a hand across his face and taking a long sip of the glass of water Hoseok had brought him.

Hoseok nods. "Jongin is spending four nights a week at the Dirty Dozen."

"Let me guess," Jimin says tiredly. "Only the nights Y/n works."

"Bingo. Joon has been going in your absence, he's gotten close to the other bartender. Y/n is living with her and Joon says…" Hoseok pauses and Jimin drops his forehead to the table.

"Just spit it out, Jung." He says miserably, keeping his head on the table.

"Joon says Y/n went home with Jongin a couple nights ago."

Jimin had been bracing himself for what his friend would say next but he hadn't been prepared for this, how it took the very breath from his lungs.

"No," he wheezes through the pinhole that has become his throat. "No, he's wrong, it's only been a couple of days, she wouldn't-"

"You've been mia over two weeks, Jimin," Hoseok says softly.

Jimin gasps in a breath, lifts his head.

"We've got an unmarked car following her. We'll watch out for her, you don't have to-"

Jimin barks out a bitter laugh. "Shut up. Just shut up, Seok. Of course I do."

Hoseok sighs and nods. "I told Joon you'd say that. Word of advice?'

Jimin looks at him.

"Shower first."

So Jimin ends up right back where he started, sitting at a table at the back of The Dirty Dozen breathing in the fog of tobacco smoke and the errant joint, watching you walk toward him with a bottle of soju and a shot glass.

"Hey," he says dumbly, and you give him a ghost of your easy smile that makes his heart skip.

"Hey, Jiminie. Long time no see."

You pout the shot and go to leave but Jimin takes your wrist.

"Ah, leave the bottle."

You frown at him, and he wants to tell you he has to stay a certain level of drunk so that he doesn't beg you to come home, break down when Jongin inevitably shows up and arrest him the second he smiles at you, to keep the steady ache in his chest just numb enough.

You leave the bottle, though, going back behind the bar, and sure enough, Jongin has already slipped in while Jimin was distracted, leaning across the bar with a big smile.

Jimin takes in a shaky breath and downs the shot, thinking he had a lot of long nights ahead of him.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #park jimin #jimin imagine #bts mafia au #undercover detective Jimin #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #kim jongin #exo mafia au #monsta x mafia au #got7 mafia au

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