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littl3-val3ntine · 2 years

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every breath you take (pt. 3) ❥ edward nashton

PART ONE / PART TWO

《♡》

summary // riddler always has everything planned, from the moment his plot begins up until the day after it has happened. he expects himself to be able to expect everything, until his mind is taken elsewhere during a routine stakeout on the police response to his latest hit... now he finds himself, as well as the item of his affection, caught up in his issues and lust for vengeance.

warnings // OHJ GOD LMFAO, gn! smut (I SECTIONED IT, ITS UNNECESSARY TO THE PLOT SO FEEL FREE TO SKIP), typical creepiness that's consistent for this fic, switch!eddie, light choking and kinda voyeurism?, possessiveness, creampie whoops

author's note // hey besties... ur boy just dislocated his knee so sorry for the later update :,)) this one's good nd long though to make up for it.

part 4 will be the last part to this fic, so thank you for joining me along the ride. more 2 come! just kinda done with this one lolz

anyways do enjoy!! love u muah! ^^

《♡》

You swear you recognize this car.

It’s not like it’s all that generic, either. A little burgundy sedan, just old enough to have one whispering to themself, “Huh, what a neat car,” but not so old that it’s antique. It lives somewhere deep in your mind that you’re not quite sure of. God, it’s familiar…

You brush it off. Maybe you just remember it from the parking lot at the press office.

You glance over at the man in the driver's seat, bathed in red light from the traffic signal overhead, to find him white-knuckled around the steering wheel and staring absently ahead through the windshield. The car ride up until now has been characterized by a loaded silence, as if there's things both of you could be saying but aren't. Granted, it has only been about a minute or so since he all but sped out of the parking lot at the hospital, but even so, that's about halfway down to Grange Street, where your car is parked.

The doctor was wise to warn you not to drive. Not only are you dead tired, nearly dozing off in the passenger side of Edward's car, on top of that your mind is still foggy from the sedatives in your system. It takes you a good couple seconds to realize the stoplight before you had changed, even while you were zoned in, unconsciously, on the bright colors.

He doesn't touch the accelerator. Instead, he just gazes blankly into the road ahead, brows furrowing.

You don't have half a mind to follow his line of sight. "Edward," you whisper, "The light's green."

He seems startled by your voice. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."

The engine hums back to life and the car rolls through the intersection, only to slow to a halt a few meters later upon reaching a police road block. So that's what he was staring at.

"I-I think I know another way around—"

He moves his grasp to the gearshift, sliding it back into reverse and throwing his arm over the back of your seat to look through the rearview window. He's leaning over the console and you can feel his warmth again, his closeness bringing with it that same electricity that you missed. The weak glow of streetlights ahead paint his skin— his face, his clavicle exposed by the loose collar of his shirt, the space where his jaw meets his neck— and he looks like a sculpture, all smooth porcelain and fine detail.

You stop him with your fingers against his chest, telling him something about seeing your car up ahead and how you could just walk over to retrieve your bag and house key to save time. He doesn't necessarily realize your exact words. All he's aware of in that moment is your touch.

Edward just nods abstractedly, and then you're getting out of the car before he can even come back to his senses. He misses you immediately. Watching your every move, something heavy in his chest tugs at him and begs to reach for you. He can't let you leave. What if you get in your car and drive off? And then he'll never see you again. It's safer for you in his car.

Shaking away the thoughts rambling on in his mind, he surveys the alleyway for anything— or anyone— that might become an issue along your walk down to your car. Even upon finding nothing, he's still tempted to get out and walk with you. Just to make sure. But he doesn't.

His eyes find you again, halfway into your car and bent over the seat as you reach for your bag. Jaw falling open just slightly, his breath hitches, neck craning forward as if it'll get him a better view. Unconsciously, he commits the scene to mind; the dip of your spine as you disappear into the vehicle, how the light from the moon and the neon OPEN sign above hits the curve of your ass, the way you sit back onto your heels to stand upright. He follows your arms as you stretch them into the air, your back arching almost impossibly and head falling back against your shoulders. He can only imagine the sound you must have made when you stretched like that, the satisfied groan leaving your lips and the sigh of content as you relaxed your body again.

You must be so sore from the hit you took, and that bed at the hospital couldn't have been comfortable. The things he'd do for you, if only you'd ask him... he knows he'd treat you so well. Every aching muscle you could possibly have, he'd be willing to rub it to relief. Anything that could inconvenience you, he'd be there to eliminate it for you. He would kill for you. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that he already has.

Anything, if it means you’d forgive him for the way he hurt you tonight.

But before he can indulge further in his thoughts, his passenger side door swings open and you sink down into the seat, bag in your lap. You look over at him and offer a warm smile, as if to silently say, "You can start the car now, I'm ready." And somehow, he understands, as he offers back a whisper of a grin and turns the key in the ignition.

"So, uh, where are we headed?" he asks, as if he doesn't already have your address imprinted in his memory.

And none the wiser, you tell him: "Oh, I'm in the Sycamore Apartments, over on Fifth Street." He flicks his blinker on, nodding before you even finish your sentence. The silence falls over you both again, and the clicking noise fills the car.

"Thank you for driving me home, by the way. I really appreciate it," you say, desperate to break the ice. He just waves you off as if it's the most normal thing in the world. As if you two aren't basically strangers— at least, as far as you're concerned.

"It's nothing. Really, it's for my sake. Peace of mind, I guess." Though it's dim in the car, you swear you see that tiny boyish grin again. He never did smile much. When he does, even just a little, it makes something in your chest flutter. Like you're sixteen again and passing a cute guy in the hallway.

"What," you tease, your tone thick with sarcasm, "Couldn't trust me enough to make it home on my own?"

His eyes blow wide in panic. "Oh, I— No, that's not what I meant at all! I just—"

"Edward."

He looks at you, his cheeks turning dark. You can't help but to laugh. He's so easy. "I was just kidding."

"Oh," he murmurs, settling back into his seat. He raises a brow, removing one hand from the steering wheel to lean his elbow on the center console, all calm and collected like. Clearing his throat, he tells you, "No yeah, absolutely. I uh, knew that from the beginning."

You chuckle again, pulling another smile from him. "Oh did you, now?"

"Yeah. What, you don't believe me?"

"No dice, Mr. Nashton."

He exhales slowly, like a content sigh. You notice his breath hitch, almost undetectably, as you shift in your seat and lean against his forearm on the console to look out the window. He swallows audibly. "You know, you really ought to stop calling me that," he mutters, turning onto Fifth Street and slowing in front of your apartment.

"Why's that?" You turn to him. The muscles in his arm tense as your skin slides against his sleeve. "I think it's got a nice ring to it."

It makes him want to press you face-first into a wall. "It makes me feel like I'm at work."

"Hm, fair enough." Collecting your bag from your lap, you sigh. You're not ready to let the moment go, uncertain of when you'll see something like this again. You two, alone in his car...

You stop yourself before you can get too deep. What, have you got a crush on him or something?

He's looking at you as if he's got something to say, eyes dropping briefly to your lips and then to where your chest meets his forearm. Your eyes, however, don't leave his face. You're so close you can watch every thought in his mind play across his features, but somehow not close enough to distinguish what any of them mean. You're stalling...

Oh, what the hell.

"Do you maybe want to come inside for a few? I think we could both use a drink after... tonight." Maybe you aren't thinking. Or maybe you are thinking, just not with your head. Either way, the thought that illuminates his face right then is clear as day— Yes.

"Are you sure? It's late..." The way he's looking at you is begging you not to change your mind. The idea sits in the way back of your head, screaming, Don't let him inside! But you've already made your decision.

"Yeah it’s late, but I'd feel bad, you know? If you drove me all the way home and I didn't even pay you back." He thinks about it for a moment, having a debate in his own mind that lasts a good few seconds. It's not long, though, until he cuts the engine and nods.

“I’d love to, actually.” Worrying now that he sounds too forward, he adds, “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good drink.”

You grin, satisfied. Trying your best to choke down the childish excitement that bubbles up in your throat, you turn from him and pull up the lock-knob on the car door. Right as you swing your legs out the open door, there he is— looking like a phantom, tall and slender against the distinct Gotham gloom— holding out his hand to help you up.

“Well, thank you,” you chirp as he raises you into the night air. “Quite the gentleman.”

He laughs through his nose. “Hardly.”

There’s a certain danger to the way he responds. Like a warning. You don’t think too much of it as you’re gliding up the metal stairway to your front door, shaky-legged and eager to get inside, but upon looking back on it later it all made much more sense.

While you’re standing there, fumbling to get your key in the lock, your gaze drifts. And your heart catches for a moment, at the sight of it. You’re sure now, Yeah, it’s definitely a crush.

There he is, climbing the steps up to your front porch, blond hair askew and falling into his face as he’s careful not to slip. You turn back quickly, plunging the key in. The lock clicks and you disappear inside.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” you admit, hurrying to gather your coat from the back of the couch and stow away the empty takeout box on the end table. “I wasn’t really expecting anyone.”

He chuckles, something quiet and gentle, but still it rings through the small room. Shutting the door behind him, he assures you his place is worse. Your guest glances around, taking in the color of the walls and what covers them, and what’s on the tables and how you didn’t seem to know how to close a set of blinds to save your soul. Committing it all to memory. So this is how it looks from the inside. There’s that picture he always sees through the window.

“You can have a seat, if you’d like.” You brush past him as he’s looming awkwardly in the doorway. “What, uh… what do you drink?”

He trails you into the kitchenette, dropping into a chair just beside the counter. Reaching up to the cabinet above the table where he’s sat, you find yourself nearly leaning over him to get to the alcohol. He peers up at the shelves as you pry open the wooden door— it’s been a while since you’ve dug into it.

Crown Royal. Shitty vodka from your friend, a housewarming gift. Cognac you brought to a party a couple months back, and returned home with, unopened. Your collection was slim, but you assured him, “I’ve got wine in the fridge as well, if you’re interested.”

“May I have a glass of wine?”

You look down at him. And he’s gazing up at you, eyes soft. So polite. “Of course, that would have been my choice as well.”

He smiles again. He’ll remember that.

He likes this view of you. Leaning into the fridge, hunting for something, brows furrowed. There’s something domestic about it. And while he realizes it’s just a fantasy, in the moment you’re finding the wine he allows himself to slip into a world where you both are here, together, coming home from work and settling in for a drink. One where he’d make dinner and let you rest in his lap on the couch afterward. You’d fall asleep together, wake together, over again…

Clink.

The sound of glass colliding with cheap marble yanks him from his thoughts. There you are again, just inches from him, pressed against the countertop as you concentrate on pouring the wine. Careful not to spill and stain the surface. He always loved how you looked when you focused.

Once both glasses are half-full, he rises and takes one in his hand. “Thank you,” he hums, and he raises the glass to his lips for a leisurely sip. You don’t realize his eyes locked on you while you stare, his mouth forming perfectly around the rim of the glass. Catching yourself, you glance away.

“No need to thank me. It’s the least I could do.” You settle beside him, hopping up to sit on the counter while he leans his hip against its edge. Chuckling, you remind him, “The wine isn’t even that great.”

You don’t trust yourself to hold the glass, so you release it from your shaking hand to the surface beside you. “Oh, I’m not picky,” he all but whispers. “Besides, it’s not every night I get to drink with friends. I’d be stupid to complain.”

You huff out a sarcastic breath. “It’s not every night my boss is in my apartment, either.” You meet his eyes again. He’s holding you there, and he’s not even touching you. His eyes have gone stoic.

You’re pressed between him and his desk. Holding each others’ gaze, waiting to see who breaks first. Testing the waters. How far can we push it?

“I suppose I’m not complaining either, though,” you add. There’s a beat of silence as he ponders his next words, eyebrows raising as he takes another lazy sip from his glass.

“Since when am I your boss?”

You feel your cheeks warming, and finally you look away. “Well, maybe that wasn’t really the word for it, but you know what I mean. You’re definitely my superior, but I guess you’re not really my boss— that would be a little weird, actually, you don’t really seem like the boss type…”

Amidst your rambling, he mutters, “It would certainly complicate things.”

And you pause. He furrows his brows, as if he wasn’t expecting you to hear that. A hint of panic splashes across his face.

“Complicate things?” you urge him.

He shakes his head, beginning to turn away. “It’s nothing.”

“No.” You reach for him, fingers curling around the loose fabric of his sleeve. He tenses, his body stuttering for a second, but he doesn’t leave. He stays there, right where you hold him. “What did you mean?”

A doe-eyed stare falls on you again as he cranes his neck over his shoulder to look at you. And there you are. Locked in eye contact again, silently challenging one another as the room becomes pressurized. Pressing you two together until someone breaks. You feel his muscles tensing and untensing beneath your fingertips as he chooses his words.

I just want a straight-forward answer, Edward.

“It’s just a bit strange for someone’s… superior, to be in their home this late, no?”

“I thought you said you weren’t complaining.”

Your breath is speeding up. You’re sure he notices, because his is speeding up, too. He turns back to you again, this time bringing him so close to you that you feel the chill of his belt against the skin of your outer thigh through your clothes. It sets your senses alight, your entire body tingling to attention at the slightest touch. And there it is again, that hand coming down to post on the edge of the countertop beside you, keeping you tucked between him and something so suffocatingly unmovable for the second time that month. Except this time, his confidence is dormant. He’s all whispers and soft linen, his bottom lip stained red.

“I’m not,” he murmurs. Head tilted forward, even with his hair falling down into his face, his eyes still gleam in the dim light from the kitchen lamp as he looks down at you. You can almost feel his breath on your face as he continues, almost silently, breathlessly, “I told you. I would be stupid to complain.”

Your back is arching into him instinctually. The need for him is primal, unlike any way you’ve ever needed someone prior. Your eyes are resting on his lips, recalling how they pursed around the glass, curled into a gentle smile, caught between his teeth sometimes when he’d think. Wondering if you could taste the wine on his tongue. He’d make it taste so good.

His jaw hangs as he exhales a shaky breath, leaning in further to place his glass down next to yours, right behind your far hip. He doesn’t draw back his hand. His hair, stringy and soft, tickles your forehead. His entire body is close. Close enough you could almost feel his lashes against your skin as his eyelids fall slowly shut. Hesitantly, he maneuvers his hips to slink between your knees, quick to return to that sphere of closeness you both have created.

You’re hardly breathing. Feeling weightless on your perch at the counter, you brace your palm against his warm chest to keep your balance. His heart pounds mercilessly against the skin. Trailing upward, you gently brush the hair from his face.

How far could you push it?

Your lips meet. Featherlight at first, but he doesn’t last long. His hands curl around your hips, drawing you against his body as your own rest against his arms, in his hair, anywhere you can find purchase. The pain in your finger is long forgotten against the sensation of him.

It’s open mouthed, sloppy and desperate. Small noises and wandering hands. It’s nothing like he’d ever imagined it would be. In a way, that only serves to excite him further.

His lips are chapped, but they’re warm and wet nonetheless and he kisses you as if you’re fresh air and he’s been drowning. His embrace is possessive. He tugs you into himself and groans something guttural, animalistic. He’s never letting go.

His mouth moves eagerly and without expertise, small sounds escaping the back of his throat as you press further into him. His touch slides tentatively up your back, only to crash back against the marble as he collapses into the dip of your shoulder. His ministrations don’t stop, and he probes the delicate skin beside your throat with his lips and tongue. Incoherent, he’s a mess, sobbing into your body how beautiful you are, how scared he’s been, how badly he needs you.

Please, please, he needs you. He needs you so badly his entire body aches. He’ll do anything. He knows it’s wrong, and he knows he shouldn’t want this, but he’s been so hungry for you for so long and it’s all he ever thinks about when he sees you.

You pry him away from your neck, which is now raw and likely marred by his ravenous mouth, by getting a fistful of his hair and tugging. The sound that leaves him is inexcusable, whining desperately like a bitch in heat, but all is made right again when you caress his face and thumb at his swollen lips.

His pupils are blown to saucers, peering down at you unwaveringly as he looms between your legs. Knowing well he’s hanging on your every word, you ask him softly, directly, “Do you want this?”

His face contorts like he’s about to cry. He sinks into your touch, burying his face in your palm, nodding frantically. “I do. M’want it, so bad… I need…”

“What do you need, Eddie?”

He sucks in a shaky breath. Eddie. He liked that. “You. You, you… I want to feel you, I’ve been thinking about you so long…”

You figure he could tell you about that later. For now, you guide his face back to your lips again, and whisper against his mouth.

“Have me.”

X X X

For being long and lean, he’s stronger than you expected. He sweeps you from the countertop with ease and hauls you off down the hall, hands planted firmly underneath your thighs to hold you tight against him.

You don’t remember telling him where your bedroom was. Once you lock your legs around his back and feel his hips— and something else— grinding right into where you need him, though, you can’t really bring yourself to mind.

Edward turns to nudge open the door with his shoulder, and he doesn’t even bother closing it. He’s too preoccupied with bracing his forearm against your back and laying you gently against your blankets, letting you down so easy he must have thought you’d break at the slightest touch. His body doesn’t separate from you. All of his weight is on top of you, around you, firmly against you. Your legs still curl snugly around him, with his face in your chest and his hands drifting up your thighs.

His hips are already rutting into you, restricted by the clothes that still, to his dismay, divide your bodies. The incessant throbbing between his legs tells him that he would have been perfectly content, had you told him to, to grind against you like a puppy until he got off, but once you tug at the back of his shirt collar he’s just as eager to be free of it.

He fumbles with the buttons on the sleeves, whimpering in frustration when they don’t come undone. “Here,” you prod. You take them between your fingers to help him, to guide him. Like Edward, they come undone quickly beneath your skilled touch.

Not even bothering with the buttons along the front, he yanks it over his head and discards it somewhere off the bedside. You glance in its general direction, but instead you’re greeted by the city staring back at you through the wide-open window.

“Edward,” you push at his shoulder, but he’s engulfed in kissing at your neck again. The most you get is a distracted hum. Squirming, you tell him, “We gotta close the window—“

“No.” He posts up on his elbows to get a look at your face, and his eyes are wild as they land on you. A surge of ferocity rips through him, uncharacteristic compared to how he was writhing against you not moments ago. “I don’t give a fuck who sees. Hell, they can watch. So they’ll all know.”

Let them all watch him as he makes you his. As he drives his dick so deep into you that he can be certain no one else will ever fill you so well again. And when you inevitably wake up tomorrow and dress for work, and try your best to cover his marks and bruises all over your neck with makeup or jewelry, let them peek out in the spots you missed and remind everyone in the office you’re not to be touched. Not to be looked at. Not even to occupy space in another’s mind.

His.

He’s back on you in an instant, tugging on your belt and then sliding down your body to rid you of your bottoms. His breath, hot and heavy, cascades against your inner thigh as he rests his face against it. Eyes closed, he nips at the supple flesh with his open mouth. The warm hand returns to busy itself with squeezing at your opposite leg.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, trying to draw him closer to where you need him. You lift your hips so he can remove your underwear. He dips his head between your thighs, mind going foggy as he takes you in.

A soft mouth accepts you without prompt. His tongue moves against you eagerly, lapping at the nectar that drips from your heat. Your head falls back against the pillows, losing yourself in the wet euphoria he gives you and the muffled noises he makes as he all but suffocates on you.

He doesn’t need to breathe. He’d never been so hungry— never had something so sweet ever graced his tongue. If he choked there, in between your thighs, he’s sure he’d have spent his afterlife bragging.

He lifts his head with a greedy inhale, filling his lungs as he was just starting to get lightheaded. Spit, among other things, coats his lips and the corners of his mouth, and his hair is disheveled from your pawing at it. The smile on his face is unlike any you’ve seen before— something adjacent to deranged. Manic. He’s just getting started.

“I’ve spent so long wondering how you taste,” he whines, rising into all fours to return to his place on top of you. He sits back on his haunches right between your spread legs, the dusting of blond hair on his chest catching the moonlight as his muscles move beneath the skin. The darkness of the room beyond him frames his body, but he seems to glow above you, humming with energy, while he undoes his belt.

His words finally register in your head. “You have?” you affirm weakly, finding it hard to breathe. The smile only widens, tongue pressing insolently against his bottom teeth.

“I have.”

Slipping out of his trousers and briefs, he leans over you again, pressing his nose into your temple. “You’re better than I could have ever imagined," he whispers, taking the hem of your shirt between his fingers. You get the hint. “I don’t know how I’ve possibly kept myself away this long.”

A shuttering groan escapes from deep within his throat just at the sight of you. Now completely bare, you let the shirt fall from your fingers, raising your arms above your head to toss it to the floor. His hands follow, pinning your wrists.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to again.”

You feel it. Warm and thick, pressing into your thigh. His head drops to the crook of your neck. By instinct, you let your legs drift further apart, all but inviting him inside.

He moves his hips at an excruciating pace, sliding his dick slowly against your skin, so close to where you need him. Every so often, he loses control, his hips bucking forward despite his best efforts. You squirm beneath him, mumbling desperately, dumb from arousal— “Please, Eddie”— but he doesn’t relent. His grip around your wrist only tightens.

“Say it. I need to hear you say it.” Holding you down with one hand, he hooks the other under your knee to poise his dick right against your hole. Barely breaking the surface.

Your mind is reeling. “Please!”

“As nice as you sound when you beg,” he quips, panting, “I want you to tell me you’re mine. I need… I need to hear it. Need to.” His fingers dig into your thigh. “Say it. Who do you belong to?”

What little composure he had before is long lost. His entire body trembles above you, like a live wire about to erupt into flames. His cock jumps against your skin, aching to be inside.

“You—!” Your breath is cut short. The stretch that burns between your legs makes your entire body feel limp, giving itself to his touch as he shapes you around his dick.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. Only making it halfway inside before you clench around him, he slides back out to the tip. He releases your wrists, setting you free to let your hands roam again, and slides his arms around your waist as he holds you down onto his cock. Teeth scrape against your throat, weakly resisting the urge to bite down.

His thrusts soon become erratic and quick, reaching deeper inside of you than you ever thought possible and breeding you like a rabbit. Whining, babbling incoherently, gazing at you thoughtlessly, his eyes are lidded— Mine, mine, mine.

“Feels so fucking… oh god, so tight…”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, holding on for any essence of control. Tightening your grip into a fist, you feel his jaw fall open in a silent scream. The mewl that escapes him is pathetic. He likes that. He loves that.

"That feel good, Eddie?" It leaves your lips like honey. He nods fervently into your neck, abandoning the air of dominance he'd played with earlier. The warm body above you, inside you, melts into your touch, offering himself to you. Begging you to take him.

And you do.

It comes naturally, telling him how good he feels, how good he is for you, good, good, good. The bruising rhythm of his hips falters as he loses himself in your praise, mumbling things you couldn't understand and heating the skin of your bare chest with his breath.

You give him another tug. He yelps, his dick stilling within you while you hold his head up to face you by his hair. Glossy eyed, you swear there's tears sliding down his cheeks. Pathetic.

"What happened, baby?" You clench around him, just to hear him squeal. He does. "Not so big and strong anymore, huh? What happened to all that confidence?"

His face twists, and a small sob wracks his frame. He goes to return his face to the crook of your neck, but he's stopped by another yank to his hair.

"Ah—!"

"Use your words, honey. Why are you crying?" A tinge of worry invades your question, but something in you screams in delight at the way you've broken him. At just how easy it was.

There's so much he could say. How he never believed he'd get this far. He could tell you just how many nights he'd spent, dick deep in his fist, thinking about this, and how he can't even contain himself now that it's finally happening. How he's waiting to wake up from this cruel dream to an inevitable wet spot of cum on his mattress, as he has done frequently in the past. The way he needs you right now, to fill you and let you claim him, to hear you decide he's worthy of even the littlest passing thought. To beg you to use him if it means he can take up space in your mind. He wants to sink into the softness of your skin and let you hold him there. How the second he felt you squeezing his dick, he vowed never to leave your bedsheets— he'd stay there, in your bed, waiting for you all day until you return home so he can lay in your arms again like a lapdog. He'd let you whore him out for your own pleasure. Reduce himself for a warm body for you to use if it means he got to be yours.

He can’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he opts for a weak whimper as he tells you, "Need you..."

It wasn't a lie. In this moment, you're the oxygen he breathes— the only thing registering in his mind is how your body moves against his. Committing it to memory for when he inevitably has to let you go. Once you wake up tomorrow and realize who you've taken to bed. The way you'll look at him—or not look at him, even worse— in the days to come. The crushing reality that he will have to return to his spot across the street and observe you from your window again, teased by the events of tonight and the remnants of your touch on his skin.

But you're facing him now, picking apart his expression with eyes unwavering, glowing with adoration. Fully aware and generally sober, you know it's Edward Nashton.

You see him.

He's pulled back to reality by the breathiness of your voice, whispering to him, Oh, come here, baby. The voice from his dreams calling to him again.

Without hesitance, he collapses back into you. His hands squeeze your hips, anchoring you to him as his hips pick up in speed.

His dick slides against your walls with ease, and you feel him twitching inside of you. You caress his back, coaxing him toward his release, chasing your own. He moans softly, mindlessly, " 'm gonna cum..."

The weight of his body lifts away from you, just barely enough to make space for his fingers to snake between your bodies and stroke you. "Cum with me," he begs, "Please, I wanna... wanna make you feel good."

Feeling the coil deep in your belly, you dig your nails into his shoulderblades and buck your hips into his touch. It doesn't take long, between his mewling in your ear and the heat of his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, until you're almost there, clinging to him and clenching unwillingly around his cock.

"Eddie, I'm close—"

"Please cum, please, please... oh, my god, I wanna— I wanna see you." He posts on his elbow so his face hovers above yours, your breath mingling with his and making you dizzy.

You bring your trembling palm against his cheek. He watches your eyes roll back into your skull as your release washes over you, your entire body jolting with the force of it. The low groan that leaves you sends him toppling over his own edge, burying himself deep within you and spilling himself into your body. He lets his forehead fall against yours, a thin veil of sweat dampening his skin. The room fades into a half-awake sort of silence as each of you breathe each other's air, recovering.

When you open your eyes again after a long moment of basking in his closeness, and your own fullness, you find him already gazing down at you. The look in his eyes isn't any different from ones you've received in the past, but this time, it makes sense.

Desire. Unadulterated need. Infatuation.

Reverence.

With the hand on his cheek, you guide his lips down to yours. The kiss is nothing like your first of the evening. It's slow, languid, offering you both time to truly taste one another. To become one entity, joined at the mouth, for a brief time until you both come up for air and he collapses against the mattress beside you.

The moonlight plays on his features, sending shadows that frame his face like he’s Renaissance art. Suddenly he's bashful again, toying with your fingers as he asks you, "Should I let you get to sleep?"

You intertwine your hand with his.

"Stay."

《♡》

PART FOUR SOON

@yelenas-lova

@alicefallsintotherabbithole

@notevanpetersbuthisgf

@bugwritesstuff

#edward nashton x reader #paul dano riddler #the riddler x reader #paul dano fanfic #edward nashton fic #edward nashton fluff #riddler fluff #still gay 4 paul dano #i love insane men #cliffyfics #riddler smut #edward nashton smut

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joezworld · 3 years

Text

Fools in Love (9/10)

Gordon, the spectacularly unobservant

June 17, 1985

Like most mornings, Gordon was unceremoniously ripped from his beauty sleep by the sounds of squabbling.

"I will and you can't stop me!"

"Fuck around and find out my dear!"

How unusual. It was usually James and Delta or Duck and/or Donald/Douglas. Henry and Bear were usually too friendly for even mock-fighting, let alone the legitimate anger that seemed to be colouring their tones.

"Why," he asked groggily. “Am I being woken up by you two? I thought that you’d moved beyond mere words.”

Henry and Bear, who usually communicated through a series of significant glances, looked at Gordon as though they hadn’t realized he was there.

“It’s nothing, Gordon.” Bear said after a moment of wild-eyed pause. “Just some... irritating people on the platform, is all."

Must be some irritation, Gordon thought to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time that he'd seen Bear's dander up that high.

No more words were said as his crew readied him for departure, and he could almost feel Henry and Bear's eyes on him as he left.

The arguing began anew as soon as he left the shed.

Now Gordon was concerned.

Arriving at the station brought even more worry - James had snorted out of platform two like he was auditioning to be a thundercloud, leaving a choking miasma of smoke and soot in his wake.

A crowd of people were holding signs and chanting slogans near the station Café as he backed onto his train. The Fat Controller was standing nearby, looking deeply upset, while station security tried to usher the people out. Considering the soot all over their clothes and signs, Gordon's first thought was that these people had been upset by James' departure, before he realized that these people had likely been the reason for James' upset in the first place.

Any lingering sympathy he might have had vanished as the leader of the group stood up on a box and started ranting about how the Fat Controller wanted to drive them out of the station, and they had a permit to demonstrate.

Permit they may have had, but their language was filthy. It was no wonder that his friends were upset.

Gordon decided that these people needed to leave.

The guard blew his whistle, waved his flag, and Gordon didn’t move.

The guard blew his whistle and waved his flag again, and Gordon still didn’t move.

“Is something wrong, Gordon?” Asked the Fat Controller as he noticed Gordon’s uncharacteristically slow start.

“No sir, but I wouldn’t stand there if I were you.”

The Fat Controller looked behind him. The crowd of people were about ten feet back and few feet behind him, slowly being shoved backwards towards the exits by the station staff.

He looked in front of him. Gordon’s blowdown pipe was slowly dripping with water.

“I can’t recommend that, Gordon.”

“Please move, sir.”

There must have been a look in Gordon’s eye, because the Fat Controller actually did move, waving off the station staff as he did so. The group of angry people relaxed slightly, not realizing that they were now alone on a section of empty platform.

The guard, who saw the Fat Controller move away, waved his flag and blew his whistle a third time.

Gordon didn’t move, but his fireman jumped when he saw the pressure in Gordon’s boiler skyrocket.

“Cripes!” He shouted, and pulled on the lever to blow off steam.

Chaos ensued as steam roared out of Gordon’s boiler and into the station. Inside the enclosed building, it was so loud and so steamy that not even Gordon could hear or see anything, and men outside the station started running towards it, thinking that something had gone dreadfully wrong!

Eventually, the thunderous noise died down, and Gordon was able to see again.

The Fat Controller, who had jumped into his cab as steam filled the building, poked his head out into the open air. His suit was soaked from the residual humidity, and his hat was ruined.

The wall directly opposite Gordon now had a circular spot about a meter wide that was noticeably cleaner than the rest of the wall from where it had been effectively steam-cleaned.

The angry people were angry no more - now they were frightened, soggy, and deaf. None of them were seriously hurt, but they still beat a hasty retreat from the station, leaving many of their signs behind.

Speaking of which... now that the steam had cleared away James’ soot, Gordon could now see what their signs said.

What an odd cause, He thought to himself. Why would they be against happy people?

----------------------------

February 14, 1987

They were at it again.

Bear was being even more unusual than normal. He’d woken up at the crack of dawn, raced out of the shed at maximum speed, and seemed intent on setting a land speed record for pick-up goods.

Delta had seemed to be her usual overbearing self, but as the day had gone on she’d become more and more anxious. In the interest of being a good friend, Gordon had asked her what was wrong, only for her to tell him that she was "just excited, nothing to worry about and no offense but I don’t think that you’d understand.”

Gordon would have said that something had gotten into the diesel fuel, but BoCo had been similarly puzzled when they spoke at the junction. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them - it’s like they’ve got a hot date or something.”

“A date? With whom?”

“Search me. But half of my passengers are acting the same way - it is Valentine’s Day after all.”

"But that’s a human holiday. Why would they care?"

That also didn’t explain James, whose obsessing over his paintwork had reached new heights of neurotic.

"You will polish my tender until you can see your face in it! Understand?!" He shouted at the workmen.

That night, the sheds were tense, even if there wasn’t any reason for it.

Delta had come back on Bear's evening train - the Hymek himself was nowhere to be seen. Gordon considered it a good thing that Henry was in Barrow that night - he had a tendency to get lonely when Bear was somewhere else, and Delta and James were decidedly on edge all evening.

Without either of the big green engines, the sheds were somewhat emptier than usual, a sensation that grew more and more pronounced as engine after engine left for late-night trains.

Edward left for his late night local around 9, and was followed by BoCo half an hour later.

Percy, who had been sleeping in the sheds most of the day, was practically shooed out by a strangely apologetic James, and huffily left for Elsbridge with a goods train.

A visiting diesel was going home to London, and had been rostered to take the night express all the way to the capitol. When the Class 50 left a few minutes after Percy, Gordon became suddenly aware that the shed was empty aside from himself, Delta, and James.

"How strange," he remarked. "Normally we're all here by this point in the evening."

"I agree," Delta said quickly. "Especially considering that you have to go take something soon as well. I can’t remember the last time the big shed's been this empty."

"What train?" Gordon raised an eyebrow. "I have no trains tonight."

"What." James didn't phrase it as a question.

"Was there something I missed?"

"I thought that you'd have a train tonight." James said, looking panicked.

"I don't do night runs if I can help it James, are you two feeling alright?" Both red engines were looking increasingly alarmed.

"What about the Flying Kipper?"

"I assumed that Henry would take it."

"Henry's in Barrow!"

"Hmm. Why don't one of you take it?"

"Can't." | "We're busy." They said simultaneously.

"Doing what?"

"Not that." James said quickly.

Gordon was about to argue further when James’ crew wandered into the shed.

“Alright boyo! Time for the night mail! Let’s get rolling!” His driver said with way too much joviality for the late hour.

James looked horrified. “Night mail? I can’t take the night mail! I’m not in steam!”

A small wisp of smoke curled out of his funnel as he said that. His crew stared at it.

“Gordon will take it!” James pressed on in desperation. “He likes running at night!”

Gordon, who did not like running at night, and was enjoying the pleasant sensation of his fire slowly burning out, was appalled. “I most certainly will not!” he said indignantly.

-----

“Mate, you need to work on your negotiating skills.” James’ fireman said to Gordon as the blue engine was coupled to the mail train.

“I didn’t hear you jump to my defense.” Gordon muttered darkly as he shivered in the cold February air.

“‘Course not!” The fireman said. “You think I want to spend all night in James’ little phonebox of a cab? I’ve got so much more room in here!” He swung his shovel around for emphasis, causing a massive CLANG as he accidentally smacked it against the cab wall.

“Good for you...” Gordon grit his teeth and waited for the signal to drop. The sooner this was over the better.

-----

Two hours later

Fortunately for Gordon, the midnight run was more or less flawless - he had a green signal the entire way across the Island, and aside from having to slow down for track workers outside of Maron station, he made good time into Barrow.

Passing his train off to the yard shunter, Gordon eagerly awaited his berth in the shed. Perhaps he could get some answers out of Henry as to why -

“Sorry mate - not going in ‘ere tonight.” Groused a diesel multiple unit that was sitting astride the points leading to the shed.

“I beg your pardon?” Gordon was not amused.

“Beg all ye like - teh basterds in ‘ere told me to sod off.” The Pacer was no happier than Gordon as he explained. “Said the shed was closed and made me sit outside in the freezin’ cold. Wankers...”

“Who told you that?” Gordon was unaware of any engine who would willingly block the shed - except Duck.

“Some Green bloke.”

“Henry?”

“No, not the kettle! Some other berk - a ‘eritage diesel or some shite like that.” The railcar shivered. “Big, Green, looked ancient, told me to keep out and make sure nobody else came in.”

“And you did what he said?” Gordon was rapidly losing patience with the railbus.

“I wasn’t gonna, but...” The Pacer trailed off guiltily and looked down at his buffers. Gordon followed his gaze and saw that the little multiple unit had derailed on the points.

“I see.” Gordon sighed. He wanted to blame the Pacer, but clearly there was some sort of preserved diesel who was truly to blame.

“At least it isn’t bad outside other than tha cold.” The railcar said, trying to be cheerful.

Gordon stared murderously at the sheds. It had snowed six inches overnight.

To make matters worse, he was now being roped into the morning express - a duty he usually cherished, but would prevent him from knowing the identity of the blasted diesel that had kept him from his warm shed.

Gordon had not been gone more than ten minutes when the shed doors opened and a diesel rolled out of it.

“Oh look Henry, it snowed last night!” Bear called back into the sheds.

“SHOVE IT UP YER INTAKES!” Yelled the Pacer from underneath his snowbank.

#ttte gordon #sodor #ttte #OC: Delta #ttte Bear #ttte James #ttte henry #valentines day #snow #sodor shenangians #fools in love #gordon doesn't notice anything #fic

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superspookywombat · 4 years

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falling {j.h} chapter six

Warnings: blood, everyone still acting weird, not my best writing

A/N: hey, just wanted to say before you start reading that I know this chapter is kinda meh, I wrote and rewrote this many times and it just feels off. I’d appreciate any constructive criticism :) also, I hope I got the taglist right this time oops

Taglist: Sleepy-whore geekysimmerthings mauvette268 treestarrrrrrrr kaleigh404 krazykatkay456 meganlikesfandoms darknacademia hi-my-name-is-riley vdtwsupernatural selmeuuh raindancer2004 wondersandtempests royale-trash-slytherin im-hella-bright bootylimpics livfg It-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes peacemusicinch coffeeslut16 bvbwestfall Actuallyedythecullen stan-joonies Peacebuglove Millie-753 Frozenhuntress67 i-tried21 seaevans femflorals arseofrivia trashysara vulgarfuckinvirgo sleepysnapesnake hey-bulldogs mental-breaker-74 pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

“Y’all go on ahead, I’ll take her home.” Jasper says. Bella looks at Edward who’s looking at Jasper. Edward takes Jasper’s arm and pulls him into the house. Bella looks at you.

“Why are you guys acting so weird.” You ask. Bella stays quiet, probably thinking of a response. You raise your eyebrows.

“We aren’t acting weird. If anyone’s acting weird, you’re acting weird. I’m not acting weird. What does that word even mean? Weird. It’s kind of a relative term if you think about it-” Bella rambles.

“Bella.” You interrupt. She sighs. The sound of the garage door opening stops any future words before they escape your lips. A sleek sports car backs out, and the windows are so tinted, you can’t see who’s driving. Edward walks out after the car, a disbelieving laugh falling from his mouth. The car stops by you and Bella, and Jasper exits the driver's seat. He stalks over to the passenger seat and opens the door. You give Bella an expectant look, but Edward murmurs something into her ear.

“Well have fun, you kids don’t stay out too late.” She gives you a wink. Your eyebrows knit together.

“Wha-” You start. She waves you off and her and Edward get into his Volvo. You look at Jasper, who’s now back in the driver seat. You look at him, then back at your sister who just abandoned you.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.” Jasper jokes. Your stomach does flips. You’ve never been alone with a boy like this, a very, very attractive boy.

“Heh.” You force a laugh. “Do you, uh, do you know where to go?”

It was hard to ignore the quiver in your voice, or the tapping of your leg. He nods, then puts the car in reverse. An overwhelming sense of calmness fills the car, and you find your eyelids getting heavier and heavier. You turn to glance at Jasper, only to find him already looking at you.

“Eyes on the road, cowboy.” You tease. Scenery rushes past until you pull onto a familiar road. A tickling sensation in your nose makes you jolt back to awareness. A sneeze manifests in your chest, and Jasper watches you, amused. Tightness fills your throat until- “Achoo!”

A violent sneeze rips through you, but as much as it hurts, it also feels really good. That is, until you feel a tear. Jasper pulls into the driveway as you reach your hand up to touch your forehead. Sure enough, you pull your hand back to find streaks of red running down your fingers. You look at Jasper, remembering how he doesn’t like blood. You go to unbuckle your seatbelt, only to be stopped by an ice cold hand. You shiver, but you’re more worried about the blood you just smeared on his skin.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, you can come inside and wash your hands.” You offer, feeling guilty. The air around you feels tense, unnerving. Jasper retracts his reach, both hands forming tight fists on his lap. You look up at his face, only to see that his lips are pulled to a thin line and his pupils are three times the normal size. Uh oh. He looks as if he’s not breathing, his face illuminated by the moon, making him seem like he’s frozen in a painting. You don’t dare breathe, trying to make yourself invisible. He closes his eyes, then after a moment, reopens them and shuts off the car engine. You nervously swallow, watching his jaw tense out of the corner of your eye. He then calmly opens his eyes, and plasters a reassuring smile onto his face. He opens his door and steps out, and before you can reach to open yours, he’s already opened it for you. You unbuckle your seatbelt for real, now, and step out into the chilled spring air. You shiver, but a split second later, a jacket is draped over your shoulders. You look up to see Jasper staring down at you, so you give him a thankful smile and open the front door.

“Bella?” You call out. As you walk over the threshold, you feel Jasper’s presence right behind you. You glance over your shoulder. “The kitchen’s in there.”

“Thank you.” He nods, walking past you. Bella walks down the steps and her jaw drops at the sight of your wound.

“Wha- How-” She stutters, then swallows visibly and shouts over her shoulder, “Edward!” Edward comes racing down the stairs, then after taking one look at you, races into the kitchen. You walk past Bella to go to the bathroom on the second floor.

“Are you gonna help me clean this up or are you just gonna stand there and gawk?” You say. She sighs and reaches for a damp washcloth, gently pushing you to sit on the edge of the bathtub and wiping the blood off of your skin. “Is Jasper okay?”

“He’s fine, just isn’t a big fan of blood.” Bella answers. She presses down harder to scrub off some of the dried blood.

“So he’s like- Ow- like you.” You tease, wincing. She furrows her eyebrows and bites her lip.

“Yeah. Like me.” She says, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. She rinses out the washcloth and hangs it over the faucet.

“Where’s Charlie?” You ask, walking into your room. Bella walks in as you pull your bloody shirt over your head. She walks carefully to avoid the glass pieces on the floor.

“He’s down at the station, practically calling for someone’s head on a pike.” Bella nervously chuckles. You nod, pulling a pj shirt over your head carefully. You pull down your pants and replace them with soft sweatpants. Pulling your hair up, you follow Bella back downstairs where both boys are sitting at the table.

“Oh, you’re still here.” You say, surprise tainting your voice. Bella elbows your side, and a small ‘uhn’ escapes your lips. “I mean, I’m glad you are, I just figured you guys had to get home or.. Something.” You look at Bella, silently begging her to stop your foot from going into your mouth any further.

“Charlie’s gonna be gone for awhile. You guys are welcome to stay.” She invites. Not what I meant, Bella.

“I can put in a frozen pizza or something.” You offer.

“We already ate, but thank you.” Jasper declines politely. Bella stares at you expectantly. You look at Edward and it clicks. Oh.

“Um, well, I think there’s a new episode of Criminal Minds on tonight, if you’d like to join me?” You ask Jasper. Edward looks at you, then Jasper.

“He’d love to.” Edward answers. Bella grabs his hand and pulls him up the stairs, the door slamming shut behind them. Your heart races as Jasper stands and follows you to the couch. You turn on the tv, but you can barely pay attention due to the marble carved statue lounging next to you.

“How are you feeling?” Jasper asks. You keep your eyes glued to the tv as you answer, wiping your palms on your sweats. “A little tired, to be honest.” You answer. He looks at you, concerned. “I’m fine, really. Doctor Cullen said I might feel dizzy or tired, I hit my head pretty hard.”

“I can go- so you can rest- if you’d like.” He offers. You think back to the night’s events, and the heart-dropping feeling you felt when you saw that person in your room returns.

“No!” You gasp. You screw your eyes closed. “Sorry. I mean, you don’t have to leave. I.. please don’t.”

His cold hands make you shiver as they engulf yours. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You nod, and settle back into the couch. Your body is inches from Jasper’s, and your hand still clenches his tightly. He doesn’t flinch. A sleepy feeling oozes over you, and your eyes get harder to keep open. You don’t realize that you’re falling asleep until your head hits something cold and hard, yet comfortable at the same time. An arm wraps around you and pulls you closer, stroking your hair as you lose consciousness.

#jasper hale #jasperhale #jasper hale x reader #twilight x reader #twilight #fanfiction #fanfic #charlie swan #chapter 6 #bellaswan #Bella Swan #edward cullen #edwardcullen #yikes

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feigeroman · 3 years

Text

Station to Station (funk to funky...)

So, spurred on both by one of my previous headcanon posts getting liked and reblogged by @mean-scarlet-deceiver (who is totally awesome - go check them out), and by The Unlucky Tug’s magnum opus of a video essay about his take on the Island of Sodor (check it out below, and then check him out - both are totally awesome), I decided it’d be a fun idea to share some of my own headcanons about Sodor. Most of these are things I remembered while watching the video, which you can see here...

youtube

...And I’ll be presenting them in the order I remembered them. The video isn’t strictly necessary to understand this post - I just wanted to share it. It’s also worth having a copy of the Sam Wilkinson map (mentioned in the video) to hand, as it’s what I used as the basis for my take on Sodor. Yes, I know it’s a bit of a clusterfuck, but so is my version of the timeline, so...

***

1) Knapford is Tidmouth, and Elsbridge is Knapford

What do I mean by this? Well, what the RWS calls Tidmouth, the TVS calls Knapford. And what the RWS calls Knapford, the TVS calls Elsbridge.

Confused? I certainly was the first time I tried typing that! I’ll just explain the headcanon:

Basically, I go with what the RWS says. In other words, what the TVS calls Knapford, I call Tidmouth (incidentally, I prefer this version with the big yard alongside)...

...And what the TVS calls Elsbridge, I call Knapford. I know this shot doesn’t really show the station, but I decided the yard in the background is part of Knapford as well.

2) Which harbour is which?

This is somewhat similar to HC1, in that I’m changing up some of the names of established locations. There are many docks and harbours on Sodor, but the show mainly focuses on Brendam (and either Knapford or Tidmouth in earlier seasons). Those locations change drastically from season to season, and I wanted to account for most of the various appearances. So in no particular order:

For Tidmouth Harbour, I use the current Brendam Docks (though my headcanon is something nearer to the real-life Southampton Docks).

For Knapford Harbour, I use a mix of S2 Knapford Harbour and S3B Brendam Docks Just imagine that the former evolved into the latter over time.

For Brendam Docks, I use the S2 Brendam Docks.

I’ve loosely based Arlesburgh and Kirk Ronan on the real-life Bristol and Weymouth harbours, respectively.

3) Two or three-track mind

Okay, this was something I only thought up after seeing Tug’s video. He points out that the number of tracks tends to vary between sets, and he decides on the following:

Three tracks means it’s somewhere on the main line.

Two tracks means it’s a branch line.

One track means it’s either the far end of a branch line, or a freight-only line.

However, he also makes the point that some parts of the main line are inexplicably double-tracked, such as Cronk Viaduct (which he moves to Wellsworth, but that’s neither here nor there):

In cases like this, my headcanon is that the main line was originally completed as a double-tracked railway, with most of it being upgraded to triple-track later on. Obviously it may not have been possible or feasible to upgrade certain sections, hence them being left as double-track.

4) Lower Tidmouth

Now here’s one that I really like. This unnamed station from The Three Railway Engines was christened Lower Tidmouth by the TVS modelmakers. It’s located between Tidmouth and Knapford, and sits on the southern outskirts of the former town. Even though Tidmouth is a pretty large town - especially in my headcanon - its main station seems to cope well enough on its own, so why this extra station?

My headcanon is this: During the War, Tidmouth would most likely have been of great strategic importance, with its harbour and rail links - and therefore a prime target for air raids. Just in case the main station was bombed out of action, Lower Tidmouth was constructed just outside what was then the edge of the city, to serve as a temporary passenger terminus. After the War, the rudimentary station was given a major upgrade, after it was discovered that many people living to the south of Tidmouth found it more convenient than the main station.

5) Lower Tidmouth Tunnel

A much smaller idea now. This short tunnel is located between Tidmouth and Lower Tidmouth, and I just want to say I like to imagine that this looks the same as Henry’s Tunnel does in the TVS - two tracks in one bore, one track in the other. The only difference is that it’s built from red brick, as shown here.

6) Some ideas above Edward’s Station

This is a double-barrelled headcanon concerning Wellsworth. One concerns the station itself, and the other concerns its goods yard.

Firstly, the station itself. There’s been a lot of debate about which way round it should be. Should the footbridge be at the western or eastern end? Personally, I think it should be at the western end. My reasoning is that that would allow the bay platform siding (where Henry is in the above picture) to be at the eastern end, facing towards Gordon’s Hill. I assume that’s where Edward would normally be stabled when he’s waiting to bank trains up the hill. I just think it’s more convenient on that front.

As for the goods yard?

Well, I think this is Wellsworth Yard. That’s it. That’s the headcanon.

7) The Parkway Stations

This next headcanon concerns a rather obscure part of the Sodor railway geography - namely, these two tiny stations on the main line.

These stations serve the tiny villages of Balladrine and Kellaby respectively - though, in true railway fashion, they’re actually located some distance from the communities they serve. My original idea was to go down the usual route and just add the suffix Road to the station names, but then I was struck by a flash of real-life inspiration.

In the 1970s, British Rail opened a number of park-and-ride stations, which basically means you drive to the station, park your car and continue your journey by train. They usually have the suffix Parkway, as the first one was built close to the M32, which is also known as the Bristol Parkway.

Anyway, that’s the gist of this headcanon. The North Western jumped on this Parkway bandwagon around that same time, allowing people from the villages to either drive or catch a bus to the stations, and then catch a train to wherever.

8) The new Kellsthorpe Road

In my own personal timeline (which is a whole other headcanon in itself), Season 8 takes place in 1976, and it’s during this season that we see Kellsthorpe Road being built. Obviously the station had existed since the railway was built, so what’s with this new one?

Well, I like to think this was actually a relocation to somewhere more convenient for both the town and the junction with the Kirk Ronan branch.

9) Crovan’s Gate and other small works

I already touched upon this idea before in my Victor’s Haulage Truck headcanon, but if you haven’t read that, it goes like this:

I’m not a huge fan of the Steamworks and Dieselworks being separate facilities in separate locations. I just think the RWS version of Crovan’s Gate makes more sense, seeing as you would want all your major repair equipment and facilities to be concentrated in one location.

That being said, I wouldn’t say all this sort of work should be concentrated at Crovan’s Gate. It’s implied in the RWS that more minor repairs are carried out at smaller workshops across the rest of the system - I’d assume these are located at all the major engine sheds, and that there’s at least one on each branch line. These would also be useful for when there’s more work than Crovan’s Gate can take on at once.

10) The Sheds

Speaking of sheds, I have a handful spread across my version of Sodor. Basically, I have a couple at each end of the main line, and one on each of the branch lines. And since the highest operating district number in real life was 89 (for Oswestry), I’m gonna say all of the NWR’s engines are allocated to District 90, covering all sheds on the region:

Tidmouth (90A)

Knapford (90B)

Crovan’s Gate (90C)

Vicarstown (90D)

Barrow In Furness (90E)

Arlesburgh (90F)

Ffarquhar (90G)

Brendam (90H)

Peel Godred (90I)

Kirk Ronan (90J)

Great Waterton (90K)

Norramby (90L)

11) Dryaw Goods Station

Alright, this one is more about a specific episode than a location, but I thought it was worth throwing into the mix. This goods station only appeared in Thomas Gets Bumped, and nobody is quite sure where it’s meant to be. Some people say it’s Hackenbeck. Others say it’s Toryreck. Me? I’ve always thought of this as the original Dryaw Station, on what is now the Harbour line on the Ffarquhar branch.

I say this because the surrounding scenery matches what’s shown on the map, and it makes sense for a freight-only station to be located on what is now a freight-only line. But if that’s the case, why does Thomas seemingly pass through daily with his passenger train?

I toyed with the idea of Thomas being there because he’s pulling a workers’ train, but then I came up with something better. In my personal timeline, this episode takes place during the initial construction of Knapford Harbour, and the new passenger line with it. More specifically, during a brief interim period between the closure of the original Dryaw to passengers, and the opening of the new passenger line.

12) The Sports Field Halt

At the end of the Sodor Explained video essay, Tug admits that he couldn’t think of anywhere to put this station from Three Cheers For Thomas.

Sam Wilkinson’s map places this halt just south-west of Elsbridge, and that’s where I’ve decided to place it too. Not just because it’s semi-canon, but because do you know what other location is just south-west of Elsbridge?

Yes, this cricket field. In my headcanon, I’ve merged these two locations together. Makes sense, right? They’re both sports related things, next to an embankment, and just south-west of Elsbridge. I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch, and you can always imagine the halt is a request stop serving the sports field.

***

Alright, I think that’s enough headcanons for one post. Firstly, because I underestimated just how much I had to talk about. And secondly, I’ve always said it’s not wise to put all your eggs in one basket. It’s much more sensible to just put out a short thing, let it simmer for a while, and then finish off the rest later.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this post. I certainly enjoyed finally getting all these thoughts out there. Stay cool, stay safe, and I’ll share the rest of my thoughts at some point in the future (even if they are as insane as the ones I’ve already shared so far!)...

#Thomas The Tank Engine #The Railway Series #ttte headcanon #sodor #island of sodor #North Western Railway

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marvella15 · 4 years

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Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 7: Shall We Dance

• Something I didn’t consciously realize about this film until reading Hannah Hyam’s book is that Astaire and Rogers don’t dance together until nearly an hour in. That hasn’t happened since Gay Divorcee. What was anyone thinking??

• Shall We Dance suffers from a lot of extra crap that it didn’t need, such as extraneous characters, far too many interruptions in the Astaire and Rogers relationship, and a bunch of weirdness like life-sized dolls, life-like masks, and backbending ballerinas. The film also has a lot of wasted potential, including a great score and songs by George and Ira Gershwin.

The Gershwins were already well acquainted with Astaire and Rogers. The duo had first met when she was starring in the brothers’ show, Girl Crazy, and Astaire was brought in to help with choreography. Rogers was close friends with George and even dated him. Astaire had known the brothers prior, having starred in a few of their shows with his sister, Adele.

• Our characters/actors: Peter “Petrov” Peters (Fred Astaire), Linda Keene (Ginger Rogers), Jeffrey Baird (Edward Everett Horton), Arthur Miller (Jerome Cowan)

• Around the time I was first really into classic Hollywood films, including these ones, my family and I adopted a new dog. I annoyed my parents to no end by suggesting we name him Peter P. Peters. Don’t know why I latched onto that name but I did.

• Even in the massive portrait of Petrov, you can see Astaire has his fingers curled in rather than fully extended.

• Astaire’s ballet attire lets us once again see just how skinny he is.

• Always loved how Peter does a little tap at the rhythmic sound of his name and birthplace: Pete Peters, Philadelphia PA.

• Rogers’ cardigan with all of its baubles is truly awful looking. It will only be out done by a terrible floral dress she wears later.

• I do however like that she shoves her handsy stage partner into a fountain. Why are men constantly the worst?

• “And why must there always be a kiss at the second-act curtain?” is YET ANOTHER example of these films trolling us. Not once up until this point has any act of an Astaire/Rogers outing included a kiss between them.

• Linda’s disinterest in even meeting Petrov is based on the assumption that he’s a “simpering toe dancer.” While that’s incorrect, she’s not wrong that he is indeed another man who has seen a picture of her and wants to tell her he can’t live without her. So she gets partial credit.

• If Peter wasn’t totally smitten before, Linda’s jab, “It’s just a game little American boys play” gets him.

• As a mixed race number, “Slap That Bass” is incredibly unusual for the era. Astaire was a great admirer of African-American dancers and was strongly influenced by Bill Robinson and John W. Bubbles. I love the blend of all of the voices in this song.

• The dance portion of “Slap That Bass” gives Astaire a chance to show off more of his innovative mind and choreography. He dances in time with the sounds of the ship’s engine and compels the camera to follow him across and up the vast set. The dance is also special in that we have behind the scenes footage of Astaire rehearsing, thanks to a home video shot by George Gershwin.

• Peter making Jeffrey believe the boat is rocking may seem a bit unbelievable but having been on a large ship myself, sometimes you don’t realize it’s rocking until you see other passengers weaving or a giant chandelier swaying.

• I usually skip most if not all of Jeffrey and Arthur’s scenes together. They slow down this film soooo much.

• Like in all of their films, songs are sometimes heard in the background before the actual musical number they appear in. But because this film is scored by the Gershwins, there’s an array of shorter pieces of music that are all their own, such as the whimsical score heard while Rogers and then Rogers with Astaire are walking her dog.

• The dog Peter borrows to give himself an excuse to talk to Linda hits his bark cue perfectly and looks extremely happy about it.

• I would love to know what exactly Astaire and Rogers are talking about while walking her dog. Maybe they were given lines that were then not recorded or maybe it’s improv. But it seems very natural.

Rogers did say that Astaire was a wonderful conversationalist and was adept at talking while dancing, something she noted most men couldn’t manage.

• Wow do I love it when Rogers gets to be extra sassy

Peter: “Isn’t it wonderful being here tonight like this? Still on the same boat together.”

Linda: “Oh, I seldom change boats in mid-ocean.”

• “Beginner’s Luck” is such a charming, fast song that Astaire delivers wonderfully. He hardly seems to take a breath.

A jazzed up version of “Beginner’s Luck” is the song Peter tried to dance to in Paris but the record kept getting stuck.

• Something this movie fails at is letting Linda and Peter’s relationship continue to progress before throwing more obstacles in their way. We know from the gossip of the ship’s staff that they have been spending a lot of time together. When we see them, they are having a relaxing evening that’s incredibly domestic: sitting side by side on the deck while she knits and he smokes. Wouldn’t it have been nice to see more of this part of their relationship?

• Why on earth did Peter think sending Jeffrey to fix the false baby rumors was the right decision? Jeffrey can’t handle a single thing.

• Infuriated at the rumors that she’s married to Peter and pregnant with their baby, Linda tries to call him. “Operator! Get me Mr. Petrov. What? Don’t you dare congratulate me!”

• The theme of this movie is supposed to be the blend of dancing and music styles. Peter’s ballet and Linda’s jazz styles are one example, George Gershwin’s varied score, which switches from jazz to waltz to foxtrot to classical, etc, is another. But it’s a fairly weak concept that doesn’t quite land and reportedly, neither Astaire or Ira Gershwin was wild about it.

• I love the new version of “Slap That Bass” that plays as Peter and Jeffrey enter the rooftop club.

• When Rogers sings “They All Laughed,” she is singing to an off-screen Cary Grant, her friend and sometimes date who was visiting the set at the time.

She is also wearing a dress with a horrible pattern. It’s supposed to be floral but it always makes me think of amoebas. Maybe it looked better in color?

• Astaire clearly has fun during the part where Peter hams it up a bit with his ballet next to Linda’s tapping.

• In some ways, “They All Laughed” is reminiscent of “Isn’t it a Lovely Day.” They’re testing each other, trading glancing as they see whether the other can keep up with the increasingly complex steps. Until now, Linda didn’t know Peter could dance this way so her surprise and amusement unfolds slowly as the routine progresses. But he has been grinning since the start because he’s hoping to win her back through this dance.

• This is another duet where it takes a long time before they touch. The first physical contact is just her executing a series of spins with the help of his fingers. And it’s during this part that Rogers finally breaks into a wide smile.

• When he spins her up onto the piano the first time, she happily waits for him to retrieve her. And when he spins her into a seated position and upright again a few times don’t miss how he looks at her with a wry, slightly mischievous smile.

• The Linda doll is so creepy and not lifelike. Who was fooled by this?

Also, Arthur is terrible. Jeffrey is terrible too but he’s an idiot so I’m more willing to let it slide.

• Peter walking out of Linda’s bedroom in the morning in his robe right in front of her fiancé while she is in her negligee is pretty funny.

• Peter and Linda’s nice day out is just further proof that this movie should’ve spent more time on the two of them together rather than breaking them up every few minutes.

• “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” is a fun song, though Astaire gets most of the good words imo. However, Rogers does do an extra affectation to some of her lyrics and that makes them funnier.

At one point when she’s singing, he turns to her and for just a moment his face goes soft in that way it does sometimes when he looks at her.

• Some film historians have labeled this dance as not that great when compared to other Astaire and Rogers numbers. But I’ve always found it very enjoyable and innovative. While Gene Kelly probably takes the gold medal for dancing on skates in It’s Always Fair Weather, Astaire and Rogers did it first, did it well, and deserve some extra credit for a duet on skates rather than a solo.

Rogers also deserves some extra credit since the idea to dance on skates was supposedly hers. And probably deserves even more credit for doing this dance on skates while also in heels.

• For some reason I really enjoy that they perform this number in their hats and street clothes. It’s so informal and feels like something you do on a fun date.

• Throughout this dance, Peter continues to be the playful one, as he’s been in their interactions in the film, and Linda is the more serious one who needs to be coaxed into having fun. Maybe this is why Astaire frequently glances at her and even spends long seconds watching her at different parts as they move into the next series of steps. Rogers is more reserved in her expressions but whenever they are face to face, she appears happiest.

A few times she looks triumphant, leading me to wonder if they or she had finally nailed a section that was giving them or her trouble.

• Can’t say for certain but I swear she almost falls when they do the backwards steps. She just baaaarely snags his hand in time.

They had to film this dance something like 150 times so I imagine there was more than one time where at least one of them did indeed fall.

• The circular dance they do leading up to the end is based on a dance Astaire and his sister made famous in their time on the stage.

• Apparently the grassy bank they tumble onto wasn’t padded so those fake grimaces of pain aren’t that fake. Their exchange after the tumble feels very much like married banter to me:

Peter: “Yes, it was my idea.”

Linda: “Have you any more of them?”

Peter, exaggerating: “No.”

• They’re such a good match:

Linda: “Peter, you’ve got to marry me.”

Peter: “Why, Linda, this is so sudden.”

• Oh 1930s Hays Code humor. The cop who overhears their conversation thinks she’s pregnant and pressuring the father of the baby into marrying her. Hurr hurr hurr.

• Heh:

Linda: “I beg your pardon but what are grounds for divorce in this state?”

Clerk: “Marriage.”

• It will never make sense to me that a dance was not planned in this film for “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.” It’s a truly lovely song. I know Astaire and Rogers will dance to it more than ten years later in The Barkleys of Broadway but it’s just not the same.

It’s also a good reminder in the film that Peter has legitimate feelings for Linda and she does for him but they’re far more conflicted. Though he must sense he’s hooked her in a bit since he becomes very aloof once they return to the hotel in the stupid hope of making her want him more? Idk, men are dumb.

• “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” carries special poignancy because it became a form of consolation to Ira Gershwin after his brother suddenly died two months after this film was released.

• Oh Linda’s face when she walks in to see Peter with the loathsome Lady Tarrington is so sad and crestfallen. Ever thought you and your crush were finally on the same page only to find them canoodling with someone else?

Although, she could’ve knocked first instead of just walking straight into his room…

• The ballet portion of the finale is weird and unappealing in every way. Harriet Hoctor was known for the backbend dance she does in this film. Maybe it was something spectacular in 1937?? but it doesn’t hold up.

One thing I’ll say about Astaire’s duet with Hoctor, it’s a great chance to see him in a romantic duet with someone other than Rogers and notice how different he acts. No secret smile, no lingering looks, no whispered words, no soft expressions.

• “Shall We Dance” is another upbeat song that deserves more than being featured in the remaining few minutes of the film. Their dance is far too short but wonderful all the same. Her delight when he finds her always makes me smile. She also executes some impressive full length lunges that I couldn’t do at this moment much less in a dress and heels in the middle of a dance number.

For a few seconds, his fingers press into the exposed dip of her spine in yet another example of Victorian hotness.

• And so we finish film number 7. Shall We Dance underperformed at the box office and wasn’t a critical darling. Everyone, the actors included, started to feel the magic was coming to an end. Coming up next is a film I pretty much never rewatch: Carefree.

#fred astaire #ginger rogers #shall we dance #classic hollywood #old hollywood #fred and ginger #astaire and rogers rewatch #all astaire/rogers gifs without credit are mine

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strangest-loser · 4 years

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Twilight Rewrite

Fire in my Blood ~ Jasper Hale x OC ~ Book One: Chapter Two

Chapter One

There weren't very many rules in the Swan household, and they weren't just set by Charlie, his main rule: Alessia couldn't have boys over in her bedroom, if Jacob, Quill and Embry were coming over they had to stay in the living room or the kitchen, but it was very rare that they hung out at her home anyway, they spent most of their time on the reserve.

Alessia's main rule: if Charlie got caught up at work or an emergency happened past 8pm he had to let her know he was safe so she didn't worry herself into a heart attack. That rule was established after one night when Alessia was 15 and Charlie had an animal attack emergency and didn't get home till 2am. Alessia didn't know where he was and when he came home he found her in the corner of the kitchen having a panic attack and ended up making herself sick. He never forgot that rule.

But the rule that was established by the both of them and arguably the most important rule of all: if the song was released after 1990 ... It couldn't be played in the car ever!

~' Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and Wouldn't you love to love her?

Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and

Who will be her lover? '~

"you did not just say that to me!", came Alessia's outraged voice overlapping the velvety vocals of Stevie Nicks coming from the cruisers radio, Fleetwood Mac's 'Rhiannon' playing through the car as Alessia debated her father, "what you just said is absolute blasphemy, take it back!".

"I won't take it back, I meant what I said, 'don't stop' is the superior Fleetwood Mac song!". Came Charlie's retort as he pulled off the highway towards the airport.

"okay first of all, 'don't stop' isn't superior, the layout, 'Landslide' is their best, then 'Rhiannon', then 'Gypsy', then maybe 'don't stop'." Alessia said, leaving no room for Charlie to argue as he just gave her a look that said `we will finish this later.`

They pulled into the parking lot of William R Fairchild International Airport in Port Angeles just in time for the song to end and Alessia reached forward to change the CD. Fleetwood Mac was swapped out for The Foundations as the opening of 'Build me up Buttercup' flowed into her ears. A laugh was pulled out of Charlie as he and his daughter sang along while looking for a parking spot.

Leaning against the car as she watched her dad walk into the building to get to Bella's gate, Alessia let her nerves begin to creep back into her mind. Would Bella still be kind? Would she like her room? Would their relationship ever go back to the way it was when they were younger? Did Alessia even want that? Shaking those thoughts out of her head she felt an itching sensation in the back of her head, like someone was watching her. She looked behind her to the tree line and let her eyes focus. There was nothing there, maybe she was imagining it.

Her attention was brought back to her father walking back to the car with a suitcase in his hand and with a brunette following behind him. Alessia took this time to really look at her sister.

Bella looked like she was a little bit shorter than her. Her hair was around collarbone length while Alessia's was long, reaching the middle of her back when it was down, Bella's held a wavy curl in it while Alessia's was poker straight, the only similarity they shared was the colour, like chocolate. Bella wore comfy jeans and a shirt, a contrast to the blue and gold that was Alessia's cheerleading uniform. And funnily enough Alessia's skin held a richer tone than Bella's own pale skin, but not much.

Their eyes met and Alessia offered a soft smile to the girl she hadn't seen in four years. Her smile was returned but it didn't really reach Bella's eyes. This would take some time.

Pulling into the driveway concluded probably one of the most awkward car rides of Alessia's life. As soon as the engine cut out Alessia sprung out of the passenger seat and raced to unlock the door. After setting her keys down on the kitchen table she turned to see her father and Bella walk through the front door. "Want me to get started on dinner dad?" She asked already moving to the fridge. " I was thinking we should have a diner night tonight Al".

Alessia's mouth watered at the thought of her favourite desert at the diner, Cora's famous apple crisp with ice cream, after the weird day she had today, nothing sounded better than something familiar. "Sounds like a plan" she replies following them up the stairs to stand in the doorway of Bella's room "I tried not to decorate in here too much because I didn't know what you liked" Alessia explained looking around the room she had prepared for Bella. "No it's great, thanks Alessia" came the younger girls reply.

"ok well I'll be in my room if you need anything, dad, call me when we're leaving for food". Alessia took her leave and walked into the safehaven that was her bedroom. She adored her room. Her double bed had a homemade quilt that Leah and her grandmother had made for her 16th birthday and a bunch of pillows on top of a white bedspread. The walls were lined with photos of her friends going back through the years up until the most recent which stood on her dresser in a frame. It was taken two weeks ago in front of Emmet's jeep, Alessia and Alice were sitting on the hood laughing at each other while Emmet was staring at Rosalie with pure devotion written on his features and Jasper stood next to Alice, Edward had taken the picture. Her ceiling was covered in fairy lights and those glow in the dark stars that she put up when she was 8 which still helped her sleep at night (her most kept secret) and her desk housed her homework and her printer, next to her desk sat her bay window with a window seat that held more pillows and another blanket. The last thing that stood in her room was her bookshelf that held half fiction books and half historical books, all of which were well loved, with dog-eared and yellowed pages (her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' was falling apart and stained with tea but she still managed to read it countless times).

Setting her backpack on her desk chair she walked over to her dresser and picked up the picture, observing it once more. It was the coldest day of February and everyone was wrapped up in coats and hats. Alice was holding Alessia's gloves hostage above her head and trying not to fall off the hood of the jeep. Rosalie was wearing her signature necklace and a pretty ring on her index finger and seemed to be engrossed in whatever Emmet was telling her. And Jasper... Alessia stopped in her tracks as she looked at the picture, Jasper was looking at her... How had she never noticed that before.

Her confusion was interrupted by a car pulling into her driveway, she set the framed picture back before walking over to the window and looking out only to see a very familiar black car pull up. An excited smile spread on her face like wildfire as she booked it out of her room and down the stairs, opening the door and running to jump on Jacob Black. "You didn't tell me you were coming! I would have planned something dastardly" she said while giggling as her best friend spun her around before setting her down and giving her his meanest look. "Absolutely not, you have gotten me grounded way too many times and it's never worth it" he said pulling her into a loving headlock while she whined and tried to escape. Once he let her go Alessia whipped her head around and her mischievous face caused Jacob so smile in a similar way. "Want to see what kind of trouble we can get into?" She asked poking him in the stomach, "oh god, we're going to die aren't we?", His response prompted a punch in the shoulder. "It's a Tuesday, I know how to restrain myself" Alessia replied like Jacob had just offended her greatly. The voice of Billy Black then came from over her shoulder, "you absolutely do not!".

Alessia zoned out as she felt that itching feeling coming from the woods again, looking out into the trees she still couldn't see anything out there, this was starting to freak her out. Her mind focused back in on her dad telling Bella that the old orange truck in front of them was her welcome home gift. This sparked a sickly feeling in Alessia's stomach, Alessia had been working her ass off doing odd shifts at the diner and even occasionally assisting Doctor Cullen at the hospital when he had patients but he needed his office sorted through and cleared up, all to save up for a car that she has needed for the past 3 years, and her sister shows up and just gets one handed to her.

Alessia stops her own train of thought there and banishes the jealousy in her mind. Jealousy was an ugly emotion that she hated seeing and hated feeling even more. Charlie hadn't seen Bella since she was 13, it made sense that he would want to spoil her.

The diner was reletively full for a Tuesday evening but it wasn't overcrowded, the atmosphere was nice, and Alessia thought that was why she liked it so much. It really felt like a friendly family restaurant. The dinner went by without much conversation other than sporadic conversations between Alessia and her dad about work and school.

"I normally get a ride to school Bella so you just need to worry about driving yourself there" Alessia said with a smile after finishing her lemonade. The conversation drew to a close when Cora came out from the kitchen with a tray of dessert, two berry cobblers and one apple crisp.

"Al, sweetheart, I've got a shift for you tomorrow evening if you are up for it, Sarah is attending a wedding" Cora told her with a kind smile. Alessia nodded through a mouthful of sweet, warm apple and Cora laughed walking away to put her name on the schedule. Bella's eyes looked up from her plate to meet her sisters, "you work here?"

"sometimes, I just do the odd shift because I don't want to get a proper job till after school, but I've gotta buy a car. Sometimes I work down at the hospital too which should help me with getting into medschool". The only thing that Alessia loved more than apple crisp was helping people.

After that eventful day drew to a close Alessia was finishing up some history homework when she thought back to her class today and how weird it was, she couldn't recall anything from the lesson but her conversation with jasper was playing on repeat in her head. He had never really spoken to her in the entire year and a bit that they were in the same class and group, but today not only did he have a full conversation with Alessia, he had started it. She thought back to the photograph on her dresser and how Jasper's eyes were very clearly trained on her face as she laughed with his sister.

This whole situation was very strange indeed.

Watching as Bella pulled into the parking lot the next morning, Alessia bid Alice goodbye and started walking towards the orange pickup parked in front of Tyler's van. "Hey Bells", Bella turned at the sound of her older sister's voice and a look of relief crossed her face at the familiar face approaching her. "I have no idea where I'm going, can you take me to the office, I have paperwork to finish", came the younger's quiet voice. Alessia shot her a small smile, she could imagine that this was nerve-wracking for Bella. She linked arms with her sister and started walking towards the building at the top of the lot.

Their quiet talking let them have time to catch up, Bella told Alessia about life in Phoenix and informed her sister that she brought her a tiny cactus that matched her own. By the time they reached the office doors they were laughing like they did when they were younger and their bond felt just a little bit stronger. "You know I missed you Bells" Alessia's voice grew softer as she looked towards the floor, for a confident girl she was never the best at eye contact when expressing her emotions. She was just about to panic at the silence that met her words until she felt her arms wrap around her waist in a tight hug, "I missed you too".

And so the next few days carried in like that, Alessia would get in the car with Rosalie, Alice and occasionally Edward, she would sit with them for lunch (catching her baby sister not-so-subtly stare at Edward, and watching him stare back), and Jasper sat next to her in every history class that week. It wasn't until Friday that things got strange.

"Honestly Bella don't worry about Edward he is so dramatic", rang out from Alessia sitting on the hood of the truck while trying to read 'Interview with a Vampire' for the millionth time in her life. Hearing Bella grumble under her breath is what made her jump off the hood and stand beside her. Their back and forth banter had Alessia standing at the bed of the truck with her back to the lot. She didn't notice it until it was too late.

Tyler's tires screeched against the ice that littered the ground and his car spun out of control. Alessia didn't comprehend what was happening until she felt a force push her out of the way making her fall and knock her lights out when her head hit the ground.

Waking up in the hospital was only something Alessia was known for once which meant that waking up with a splitting headache with Dr Cullens extremely handsome face looking down on her was thoroughly confusing for the poor girl. “did I fall asleep during my shift?”, her slurred words made the man in front of her laugh lightly before writing something on his clipboard. “No Alessia, there was an accident at the school, a van crashed into the side of Bella’s truck and you fell over and hit your head on the bed of the truck on your way down, you have concussion, everyone else is just fine”. The throbbing in her head grew worse at the words ‘hit your head’ and Alessia began to fight against the blanket that the nurse beside her was trying to wrap around her.

“Carlisle you are gonna have to walk me through that again, my ears feel like cotton” the brunette muttered at the man as he shined a tiny light into her eyes. She was still fighting against the nurses blanket which prompted Carlisle to dismiss the nurse entirely.

“Why do people keep trying to put this blanket on me ?”

“Because you’re in shock”

“That doesn’t mean I need a blanket. It means I need booze”.

The laugh that rang through the room didn’t come from Carlisle that time but from the opening door as the rest of the Cullen bunch came through the doors of her room. Esme, someone that Alessia considered a mother, came to her bedside and hugged the girl before Alice climbed into the bed with her and began petting her head. The rhythmic movements of the girls cool hand felt heavenly to Alessia’s poor throbbing head and she completely checked out of the conversation happening around her to lean into the younger girls touch. “you guys can afford so much expensive stuff but you cant afford blood circulation” she joked which prompted Rosalie to hit her shoulder lightly “Alessia, you are so loopy right now”.

Her eyes drifted towards the door where a lone figure stood, Jasper’s shoulders were stiff and he looked like he would rather be anywhere else but there at that moment. This caused Alessia to deflate slightly but she quickly snapped herself out of that mentally, it didn’t have to mean anything about her.

Maybe the guy just didn’t like hospitals.

#twilight x reader #jasper hale x reader #twilight rewrite #twilight #rosalie twilight #Alessia Swan OC #bella swan #fire in my blood #original character #rosalie hale #jasper hale #alice cullen #edward cullen

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

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equinox | chapter 06 –– “open book”

here is chapter chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but sometimes it doesn’t work. so. um.

the last time i wrote for this, it was BEFORE midnight sun came out. and now, midnight sun has been out for two weeks (oops...now FOUR weeks), i’ve finished it, i am miserable as a result, and finally, SHOOK. here’s why: in the last chapter, i mentioned esme’s aversion to having her floors ruined by rain. in midnight sun, edward mentioned that multiple times. MY MIND.

everyone reading this is thinking like, yeah, sure “your mind” OR you’re dumb and should not be finding any humor that your lizard brain came up with the same basic idea as smeyer, known racist. maybe esme was just written with hardly any personality so it wasn’t that difficult to end up concocting the same idea. and… okay, you’re right. but in those moments, let me tell you, i was really feeling something. smeyer, you reading this?

to catch up since i’ve been busy, i reread my other chapters. and i really need to go back and edit them. so thank u for being here & bearing with me. hehe

also… the beige… that’s for y’all.

just a lil baby warning: there are conversations revolving around religion in this chapter. i wanted to mention that as a warning for the sake of anyone who has had negative experiences with church/religion (like me!) whom this topic makes uncomfortable. the local doctor and his children are VAMPIRES. you have been warned.

It was entirely unrealistic –– the possibility of running out of time –– but still, I expedited through the forest, the greenery blurring by me in long unfocused streaks. Although if I paid attention, I knew I’d still be able to see every microscopic detail. The fluffy moss growing along the trunks of the ground, the iridescent droplets of rain dotting the ferny leaves, the patterns in the wood of the trees. But I cared little to as I barreled forward, hurtling over uprooted trees and bounding over large pools of rainwater nestled in the muddy forest floor.

I lost a shoe leaping over the last fifty yard stretch of river, so I kicked the other off carelessly in midair. The shoe fell into the water with a powerful splash from the height. Alice could bite me later. I was in too great of a hurry to deal with her chastisement now. If she really cared for this pair of shoes, she could dive for it. Alice! The thought of my sister made me realize a reason I could actually be late. I needed a change of clothes.

As I fell back to the earth, reaching a hand forward to grasp onto a convenient branch, I focused, envisioning my arrival at the house, the flight of the stairs, and the knock on the door of her room. I pictured asking her my request, and though I had no intention of actually following through with these steps, I hoped the thought was enough for Alice to see what I wanted. It should be, because if it wasn’t, I’d have to go into the house anyways, but I really didn’t want to waste time.

I swung lightly onto the bough of another spruce, and nimbly travelled this way from branch to branch, juggling the journal all the while by throwing it into the air between trees and catching it again. I could run fast and delicately enough to avoid muddying my feet, but with how unfocused I was in my hurry, I didn’t want to risk needing to stop to wash off.

If they hadn’t been concerned already, now would really be the time that my family genuinely considered my descent into insanity, seeing me wildly and maniacally swing through the trees towards the house like Tarzan after having only melodramatically left hours prior.

I knew it wouldn’t last, but I felt somehow liberated by the realizations that I’d come to in my wintry jungle. After hours of considering the right way forward navigating my now complicated future, I’d decided to face it head on. To stubbornly confront the problem. I was tired of feeling unlike myself and feeling distanced from my family, though my new resolution might encourage the rift I’d only just mended with Rosalie. Even with my grievances, I still enjoyed this life, the strength I’d found in it. The sense of rightness and belonging that contrasted how I’d felt so weak and out of step as a human. I wanted to bask in that again. I wanted to take action.

I decided the best way to reattain that freedom was rather than leave the boy alone, I’d challenge the vision. Seek him out this morning. Return the journal to him. Sit beside him. And in my ability to do so, I’d then prove his irrelevance to me, his powerlessness over my self control.

And although it was still a ridiculous thought to entertain, if I did find in me some concern or care for him, then that’d be even better. It’d certainly be strange, but it’d also strengthen my resolve to leave him be with his own life rather than make any choices he couldn’t even be knowledgeable enough about to consent to. Then, once I’d done so, I could truly leave him alone for good. I’d toyed with completely ignoring him from the beginning as I said I would, but then I decided that outcome wouldn’t develop from inaction. I was far too headstrong to leave this alone without trying to face it.

I will admit that a part of me was curious about Alice’s vision, curious about a friend or even a partner in this life… But the thought of Edward as that partner made me recoil. He was too irritating –– not the ideal candidate to spend an eternity with.

He was smart, though. And kind too, I noted, thinking of the way he’d cheered up the girl in the hospital… But definitely irritating. I’d have endless time to decode what had made him so relentless and smart-mouthed, but once I’d made the discovery, what then?

I had spent hours turning the little brown journal in my hands over and over, studying the worn leather, the folds and creases, tempted to open it and uncover his secrets. During an hour where I’d been resolved to go forth with pretending he didn’t exist, I’d even considered sneaking back to his house and finding my way in to leave the journal by his side so that I wouldn’t have to give it back to him myself in person. But that –– and also privily reading it without his permission –– seemed indefensibly invasive.

I didn’t mind being a vampire if that’s what I was. But that didn’t mean I had any desire to fulfill some of the creepier of the tropes.

Once I reached the tree closest to the garage, I tightroped onto a thin branch. Then, cautious as to not break it, I gently pushed down and sprung off, diving like a swimmer seventy feet down, the journal clasped between my outstretched hands. The distance was very short, and I landed softly, focusing greatly on doing so in a cautiously tactile way that wouldn’t cannonball me through the building and barreling into the ground. I rolled like a bowling ball to a stop on the vegetative, vine-covered roof in a cluster of silky honeysuckle and tickling lavender wisteria.

Even now all these years later, I felt kind of giddy at the impossible physics of my body’s capability for control, so I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I even laughed a little more thinking again of how my family might see my behavior –– me laughing here in the flowers –– as lunacy in how drastically it differed from the darkness of the personal rain cloud I’d been carrying over me.

From the house, I heard a deep chuckle and the sound of a scoff, confirming that I did have an audience. It must be Emmett mocking the impressiveness of my nosedive. I smiled, feeling very much like myself again.

I hopped off the roof to the ground and entered the garage. Sure enough, Alice had laid out a small pile of clothes for me for the upcoming school day. I stripped, unceremoniously dropping the garments I was wearing into a pile on the floor and reached for the clothing. Then, I groaned.

“Alice!” I hissed her name like an expletive. I thought we’d moved past my sister’s insistence on using me as her personal doll, but it seemed this was her attempt for a revival. Maybe she was determined to punish me for the way I’d destroyed my shoes. Rather than a sensible sweater and jeans, Alice had taken advantage of my hurried need and elected to pick out a cropped turtleneck sweater and a mini skirt, both black. The sweater wasn’t awful in that the crop wouldn’t be exposing with the high waist of the skirt, but the bodycon fit of the skirt, the crocodile print of the polyurethane, and the ludicrous split up the side… Alice was deranged. This had to have come from her own closet.

She had the good sense to include sheer black tights to hide some of the disconcerting flawlessness and freaky whiteness of my skin –– not that that would matter much in how off-putting and contrasting I’d look in all black anyways –– but I’d have preferred converse over the matching black boots. At least the heel of the boot was more reasonable than I’d expect from her. Not more reasonable than converse, though.

I imagined showing up to Edward’s house. Hey, Edward! Here I am to drive you to school, pale and ridiculous. Also, I’m a vampire. Here’s your journal.

I considered the short run to my room in the house, but again, I was already running late…

I tugged the clothes on and hopped into the pearly white car, throwing the journal into the passenger seat. As I reversed out of the garage, I felt thankful for the engine upgrades Rosalie worked on that allowed for the instant rapidity of the acceleration.

I spun sharply, letting the car spin out with an obnoxiously loud screech until I was facing the long drive away from the house. In the rearview mirror, I watched as Rosalie entered the garage, her golden eyes shocked and her mouth open as I sped away.

My reckless driving only warranted a few irritated honks on my way to Edward’s house through the morning traffic –– one dark green Honda specifically gave me a long piece of their mind when I cut them off –– before I was whipping around the corner onto his street.

Just as I pulled in front of the lonely house, I watched as Edward casually jogged down the steps of his porch, his sleek backpack hanging carelessly off one shoulder and an apple in his hand.

His tangle of bronze hair was like a low burning flame against the muted monochromatism of the grey house and the grey sky and the grey pavement. Today, he wore a light tan turtleneck that clung tightly to his chest, slim beige trousers, and a long black coat that ended above the knees. His fancy belt, his long socks, and his suede boots were all black too. I didn’t particularly consider him to be someone who cared much about what others thought about him, but he seemed pretty meticulously dressed. I wondered if he dressed to impress others or dressed for himself. Neither decision particularly mattered, but it’d been so long since I thought about something so human –– the thought process of selecting what to wear and considering how you wanted to present yourself.

The clothes I wore ceased to matter long ago. I never particularly had an interest in fashion, so it was easy to allow Alice to select my wardrobe. And for the most part, she got it right. Only when I found her selections to be impractical, such as today, did I really care. But it was a rarity that she tried to push me too far out of my comfort zone anymore. She’d given up on me, or maybe she had just become more clever about finding the right opportunities to dress me in something absurd… I liked things that I could easily move around in.

Alice would approve of his outfit, I thought. Maybe if he liked fashion, they really would get along. But that didn’t matter because I had no intentions of involving Alice and her freaky little visions in my experiment.

Seeing me parked there, he froze for a moment, before his lips curved into a huge smile. Edward laughed, throwing his apple up in the air and catching it again. He half-jogged forward to meet me. I took a deep, clean breath full of the leather scents of the car’s interior and rolled down the window, leaning forward towards him.

Edward bent over so that his head could duck down to see my face through the window, and he shook his head again, chuckling.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hello, Edward,” I smiled pleasantly, trying to play nice.

He eyed me suspiciously, but the glint in his pretty green eyes was teasing, the grin that lit them up never fading.

“I’ve come to bring you this, fresh from the scene of the crime––“ I grasped hold of the leather bound book in my hand, raising it up to wave it before setting it back down, “––and to offer you a ride to school. I’m sure it’d be a humbling experience for you to walk, but I felt bad about your pretty car being flattened like a pancake.”

“You’re not irritated with me?” Edward asked, slightly cocking his head to the side.

“Are you irritated with me?” I countered.

“Never,” he beamed.

“Well, then we can call a truce,” I half smiled. “You’re not curious as to why I’m forcing you to carpool, making your getting to school my business?”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business. But of course, I am curious.”

“As usual,” I mumbled under my breath. Hesitantly, I breathed in. It was like pulling the chord on a hot-air ballon with the way his scent ripped my throat into flames. I was grateful for the distraction of someone grumbling to themself as they turned onto the street, because instead of spiraling, I was able to instead laugh as I realized who I had cut off a few traffic lights ago. I looked in the rearview mirror and sure enough recognized Sara, the sandy blonde, driving the ugly green Honda.

“Hmm… Well, I wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend––” I bit my lip momentarily to keep myself from laughing, “––so I wouldn’t be offended if you said no.”

“Who?” Edward asked, but his smile had faded as his eyes watched my lips intently.

He looked back into my eyes after a second, blinking as he realized I was staring at him staring at me, then up at the car awkwardly pulling in behind me.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he realized who I meant. “I’ll be just a moment.”

I watched in my side-view mirror as Edward approached Sara on the drivers’ side.

“Hey, Sara,” he said as she cranked her window down.

“Hey, Ed,” she grumbled, kind of irritated. I should have felt guilty for disrupting her plan, but her irritation with Edward instead provoked my nerves. Also, the fact that she called him Ed bothered me too. “I guess you made it out alive. I’d have been here sooner, but Cullen cut me off. I got suck at a red light.”

“Did she?” Edward laughed. “Well, I’m really sorry, Sara. This is so nice of you, but Bella offered to drive me to school today. I’d cancel now that you’re here, but after she saved my life, I’d feel terrible doing so. Is it alright if I see you at school?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she snapped, trying to seem unbothered despite the tightness of her jaw and the edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry again, Sara. I really appreciate that you came here,” Edward smiled a dazzling smile.

“No big deal. I’ll see you at school,” she lifted the corners of her lips once before turning away, her mouth in a tight line.

He sighed watching as she drove past me and away before a crooked smile reappeared on his face as he walked back to my car. I didn’t have time to wonder if he would have preferred to ride with her. It didn’t seem likely.

“…Ed?” I asked as he crossed back to the passenger side.

“You heard that?” Edward chuckled. He slid his backpack off his back, opened the door, and dipped his tall frame into the car. He picked up the journal before settling into the passenger’s side, adjusting the seat to make room for his legs and backpack. “I’m not particularly fond of that nickname. Or any, for that matter. My mother called me Teddy sometimes. I prefer Edward.”

“I do too,” I agreed, breathing in the potency of his fragrance. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and swallowed dryly.

“So,” he began once he was comfortable. “Are you feeling more open today?”

“No,” I answered as I began to drive towards the school.

Edward sighed, but he shook his head, amused. Clearly, he’d decided to play nice too. “Do you ever get tired of ambiguity, Bella?”

Yes.

“No,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “I enjoy being mysterious far too much.”

“Mysterious enough to keep me up at night,” he egged on.

“I’m sure you slept just fine.”

“How’d you sleep?” Edward asked. I looked over at him, ignoring the tingling of my tongue in anticipation of the taste of his sweet blood. I should have thought of a response, but I was too busy fighting off my instincts to think of a lie. His pretty eyes narrowed in thought as he analyzed my face and the dark circles beneath my golden eyes.

Suddenly, I froze, my muscles locking down as he reached forward, his hand gently touching my hair. I didn’t dare breathe as the heat of his skin enveloped me in warmth. His hand lingered for a moment before it pulled back, holding up a broken piece of fern.

“You had a leaf in your hair. How’d that get there?” Edward almost whispered, his lips curved into a half-smile.

A strange electricity throbbed through my body, and the sensation was so odd. Like my heartbeat should be thrumming loudly in my ears. Deafening. But my heart was frozen and dead, so I only heard the beat of Edward’s. We sat in silence for a moment as my mind spun in the dizziness.

“Maybe I should have accepted Sara’s offer,” he joked after a moment, laughing, but I wondered what he made of the affliction I was trying to hide on my face. Around him, no matter my attempts at subterfuge, it felt as though my face was an open book in which he could read all my secrets. I refocused my eyes on the road, too distracted by the warmth of his pale face and the prettiness of his green eyes as the forest flew by in the window behind him.

“Maybe,” I agreed, smiling softly, smiling sadly. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should jump out of the car and run before I accidentally kill you.

“But,” he mused gently, trying to keep the mood light and playful. “She probably doesn’t have heated seats.”

His effort to comfort the conflict raging within me that he didn’t even understand worked. I snorted.

I continued driving, thinking of ways to bring up the journal.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” he smiled, appraising me. “Which is not to say that you don’t on any other day, but you do look very pretty.”

I felt oddly incomplete as I waited for reactions my body was no longer capable of. Reactions I’d forgotten. There was another strange sensation in my cheeks as if they should be very warm.

My head whipped towards him in surprise, my eyebrows pulling up.

“What?” He immediately asked in shock, his heart beat picking up. My reaction didn’t totally alarm him though, because his lips were still pulled up at the corners. Edward seemed to always be smiling. Or maybe smirking was the better word. “Do you not get compliments often? I find that rather hard to believe.”

“No, it’s not that,” I relaxed my face. “I was just caught off guard. Lovely…That wasn’t particularly something I’d expect a seventeen year old boy to say.”

“Oh,” he relaxed, easily grinning again.

“Are you even seventeen?” I found myself smiling in return.

“Are you?” He countered.

My mood darkened as my lips dropped immediately, but I fixed the smile back onto my face so he couldn’t see how exposed I felt.

“You know, my mom used to say that I was born thirty five years old, and that I get more middle-aged every year.”

“Hmm…” Edward nodded, his eyes narrowed again as he scrutinized me. I wondered if this clarified some assumption he’d made about me.

I turned into the school parking lot. I saw the gleaming cherry redness of Rosalie’s ostentatious car and desperately hoped she was already inside one of the brick buildings.

“So,” he prompted, his tone mysteriously patronizing. “Did you read this?”

I glanced over to see the accusation in his eyes as he held up the journal, but he didn’t seem angry whatsoever. They were still light. Still playful.

“What? No, of course not,” I defended myself. But my voice was unpersuasive, the pitch coming out a little too high to give my words any credibility.

I parked beside Rosalie. The car was luckily empty, so I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Ha! As if my sister would have confronted me here, and I’d have driven away, effectively kidnapping Edward… I scoffed at myself. I clenched the hand Edward couldn’t see into a tight fist, concentrating all of my strength in my fight against temptation into the way my fingers dug into my palm.

I turned my face to look at Edward, whose face was condescending, his thick eyebrows pulled up in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Maybe I look guilty because I considered it, but I didn’t actually follow through.”

His face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Okay, I believe you. I’d have forgiven you anyways.”

“Does that mean if I ask you about the contents, you’ll share?” I asked eagerly. I’d read so many books in my life that this new mystery novel easily became just like another book I was dying to read.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, chuckling. Edward reached for his bag, winking at me, and opened his door, ducking his head to get out. I swiftly undid my seatbelt and was out beside him probably much too fast, my backpack slung onto my shoulder. For a moment, I wondered if my siblings needed their useless backpacks too since we typically drove this car to school, but I figured Alice must have rescued them from the trunk after seeing my plans for this morning.

He blinked, looking down at where I suddenly appeared.

“Why?” I inhaled through my mouth, grateful for the influx of fresh rainwater and firs that helped dilute Edward’s scent.

His heart thrummed in his chest, and being so close to him, the sound was like thunder surrounding me as I listened, becoming attuned to it. The splash of puddles as tires hightailed through the parking lot, the slam of locker doors as students got their books, and the chatter of kids as they entered the school all seemed like irrelevant ambiance now.

“Because,” Edward breathed. His breath was shaky, but his face remained cool. The sweetness of the smell washed over my face, and I clenched my fist again. “That wouldn’t be fair whatsoever.”

“And why not?” I demanded.

“You expect me to entrust you with all of my secrets when you won’t trust me with just one of yours?”

He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t exactly divulge anything about the accident. I was already breaking too many rules. My own rules. My own promises I’d made to my family.

“How about…” I considered, though my thoughts were headed in a dangerous direction. “If you happen to have any theories, you can share one, and I’ll either confirm or deny it.”

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“How is that worth the very much intimate documentation of my entire mind, Bella? That’s hardly sufficient.”

“Fine, I don’t care about your stinking journal,” I snapped, stubbornly poking my chin in the air a fraction.

He surprised me by actually throwing his head back to laugh.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he considered this for a moment, beaming. “Okay, I’ll accept these conditions. But later.”

“Later?” I demanded, feeling a sense of injustice as I froze in place. He continued forward and took a bite of his apple. The juice spilled out sweetly into the air, but the fragrance was unappetizing and certainly not as sweet as Edward’s blood.

“Thank you for the ride, Bella. I’ll see you in biology.” Again, he winked, walking backwards. He saluted me, waving once with the journal in his other hand and then turned around, clearly enjoying having the upper hand as he and temptation disappeared into the crowd of students.

I stood there, my mouth propped open. The sensation of being watched started to creep up on me and sure enough, I turned to find Rosalie ten yards away outside of the building to her first period. Her eyes were dark, cold, and fierce with betrayal. Guiltily, I looked away and headed off towards my first class.

Throughout my morning classes, I tried not to think about my family’s –– or rather, Rosalie’s –– opinions on my decision this morning. At this, I failed miserably. As I imagined explaining how really if I didn’t stay away from the boy, it would prove that I actually could leave him alone and exercise control against Alice’s visions, I started to find my logic extremely flawed and unbelievable. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I was just too pigheaded. I tried not to think about this too.

Instead, I thought again about the secrets of his journal. Wasn’t this essentially the symbol of everything I’d been obsessing over? All of my wonderings and curiosities as for why he was so annoying and his eyes so perceptive could all be unraveled in that little book. I wondered if I’d be disappointed once the mystery was unveiled. Maybe the journal –– and by extension, Edward himself –– was not as interesting as I thought. I may have just been fixating on this because it was something different. But I told myself it’d be better for me to be disappointed. The sooner I could move on with my life.

Throughout the day, a couple of the braver students asked for details about the accident but became disappointed when I didn’t offer up the dramatics they were hoping for. I felt too shameful to discredit Edward’s accounts, so I irresponsibly dismissed the opportunities to ensure the accident yesterday hadn’t exposed anything unusual about me or my family. Eventually, as my monotonous account of the events spread through the tiny school, kids stopped asking.

I was impatient to get to biology, but before then, I’d have to face my siblings at lunch. When the bell rang after fifth period, I walked much too quickly to the cafeteria, dreading arriving but very much eager to get it over with. As I weaseled my way through the hallway –– which wasn’t difficult because even in the familiarity of the school, we were typically provided a wide berth –– I overheard the conversation of two other juniors. I froze in place as my plans shifted for the day. They discussed the difficulty of today’s biology pop exam, and I realized I wouldn’t have the hour of the day the school allotted to speak with Edward, the excuse I could provide my family in my defense. A freshman nearly rammed into me from behind, not expecting my sudden stop. Whoever it was recoiled immediately.

Well, I wasn’t going to miss out on whatever explanation he planned to provide because of some trivial pop exam. I rearranged my lunch plans, appreciating the excuse to postpone another family confrontation. We could battle it out at the long oval table later if necessary.

I entered the cafeteria and was second in the lunch line, only selecting a glass lemonade bottle so that the emptiness in front of me wouldn’t be unnerving for Edward. I figured it’d be more disconcerting to leave a tray of food in front of me untouched. I headed to a round table in the corner that was typically empty. This wouldn’t surprise my family when they entered. Alice would warn them.

I sat waiting as students filed in, either joining the growing line or meeting at their usual tables with their friends. I avoided Rosalie’s eyes when she entered the room, but I could still feel the iciness of her stare. I listened for Edward’s deep and soft voice to indicate his arrival, then when I couldn’t find it, instead listened for Sara’s to see if she may be with him. Sara was a loud, babbling talker, so it was easy to find her voice in the crowd of the hallway. She seemed to have gotten over her irritation from this morning as she animatedly spoke about some research she’d done the night prior into some potential colleges she might apply to.

I found that although I may feel some irrational resentment of her ability to be so close to Edward, I liked Sara. Maybe we would have even been friends if I was a human. And if her proximity to him didn’t bother me. She was prattling on about her dream of becoming a veterinarian, and her goals seemed so sincere that I almost felt guilty finding any enjoyment in having stolen Edward from her this morning.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have intentions to do so again.

As I suspected, when Sara walked through the double doors, Edward was by her side. He was actively listening to her words –– always so polite to anyone who wasn’t me –– but once inside the lunch room, his eyes immediately flashed to the table in which my siblings were settling into. His thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion –– and maybe even disappointment? –– at the realization he didn’t find me there.

I was impatient as he purchased his lunch. Once he’d left the line, he still hadn’t noticed me sitting here. Maybe he was less perceptive than I gave him credit for. I felt a moment of awkwardness as I thought about having to get up, walk across the cafeteria, and ask him to join me in front of my family. I would still have done so, but I was immensely relieved when Sara noticed me.

“Are you eating lunch with Bella too?” The sandy blonde asked, her tone suddenly indignant. This time, I felt no pleasure in my thievery. Sara was right to want to reserve Edward to her human world, but I was too entranced with the mystery of his journal and the mystery of his mind to care.

Edward looked up, searching. His sage eyes were bright and animated once he found me here at the table. He held his tray in one large hand while combing the other through his untidy bronze hair. The arrogant confidence in his face made me smirk, and I rolled my eyes, lifting my hand to beckon him forward twice with my finger as if I was reluctantly pacifying a child.

“I guess so,” he laughed a little as he sauntered forward towards the table, leaving Sara behind gawking. I braced myself for the onslaught, inhaling one last fresh breath of air. How habitual this was becoming.

“I’m being gifted your presence outside of our biology class twice in one day? What did I do to deserve this?” He teased once he’d arrived, standing behind the seat across from me.

“Nearly die. I guess that’s a fair enough price to pay for my company,” I played along. If only he knew how true that still was. He grinned, his perfect teeth white and shiny. “Oh, don’t look so smug. I’m only here to uncover a mystery.”

“As am I,” he reminded me. I winced.

“Are you going to sit down?” I asked. He still stood behind the seat, tall and lean, a giant like my brothers. Not quite as towering and much slimmer, but still, I felt small in my seat looking up at him.

Edward leaned down to carefully place his tray on the laminate before comfortably settling into his seat as if we’d done this before. I glanced at his tray, curious as to his selection. A bottle of water, a grilled chicken salad, and a bag of dried fruit. I stared at the food for a moment as if this would provide me any clues about his mind.

“So,” he began. I looked up to meet his eyes and though I knew he’d be looking at me, I felt a jolt pulse through me. He caught something about my reaction, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.

“So,” I continued. “You were going to tell me about your journal.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I believe we agreed on a condition, did we not?”

“We did,” I admitted. “Go ahead.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I’m actually ready to, Bella,” he pondered, and I felt odd again hearing him say my name.

“Why not?” I demanded, restless. Of course I was interested in the book, but I was also definitely interested in his theories. I couldn’t believe it had only been yesterday that the accident occurred. It felt like a lifetime ago. The same way that first day in biology did.

“I’ve only been given about twenty four hours to come up with any explanations.”

“And have you?”

“Maybe, but I have a feeling you’ll be very firm on only allowing one theory, so I want to hold out for the theory I’m most confident on.”

I frowned, and Edward laughed.

“Don’t worry though. I’ll tell you about my journal anyways. As long as you promise–– no, that’d be letting you off too easily. As long as you swear to me that you won’t forget your end of the deal.”

“I swear,” I promised, smiling at the silliness of his command. I took this moment to breath in his powerful scent, to wrestle with my desire.

“Hmm… I wonder if it’ll upset you,” his forehead crumped in thought. My patience was wearing so thin that the inexorable cloud of lust for his blood had little impact in comparison to the sudden aggravation at his procrastination.

“Oh, Edward!” I groaned, exasperated. “Would you just tell me? What could possibly upset me?”

For whatever reason, Edward burst into laughter at my outburst and couldn’t seem to stop.

I glared at him, and he tried to choke back his humor unsuccessfully. The irritation in my eyes didn’t deter him or instill any sense of fear in him. Briefly, I wondered if he was mentally sound.

“Okay, well, you can just go eat lunch with your little friends, and I’ll stay here and talk to myself.”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded as another laugh escaped. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so impatient. And for what? My uninteresting little journal?”

“You’re annoying, did you know that?”

“Maybe, but you’ve chosen to sit here with me, so you must like me for some reason,” he pointed out. For some reason indeed. Once again, he was right on target. My mouth gaped open.

“Okay, I’m getting up––”

“No, please, Bella. I’ll behave myself now. I’ll tell you about my journal. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His smile was dazzling, and his eyes were fierce, sweet, and sincere. I was mesmerized, stuck in the seat across from him.

“Okay,” I said stupidly.

“My journal,” he began seriously, “is sort of a Bible.”

I waited for him to laugh again.

“No, really,” Edward did laugh but not as though he’d told a joke. “I know that’s kind of strange.”

Religion had never been a major facet of my life. A dozen memories flickered through my mind of the times as a human where my mother Renée had gone through impassioned phases where she attended church, trying on multiple denominations and religions for size. But just like the rest of her sudden and fleeting interests, her spiritual high wore off, and we never spoke about God or church again. Only when I became immortal did religion take a more permanent place in my thoughts. But it was only the proximity to Carlisle that made me consider spiritual beliefs, and even then, it was simply another topic to devote thought to in all the endless space in my head and all the endless time in which to fill it.

I didn’t know particularly what I believed nor if I cared much, but I did know that if Edward was religious enough to tote around a bible at school, he’d definitely not be pleased to know he sat across from an actual vampire.

“You carry around a bible?”

“Well, don’t make any judgments yet, alright? It’s not exactly a bible. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

“I think I can keep up,” I said simply, feeling slightly awkward but still curious. I glanced down at his untouched food. “But you should probably eat.”

“And what about you?” He asked, eyeing my full lemonade bottle.

I unscrewed the tin cap for his benefit. Following my lead, he opened the plastic container of his salad. I waited impatiently as he slowly ate his food.

I watched him as he ate, but when his eyes flickered curiously up to me, I fixated my attention on the lemonade bottle, tracing the mouth of it with my pinky finger.

After a few moments, Edward spoke up. “What are you thinking?”

I looked up to meet his light green gaze and felt stuck there again, compelled to reveal everything.

“I’m trying to figure out what you think I am,” I admitted only one of my concerns, though even this was much too honest. I thought of the inspiration he could draw from his religious text. The second beast. The Nephilim. Cherubim. Demons. Even though I didn’t have a true understanding of the contents of the book, some of Carlisle’s paintings had provided me with enough of an idea.

“I’m not having much luck with that yet,” he answered.

I laughed, relieved. “Well, you have only been given twenty four hours.”

“What else are you thinking?” he asked again, sensing there was more.

I sighed, feeling uncomfortable under his analyzation. The weight of his watchful eyes was too penetrative.

“That a boy who carries around a bible probably wouldn’t like me very much.”

“Why? Are you a sinner?” He smiled teasingly, but his eyes were soft as he tried to pull me again from the gloominess that seemed to steal me away.

“Something like that.”

“Well, aren’t we all?”

“Not all dogs go to heaven,” I answered. He chuckled at how I butchered the expression.

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I absolutely believe in a heaven, but if I do, I think the prerequisites to make it in are much broader than the Christian faith teaches.”

“You carry around a bible but don’t believe in heaven?”

“I said I’m unsure. And I said it was difficult to explain, didn’t I?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I hardly understand what you mean the majority of the time either.”

We both laughed, and the synchronicity of the moment made me forget my intentions with bothering him in the first place. It made me realize that in a way, I actually did feel fondly of Edward.

“Here, I’ll explain. I’m done eating anyways.” He used a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth, then pushed it away on top of his lunch tray.

“My mother was very religious,” Edward began. “She wasn’t pious or bigoted or forceful about her beliefs. She was kind… devout. She believed in goodness. Her entire life had been dedicated to caring for other people. She wasn’t someone whose true intentions were to condemn others with the hope to save them from hell. Rather, she seemed more focused on saving someone from unhappiness. A lot of other believers have been known to connect with someone only for the end goal of forcing them to change the way they live for the sake of feeling as though they saved them. She had always been offended by this insistence to control another’s lifestyle, believing that any Child of God should truly only be concerned with loving others.

“I have pages of verses ripped out from her bible stuck throughout my journal. It may seem sacrilegious to destroy a bible in that way, but she’d read through it so many times that it had completely fallen apart. I tried to save it when she died, but there was no hope to. It was too dilapidated and tattered. So in my own journal, I have all these notes I’ve written on the notes she wrote in her bible. All these confusing erratic writings, these scribbles, I’ve been trying to sort out, just trying to figure out how to be a good person.”

At the end of his speech, my mouth dropped open. Quickly, I closed it again.

“So, do you believe in a god?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m not sure what I believe. If you don’t believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, then a god seems to be just as reasonable an answer as anything else. But I do believe in science as well. And once again, I don’t believe that any higher being who created the entire universe would be so particular and unyielding on such frivolous, harmless human matters as to what you do…or who you love… I’m hesitant to speak about god publicly, not because I fear any kind of persecution for my complicated beliefs, but because I know that the church has caused a lot of damage to a lot of people. And I don’t want anyone to think I support any of that harm. But for innocent believers, I see nothing wrong with wanting a reason to hold onto hope if that’s what religion is for them.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed, thinking of Carlisle.

“I think at the core of any religion –– and I definitely am interested in studying other religions as well –– is the same message. To do good by others and yourself. Of course, historically, religion has been weaponized as a means to take control over innocent people, but in considering people like my mother… I sincerely hope that there is a god. For her sake.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry.” Edward smiled his crooked smile. “I’m not about to try and sell you some religious propaganda. At no point will I sit you down and ask, ‘do you mind if I take a moment to speak about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?’ That’s never been my mission. I’m not entirely certain whether or not I even consider myself religious.”

“So what is your mission then with the journal?”

“Perhaps this will sound a little pretentious, but it’s not so much that I’m curious about the chicken or the egg scenario… Evolution versus creation… I don’t care very much as to how we got here. I guess because my mother believed so profusely, and I consider her to be such a great person, I’m curious as to whether our morality is innate as people, or if all goodness is because we have some kind of spirit within us leading us to want to do right by other people. I think overall, it is innate. An atheistic individual can do wonderful things for the world just as someone who claims to love Jesus can do terrible things. I don’t think anyone who doesn’t believe chooses to do good for God, but I wonder if that innate sense of morality, sense of compassion is ingrained into us because of the fact we do have souls. So the question I’ve been trying to answer all these years is… do we? Does my mother die, fade to nothing, with her body? Or did she live on because she had a soul?”

“Those are big questions for a seventeen year old.”

“Those are big questions for anybody, no matter their age. And questions humankind has been trying to answer for thousands of years,” Edward chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect to be the one to stumble upon the answers. More so, I’m really trying to find some purpose in my mother’s life. I do want to honor her, and maybe if I can understand all the things she wrote about people and about God, then I can.”

“So what do you write?”

“I write my thoughts on what she journaled about. And I write about all the good things I see someone do. About the reasons why I think they did them… I study people a lot.”

“Do you ever feel creepy?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “I mean, it’s not that I’d be the type to watch someone while they sleep. But if someone comforts a friend, picks up a stray piece of trash off the ground, smiles at a stranger… I try to take notice. I want to notice people.”

Edward sighed. “I know this must sound arrogant, but I really do believe I’m very sensitive to the thoughts of other people. At least, I try to be. For example, I know Sara must not be very happy that I chose to ride with you this morning, or that I am sitting with you now. I’m not oblivious to her feelings for me. But it’d be very ungentlemanly of me to accuse her of those feelings if she prefers to keep them secretive, so I’ll define a boundary if needed to protect her feelings whenever she chooses to come forth about them. I’d like to retain our friendship, but I still make my own choices.”

“So…” I began, ignoring his point about Sara. “Let’s say we all did have souls. Could someone lose that soul by any chance?”

“Hmm…” he thought, his eyes intent, piercing into mine as though he were trying to read my mind. “Now, that’s a big question for a seventeen year old.”

I laughed along with him.

“Well, I’m not sure whether or not you can lose your soul –– if we have them, of course. Perhaps you could damage the integrity of it or compromise it somehow. Could it be lost in death? If there is something of a heaven, does that automatically imply the existence of a hell? What purpose does hell serve in torturing one’s soul for eternity? Justice? Do some people perhaps deserve that fate? I want to say no, but then you think of awful, malicious people who have done awful, malicious things. Murder. Genocide. Rape. Isn’t the losing of your soul in death, fading into nonexistence too easy of a punishment? Do those people warrant a judge, jury, and executioner? I would hope that there are consequences to evil actions, but I don’t understand the idea that if such a place exists for the most vile of humanity, nonbelievers and sinners would go to the same place as well according to the Christian faith. I would say on that front, the Bible must be profoundly off. That aspect has to be invented by man for a means of control. What creator would wish such a fate on someone so innocent as to simply be uncertain about a god? So does a nonbeliever or sinner simply cease to exist, therefore losing their soul? Or is there some kind of alternative? Like a purgatory in the Catholic faith. That too seems a cruel fate from what should be a loving God.”

I felt slightly uneasy, wondering what he would think of my non-life, if he would consider this to be the alternative for innocent sinners. I wondered if he would believe I had a soul.

Edward softened his expression at my discomfort. His eyes were gentle and kind.

“But I don’t think I believe that. Like I said, I think the division between good and bad, right and wrong, is less black and white than most religious people believe. I think it’s gray, and I think any higher power would realize that too. So if you’re making that face because you’ve sinned a little here and there or murdered somebody, maybe you can make a comeback.”

Edward winked, and I forced myself to laugh.

“So would yesterday earn me some points?”

“Oh, definitely. You’ve practically merited an angel status.”

This time I did genuinely laugh at the thought of me as an angel.

“But again, as for what’s considered sin… I don’t subscribe to the majority of what’s considered biblical canon.”

“You don’t have to continue with the disclaimers. I believe that you’re not judging my sinful ways.”

“Correction, I don’t believe that God themself is judging you for your sinful ways. I never said anything about my judgment of you.”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling at the smirk on his face. “I’m not at all surprised that you have a god complex. That seems about right –– you do come off like the type to be very judgmental.”

“I’m notoriously difficult to impress,” Edward half-smiled. “Are we continuing this conversation in Biology, or are you growing tired of the dark and the heavy?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “But I overheard that we have a pop quiz, so you’ll have to save your pretty boy disciple thoughts for later.”

He chuckled as I stood up from the table, reaching to grab my untouched lemonade bottle and cap to throw away, then stopped me.

“I’ve got it,” Edward placed the bottle on his tray to dump into the garbage. I watched curiously as he pocketed the bottle cap.

“I’d say thank you, but I know you’re only trying to win points in the eyes of God.”

“Anything to get into heaven,” he laughed.

* * *

y’all know i had to make edward a lil christian boy. u know edward is the i wanna church girl who go to church… and reaaaad her biiiible vine. i do want to clarify again… unlike stephenie mormon, i have no agenda in speaking about religion in this fanfic. i’m not particularly fond of labels, but i am more agnostic than anything so… i’m not tryna convert anybody to anything. it just seemed very “classically edward” as rosalie would say.

i hope u enjoyed! i also wanted to say i really, really appreciate the comments! i haven't replied bc... i'm shy but i read them & truly feel very flattered. ♡

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight #midnight sun #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella

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ally-writes-many-things · 4 years

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Secret Voight (Jay Halstead) S2 Part 1

Summary: The team finally knows that Y/N is Voight's daughter. One secret is out but theres still one secret that's not out. Y/N and Jay's relationship. Will that stay a secret or not? I mean Voight always finds out about things, right? Season two of Secret Voight starts now.

Words: 3179

Requested: yes

Prompts:

Warning or A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long! Been busy with work. But I'm working on part 2 as I'm posting this!

I stood there with my arms crossed looking at my half brother, unimpressed. The only thing that has changed about him from the last time I saw him was his height. "Y/N! Come on!"

You looked away from him, trying to figure out what to say before you looked back at him. "Come on, nothing. I'm not feeding into your habit,"

Justin looked at you as if you had slapped him. "Fine, whatever. You had never helped me and didn't care about me. You only cared about impressing dad and that why you got applied to be on Intelligence,"

You just sat there looking at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. "Justin, you can try to guilt me all you want but I'm not gonna change my mind,"

He huffs and walked away but stop midway to whoever's car was parked behind him. "You know, you're just like dad,"

Your dad may do some shady things but he is loyal. You rolled your eyes and walked to your car and got into it and screamed out in frustration. When you met Justin, he was alread to lost and you were never clicked with him as you were 'too much' like your father. Him and Voight didn't have a great relationship. You tried to help him over and over, gave him hundreds of dollars but he would blow them on stupid things and you had enough of it. You didn't know what he wanted this time but the way he looked and acted it wasnt anything good. You sighed and drove to 21st.

You walked into Intelligence and you saw Jay start to walk up to you, which you walked past him and to your father's office. His door was open, so you just walked into his office but shut the door. "You need to do something with Justin before he gets killed,"

Your father swirls around looked at you. "Not even a good morning?"

You rolled your eyes. "Good morning. You need to do something with Justin befoe he gets killed,"

Voight puts his hands together and just looked at you. You rolled your eyes. "He called me last night after. Did you know he got out early?"

Voight shook his head. "No. What did he want and when did he get out?"

"Like a month ago, he asked to meet up. The when we did asked me for money and dad, he doesn't look good,"

Voight just nodded and sighed. "Theres nothing anyone can do. I've tried. You've tried. Everyone has tried. Jail obviously didn't do anything,"

You were about to say something but Voight stopped you. "Dont worry about him. We got a case,"

You sighed in defeat, he walked to the door and opened it for you. You just looked at him for a minute before walking out and over to your desk. Voight walked to the middle of the room. "All right, there are two unrelated wire investigations. Surveillance followed three of area central's top-ranking gang targets to this house on Carpenter. Narcotics hasn't gotten anywhere with it, so command staff wants Intelligence on it. Roll out in five,"

Voight took a look around the room before coming downstairs. You grabbed your gun and badge from your desk and started to walk downstairs when Jay walked next to you. "Everything go okay with Justin?"

You didn't answer him and kept walking. Jay whistled. "I take that as a no,"

"You have that right,"

You got into Jay's passenger seat as he climbed into the driver's seat. You looked around to see if anyone was near the truck and no one was there. You leaned over to Jay and turned his head to face you and kissed him. He smiled within the kiss and placed his hand on your cheek. You pulled away after a fee seconds and looked at him. "Sorry, just wedded that,"

Jay shook his head and chuckled. "No need to apologize babe. It's always welcomed,"

You smiled as Jay turned on his truck.

----

You put the walkie up to your mouth and called the team. "We got the main eye,"

Voight came through next. "We're set up to the north. We got the south and a partial of the alley. If anyone goes mobile from the house, we're in position for a take-away. Oh and Ruzek, move closer. See if there's any movement in the house,"

At the same time I saw a someone walk up, Jay did too and he called it in. "Hold up. We got company,"

The guy started to pull something out and you noticed it was a gun before you could call it in, Atwater called it in. "Gun!"

We quickly got of the car and as soon as he did we were under attack. I don't know how lmany there were or how long it took, all I know was it was silent as it the gunfire crease. We walked into the house and started to clear the house. "Clear!"

You and Jay walked into the last room. "Police! Clear!"

You saw someone dead on the floor and other one that was alive. You took notice of the rest of the team coming in minus Ruzek and Atwater. "Hoodie's dead. This one's alive,"

You looked at Jay as you put the walkie to your lips once again. "Charlie 50-21, emergency,"

Voight looked at you like you were crazy. "What? He's gonna bleed out. We gotta put pressure on the wound,"

You pressed your finger back down on the walkie. "Shots fired by the police. Offender down,"

You heard Atwater call you guys into a room and when you got in there, you see specialize specialized ammunition "Cop killers,"

Ruzek stood up and was looking at something. "Hey, look at this,"

You walked over to him. "What do you got?"

"Insulin,"

"Somebody was a diabetic?"

"Or not. Is there a black market for this stuff?"

Jay walked up to us and grabbed the Insulin. "None that I've heard of. But you know what? It's a good place to hide a bullet, though. Nice work,"

-----

You walked up to the board and tapped two pictures on it and then turned to face the team. "This is Edward Jelko, the deceased street-level dealer. This is Peter Thomas Banfill, the offender, currently baking in a coma over at County. Jelko probably thought like we did that Banfill was sitting on something big, went over there to rip him off,"

Antonio walked up to the board and pinned more pictures on the board. "These are M995s, teflon-tipped, kevlar-penetrating rounds. Ballistics has them linked to several recent homicides. And we found 100 of these at the scene. It's for type R insulin, which is a Canadian designation and with any luck, our little surprise visit got the gun runners scrambling, which means they're gonna make mistakes, okay?"

Voight nodded and looked at all us. "Eyes open,"

---

You were typing on your computer, corssrefercing things when Antonio comes back in after going out and talking to his C.I. "Hey! I found the source of the Insulin. A company near Toronto named Markham Medical Supply their sales rep makes a run here every other Thursday. He left at 5:00 this morning,"

You stood up from your chair and walked over to Antonio. "I'm guessing they have tracking numbers on all their products?"

Antonio looked at you. "Yep,"

Voight walked over to you two and nodded. "All right, get those tracking numbers, locate him on GP, and- you already did that,"

Antonio smiled. "Yep, Atwater and Burgess are en route tracking the signal,"

You held out your fist for Antonio to fist bump it and he does. "Nice,"

You were walking to the car to where Burgess and Atwater said they found a body. "This is definitely our sales rep. George Wilenko, 41. He's been with Markham Medical for 17 years. No record, fully bonded, has border clearance. This guy's not your typical smuggler,"

Al pointed at a cup. "You notice the cup?"

You looked over at the cup and saw a lipstick stain. "Lipstick on the lid,"

Jay and you had picked up the wife and had her in the break room after telling her, her husband was found dead. "My mother always called it Murder City but the first time we visited, I fell in love with Chicago. The lake, the river walk. George and I went to the top of the Willis tower. God, I just I can't believe it. Why would someone kill my husband?"

Jay sighed and looked at her. "We think that he was smuggling guns into the country,"

The wife looked at us like we were beyond mental. "George?"

You nodded. "He wasn't killed over Insulin. And on his last trip here, we think his vehicle was filled with these,"

You pointed over at Jay and Jay sat a bullet down on the sink. The wife looked like she was gonna faint. "I'm hallucinating. This isn't happening,"

"Five people have already been killed by them,"

The wife wasnt believing anything we said. "Look, you don't get it. George would never do that ever,"

"How often did you make the trip down with him?"

"Every couple of months. We always stay at the Sofitel. I shop. That's why he dropped me off. They don't have Bloomingdale's in Canada,"

You and Jay share a knowing look.

You and Jay were at Jay's desk, checking out the story that the wife told us wien Antonio comes back into Intellegnce. We got somethin'. These are our bullets. Can you believe the velocity of these things? Forensics traced one round that went through the TV, through the wall, ended up halfway through the engine block of an ice cream truck parked across the street,"

Voight nodded. "Seven homicides and counting,"

While you were listening to them, Jay was still digging. Our widow's lying. Her cell phone provider said she was never at Bloomingdale's. She spent the afternoon up in Edgewater,"

You and Jay walked back into the break room where she was sitting with the door closed. "We're gonna get real honest real quick. Do you recognize these men?"

Jay laid down the photos of the victim of the cop killer bullets. "Oh, my,"

You were getting fed up with her. "Yeah, neither can we. His face was shot off by the bullets you and your husband brought into Chicago. You lied to us. You weren't browsing Bloomingdale's. You were in Edgewater. You and your husband had a nice run, right? You start off with something simple like x or kush, and you got greedy, and you upgraded to gun-running. You got George killed, which makes you an accessory to his murder,"

Jay took a step in front of you at this point. "Y/N,"

You just looked at him but moved so he wasn't in the way anymore. "So we're gonna try this again, only this time the truth,"

She sat down andsighed. "I was visiting a friend. - An ex-boyfriend,"

You rolled your eyes. "If you're gonna lie, put some effort into it for me,"

The wife gave me the I'm not lying look. "Call him. He'll tell you,"

Jay placed a pen and a piece of paper on the table and pointed at it. "Name, number. I want you to take me through your entire day, every stop you made, every person you talked to, everything you did,"

"I already told you,"

You out your hands on the table. "Tell me again,"

She nodded. "We were on the road by 4:30. Didn't stop till we crossed the border just past Ann Arbor. Got some coffee, some gas. Used the washroom. George got a phone call from our nephew-"

You stopped her there. "Who's the nephew?"

"He lives here. He likes to meet up with George Oh, God, Mikey doesn't know,"

You look at her. "Does Mikey have a last name?"

She nodded.

Jay walked up to the board and tapped a picture up as you pointed at it. "Michael Ganz, lives in East Garfield Park, has a record: robbery, possession. Runs with a small crew,"

Jay nodded. "Claire's ex-boyfriend checks out right down to the five hundred bucks,"

The tech analysts came in and stands in the middle of the room. "Got a ping on Ganz's phone, pulled all the numbers he's called in the last 24 hours. All the calls were to the same numbers, a cell phone registered to a Lucky M Pawn and Loan - in Gage Park,"

Al pointed at the tech person. "Lucky M. I know that ding-dong,"

Antonio nodded. "We'll go talk to him. Come on,"

----

Jay left to do something in which he didn't tell you what so you left to go and grab a cup of good coffee. You were coming out of the shop when you saw Justin across the street trading money for something. You placed your coffe cup on your car and walk over to where Justin was. Justin didn't see you til the moment you reached over and grabbed what was in his hand. It was drugs. You gave me a dirty looked before crushing them into dust and throwing them into the dumpster next to you. "Y/N! What the hell?"

You didnt even acknowledged him and started to walk away but he grabbed your arm. You instantly reached over with your free hand and punched him in the face. "Don't ever grab me like that,"

Justin recovers fast as he walked up to you. "Dont throw away something that isn't yours,"

You resisted the urge to strike him again. "Is that why you wanted to borrow money? To buy drugs?"

Justin didn't answer you. You pursed your lips together. "Thought so. You just got out of jail, Justin. Do you want to go back?"

Justin looked at you quickly. "Are you gonna arrest me?"

You shook your head. "With what evidence? I just destroy it. So no, I'm not but the next thing I see you buying or using any type of illegal substances, I will. Now get out of here,"

Justin takes one last look at you before walking away. You sighed as your phone started to ring. You reached into your pocket and answered it. "Voight,"

----

You, Burgess, Atwatter, Voight, the IT person were sitting in the surveillance van after Al got into a car with the suspect. He was calling out directions when his phone got tossed out the window. It was a few minutes after his phone got tossed when they finally stopped. Now we are just waiting for the takedown word. "It's just like Christmas morning,"

That was it, you all jump out of the car and move into the bulding. "Police!"

You and Jay walked around the bulding as you see two people hiding southwest, you called it out to Burgess and Atwater.

---

You sighed as you finished up the paperwork from the case and placed it in a file on your desk. Jay had already left and so did the rest of the team besides Voight. You get up from your desk and grabbed your jacket. You walked over to Voight's office and knocked. Voight turned and looked at you. "I'm headed home,"

Voight nodded. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. I love you,"

You nodded and said I love you too.

---

You walked up to the door and knocked. It was a few seconds befor you heard feet shuffle to the door, you smiled as your grandmother opened the door. "Its late. Everything okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I just wanted to come over and I know it's late but I missed you,"

Your grandmother pulled you into the house and then into a hug. She led you into her kitchen where you sat in a chair at the table. She walked over to the coffee pot and turned it on. "How's your father?"

You shrugged. "Same as ever. Jobs going good as well,"

You two didnt say anything else until the coffee was done. She grabbed the pot and a cup. She poured some of the coffee into the cup and sat down. "Are you gonna tell me what's bothering you or am I gonna have to guess?"

You sighed and took a sip of your coffee. "Justin is out of jail,"

She gives you a look, you give her the same one back. "Yeah, I know. Early release. Today, I caught him buying drugs and instead of arresting him. I destroyed the drug and gave him a choice. I know what I was wrong but he's my half brother. I cant let him drown,"

She sits her coffee down on the table and looked at me. "You have a big heart but sometime you gotta let people fall,"

"Its hard grandma,"

"I know but in the long run itll be better for everyone,"

---

You wake up to your phone going off, you groaned and rolled over and you saw that it was a text from Justin.

From: Justin

Thanks for not ratting me out. Dad set up a dinner, you're coming.

You sighed and texted him back.

To: Justin

What if I have plans?"

From: Justin

Cancel them.

You looked at Justin and then at Voight at the table and sighed. You didnt want to be here, you rather be laying in bed wrapped up in Jay's arms. "So this guy comes across the yard. He's all skeezed out on crystal or something and he says, he says, chicken pot pie. Like I'm supposed to know what that is, right? So my boy looks at him, points back at the block and he says, that way. Did not matter what this cat was on. He just doubles back to where he came from lickety-split, you know what I'm saying?"

You pursed your lips together as Voight looked at his son. "Hey, J, listen, I got some news. Um I had to pull some strings, but I got you in at the CTA,"

"That's where that's where city workers send their loser relatives,"

Justin looked at you for help but you shrugged. "It's a job. And it'll help you get back on your feet,"

He gives you a look which you ignored. "You know you sound more and more like him every day, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "You start Monday,"

"Okay, pop, sure,"

Voight's phone started to ring and he gets up to take it. "Excuse me, I gotta take this,"

You and Justin didn't talk while he was gone. He comes back and placed money on the table for the check and looked at you. "We gotta roll,"

#jay halstead x you #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #chicago pd #kevin atwater #antonio dawson #kelly Burgess #adam ruzek #hank voight #secret voight

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 4 years

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Mad Love - Chapter 10 ( The final Gotham fic)

After Gotham was cut out off from the mainland, Emerald starts to learn that three’s a crowd and Jeremiah soon shows his true colours. Will she stick around like she did with Jerome or will she finally get some sense to leave and reunite with her true love.

The fourth and final instalment in my Gotham/Emerald series.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. It really helps me out as a writer, lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist as well :)

Warnings: Implied rape (Dont like, dont read), Violence, Abuse, Domestic abuse, Body horror, Emerald is once again an abuse victim, Language,

Chapter 10

Emerald’s P.O.V

5 years later

Today was the day Ecco and I broke Jeremiah out of Arkham. We'd been contacting discreetly for the past four years, hatching the perfect escape plan. After that Jeremiah was keen on making quite the explosive comeback to Gotham. Ecco and I had put everything in place, Ecco was already at Arkham having donned a nurse’s outfit. It would be too risky for me to go there having previously been an inmate myself. That’s why I was the gateway driver. I sat in the car, having parked a street away from Arkham. I glanced at my watch, which had been synchronised with Ecco’s. She had ten minutes to get him out of there before orderlies would notice. I'd made sure she memorized the layouts of the buildings blueprints before even thinking about setting foot in that place.

I was starting to get anxious. I wouldn’t be able to break the pair of them out if they were caught. But it’s not like I'd be able to abandon them. Finally, they turned around the corner, Jeremiah in a wheelchair and covered in various blankets. As he got closer, I felt my blood run cold. Seeing Jerome after his resurrection had been like a nightmare but Jeremiah was like a goddamn horror movie. He sat there with a sickening grin on his face, his eyes dark and hollow looking. Any features he'd previously had were now replaced with leathery looking burns. He hardly had any hair left, the strands wiry and green. I swallowed hard as they grew closer. I had been looking forward to this reunion but now, I felt pure terror at the thing coming closer with every second.

That was not Jeremiah. Jeremiah had died in that vat of chemicals five years ago. Finally they reached the car, Ecco going to help him up but he shoved her hands away insisting he was fine. He got out of the chair with ease, turning his attention to me. I needed to stop looking like such a deer in the headlights, but it was like looking at a car crash, I couldn’t stop staring. Jeremiah climbed into the front passenger seat, whilst Ecco took the back seat. I forced a smile, trying to think of anything to say. I had kept the engine running, whilst I waited for them in case a quick getaway was needed. “You two seem to have gotten close,” Jeremiah mentioned. I glanced at Ecco in the rear-view mirror, our gazes meeting. Ecco shrugged, before examining her nails. “It was hard not to when we only had each other,” Ecco replied. I felt a slight wave of relief. Yet I was still expecting Ecco to go back to her old ways and we’d be back at each other’s throats soon enough.

I put my foot down on the gas, getting us away from Arkham as quick as possible. I took as many back roads as I could before finally, we reached ‘home’. Ecco was the first one out of the car, likely to make sure that all the decorations were in place. We thought we’d throw him a welcome home party or a happy escape from Arkham party. It had been more Ecco’s idea, but I had been happy to help. For once I didn’t want to be alone with Jeremiah and I opened the car door, making a move to get out and follow Ecco inside. That’s when I realised I hadn't said a single word to him yet. I had to say something. “Its good to finally have you back,” I mentioned. “Oh your tongue is still intact, for a while I was thinking Ecco had cut it out.” “Well, its uh…a lot to take in,” I referred to his appearance. “True. But I’m still devilishly handsome right?” He laughed at his own joke.

It took me a second to realize it was a joke before I giggled along with him. I felt a little of the tension defuse between us, which was a good sign. We got out the car and headed inside. Ecco had that look on her face already, the one that was so seeking of approval. We'd decorated the place with balloons, paper chains and a welcome home sign. There was even a piñata with Bruce Wayne’s face on it. Jeremiah remained silent, taking it all in. He spotted the piñata, his fingers running over the picture of Bruce. “Which one of you did this?” He asked. Ecco quickly took the credit, “me.” Jeremiah grabbed her by the neck, starting to choke her. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she made no move to remove his hands, she accepted her punishment. “After all these years and you still think I want to hurt him! You’re really making me question why I keep you around. Clean it up, now!” He spat.

I kept my distance, afraid to intervene and receive the same treatment. But this was starting to mirror the day of Jerome’s resurrection a little too much for my liking. My mistake last time was being resistant to change, saying no. This time I wouldn’t make that mistake no matter what. I had no doubt in my mind that Jeremiah would kill me and make sure I was dead. He threw Ecco to the floor, where she quickly began cleaning up the decorations. Jeremiah turned to me, putting on a smile as if he hadn't just had a violent outburst. I forced myself to return the smile, doing my best to not look as uncomfortable as I felt. He motioned for us to go into the next room, which we’d made into the kitchen. I followed him, choosing to remain standing. I didn’t want to get too comfortable. Jeremiah took a seat at the table, reaching out for me. I swallowed hard; I knew I would have had to touch him eventually, but the thought still made my skin crawl.

I slipped my hand in to his and smiled softly. His skin was bumpy and coarse, it wasn’t something I wanted to feel often. “I have to commend you on your loyalty my dear, I had my doubts whilst I was in Arkham. Speaking of which, I see why you dislike it. you have no idea how hard it was to pretend to be brain dead whilst all those freaks poked and prodded me. One of them even left a scar, someone I believe your familiar with Edward Nygma,” Jeremiah rambled. I kept my fear at bay. Somehow, I felt that Jeremiah would blame me for Ed’s actions. I frowned, pretending to be concerned. “What did he do?” I asked. “Shoved a sharpened paint brush through my leg. If he wanted red paint, he could have just asked.” “Well you don’t need to worry about him, we used him to aid in your escape. Everyone thinks he’s the cause of the Arkham outbreak and he thinks Oswald helped him.” “He’s lucky it didn’t hurt, I haven’t been able to feel pain since that night,” Jeremiah was referring to the night he fell into the vat of chemicals.

Whilst Jerome had changed once, Jeremiah was changing twice, appearance wise and personality. It was hard to keep up with. But I had to learn his behaviours quickly in order to survive. After his first change he wasn’t prone to violence…now he was. “I should go check on Ecco,” I mentioned. I attempted to pull away, but his grip tightened on my hand. My stomach bubbled with nerves and I half expected to be pulled back harshly. “She’s fine. I haven’t been able to feel much since that night, perhaps you could help with that.” I blinked, his words registering in my brain. He meant physically. I swallowed bile, I couldn’t say no. But could I really go through with it? I had to if I wanted to stay alive.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld

#jeremiah valeska smut #jeremiah valeska fic #jeremiah valeska fluff #jeremiah valeska fanfic #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska fanfiction #jeremiah valeska feels #jeremiah valeska angst #jeremiah valeskaxoc #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham fanfiction #Gotham Angst #gotham smut #gotham fic #gotham fluff #Gotham feels

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trashcanreddiefan · 4 years

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Pick Your Poison (Reddie Undercover Cop AU) 2/?

Summary: By-the-book DEA agent Edward “Eddie” Kaspbrak receives an assignment that takes him to Derry, ME in order to capture Robert “Bob” Gray, aka “Pennywise”, a notorious drug lord. Working with the local PD, he is partnered with Detective Richie Tozier, a wise-cracking, messy cop who immediately pushes Eddie’s buttons. When they have to go undercover as a pair, will they put aside their differences long enough to work together, or will working together reveal that they have more in common than they initially thought?

Word Count: 1067 for chapter 2.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (in later parts), swearing, mentions of drug use, other tags to be updated as necessary for each part

Author’s Note: Slow-burn, Dual-PoV Reddie AU inspired by this gifset by the lovely @toesure!

Tagging: @yourpersonalsleepparalysisdemon

CROSS-POSTED AT AO3

“Sorry I’m late, Cap,” Detective Richie Tozier drawled as he strolled into the Derry PD’s conference room for the mid-week departmental meeting, a box of doughnuts in each hand. “Derry Doughnuts was busier than usual.”

“It’s ok, we just started,” Captain Bill Denbrough replied. “Have a seat.”

Richie snagged a bavarian cream-filled doughnut out of the box and set it on the table near the door before taking an empty seat at the small, round conference table.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I just got off the phone with the DEA’s office in Washington. It appears that the new street drugs we’re seeing as well as the uptick in drug-related deaths could possibly be connected with a major drug dealer named Robert Gray, also known on the streets as ‘Pennywise’. It’s rumored that he’s set up shop here in Derry, so we will be collaborating with the DEA, who has sent an agent familiar with the case to assist us in bringing him down.”

Captain Denbrough looked at his notes. “Director Eastwood has requested that the agent be shown the latest scene before we release the house tomorrow. Richie, since this is your case you’ll be meeting them in half an hour at the location.”

Richie saluted Captain Denbrough. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Ben, Bev, you guys continue your investigation into the Mellon murder. We don’t know if this is connected yet or not.”

Detectives Ben Hanscom and Beverly Marsh both nodded.

“The rest of you will each be receiving a photo of Pennywise on your way out, so keep on the lookout for him while you’re on patrol.” He nodded over to the department’s sketch artist, Stanley Uris, who held a stack of photos. “Alright, let’s have a safe day, people.”

“And grab some doughnuts on your way out!” Richie called out as everyone began to clear out. “Last time it was my turn for doughnut duty I wound up having to bring the extras to my informants.”

When it was just him and Captain Denbrough, he sighed. “So, the DEA is getting involved, huh?”

Captain Denbrough scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, looks like it, Rich. I shouldn’t be surprised though. We haven’t seen a drug problem this big here in what, 27 years? Not since–” He cut himself off.

Richie placed a hand on Captain Denbrough’s shoulder. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for that, Bill. Georgie’s death wasn’t your fault.”

Captain Denbrough sighed, but said nothing.

“I promise you, man, I’m doing everything I possibly can to stop it for good this time,” Richie continued. “I’ve got feelers out to all my informants and I’ve spent day and night trying to trace the source of the drugs, so hopefully this DEA agent will have some insight on how this Pennywise guy works so we can locate him.”

Captain Denbrough looked over at the wall clock. “Speaking of, you better get going or else you’re gonna be late.”

“Right, don’t want to keep them waiting.” He gave Captain Denbrough a once-over. “You good, buddy?”

Captain Denbrough nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He nodded over at the boxes of doughnuts. “Think there’s any bear claws left?”

Richie grinned and pulled a white pastry bag out of his inner jacket pocket. “Saved you one.”

“Thanks, Rich. You’re the best.”

“Just remember that when it comes time for my evaluation,” Richie joked. “Alright, I’m out of here. I’ll report back later.”

“Alright, be safe out there.”

Richie stopped by his desk for the key to the scene before heading to his red Mustang convertible. He cranked up the radio and sang along down the streets of Derry, turning the music down when he reached the street that the house was on.

He pulled up to the curb, staring at the classic muscle car that was sitting in the drive. Definitely didn’t expect a DEA agent to drive that, he thought. He froze as the door opened and the most attractive man Richie had ever seen got out of the car.

Hot guy hot guy hot guy hot guy hot guy hot guy, his brain chanted as the guy shut the door.

The man appeared shorter than Richie’s 6'1 and was thin but muscular, with short, curly dark hair and brown eyes. He was wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt with a black leather jacket/hoodie combo over it.

Richie suddenly wanted to feel the man’s neatly trimmed facial hair between his thighs. I am so fucked, he thought.

He quickly killed the engine and stepped out of his car, plastering a grin on his face and bounding up the driveway. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”

The man appraised him. “You’re from the Derry PD?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, sure am.” Richie stuck a hand out. “You must be the agent sent to help with the Pennywise case.”

The agent looked at him like he was contagious before seeming to steel himself and shaking Richie’s hand. “Agent Edward Kaspbrak, DEA.” He reached in his back pocket as he spoke and pulled out his badge, flashing his identification as well.

Richie started digging in his pockets. “Ahh, shit, hang on, I’ve got my credentials around here somewhere…”

He turned and ran back to his car, grabbing his wallet off the passenger seat where he had tossed it before leaving the station. “Yeah, ok, here we go, since we’re being all official and shit… Detective Richie Tozier, Derry PD.” He quickly showed his badge before stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “So, uh, Agent Kaspbrak, how are you liking Derry so far?”

Agent Kaspbrak gave him a withering stare. “Well, let’s see, I drove 9 hours straight and got 2 hours of sleep at the one piss-poor excuse for a hotel in this town…”

“Ahh, yeah, the good old Derry Townhouse,” Richie replied. “You know, I’m not exactly sure anyone actually works there.”

“Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t even shower properly this morning because I’m pretty sure someone had been stabbed in the bathroom. Then I get here and the liaison from the local PD is late meeting me.”

“Jesus dude, it was only by about two minutes,” Richie muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said shall we head on in?” Richie swept an arm towards the door and gestured for Agent Kaspbrak to head inside, trying resolutely not to stare at his ass as Richie followed behind him.

#reddie #Richie x Eddie #tcrf writes #Pick Your Poison

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imaginetonyandbucky · 5 years

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Tony Stark’s Guide to Being a Functional Adult

Imagine Tony getting disowned by Howard before starting his second PhD and start working at Bucky's mechanic shop part time. Getting together shenanigans ensue.

Step 1: Move Out And Get Your Own Place (AO3)

“Anthony Edward Stark, what in the hell do you need another PhD for?”

“I don’t think the program at MIT was complete enough, I didn’t get nearly enough experience in mechanical engineering," Tony said as he followed his father into his office, catching the door as it almost closed on him. "There’s a program at NYU-“

“No, absolutely not. I need you to start working in R&D yesterday - have you seen Hammer’s most recent line of missiles?” Howard slammed his briefcase on the desk and opened it with rushed, jerky motions, tossing out a pile of photos that slid across the desk towards Tony. “Stark Industries doesn’t have anything like this, and I’m too busy keeping the business running to do it myself.”

Tony spared a brief glance at the photos but they didn’t look like anything special. “Look, Dad, it should only take me a year, eighteen months max-”

“I said no. If you don’t want to be a part of the family business, then fine.” Howard straightened and pointed towards the door. “Get the hell out of my house.”

Tony took a deep breath and tried not to roll his eyes at his father’s dramatics. “Well, it’s not like I could live here anyway, I’ll live near campus-”

“No!” Howard shouted, face growing red. “I’m not going to let my son be a lazy bum freeloading off my hard work to screw around with a bunch of undergrads and claim he’s working.”

Tony reared back like he’d been slapped. “I’m – I’m not-“ He’d put in twelve to fifteen hour days six days a week to get his degree a year early; going out on Saturday nights and sleeping it off on Sundays had only seemed fair. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I worked my ass off-”

“Cut the shit, Tony. Playtime's over, it’s time to start pulling your weight around here. Report to Stark Industries on Monday or I’m cutting you off.”

“Cutting me off?” Tony repeated numbly. “What-”

“You heard me. I’m done. Start working, or stop spending my goddamn money like it’s water.”

Tony blinked for a long moment as Howard’s meaning sunk in. “Ok. Well. Then fuck this,” Tony said, turning on his heel. “I don’t need you or your goddamn money.”

Infuriatingly, Howard barked out a laugh. “Right. You won’t last a week out there without me. I’m the one who pays your bills every month, remember? The one who puts money in your account and pays off your credit card?”

“Fine, then don’t,” Tony snapped. “I’ll pay my own fucking bills and you can design your own goddamn missiles.” Tony slammed the office door on his way out, half expecting Howard to come storming after him. But he didn’t, the office door stayed closed and the whole way to his car he never heard the voice calling after him that he expected.

“Because he doesn’t care,” Tony muttered to himself as he got in his car. “No, it’s because he doesn’t believe me,” he said, rubbing his temples and relaxing his jaw, that just realized had been clenched so hard it was giving him a headace. “He thinks I’m going to run back to him in a few days, begging for help.” As he threw the car in gear and roared down the driveway he swore the only way he would come back to Howard for anything would be if the old man begged him to.

(More after the break!)

Of course, the first person he called was Rhodey, because, duh, Rhodey. It was only after the phone started ringing that he remembered that he was currently stationed in Alabama working for DARPA. “Well, dammit,” he said out loud right as Rhodey picked up.

“Tony? What’s wrong?” With a sigh, Tony told him the story. “Oh, shit, Tony. That fucking sucks, I’m sorry,” Rhodey said. “How can I help?”

“I just…” Have no fucking clue what I’m doing, Tony thought with a sigh. “Needed someone to talk to,” he answered instead. He was a grown ass man, he didn’t need help figuring out how to survive without his dad’s money. That’s what the internet was for. “How are you liking Alabama?”

“Well…the job is cool,” Rhodey said. “Can’t talk about it much though.”

“Yeah, I understand.” They chatted for a little while longer until Rhodey needed to get back to work. As Tony hung up he realized that he was driving and had no idea where he was going, so he pulled over to the nearest gas station and fished out a scrap piece of paper and a pen from the mess in the back seat.

“Ok, so, first. Place to live.” Tony wrote that down and then wrote a question mark beside it, then he grabbed his phone and googled ‘apartments near Tandon School.’ He scrolled through the hundreds of listings before admitting to himself that he had no idea what he was doing. What was considered a good location? Was four thousand a lot for an apartment in the city? He rubbed his eyes and checked the balance in his bank account, since that would have to last him until he got a job. “Right. Job,” he said as he wrote that down on the list. He tapped his pen against the steering wheel as he thought. “Or figure out how to pay for school.” Since that was the whole point. But school didn’t start for a while so he would need something in the meantime. He still wrote that down though.

He looked down at his list. House. Job. School. Three words, like it was going to be that easy. He might as well write down “fall in love” and “live happily ever after” on this stupid list.

“I’m gonna need some coffee for this,” he sighed, tossing the list into the passenger seat, and got back on the road to the nearest coffee shop.

Four hours and as many cups of coffee later, Tony had a short list of rooms for rent that would fit his budget. No progress on the job front, but first things first, right? He needed a place to sleep before he needed a job.

He didn’t even get past the front door at the first place. The woman who answered the door took one look at him and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not renting out to guys.”

“What? Why? I didn’t see that on the ad for the room-”

“Well, no, I can’t just say that,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “It’s like against the law or something. But I’ve lived with dudes before and I’m not doing it again.”

“Um…ok then.” Tony didn’t know what to say to that so he just turned on his heel and left. The second place turned out to be a place where three guys were sharing a two bedroom apartment, and when Tony took a look at the kitchen and bathroom he got an idea why the first lady didn’t want to have a guy as a roommate.

When Tony pulled up to the third place, he was confused to see a garage instead of an apartment building. “Hello?” He called out as he got out of his car. The building was an old two story brick building that said JB Automotives across the top; there were two bay doors but only one of them had a car in it. “I’m here for the room?”

“One moment,” someone called out from inside the building. Tony shoved his hands in his back pockets and waited, rocking back on his heels. Mechanic, Tony mused. He’d been working on his dad’s old cars since he was big enough to pick up a wrench. How much did mechanics make? Would it be rude to ask?

His thoughts scattered and his eyebrows climbed skyward as the sexiest man he’d ever seen came out of the garage to meet him on the sidewalk. Cool grey eyes studied him and Tony’s eyes dropped to the full lips as the man approached. A stained white T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders and a muscled chest and Tony’s eyes were somewhere around the man’s belly button, about to head into creeper territory before he jerked his gaze back up, face hot. The man wiped his hand on a rag tucked into his pants pockets before he held it out and that’s when Tony’s brain registered that one of the sleeves of the shirt was empty. Tony stared at the long fingers and broad calloused palm for probably a second too long before he shook it. His eyes flew up to meet the grey eyes again and his brain suddenly turned back on, replaying the last five seconds of conversation.

“Hey, uh, Bucky was it? I’m Tony, Tony Edwards,” he lied, knowing from experience that saying ‘Stark’ was a fast track to ending up in the tabloids. He realized that he was still holding Bucky’s hand so he let go quickly, feeling the tips of his ears burn.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky said easily, somehow apparently unaware that Tony had been ogling him, or at least willing to pretend as much. “You said you’re here about the room?”

“Yeah, I sent you a text earlier?”

“Yep. Follow me.” Bucky tilted his head back towards the garage and led him through the empty garage bay. Tony allowed himself five seconds of checking out Bucky’s ass in his loose-fitting jeans before he dragged his eyes back up to the back of Bucky’s head, where it looked like a buzz cut was just starting to grow out. It looked somehow soft and bristly at once; Tony’s hands itched to touch it.

“So is this your place?” Tony asked, looking down at the floor instead and trying to sound casual as he followed Bucky up a set of stairs on the side of the garage.

“Yeah, I grew up here and bought it when my parents retired. Between the repairs and my disability checks, I manage to pay the bills, but a roommate would certainly help.” He opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped out of the way for Tony to come inside. Tony kicked his shoes off next to a messy pile already next to the door and looked around the apartment; the stairs opened into the living room, which was connected to the kitchen with just a short bar separating the two. A small table pressed against the wall made up the “dining room”, and then there was a short hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms. Bucky led Tony past one door that was ajar, closing the door on the messy bedroom and muttering about needing to clean, then opened the door at the end of the hallway.

“This is nice,” Tony said gamely. The room was small, small enough that the double bed sitting in the corner dominated the space, with a window and a long low dresser along the far wall. There was a sliding wooden door that opened into a shallow closet and a faded blue rug on the floor that matched the floral pattern curtains on the window. “Perfect.” Well, what was perfect was the body on the man standing behind him and the fact that the Tandon School of Engineering was a reasonable commute away, but the room would do.

It took another few minutes to get the business part of the rental agreement out of the way and then Bucky went back to work while Tony waded through the mess in his car. He was relieved to find that his backpack with his laptop and charger were under a pile of textbooks and that the trunk was full of dirty clothes that he had completely forgotten about, so that was nice. Bucky showed him where the washing machine was and how to use it, and Tony loaded it up gratefully. When he was finished, the sum total of his belongings made a pitifully small pile on his bed. He lay down next to the pile and sighed, rubbing his eyes and wondering if it would be terribly irresponsible to just go to sleep right now. Suddenly he felt exhausted all the way down to his soul.

He was trying to get up the energy to put his stuff away when the sudden buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand almost gave him a heart attack. He grimaced when he saw the caller ID and hesitated for a moment before forcing himself to answer.

“Hey, Mom,” he said with a sigh, closing the door to his new room, even though the walls were probably thin enough that it didn’t help much.

“Tony,” she said with her characteristic mix of exasperation and concern, “what is this nonsense that happened between you and your father?”

“Did you ask him?”

“He said that he told you he didn’t want you to go back to school so you stormed out.”

“What? No. He kicked me out,” Tony said, making a conscious effort not to raise his voice. “He said if I didn’t come work for the company, I wasn’t welcome in his house anymore and that he was cutting me off.”

“Oh, Tony, you know he didn’t mean that,” his mom said quellingly. “He was probably just angry and letting off steam. Just watch, if you come back tonight he’ll be over it.”

Yeah, Tony could just imagine that. All of them sitting around the dinner table, the silence tense between Tony and his father even as his mother tried to keep up a light patter of conversation. The little jibes Howard would make whenever he could work them into the conversation and Tony gritting his teeth as he tried to ignore them. That’s what had happened the first time Tony had mentioned getting a PhD, and that had been almost every family dinner since Tony had come out as bisexual. Howard had said he was ok with it – eventually – but man that was the first thing that usually got thrown in Tony’s face whenever they argued, ‘that hippie-dippie liberal free love bullshit.’ “I’m not coming back, Mom.”

“I’m sure if you just both apologize-”

“Mom, no. Not this time. I’m going to prove to Dad I don’t need his goddamn money so he can’t hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” he snapped, and promptly felt bad when his mother was silent for a long time.

"Okay,” she said finally, to Tony’s surprise. “Can you tell me where you are? So I don’t worry? I can also have Jarvis come over with some of your things.”

“I’ll text Jarvis the address,” he said, a little guilty for the sidestep but really not wanting to hear a lecture from his mom about where he was living or risking that Howard would find out. If his mom noticed, she didn’t comment.

“I love you, sweetie,” she said. “Please be careful, ok?”

“I will, Mom. I love you too.” As he hung up he felt his eyes stinging, so he sat on his bed and pressed his palms to his eyes until the feeling went away. “You can do this,” he muttered to himself. “Take it in steps. Everything’s going to be okay.” He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and started putting his clothes in the dresser drawers.

#winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #no powers au #college au #prompts #dracusfyre

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aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years

Text

Here is this week’s installement! We meet Mack! Or do we? I write for the enjoyment of @dirtystyles and @bleedinglove4h, but I hope other’s enjoy it too!

Summer’s Child- Chapter 8- Who Are You?

"Who's Mack?" That was the question of every hour by his second weekend in San Francisco.

Harry was really glad for his experiences at Woodstock, or he knew that the city would have been a huge shock for him. A huger shock. There were sights and sounds that were entirely new to him, like he was a farm boy new to the big city, even though he’d grown up going to a much bigger city.

It was different from New York. New York was huge and chaotic and frenetic. The sights and sounds were things he’d experienced since he was a boy. And they differed to San Francisco, but mostly in New York he was a just another young person, not a de facto member of the counterculture.

Which he definitely seemed to be in San Francisco. He wasn't sure if it was his arrival at Haight Ashbury, his clothes, or his hair, but there was a definite us versus them feeling in the city. One group had open arms and a spliff to share, the other gave him a once over coupled with a sneer and saw no use for him.

Harry had always been a teacher favorite, and had never been around police except when they were peacekeeping and he was a member of the crowd, usually a small member of that crowd. Pandered to and played with.

Except the officer who had come to tell him and his father about his mother's accident. Harry knew his blue eyes with the kindly crinkles. He also remembered the harsh coffee smell of his breath and its sour words. He’d been so kind to Harry and Edward but there was no chance he’d be remembered fondly, not with the news he bore.

So, all the cops after that had an advantage. They weren't telling him his mother was dead and they immediately liked Harry, as adults had all of his life.

The cops outside the flophouse he found himself in the first night hassled the hippies, Harry included. He'd thought the proverb about not trusting anybody over 30 was ridiculous until that first time he got pushed up against the wall and roughly frisked just for walking down a sidewalk. The cop had called him dirty, which he currently was, no denying it, from his long pilgrimage across country, and had made sure the stucco of the building bit into his face. It was unnecessary roughness and mean spirited for the sake of it. Harry’d be unlikely to seek out or even trust the uniform again after that, no matter the age of the officer. Strangely though, the officer and his actions had nothing on the people walking their small dogs in Golden Gate Park, where he found himself now. If he wasn't waiting to find out who Mack was, apparently a legend in the district, he'd have left after the first well dressed, perfectly coiffed woman grabbed her purse tightly while she walked like her thighs were glued shut. He’d done nothing to any of these women, their purses were the last thing on his mind until they brought them to his attention. It was strange to him that their suspicion made him feel like he’d done something wrong. At least it was the cops job to confirm people were unarmed, which may have not been why they frisked him, but, these well heeled ladies had no reason to judge him, or those collecting around him.

Though he supposed a mass group of any kind drew eyes, especially a group of, well largely female hippies, dressed in light dresses and crochets. He didn’t get it though. How could you fear a girl with flowers in her hair? What did she threaten but your view of your past, or your way of life?

He was glad other people like him were coming, he felt like this was were he fit in now, not that he’d ever really. But, power in numbers. It calmed him down. He’d wanted to split, but after 9 days, this was his first lead on Jillian and he was gonna follow it. So far all of Cherie’s descriptors bore out. She was the first person who had recognized Jillian as more than a pretty girl in a photo.

That first night he and his passenger had wandered into a diner, the first one they'd seen. It was crawling with other late teens and early twenty somethings, in various states of dress and sobriety. Harry was hungry, his stomach fallow and gurgling, but his mind growled over the opportunity.

Harry had choked down a patty melt with a coke and pulled his picture out of his shirt pocket.

"Ah man!" The first guy he showed it to sounded promising. "That's one fine piece! You said she's your old lady? You guys looking for a love-in?"

Harry was so confused by the diatribe it took him a second to realize the guy had taken his picture and was showing it to the table, one guy let out a long whistle that woke Harry back up.

He got talking. He wasn’t here for a love-in. “No man, I'm looking for her, she ran away from home and sent me a postcard from here. Have you seen her? Any of you?"

"Nah, seen a lot of runaways, none that looked like her!" He shook his head and took another long look at the photo before handing it back. Harry wiped the picture of the guys prints andstopped for a second and stared too. He barely recognized himself. That Harry wouldn't be searching San Francisco, but that Harry was as close to Jillian as he'd ever been. He wanted to be him again.

He nodded, "Yeah," came out like air from a balloon. "Thanks."

He asked the other tables. Nobody had any memory of her, least not one they copped to, and the first table had made him feel more worried for her. He thought hippie boys were supposed to be feminist. That had been Jillian’s conviction. That they’d know how to treat girls equally.

Maybe you could put on the clothes of the new man, but keep the mentality of the past. Harry needed to go, there were other people to ask, who might not skeev him out. Maybe he’d ask mostly girls? He hoped she stuck to girls after that encounter. But would he scare the girls?

Harry checked in with Allen, hugged him goodbye, wished him well and left. He hoped that this place had all the safety his companion was looking for. He hoped he’d somehow find out one day. He turned back as he held open the door and felt a little encouraged, Allen was sitting with a different group of young men, boys, and he was smiling, and eating fries off someone’s plate.

Hippie hospitality? Maybe when you had little, it was easier to share it. The breeze hit his face and Harry could smell the sea and a darker odor he’d smelled on some of the men inside. The air was a caress, and Harry followed it to what he hoped was Jillian.

There were people cruising the street, and Harry talked to as many as he could. He’d approach with a blank face; he was afraid a smile was too open, and was trying to keep the desperation off his face as well. He was received mostly openly, though the picture usually clammed people up, but the longhairs were hospitable in their way. He got offered weed and hash but it was the place to sit he took.

There were couches, on the street, people smoking and chatting. He sat down on the sofa and passed around the picture, nobody knew her, or admitted they did. Harry accepted the small rectangle back after it made its circumnavigation, and looked down, brushed a finger over it. Could you love a picture? If it was all you had left. He spaced out a little. Harry looked up then, there were eyes on him, no doubt, the weirdo misty eyed over a photo. Maybe he could blame the smoke?

Chrissy, the one who'd offered him a seat, smiled sadly at him. He didn't ask her who she was looking for, but he recognized a fellow seeker.

Later, it was Chrissy who woke him up. There were still voices in the street, but it was much later. He didn’t even recall laying down, let alone closing his eyes. He’d just felt safe, certainly safer than the naps in his truck cab in parking lots for big rigs or under bridges in the flats of the country.

"Hey man, you have a place to sleep?" Harry thought about his room, all the way across the bay and shrugged. He did, but it was so far away.

"Cmon, you can crash on my couch, the guy who usually sleeps there is at a gig." She seemed like a caretaker, and he needed care.

He was too tired to dig deeper into that. The gig, or the guy.

He slept in his clothes, and when he woke up, it was to the smell of coffee. There was a mug, with a chipped rim, but his metaphorical name on it. She also offered him a smile and shared her sandwich, offered him the diagonal piece on her plate.

He spent another day on the street with Chrissy helping him this time.

"Don't put up posters man, usually they have the opposite effect. People hide out or whatever, lots of kids here don't want to be found. But I can help you ask around. I know everybody, they trust me. See if anybody knows your Jillian."

That was when he was leaving, getting in his truck and heading back to Berkeley, finally, after a lost weekend searching. "What do I owe you?"

She'd fed him twice and given him a place to sleep and beat her feet up and down Haight Street looking with him.

"Nothing!" Harry furrowed his brow. He was about to protest when she lay a hand on his arm and he saw the tears cloud her eyes. " Maybe I'll ask you to return the favor sometime?" He kicked over his engine and Chrissy watched him drive away, he knew because she waved back when he hoisted his splayed fingers.

Harry wondered who she was looking for, but figured she’d share that with him when she was ready. He and others may already trust her, but maybe she didn’t trust them.

He settled in and ate three full meals with Professor McCreedy before his feet itched and his heartache flared.

The squat man looked much less like a professor to him than his father. He wore sandals and had a massive beard. He reminded Harry more of dwarf than a professor. But he was funny and smart.

But not smart enough to notice that Harry's mind was over the bay. Or that hearing about the professor's memories of Harry's "looker of a mother" made Harry jealous. He couldn’t remember what she looked like. What if he didn’t remember Jillian’s face, or her moans, or the sound of her laugh soon?

Harry didn't want to be rude, it was so amazing to have a house to stay in so close to campus, and essentially rent free, but he had other places to be, memory loss to prevent.

Harry assumed there would be some kind of work expected of him for his room and board. He was waiting for it, but Professor McCreedy never brought it up. It surprised Harry that he was hoping it would be physical labor when he got to it. When he helped his dad out, it was almost always bookish things.

Harry missed the horses, and the pitchfork, the mindless repetition. He was sick of thinking and fear. Hearing about his mother, it made him want to go out and get in his truck and keep looking. If he’d been restless for three months, now his body was as jittery as his mind.

The first few days, Donald, as the professor insisted Harry call him, let him rest. Harry had looked haggard when he arrived, he knew it.He didn't need a mirror after seeing his host's face, but when he made it to the bathroom, he couldn’t miss it.He looked hollowed out and much older than 18. His hair was lank, there were plum colored smudges beneath his eyes, and his clothes looked grimy. He could see an oil stain from his patty melt days ago.

He used the toilet, and then popped out to grab clothing, so he could shower. He'd taken his case and motioned with his head. He was too tired to talk and received a limp salute in return. Harry gratefully took that as a yes.The shower washed off the three days of failure, the one week of anxiety as he hurtled across the country at 60 miles per hour, and the threat of dehydration as he swallowed the spray.

When he came out, he felt better, but resolute. He had all week to look. And another after that. And he'd made a friend who would help him, and introduce him around, so people trusted him. Harry would find her.

That was something he noticed, there was immediate inclusion but also distrust of newcomers. The dope on offer was both hospitality and a test.

He'd passed.

Then he passed out, from lingering effects. He woke up 14 hours later feeling better physically than he could really remember feeling since prom night. But he also felt like he was behind, like the hours he felt searching his dreamscape for answers had robbed him actual discovery.

He figured that was because he'd woken up chasing Jillian in his dreams. Everytime he got close, she'd turn into a bird and fly away. Once a hummingbird he couldn't quite catch though it hovered before him, then a dove, cooing at him, and then a mockingbird. It was the mockingbird that got him. It had been her favorite book in high school. He'd liked it too. It was one of the few non sci fi movies they went to the drive in for.

The mockingbird, he waited for it to turn to him, and it repeated Jillian to him when he tried to capture it. It had her eyes. The birds voice was hers, calling her own name. When he asked where she was, it said, "here." And flew away from him, across the bay, north.

He'd startled awake, ready to fly himself. He pulled on some clothes and left with a simple wave over his shoulder. He couldn’t eat, his stomach roiled, and he put no trust in his voice.

He didn't mean to be weird. But she'd said here and then flown away. It was an invitation.

He just didn't have the address for the party.

It took him another couple weeks to find it.

He'd been smoking with a new group of friends, well Chrissy's friends. It was relaxed, the grass and sitar music doing its job. "Hey man, you have that picture on you?" Chrissy suddenly asked.

He almost laughed. He always had that picture on him. He didn't sleep with it under his pillow or anything. And Harry didn't kiss it goodnight, well maybe just once, but he had it. He'd stopped showing it around suspiciously, because even though he was looking more and more like a young person who frequented the Haight, he was occasionally sniffed out as new by the actual young people of the district. Showing the picture right away made it worse, then they knew, and grew more suspicious of him. Like he was a narc, which he had come to know was a very bad thing.

He quirked a brow at Chrissy, she was good people, and she laughed. She knew he had it.

The picture was holding up pretty well, he'd taken to holding the edges and people followed suit, most of the wrinkles came from the first day, at the diner.

It had gotten better since then.

He handed the picture to the guy on his left. "Hey man, you ever seen this girl?"

He whistled. "Nah man, she your old lady?"

Harry had stopped even trying to answer that one, so he shrugged. And the picture went from person to person. Once again, nobody seemed to recognize Jillian.

He knew she'd been here, he couldn't fathom her being anywhere and not being memorable to the people around her. Harry was fairly sure nobody else had eyes when he was near her.

He took the joint coming to him and sucked in a harsh breath to fill his lungs with smoke in the way Ronnie had taught them. He held the joint between his thumb and hand, keeping it tucked into his palm. Ronnie’d learned that from an old lady in Kathmandu and came back to teach them instead of brag, essentially doing both. It made the joint less conspicuous until cops learned the trick.

It was a let down now.

The smoke didn't burn like it used to. He'd stopped coughing until his eyes watered a while ago. He'd nearly puked at Woodstock the first time, he'd coughed so hard.

Now he bong ripped with the best of them, when somebody was as posh enough to have a glass pipe.

He was sharing a bowl with a girl when the picture made it back to him. He’d been having a good day. Somebody had shown him how to use a magnifying glass to light the bowl, a solar she’d called it,. The science geek in him, left behind at graduation but soon to be resurrected, loved it. Cherie, the girl, who was patiently waiting for him to take his second hit with her hand extended for the lighter took the photo because his hands were full.

"Oh wow, man! I know your old lady!"

By force of habit Harry countered, "She's not my old lady." Before the words set in. "Wait! What?"

"I know this girl! We shared a flop for a week about a month ago. She was quiet, kinda dreamy, best tits I've ever seen in real life."

Harry shook off the first question that came into his head then. "Was she ok?" He asked instead. He almost dropped the e bong when he reached for Cherie's hands. "Was she alone? Waiting for somebody?"

"Nah man, I don't know about that." She shrugged. “She was working at the diner on the corner down the street. Seemed to eat there a lot. She partied but never got sloppy." She tilted her head. "She kinda kept to herself, but we'd dance most nights, she liked to dance and sing." She took a hit then, held in the smoke, started talking while releasing. "Come to think of it, I think that's how she got mixed up with that church. Some girl we were dancing with one night."

"What? A church?" He could remember when Jillian stopped going to vacation bible school because she’d overheard the teacher talking about the smell of her mother's breath. He'd quit then too.

"Yeah! Well, a kinda church. Bunch of hippie girls dancing around and handing out flowers on street corners, but that's on account of Mack." She chuckled while she leisurely took her second hit and he wanted to shake her shoulders.

Wait. "Who's Mack?" Harry had that feeling he'd had when he dreamed Jillian was in love.

"Oh man, he's the dreamy preacher! Not like movie star looks, but he'd got like a Jagger charisma, and he's hot! His eyes are so intense.” She focused on her memory until he jostled her shoulder. “Like kinda clean cut for me, but I even went to the service after that girl Rhiannon told me about him. I had to see what all the fuss was about.”

"They still hang around with the flowers? In the park?" It was a lead! His first real one.

She let out her smoke in rings. He didn't know that trick. "Yeah, dude! You look like you just found a fix! They still do, I haven't seen her in a while though, like a couple weeks. Not even at the service the first time. But I think he keeps ‘em outta the city when they first join.”

"Where though, where did you see her?" He ignored the kidnapping comment.

"Down at Golden Gate Park. For fellowship!" She said like it was obvious.

He didn't know what that meant. But he got to his real question. "When do they do that?"

"Every Sunday, sometimes Friday nights too, but they call that one worship." She screwed up her eyes. “Just sing then, groovy songs, change some of the words from the Beatles to talk about Jesus, I think.”

She kept talking, but he wasn’t listening. He was planning.

Friday night, he found himself anxiously waiting at Golden Gate Park. Young people, mostly pretty girls were coalescing.

None of the guys seemed like Mack, not even the tall man in the hat near the flower painted platform up front. He had a guitar strapped to him, and a few chicks hanging near him, he was letting one stroke his strings.

But Harry didn't think he was Mack.

Who's Mack? Where's Jillian?

Those were his thoughts for another hour, plus the last two days. The group had grown slowly and then all at once. Now, the hat guy was going around playing and the circle of dancers was widening.

Suddenly, the guitar and it's holder hopped onto the back of the 4 x 4 platform. He struck a cord and the whole group got into formation and looked up.

Harry found his body doing it to, and the scent he’d come to know as patchouli got stronger. He realized the front row had incense burners.

Harry wasn't sure where the strong jawed man came from, he seemed to have just appeared. The apparition was being lifted onto the platform by ten barefoot girls in long white dresses wearing flower crowns before he realized someone new had arrived.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #sc #summer’s child #cult fic #chapter 8 #who are you #return of the mac #tripod writing

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

Text

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 5

[Erik Killmonger x Black OC]

Word Count 5.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The speed in which Kimara peeled out of the parking lot of the Korean BBQ place gave any witness whiplash as she channeled her anger through the accelerator. Kimara cursed out the air and any driver in her way as she rode around the streets of midtown. It’s a damn miracle no cops were around to pull her over or they would’ve caught some serious heat from her their damn self. Not long after running her fifth yellow light turning red, Kimara began to feel her tears well over profusely. Her whole body shook as the sobs came more powerfully and she couldn’t control the car properly anymore.

Pulling over, Kimara puts her car in park as she lays onto the wheel causing it to honk one time before she unloads her emotions completely. This isn’t what she expected, which is an outcome that is actually more common throughout this fertility process than she’d care to look back on. She’s exhausted with all the waiting and trying and disappointment, Kimara just wants an answer or some quick fix that’ll give her what she needs.

*knock knock*

Kimara jumps at the sharp sound on her passenger side window, breathing out with relief once she recognizes the kind face.

“T’Challa! What are you doing here?” She sniffles as he opens the door to sit inside looking at her with pity.

“It’s not so taboo to be here shopping around as it is to sit in a car and cry.” He quips.

Kimara chuckles gruffly before getting caught with a hiccup from her weeping. “I don’t do this all the time, I swear.”

T’Challa studies your face appearing suspicious. “Are you…”

She stares at him trying to catch on until she rolls her eyes. “Not every emotional moment with a woman is attributable to hormones man, damn! I’m not pregnant, not on my period. I’m just dealing with fuckboy bullshit.”

T’Challa melts in his seat with embarrassment. Just two minutes with her and he’s already regretting making his presence known. “How are things with Erik?”

“Terrible.” Kimara mutters.

“Elaborate.”

She wipes her face, crossing her arms. “You know he can be such a damn idiot sometimes.”

“Specifically?” T’Challa draws out.

Kimara tuts at him, throwing up her hands. “I thought you didn’t want details on our shit. TMI and whatever.”

“I want details on what is going on with you. Good or bad.” T’Challa says softly, waiting patiently for her response.

Kimara drops her attitude, playing with her nails anxiously. “I had a doctor’s appointment today with Erik. Nothing’s wrong with him.”

“That is good, right?”

She lays back on the headrest, looking out the window. “It is, health is always good. Just...what else could it be now? I thought that would give me my answer.”

“Does Erik know you are here?”

Kimara shakes her head. “I left him at a Korean spot. He was picking up his car anyway but I was tired of him too.”

“Did you like that place?” T’Challa voice rises an octave in anticipation.

She nods, smirking. “It was very nice. Erik told me you picked it.” Kimara looks over at T’Challa. “Thank you for having good taste.”

T’Challa smiles softly. “It is not something one can learn, I told you.”

Kimara tuts at him before looking away wordlessly.

“But why are you crying alone from your husband?”

“I don’t know. I’m regretting what I said, or at least how I said it. But Erik started off blaming the doctor and not taking the positive notes she gave us. The whole appointment it was like he was stewing, ready for a fight or something. I don’t know what came over him then but he flipped out.”

“That may be his way of accepting the news himself. He is probably just as over the process as you are.” T’Challa says.

“I know, I know. But it’s like...what does he know? How can he come in here blaming anybody for this when he’s barely wanted to follow instructions on how to better our chances. He flip flops so much, then there’s work. I’ve seen him act like this before. When he wants something, he goes for it. But this? He’s in a whole other world. And I’m this close to done, I cant take his childish behavior anymore.”

“Have you told him?”

“No, this just happened.”

“I mean from before. Your shame: did you tell him?”

Kimara goes quiet. That said everything.

“Kimara-”

“I know! I should. But this isn’t the time. Not when we’re rocky like this.”

T’Challa grows impatient with her. “It has to be now! You are not over that time in life and if he does not know you are harboring, your emotional duress appears out of the blue. He will feel attacked.”

“Well he should! I gave up a huge part of me for him and I don’t know if he could do the same. He hasn’t proven that yet!”

T’Challa grabs Kimara’s hand. “Give him a little credit for what he’s been through. Look. Until you talk with him this is all speculative.”

“Well I have a right.”

“Do not be stubborn. Remember this situation before? I knew where Erik was, but you were not ready to let go of your anger to let clarity come through. You must seek him out on this, be truthful. If you do not, I cannot see this ending well, Bast forbid.”

Kimara holds his hand tightly before resting in his shoulder. “I remember...I get that. I don’t wanna leave him like that. He doesn’t deserve that if he doesn’t know. I’ll...trust the process.”

T’challa nods. “That sounds familiar. So you were listening to me. You are a special woman, I just hate to see you go through this without all of the facts being known on his side. The only way I can comfort you is because I know everything. Whether I like it or not.”

They chuckle a moment as they held it together quietly, grazing their knuckles in small circles with their thumbs. Kimara remember a lot about those times when Erik recovered from his combat brainwashing, how much coaxing it took T’Challa to see him through a new lens. T’Challa never let Kimara down. His word is always his truth and she appreciated that. She didn’t give it a serious thought until just now.

T’Challa kisses the top of her head with a small peck, making her look up at him with a faint smile. His eyes draw her into the features of his face, different from Erik’s but just as handsome. She felt a dip in the pit of her stomach as her eyes fell over the bow of his top lip-

*brrrring! brrrrring!*

Kimara’s phone breaks the trance as she nearly hops out of herself to stop the maddening noise.

“Hey Erik? Yeah, I’m just over by the shops on 48th? I needed some...I know…..It’s ok, really. We’ll talk when I get home, don’t worry. I’ll be there soon. Love you too.”

She hangs up, growing timid. “Sooo if you’re good I’m gonna head home. Talk to this boy about stuff.”

T’Challa has his elbow on the passenger window, balling his fist up but with a calm expression. His face reads a multitude of words just hanging from the cliff of his mind but his jaw is too tight to speak them.

“T’Challa?”

He nods, snapping out of his mind to give a tight smile. “Of course. Drive safely.”

Erik’s been working with his team at Boeing for a few weeks now trying to get some ideas off the ground. He prides himself on being a superstar of the company, earning them easily millions and it’s all lightwork for his IQ. But they were turning more commercial driven, and that doesn’t vibe with him. And now that he works with Bryan, being the son of his boss, his wings are nubs at this point.

“Listen. We have competition out there that are able to carry more passengers on longer flights. We gotta keep up or we will be left in the dust!” Edward exclaims.

Erik rubs his eyes as he leans back in the conference room chair. “I’m not going rounds with you over this. That’s the last thing we need to be focusing on right now.”

“Profits? Profitability is never last Erik, it scares me how often I have to remind you of that.”

“Hey guys?” Bryan says.

Erik tunes him out. “When profit hunting cuts into innovation, TRUE innovation, that betters the product in the long run and sets an example for others in the industry, we fail! And in your case we already are! The Russians landed on the moon first bruh!”

“Guys!” Bryan interjects.

Edward holds up a finger. “One second son. Listen here, I’ve been in this business for 30 years now, you think-”

“I think your father shoulda taught you better than this, yeah.” Erik quips.

“GUYS! I have a fucking idea, can you stop to hear it?”

Erik and Edward fume, looking at one another before going back to their respective corners.

“Sure son, and please speak with common sense.” Edward says rolling his eyes as he sips some bourbon.

“How about we just knock out on engine on each side of the aircraft, so that gives room for the extra passenger space to be added?”

Erik’s face screws up “BOY THAT’S THE DUMBEST-”

Edward stops Erik. “Hang on. There are no wrong answers here. Keep talking, what do you mean by that?”

Erik is incredulous. “There are literally very wrong answers that can be given when discussing the composition of an aircraft!”

Bryan clears his throat. “Well, of course we have to map out the logistics of it all. But that’s the difference between us and our competitors. They have constructed their aircrafts to be able to accommodate the extra passenger space by having the bodymore elevated from the ground. The only thing blocking ours is the extra engines.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, it’s hilarious honestly. But you have a good time figuring it out.” Erik gets up to leave.

“Oh actually, if you have space in your schedule, we need you to help with this one. I really wanna get the ball rolling on this so we can be prepared to roll out by next spring at the latest.”

“Why the fuck would I work on something that ain’t my damn idea? Your boy said it, let him handle it. I don’t need no credit for this.”

Edward scoffs. “That’s fine. You can do the work and get none of the credit. How’s that?”

“What?”

He pats Erik’s shoulder. “We have a father son golf tournament we wanna get some practice in for anyhow. Erik, I trust you. You’re my most senior person in this department, and at your age, that is incredible. I’d love to see you running this place one day, but to do that, you have-”

“I don’t like sports, I don’t do teams, and the only player I am has nothing to do with this company.”

Edward smiles amused at Erik’s tenacity. “That is good! I love that enthusiasm. So I need something, anything crossing my office floor by month’s end or you know, we’ll talk.”

“That’s some bullshit, you know it.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I did get you some help to soften the blow. They should be waiting in your office.”

Erik rolls his eyes. If he has to see one more white person giving him orders, he was gonna make the 5 o’clock news in no time. He makes his way down the hall and around the corner to trudge his way to his office, checking his pockets for his phone. He sees a text from Kimara and starts to open it as he walks in.

“Well how you, handsome?”

Erik’s feet make tracks on the tiles as he screeches to a halt. Looking up he starts to turn warm, eyes widening as he catches a glimpse of a familiar figure.

“My, my. I guess you do recognize me. I’m a lot different outside my work clothes.” She says, rubbing the back of her neck as she clutches her leather satchel. She does look a lot different than their first encounter, but the curves can’t hide under her tailor navy blazer with gold piping along the collar and sides, with matching pencil skirt to boot. The only thing that didn’t change is the heels, that had to be flirting with workplace dress code etiquette for height.

Erik tucks his phone in his pocket. “Uh, you, uh…Chanel, right?”

She rolls her eyes, fighting an embarrassed smile. “Whatever I told you that night was a lie. I never tell dudes I barely know my real name. It’s Alaina.”

Erik walks across the way offering a hand. “You didn’t seem too bothered with me being a stranger though.”

She shakes his hand firmly, still smiling slyly. “Well, that was then. And I was off the clock. I can’t be held responsible for what happens after hours.”

“Mhm, if I wasn’t with my boy, you would’ve given me some trouble. That wasn’t a meat market ma’am, I wasn’t lookin to cut either.”

She raises her hands. “Hey, I get it. Especially now. You have my word I will behave myself. God blockedt it!”

Erik takes a seat behind his desk as Alaina sits in the chair across from him. “So you are the secret weapon to getting this bullshit idea off the ground, huh?”

Alaina shrugs. “I’m here to get a paycheck and possibly a promotion. I’m here on contract, I gotta make my moves while I can.”

“Ok, that’s cool. It’s funny how he got all the Black folks working this together for him, but I won’t get into that today.”

She rubs her forehead. “Please, refrain. I don’t need a lecture on corporate politics from Brother Erik today.”

Erik chuckles, impressed with her wittiness. Chanel, or Alaina, was more than just a fat ass in some FashionNova, but a brain on top to boot.

“You right Listen, Edward got you here close to my clock out time, so I was gonna go to my bar spot up the street, let off some steam.”

“The Magnolia? Ooh, I love their martinis at happy hour!”

“And it just started too.” Erik pulls out his keys and gets up to leave. “So that’s where I’m headed. We can pick this up tomorrow, if you not up for martinis.”

“When am I not up for a martini, is the real question. One drink can’t hurt, I’ll treat you. And don’t worry about what I said earlier. I’ll be on my best behavior after hours too.”

Kimara comes home to the house dark and empty yet again. Erik has been taking a lot of time to work after hours and it’s been killing her vibe lately. When she comes home from the studio, she’d love to see her man welcome her home, but he hasn’t been available.

Phone calls from the fertility specialist urging her to start considering IVF as an option is stressing her out. Erik isn’t getting the calls, nor is he there when they come. The most he can give is a hurried, ‘oh what’d they say? What you wanna do then? Look I gotta go!’

Kimara was not keen on even thinking about trying to get fertility treatments yet. One day she invited Lia over, a friend she’s gained from her recent sessions at the studio.

Over a bottle of wine and junk food, Kimara opened up about her situation as of lately. It’s hard to avoid as a topic since it’s been consuming her all this time.

“Sheesh, it’s been that long?” She exclaims taking a strong sip of her glass.

Kimara nods emphatically. “I wish I was lying but yeah. We are closing in on a year pretty soon, and I’m not getting any younger, so I may have to look into this pretty soon. It’s not like we are having a whole lot of sex these days anyway. He’s at work constantly.”

“Girl, fix that ASAP! Nothing makes me more jaded than not busting one every so often.”

“No one said I wasn’t busting, I would like to have my man in on it too, every once in a while. I need a new charge cord for my shit now!”

Lia guffaws. “So who’s ignoring who though in this situation? I know he can’t resist our fine ass.”

Kimara scratches her head. “Well…”

“Oh! Now we don’t have much to say!”

“I mean! He comes in late as hell. I’m in my bonnet, got on my mask, knee deep in Blue Bell watching my shows when he comes in. By the time I’m in bed and he takes a shower, he tries to get handsy. But I don’t wanna just be devoured and tossed aside, I want some damn communication!”

“Well at least you know he wants it still.”

“Yeah yeah, but when I call him on the bullshit he turns his ass back over real quick. He won’t talk to me and I’m getting so damn tired of trying.”

Lia looks at her phone. “Shit, I gotta go girl. The sitter won’t hesitate to charge me extra for being late. But girl, just take some deep breaths.”

Kimara does. “Will air give me a baby and my hot and horny relationship back?”

“No but it’ll give some blood flow to that crowded ass brain of yours so you don't get to talking foolish.”

Kimara hugs her and walks her out the door when she sees some headlights pull into the driveway. Lia looks back.

“Be nice, but stand your ground.” She winks before walking on, waving wildly at Erik’s car. He waves back nonchalantly as he walks in after you.

“Who was that?” Erik asks.

“A friend from the studio. Just keeping me company.” You say, discarding you glasses.

Erik tosses his keys on the counter, taking his shoes off.

“You want something to eat?” You ask at the kitchen sink.

“Nah, you good. I already ate.”

“This late? So work came with dinner today?”

“You could say that.” Erik sas in a monotone as he takes his jacket off.

Kimara stans there tapping her foot impatiently. “Well, what do you say?”

“...you forgot to clean the dishes again?”

“Erik!”

He laughs. “I’m just kidding! Damn, how’s your day? Love you. Thanks for everything. I’m takin a shower.”He kisses a fuming Kimara quickly sensing his job being done.

Erik heads upstairs to the master bathroom as she loads the dishwasher, which has become like a part time job for her. Erik used to try and pull doing the ‘traditional’ household tasks mess on her. But Kimara snapped him up quick with some facts, ultimatums, and peppered threats to get her point across that that was not how things would go down. But he’s fallen off the wagon this month. Kimara sets the washer on and rinses her hands with fury before bounding up stairs. She hears the water running and open the door. Erik’s silhouette is frosted and murky behind the foggy glass of the shower door. The scent of his body wash fills her nostrils, lighting up her senses. Kimara loves the soap he uses and can’t resist when he’s cleaned up to get him dirty all over again. But like she told Lia, she hasn’t been in the mood as of late he didn’t earn that ass yet.

Kimara sits on the toilet lid. “Erik, what’s been going on?”

Erik opens the door a crack and peeks his head out, sudsy bubbles speckle his skin as he grins. “Yo, what’s it look like I’m doin? You tryna join me?”

She shakes her head. “I wanna know where my husband has been spending his time.”

Erik’s smile fades as he closes the door again talking over the water. “I haven’t done nothing but work. And trust me, I don’t like it no more than you.”

Kimara makes face of frustration. “So what changed? This isn’t normal for you still.”

“I mean...there’s nothing to talk about now, but I got this project on my head that had a strict deadline and me and this partner have just been…..you know, hammering it out.”

Kimara sighs. “It’s not the same not having you here. I don’t like it, it’s not fair to me.”

Erik shuts off the shower, getting out with his body glistening wet and clean, grabbing a towel across the way to dry off. “I ain’t no fan either, but I’m tryna do some big things here that will hopefully make some history and that takes a lotta time and energy.”

“So does a relationship! I been having dinner by myself, sleeping by myself. I get calls from the doctor asking for us when there is no US to consider.”

Erik peaks from behind the towel on his face. “Hey hey! We still us, don’t trip! Like I said, I-”

“BUSY! Sure Erik, whatever fits your conscience. This project better have a break time, cuz WE have things to do too, remember? So you and your boy, whoever your project partner is are gonna have to work something out.”

Erik wraps his towel around his waist before kneeling in front of Kimara. “I know you think I forgot but I haven’t.”

Kimara’s eyes shift from him. “What?”

Erik smirks. “Now you gonna hurt my feelings if you forgot. Tomorrow…..our anniversary?”

Kimara tears well up instantly. Of course she thought he had forgotten. He hasn’t said a damn thing leading up to today, what else would she think.

“I don’t want you crying on the happiest day of my life, you hear me? We in that year three, third times the charm right?”

Kimara really starts to ugly cry now. “Why you makin me cry if you don’t want me too?”

Erik kisses her hands. “You are my life. My one, my baby. One thing we learned together no matter how far I go, we come back together as one, you know?”

Kimara sniffles, leaning her forehead against Erik’s thinking over their years together. That statement didn’t always ring true to her, but in a small way he has been right.

“No decision I make goes without thinking of you, our family. I got us reservations tomorrow, and tickets to that comic you love on the Boulevard. We got the whole day to do what we wanna do, don’t trip.”

“Don’t scare me like this.” Kimara says with an exhausted tone. “Even for surprises, don’t.”

Erik’s eyes met hers. “Nothing is keeping me from you. Tomorrow let’s make that appointment with the doctor too. I’m feeling pretty lucky right now, we are gonna get our shot.”

“You feelin lucky to get lucky?” Kimara says stifling a laugh.

Erik pulls her closer to him by her hips. “No lottery better in the world.”

They kissed sweetly at first, feeling a familiar urge that makes her legs tighten up. Kimara pulls away first. “I thought about something you said though before, about a different doctor. My friend knows a fertility specialist that may be worth looking into, maybe we can them next.”

Erik nods, looking lost in her face, running his thumb along her cheek. “Sure, I’m up for whatever.”

“Also, while you been busy, I’ve been looking at spots for a vacation. I’m; narrowing it down to the DR, PR, Turks and Caicos, or Belize.”

Erik buries his face in her chest, kissing the softness of her skin. “I trust your judgement.”

Kimara defends herself against his ticklish lips. “But I want your opinion too! And since things been going good with T’Challa and his lady, they should join us officially. We can have dinner with them next week to get acquainted and start talking about it.”

“Ok! You gonna help me cook?”

Erik scoffs. “Who said that? We cookin now? Why don’t we do like them damn Koreans and just say bring your meat and here’s the stove. Ge to it!”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m am so sick and damn tired of that smart mouth of yours.”

He cocks an eyebrow, giving your thighs a squeeze. “It knows what to do when you need it to.”

“Oh?”

They smile into each others mouth as their lips come together in an embrace. Kimara’s hands play in Erik’s locs, carefully rubbing his scalp as he moans under the sensation. Her knees rub around him causing his towel to fall.

Erik picks her up, kissing at her neck with neediness. “I know you not tryna fuck on this toilet?”

Kimara sighs erotically rolling her head back to take in his mouth. “Like I give a shit where I get it right now…”

Eight Years Ago

Kimara sits in the studio after hours, playing around with the keys on a keyboard. The day was done but she had plans to meet with someone so she was just biding her time. In the distance she could hear the bells jingle on the front door of the studio as someone walks in. She checks her phone for an ‘on the way’ text but there is none, and curses herself for forgetting to lock the door.

She slowly comes out from the back room. “Uh, sorry but we’re clo-”

The jean jacket he loves, little locs bound atop his head, and a pair of broad shoulders hunched looking through framed photos of musicians spanning decades in a display case told Kimara all she needed to know for identification. Her heart lurches into her throat, cutting off her breath to produce sound as Erik slowly turns to look at her.

“Wassup?” He says with a casual grin.

“H-hey. How did you-”

“Find you?” She shakes his head looking back at the photos. “It ain’t that hard to figure out. Not as hard as getting to Wakanda to see me I guess.”

Kimara folds her arms walking slowly towards him. “Erik, I couldn’t go all the way over there. For what? Your cousin told me you were safe, and frankly that’s all I was worried about.”

He nods, turning to face you with his hands in his pockets. You take a deep breath looking him over. Still as big as ever, and looking good to have gone through and done all T’Challa told her happened in Wakanda. And in a small way his eyes seemed different and familiar, not like the night he left. But like the friend she once knew.

“I’m glad he filled you in on that. Yeah, it took a lotta counselling with my demons, but...I figured out what I needed to let go and change for the better.”

“Good. I’m glad, really.” Silence comes between the both of them. Him just standing there looking at Kimara made her feel shy all of a sudden. She thought about this day often: what she would say or do if she caught him out here after all he put her through on her own. But now that spirit just isn’t in her. She felt stagnate, like her whole system shut down and is preparing for a reboot.

“How have you been?” He asks, scratching his beard humbly as his eyes drop a second from her face. “You look nice by the way.”

Kimara shrugs. “I haven’t been up to much recently. I teach music to school kids and...since you found me here maybe you heard I do backup for artists sometimes.”

Erik shakes his head. “Nah, I hadn’t heard that actually. Congratulations! You deserve that, your talent is outta this world, Mara.”

She gives him a weak smile. “And we’re closed now,so I mean if you want to meet up another time, I gotta-”

“Did you miss me?” Erik asks.

Kimara stammers. “Uh…”

Erik leans on the case hanging his head low. “I know I shouldn’t have come by your place that night. I don’t know what has gotten into me but I promise you I hadn’t planned for any of it.”

“I know that now. You came to me confused and left me just as such. I thought you were staying with me.”

“I know, and I was. I just wasn’t ready-”

“To be a man? To be grown enough to take responsibility head on?”

Erik shrugs looking slightly bewildered. “Possibly, I don’t know! I didn’t want to hurt you and leave you without me seeing you one more time but that night made it even harder for me to want to go.”

“Then why did you? Why did my body become your test of ‘should I stay or should I go?’ You were planning to leave regardless, you just said! So why weren’t you upfront with me?!”

“Because I love you and didn’t want you to get hurt!”

“But you hurt me Erik! You did! You came over feeling big and bold, I softened you up but a minute before you peaced out on me. Like that shit didn’t matter? Like that’s even something we did before.”

Erik’s eye hang low. “I didn’t mean for the first to be the last.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the sex Erik. I was just another in a line of females you wouldn’t look twice at. You ain’t my first to do that, I don’t give a shit. But if you weren’t interested in being my man, you could’ve at least been my friend and thought for one second how leaving to do a homicide suicide mission with who knows and where and leaving me high and dry! I was a MESS! I was inconsolable, Erik we practically grew up together and you just that easily forgot what all that shit meant?”

Erik shakes his head emphatically, walking slowly over to her with outstretched hands. “Mara I’m sorry.”

Kimara gulps for air between sobs, feeling herself go weak. “No! Don’t do that. I’m sick of you.”

Erik wipes his face eyes turning red, looking sorrowful. “I been sick of my damn self.”

Kimara grabs Erik by the collar of his jacket. “I’m so sick of you bringing this tye of shit outta me. I was over you, I swear I was.”

Erik’s arms wrap around Kimara tightly as she burrows her face into his chest. They shake with emotion together, swaying side to side and letting go on one another. Kimara hugs Erik as tightly as she can, feeling rubbing his back, caressing his head to make sure he isn’t a dream. But it’s real. Erik’s hads travel the length of your back before finding either side of your face to pull your gaze to his.

“I won’t put that pressure on you again. I’m not leaving your side either. I don’t even care if you got a nigga, I got your back when he fuck up.”

Kimara makes a noise that’s a combo of a sob and a laugh while holding the back of his hands in his. “You still a damn fool.”

When Erik’s eyes meet Kimara’s, there’s an energy that kept accelerating, building between the two of them. It was tortuous, almost irritating how lonely her lips felt when she looked at his, and Erik definitely felt the same.

God’s hand seemed to keep twirling around their heads, bringing them closer bit by bit until their mouths met. Kimara’s body felt like a whole piece again once connected with his. She had found a peaceful existence without him but she had no clue she missed him so much until he was right in front of him.

When they parted for air Kimara rested her forehead on his chin. “Erik, I can’t just jump into this. I’m still not there.”

Erik pats her head gently. “Mara, I ain’t worried bout that. You here, I’m here. I don’t need nothing else. Imma work on my situation, get myself stable. And you just live your life like you was. Just this time you can call me. For whatever.”

Kimara hugs Erik tightly, breathing him in when she feels a vibration in her back pocket.

“Sorry, hang on.” Kimara reaches for it, looking to see T’Challa’s name flashing as an incoming call. She declines it, texting him back to cancel their night together.

Part 6

Masterlist

Ragtag

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique @fonville-designs@destinio1@bakarisangel@wakanda-inspired@klaine15689 @savageiz@nickidub718@yoyolovesbucky @alexundefined @forbeautyandlife@bakarisangel

#erik killmonger fanfic #black panther fanfic #shakafic #will the bell ring?

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tisfan · 5 years

Text

Indenture

Square: O1 – Mechanic for WinterIron Bingo and K5: Kink: Virgin for tisfan’s Tony Stark Bingo Title: Indenture Participants: @27dragons and @tisfan Warning: None Rating: Explicit Characters: Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes, Valkyrie Tags: indenture, sci-fi AU, gladiator, virgin kink, anal sex, oral sex, fingering, mechanic Summary: See the galaxy on a two year work-contract. Well, Tony Stark figures, can’t be worse than home. When he ends up on Sakaar, in the hands of a gladiatorial team, it might be his mechanical skills they’re interested in… or it might be his virginity. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921301 Word Count: 14,587 Posted for @winterironbingo and @tonystarkbingo

The holographs in the space port flickered the outgoing fares and destinations. He knew exactly how many credits he had left -- a novelty in and of itself, but not a particularly good one. If he put all his credits together, and presented it to a ship captain, he would arrive at his destination, utterly destitute. With no place to live, no contacts that he dared to impose on, and without a local sponsor. Under those circumstances, he’d be lucky if he wasn’t dead in a gutter in a week’s time.

All he wanted to do was get away.

But that didn’t mean he needed to be stupid about it.

“See the galaxy,” one holo advertised, “on an indentured ticket.”

Small print showed that he could sign himself up for a job, selected after a series of tests and aptitude exams, for free passage to any of a list of destinations. Tony thumbed down the list -- there it was. Malibu. A two year contract, food and housing and work… and he could get to Malibu with his nest egg intact.

And he had skills aplenty to offer. He glanced over his shoulder -- ridiculous; he wouldn’t be missed until tomorrow at the earliest -- and then poked at the More Information icon on the holo.

The display swirled into an infodump, and he scanned it quickly, memorizing the address and route to the testing office. At the bottom, a cheerfully bright line advised him to make his appointment now. He reached out, and then hesitated, just short of letting the holo scan his thumbprint. No. Who knew what kind of strings his father would pull to force Tony home, if he was able to find out where Tony was? He pulled a stylus from his pocket instead and summoned a keyboard, tapping in the name: Tony Edwards.

That was innocuous enough, he thought. And even if they did guess what name he was travelling under, there had to be thousands, maybe even millions of Tony Edwards in the galaxy.

He tapped the Register button, and the screen flashed his appointment time -- only an hour away. Good. Just enough time to mildly injure his thumb so they’d have to accept a secondary contract signature. He glanced down the street and then looked back at the holo, which had gone back to its colorful enticements.

He was leaving. Today.

(more below the cut)

He made it to the testing facility, an engine burn obscuring half of his thumbprint. The waiting room was packed with hopefuls, aliens and human alike. A scruffy raccoon, talking with a tiny, moving twig in a pot, was sitting next to the only empty seat in the place, and he glared at Tony with intelligent, black eyes. “Tell ya what, Groot,” he said to the potted creature, “the neighborhood’s going to hell. Look at all these humies.”

Tony didn’t have to endure the raccoon for much longer; Rocket was called back for testing in less than twenty minutes of waiting. The sapling waved at Tony over Rocket’s shoulder.

Time passed. The holos were mostly full of advertisements for different indentured positions -- cleaning and catering on passenger cruisers, healers and nurses, street cleaners on a wide variety of urban planetary systems. Tony wasn’t a bad student, even for subjects that didn’t interest him, but he hadn’t even heard of half of these systems. Outside the Core, probably.

“Edwards?”

“That’s me,” Tony said, gathering his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he stood.

“Thank you, Mr. Edwards, if you’ll come with me, we apologize for the wait, there’s been quite a crush recently, people looking to start over in a new life, which is just what we offer, and some trade skills in the meanwhile,” the woman said. “All of our positions come with a pressure-free offer; we’re simply interested in discovering where your unique skill set will be most useful. All indenture contracts are held by a bondsman; your bondsman is your contact to People Placements. All of your basic health needs will be provided, shelter, food, medical care, adequate rest and relaxation. If you experience any problems with these necessities, your bondsman will direct you to our People Resources department and investigate your complaint. Here you are. While you wait to see your health and physical assessment coordinator, please start this test series which will question you on a number of aptitude and skill packages.”

The room was full of more holo advertisements, each cheerfully talking about his opportunities. She waved them away with a single swipe. “Hard to concentrate, isn’t it, Mr. Edwards, when they keep blinking at you. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, and waited until she’d left the room, closing the door behind her, before sitting at the small desk and waving at the test to start it.

Most of it was laughably easy. There were a few subjects that he stumbled over -- obviously, he wasn’t fit to be a cook, after the way the test had buzzed irritably after only a handful of guessed answers in that subject. But once the program had veered into technical aptitudes, Tony was answering questions faster than the terminal’s limited processors could keep up.

It was actually sort of fun, in a childish way, and Tony found himself grinning as he swiped through the questions, daring them to try to trip him up.

He wasn’t sure how long the test went on, and then there was a knock at the door. “If you’re quite finished, Mr. Edwards, your test results have been stirring up interest. I’m to escort you to get your physical right away. The planetary representative for Sakaar is expressing an interest in your skills, but the only ship for that system leaves in less than two hours.”

Sakaar was a name Tony had heard -- a destination planet for gamblers and gamers where the chief draw was a massive system of gladiatorial games. Though if they wanted him based on his test scores, obviously, he wouldn’t be working in the pits. Repairing or programming displays and scoring machines was more likely.

He could think of worse things to be doing for two years. And more importantly, it got him off the planet quickly. He picked up his bag and opened the door. “Sure, sounds fun,” he said. “Lead the way.”

“I’ll ask some basic questions as we walk, Mr. Edwards,” she said, “just formality. Speak your answers, they’ll be recorded. Are you fully immunized? Family history of heart failure? Any food or medicine allergies that you are aware of--” She continued to fire questions at him as fast as he could answer them, including “What is your sexual history, please?”

Tony nearly stumbled over his feet at that one. “Uh. None. You don’t have to worry about any diseases or anything here.”

“Thank you,” she said, finishing up. “Walk through here, lift your arms over your head. The medical scanner will give you a brief physical, and then the Bondsman from Sakaar would like to speak with you.”

The scanner buzzed, flashing lights at him and spritzing him with an odd smelling mist before spitting out a series of hard light records with his vitals and statistics on it. There was a small red dot flashing at the corner of the display. “Very good. You’re healthy and good for travel. Miss-- Miss Valkyrie,” she sighed.

“What? I’m not piloting the ship,” the woman on the far side of the room said.

“We asked you not to indulge while--”

“This is not indulging,” Valkyrie said, getting up and rolling across the room with the practiced gait of the perpetually inebriated. “I have not yet begun to defile myself. You Edwards?”

“That’s me,” Tony agreed warily. Howard’s drinking had been half -- well, maybe more like 42% -- of the reason he’d left in the first place.

“Great, great,” she said, the smell of her booze wafting into his face. “We… uh, yeah… mechanic. We need a mechanic. How are you with integrated… uh, circuits?”

Tony opened his mouth to tell her that he’d built his first circuit board when he was three, but then realized that was exactly the sort of identifying information he should be keeping to himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have had quite so much fun with those tests. “Um. Yeah, integrated circuits, I can do those,” he said. “Most of my experience is with logic gates, but I can handle amplifiers, timers, whatever you need.”

“Fantastic,” she said, clapping him on the back. “Was indentured myself a while. Came out ahead, now I’ve got my own ship. Recruiter. Here--” She handed him a small, flat disk about the size of his palm. “This is your identification while on Sakaar; keeps the riffraff away. Wouldn’t want anyone to mistake that pretty face of yours for… an entertainer, right?”

“Entertai--” A couple of beats late, Tony got it, and had to suppress the blush that tried to climb out of his shirt collar. Sexual history, right. “Uh. Yeah, definitely... not.”

“Great. Standard terms,” Val said, “come on, this way, my ship…” she swayed again, her hips rocking alarmingly. “I uh, might have lied about flying the ship while drinking, but don’t worry. I’m very good. Two years service, one way ticket to anywhere you want to go. Standard bonuses, and intellectual prop… thingie. Don’t invent stuff, or it belongs to the Grandmaster. We gotta go.” She tapped her wrist to activate a ship-to communication system. “Get me on a flight path out of here twenty minutes ago. If I miss that fight tonight, I will be put out.”

Tony followed in her wake, caught somewhere in the tide between confused and bemused. He looked down at the identification disk and hoped it had a more coherent copy of his contract embedded in it. He could read through it while they were en route, if there was enough time. “How-- Miss. How long is the trip?”

“About four hours,” Valkyrie told him. “We’re going straight through the Anus. Don’t worry, I have a map.”

“The...” Tony hesitated, staring at her and wondering exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

Anonymity for two years and a free trip to Malibu, he reminded himself. He could endure almost anything for two years, right?

The ship was small, a pilot’s couch and a few benches in the back for passengers. Val took the disk out of his hand, “Like this,” she said, and unbuttoned his shirt until it hung open to his navel, swatting away his attempt to keep her from doing it. She pushed the disk flat against his bare chest and there was a brief jolt of searing pain, enough to leave him breathless and dizzy. “There you go. Belt in, I’m going to be in the air in three minutes, no matter what Tower says.”

Tony somehow believed her. He stumbled back onto the nearest bench and strapped himself in, and then looked down at the disk in his chest. He prodded tenderly at the tender edges where it was clamped into his skin. That was going to leave a scar. “Ow.” Valkyrie was ignoring him, waking her ship’s board up and running preflight checks.

Tony tapped at the disk experimentally, and it popped up a holo for him, a menu of options. He could, indeed, read his contract. He could also check on the remaining duration of his indenture, contact his bondsman -- Valkyrie, apparently -- and access the planetary information net, if there was one.

He nearly missed the fine print at the bottom of the menu that informed him that the device also served to track him and enforce boundary permissions. It would shock him again, he translated mentally, if he tried to run away.

“I do not care,” Valkyrie was saying into the ship-to. “Get it out of my way, or it’s gonna rain down over this pathetic planet.”

She disconnected, and then yanked back on the throttle, taking them into orbit at the sharpest incline Tony had ever personally experienced. Gravity crushed him into the bench, two g, five g-- his health monitor in the chip on his chest went crazy, reporting his vitals with increasing alarm.

Valkyrie whooped, swirled the ship around an incoming freighter like she meant to trade paint with it, and they broke free of atmo with a rush. “Juice him,” Valkyrie yelled, and the disk on his chest dumped-- a chempack into his bloodstream, helping to equalize the pressure. His ears popped.

Valkyrie sighed, letting the ship inject her with the same chemicals. She dodged several more incoming ships, skipped off a warship’s gravity well, and activated the hyperdrive on the cusp of smashing them into a space station. The stars went away, and they were in the hyperstream.

“And, now we just kick back and relax. You hungry, Edwards?”

Tony was still staring at the blur of hyperstream beyond the viewport. “I could eat,” he said vaguely. That had been impressive piloting. Or sheer dumb luck. Numbly, he wondered what happened to his bond if she ploughed her ship into an asteroid.

“Here.” She tossed him a ration pack, self-heating, and tore into one herself. “You’re going to be working with my top recruit. He… needs a special touch.” She tapped one of the buttons on the ship’s systems, pulling up a hologram of a handsome man dressing in gladiator combat clothing that showed off muscular legs, a ragged haircut, and-- a metal arm.

“Winter Soldier,” she said. “He’s a contender. If we can place in this year’s games? We’ll all be on easy street. We’re a team, you got that, Edwards. You, me… and him.”

“A team, sure,” Tony said. He reached out and grabbed the holo, pulling it closer and expanding it. “The arm... That’s what you need a mechanic for? Who built it?”

Valkyrie scoffed. “Hydra. I picked him up out of a bad situation a few months back.”

Yeah, Hydra was bad business. They knew their tech, though. Tony chewed on his lip a little, considering it. It wasn’t like anything he’d worked on before, and the challenge of it appealed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “So he fights, and I keep the arm in fighting shape... What do you do?”

“Place bets,” Valkyrie said. “Arrange the fights, keep both of you supplied in gear. Promotion. We started fighting out on street corners for all comers, and I’ve just gotten him into his first amphitheater fight. Tonight. Only he’s glitched, all the stars fall and go black. If we can’t get him into shape, the gladiators are going to rip that arm off and beat him to death with it.”

“Tonight?” Tony squeaked. “So no pressure, then. Sure.”

“Welcome to my world,” Valkyrie said, raising her pod of juice at him.

The Soldier’s room was kept at temperatures barely above freezing, and he was still stripped to the waist, sweating as he paced. The arm continued to shoot bad data at him, sensory issues of every sort, sparking in the joints.

It hurt, but that barely registered over the panic that chewed in his brain. He made another turn of the room. The countdown timer in his head clicked over another minute. Hydra had built their weapon for complete control. The arm was a weapon and a restraint at the same time. The last fight, the hack that one of Val’s contacts had put on it was knocked loose, activating the beacon, and setting the self-destruct.

The cold kept it from turning him in, from sending word. As a last resort, he had access to one of Val’s pods, he could submerse himself in cryo, but if he did that, he wouldn’t be in any shape for fighting. They’d lose everything, and if she had to renege on her contract, then his would be bought up, too. They’d belong, entirely and utterly, to the Grandmaster. For life.

“Come on, Val, hurry up,” he muttered.

Heat cooked out of the arm, steaming in the air. He hurried over to the sink and dumped cold water on it, keeping the vents open for the most cooling.

Voices in the hall, footsteps.

The Soldier shook freezing water droplets from his fingers, hand going to his knife. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to steal him. The Soldier was valuable property on a hellhole like Sakaar.

The door opened on a man -- not much more than a boy, really, short and slight, with wide brown eyes and fluffy dark hair. “--ust me to do my part,” he was saying as he pushed through the door.

Those eyes swept the room and then zeroed in on the Soldier. No. The Soldier’s arm. He unslung the bag on his shoulder and he bent down to root around inside, apparently heedless of the Soldier’s defensive stance and ready knife. “Circuitry kit, circuitry kit,” he mumbled. “Where the hell-- aha!” He stood back up, brandishing a small plasteel kit. “Tell me you’ve got a space with good light so I can work properly.”

The Soldier sheathed his blade. He could break this boy with one hand -- the flesh one. “You’re the mechanic?” He didn’t mean it to come out like a challenge, but it did. Incredulous, really. Val was trusting their lives to this… boy? He looked more like one of the trembling virgins in the cathouses than someone who could initiate repairs.

“I know, I know,” the boy said knowingly. “Hard to believe. All this--” He swept a hand, encompassing himself. “--and brains? But it’s true.” He looked around again, and pointed at the table by the bed. “Sit over there, put the arm out where I can get to it. Why the hell is it so cold in here? Nevermind, we can talk while I work. Come on, Snowflake, chop chop, time’s wasting.”

This part, the Soldier knew well. He sat, cocking the elbow and resting it on the table’s top, activating the various slide panels that would let the mechanic at the innards. “Diagnostics, pain threshold 80 percent and dropping, timer reads seventy-eight minutes before Contain and Control protocols activate. Damaged sensor package, broken joints in thumb and index finger. Wrist rotation down 16%. Battery power overtaxed, complete shut down in thirty two hours, nineteen minutes.”

The mechanic’s eyes had flicked up to the Soldier’s face when he’d started the recitation, and they remained there for a few seconds after he’d finished the report, revealing a turmoil of thoughts and emotions. But then he nodded once, sharply, visibly reining himself in. He dropped the kit on the table and opened it, taking out a top-of-the-line scanner. “Okay. Given the time constraints, I’m going to start with disabling the C&Cs and then see if I can come up with a quick boost for the battery before I go to work on the sensor package. You’re the one fighting in a couple of hours -- what’s your priority for the fingers and wrist?” He was scanning as he talked, delicate fingers touching various panels on the arm.

“Finger first, then thumb,” the soldier said. “Fine control, opponent analysis indicates brute strength will be less effective. Armor contains very small weak points. If you increase pain threshold, the Soldier will be most efficient.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the boy said. He pulled a screwdriver and a long-nosed pair of pliers from the kit. “This is going to feel a little weird, probably, but let me know if it actually hurts.” He reached under the plate at the base of the Soldier’s shoulder with the pliers.

“Pain is irrelevant,” the Soldier said, “so long as it does not impede functionality.”

The boy’s face twisted slightly. “Pain conveys valuable information about the nature of malfunction,” he corrected. “I need all the data I can get, given the time crunch we’re under. Also? It fucking sucks.” He twisted, and a shivery twinge ricocheted up the Soldier’s neck. The boy withdrew the pliers, now holding a small chip. He dropped it into a drinking glass. “One down, three to go.” He tapped his way down the plates as if counting, and then went back in.

The soldier watched as the boy tinkered, flicking through tools with precision, talking the whole time. Explaining what he was doing, and the sensations the Soldier should feel. Observations about Val and dismay at her piloting. The Soldier watched as puzzlement grew. No one spoke to the Soldier during maintenance. The readouts and diagnostics told them everything they needed to know.

No one cared if the Soldier prefered the silver ration packs or the red ones.

Certainly no one had ever touched the arm like it was a pet, or a friend, with small loving pats from time to time, gentle fingers against the metal.

The Soldier licked his lips and tried to remember-- “What’s your designation, Mechanic?”

“What?” The boy blinked up at him. “Oh, yeah, we kind of skipped over the formalities, didn’t we? I’m Tony. And you are?”

“Winter Soldier, the American Asset,” the soldier rattled off, along with his serial number, then, “Barnes, James B.” And the briefest flicker of his old life… Before. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?” Brown eyes blinked once, twice, and then the boy -- Tony -- was back to work, sliding a jeweler’s screwdriver up inside Bucky’s glitched fingers. “You don’t look much like a Bucky to me.”

Something twitched at the Soldier’s mouth and when he considered it, he was surprised to find it was a smile. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“S’pose that’s true,” Tony admitted. He pulled out a small circuit board, no thicker than a pencil, and laid it on the table to examine it closely.

“That’s a trap,” the Soldier said, before his programming could stop him. He winced at the squeeze of mostly disabled control chips in the shoulder. “The board’s laid backward. It’ll explode if you tamper with it incorrectly.”

“Mm,” Tony hummed. “I can see that. Shitty thing to do. I mean, it’s your hand.” He picked the board up with a pair of tweezers and turned it over. “I don’t have time to make a new one right now, but we’re going to put that on the to-do list.”

“It is their hand,” the Soldier said. “The Asset is a poorly designed system with permission to utilize it. The Fist of Hydra.” The Soldier mouthed the phrases by rote, even if he didn’t believe them anymore. So much of the arm, so much of him… had become the Asset.

“Well, not anymore,” Tony said reasonably. “Val bought you, fair and square, just like she did me.” He pried a tiny contact off the circuit board and dropped that into the drinking glass with the containment nodes. “Okay, let’s see how that works.” He delicately wriggled it back through the vents in the Soldier’s finger to slot it back into place.

“Running internal diagnostics,” the Soldier reported. The arm went through a series of self tests and movement controls; the nerve tingler activated, shooting steel pain through his shoulder and spine, causing him to slip and utter a tiny sound of complaint. He unclenched his jaw and panted a moment before delivering the report to the Mech-- to Tony.

“Running diagnostics should not hurt,” Tony said. “That’s another thing for the to-do list. At this rate, it might be easier if I just built you a whole new arm.”

“Safety feature,” the Soldier told him. “Installed after the Soldier damaged a technician upon diagnostics.”

“Bullshit feature,” Tony said. “It’s one hundred percent possible to immobilize this thing without activating the nerve mesh circuitry.” He’d moved on to the thumb, and despite his annoyed tone, his hands were steady and gentle. “Whoever set it up like that was either incompetent or a sadist. Possibly both.”

The Soldier blinked. “Pain is an effective teaching mechanism.”

“It really isn’t,” Tony said. He pulled the thumb’s circuit and turned it over to check the connections for its self-destruct mechanism. “You catch more flies with honey, and all that. They’ve done studies and everything. Which doesn’t seem to sway the asshats of the world, mind you.”

The Soldier thought back on all his training under Hydra hands, that had been bought dear in blood and agony. The training of the girls in the Red Room, that he had supervised. The white electric torture inflicted on him for disobedience. Even Val, who he considered an excellent handler, had taught him the limits of his freedom with pain.

He wasn’t sure if he believed Tony, this… practically a child, really. He filed it away to consider later.

After.

If the fight went badly, there would not be time left to consider anything. What would happen, he wondered, to Tony, if the Grandmaster took his contract. He studied that serious, pretty face, the way his hands were long-fingered and graceful. If the Soldier lost the fight, chances were good he’d be dead.

What would happen to Tony-- perhaps worse.

The Soldier set his jaw. He wouldn’t lose the fight.

He had something -- someone -- else to fight for.

Tony continued to ramble as he finished the work, now peppering his unending dialogue with the occasional unflattering opinion of Hydra’s mechanics and building what seemed a never-ending list of upgrades and enhancements for the Soldier’s arm.

Finally, he sat back in the chair and swiped a hand down his face. “Okay. I can’t do anything else in the time limit; all the other fixes will take longer than we’ve got. And I need some supplies for some of it.” He flashed a smile at the Soldier that seemed to light up his whole face. “Don’t think I did half bad, though. Go on and take ‘er for a spin, let me know what you think.”

The Soldier didn’t even bother to run the diagnostics. He stood, fingers already moving for his knives, sliding them out and going through a complicated set of maneuvers, twisting the blades, throwing at the nearby target on the wall, miming a block, and coming within half a hair of slicing Tony’s cheek. With a deft flick, he removed a lock of that curly, fluffy hair and coiled it around the index finger on his right hand. “For luck.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes round like plates. “Uh. Yeah. Luck.” He shook himself, then rolled to his feet and offered the Soldier his hand. “Good luck, Bucky.”

Valkyrie insisted that Tony accompany her into the stadium stands to watch Bucky fight. Tony tried to beg off, but she wouldn’t hear of it, towing him along by his sleeve.

It definitely wasn’t the sort of contest Tony appreciated, though he’d known acquaintances of his father who’d boasted of attending these very games. He slouched onto the bench next to Val and tried not to watch any more of the fighting than he had to, and tried not to call Val’s attention to him much, either, since her drinking, which hadn’t really stopped the whole time Tony had known her, ramped up rather sharply as soon as they’d taken their seats.

Val was talking with their neighbors, drinking, and placing bets through her handscreen. Their seats weren’t great, but at least they had seats. Hundreds of alien beings pressed together in the lower levels to watch.

The first few matches weren’t much considered exciting; fighting to a pin, or first blood. Despite the first blood rule, one contender died, as the first blood was his opponent taking his head clear off with a single slash of a microbladed whip.

Val laughed and toasted the dead man with a raised glass.

A batch of alien boys, younger even than Tony, were sent in to the stadium to fight an alien predator-beast, all bristling spines and vicious fangs. The children took it down, at the cost of one of them, and Tony watched, horrified, as one of the boys pleaded with the dead kid to get up, we won, brother, get up.

“I’m going to be sick,” he muttered, closing his eyes as the cheering swelled around him. How had he thought he could endure two years of this? He wasn’t sure he’d make it through two hours. He had to convince Val not to bring him back to the stadium anymore. Not that it would help much. He’d still know. He was sure the crowd’s roar could be heard from all over the city.

“And now, I--” the Grandmaster’s projected image towered above the crowd, a slender, human like man with white hair and elaborate makeup, wearing a glittery golden robe “-- would like to present our first title match for the evening’s entertainment. Fresh off the streets, looking to make a name for himself, originally from the great Frozen Wastelands of Siberia… I give you… the Winter Soldier.”

Val slammed her glass into Tony’s hand, drank straight from the bottle.

Tony didn’t even let himself think about it. He threw back the contents. Whatever it was, it was potent, a heated gasp at the back of his throat that immediately made him dizzy.

“And, defending their honor, all the way from Azzano… Strike Force Delta.”

Bucky walked out of his gate, dressed in black leather, a combat mask strapped over his face, tactical goggles in place. He was bristling with weapons, knives and short range pistols, various explosive and incendiary devices.

“Strike Force? Grandmaster, you son of a bitch!” Val raged. “He was supposed to go against just Crossbones, not the whole squad! They’ll tear him apart.”

Tony swallowed again, still feeling the burn of the alcohol. He had a good idea of what Bucky’s arm was capable of, after having worked on it all afternoon. But he had no idea of the capabilities of the squad Bucky would be facing. He found himself leaning forward, trying to look at them more closely as they emerged. “Rigged game?”

Val slitted a look at him. “Usually,” she said, shortly. “He’s still pissed at me.” Val leaped to her feet, yelling and screaming obscenities questioning the heritage and sexual proclivities of the Grandmaster. She went as far as turning her back on him to shake a bared backside before apparently getting most of her aggression out.

In the meanwhile, Bucky had raced away, moving faster than humanly possible, a blue of black and silver, for the closest cover, set up, and picked off one of the Strike members as they tried to flank him.

The crowd surged, roaring, and Tony moved with it, on his feet, fighting to see over the shoulders and heads of taller watchers. He didn’t want to watch, really, but he couldn’t, couldn’t look away. “Bucky!” he called, even knowing he had no hope of being heard over the noise. “You can do it,” he whispered. “You have to.”

One of his grenades went into the dirt, driving back a pair of them, and then he rolled, snagging a third. His knife was in the metal hand, and he used the captive as a human shield, dragging the body with him as he moved. He was brutal, ugly and violent, never hesitating.

Except when Tony cried his name, Bucky turned his head enough, and even behind those tactical goggles, Tony could feel the weight of that stare. He gave Tony a quick nod, and then broke the guy’s neck, off again. The arm was both weapon and shield; bullets deflected off it as he sprinted.

He was fast, graceful. Death as a dancer, moving into close combat range, his knife blurring from one hand to the other.

He lashed out with a kick that sent one of the Strike members flying, where he caught in the protective electrical netting that kept the fighters from accidentally (or intentionally) injuring the spectators.

The last one, yelling curses and screaming, charged him. Bucky took a blade to the arm, and the thing snapped off, leaving the man holding only the hilt. The arm was shooting sparks, the fingers spasmed helplessly.

Bucky staggered backward and the Strike member hit him in the face with the hilt, shattering the goggles. Even from that distance, Tony could see how blue Bucky’s eyes were, wide with pain. He sought Tony out of the crowd again and gave him a little salute -- like he was saying goodbye.

Tony shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hand. “Don’t you dare give up,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare.”

He whirled, flesh hand grabbing the all but useless metal one and-- the crowd was practically holding its breath, waiting for the Strike Team leader to deliver the coup de grace -- Bucky snapped the metal finger, breaking it. He shoved the metal arm against the Strike guy’s belly, wrapped around like holding a wrestling pin, the man curled around the metal arm.

Three, two, one--

The hand exploded with a brilliant white flare, a hiss of smoke, and then the Strike Team leader fell the ground. What was left of him, anyway.

The stump was blackened from fire, bloody from the kill, barely extending past Bucky’s shoulder.

But he was alive.

He was alive, and the winner.

Tony all but fell back onto the bench, gasping for breath as if he’d run for miles at top speed, choking in an effort to hold back his sobs of relief.

Val cheered wildly, finished drinking her bottle, and poured the last swallow or so over Tony’s head. “Go, get him, take him home,” she said. “I have wagers to collect.”

“But I don’t--” He was talking to her back, rapidly retreating as she shoved her way through the crowds. “--know where to pick him up,” Tony finished lamely. He sighed, shook his head to get some of the booze out of his hair, and went in the opposite direction, out of the stadium seating. Downward, was probably the best direction to go, he decided. Maybe once he got closer, there would be signs, or someone more or less official-looking that he could ask for directions.

More cheers and roars from the crowd as the next fight started. Tony pushed his way through, finding a dark staircase that headed down -- that looked promising. He was on a lower level, well lit but relatively unoccupied. There were doors along the interior wall.

A holographic map flickered near one door, and Tony slapped it, getting the basic layout of the gladiator ring. Something even louder than the crowd roared from one room, the wall vibrating as whatever it was crashed into it.

A lean man, maybe an Asgardian, leaned against a wall, absently studying his fingernails, as he lingered outside a room. “Come on, brother, I’m not waiting forever,” he said, then raised jade green eyes to watch Tony with a gleam.

It wasn’t like Tony had never been looked at, before, but he had to admit he felt somewhat naked without the protection of his name and wealth hanging over him like a mantle. Still, the Asgardian looked friendlier than the few others he’d passed. “How do you find a particular fighter?” he asked.

The man made walking motions with his fingers. “The doors are in order by fight. The closer you are to the center, the more prestigious your fighter.” He looked at Tony, mouth twitching up in a smile. “Are you a prize, dear child?”

“No,” Tony said shortly. “I’m a mechanic.” He started off down the hall, looking through the few open doors as he passed.

The hallway was endless, a huge spiral, and Tony’s legs were killing him. Had it really only been that morning since he was sneaking out of his father’s house, headed for the spaceport? That seemed a lifetime ago, already.

“Ah, there you are,” a voice bellowed, and not a familiar one. The -- person -- was huge and muscular and wearing armor that looked as if it were carved from crystal. “I ordered my fucktoy almost an hour ago!” A huge hand, attached to a recklessly muscled arm, grabbed hold of Tony’s shoulder and yanked him toward one of the rooms. “Look, brothers, it’s pretty.”

“Not--” Tony tried to pull free of that hand, but he might as well have been fighting off a brick wall. “Not what you ordered! Let go!” Damn it, his identity chip was supposed to protect him. He tapped at it with his free hand, trying to wake it up. “Let go!”

“Excuse me, asshole,” a familiar, exhausted voice, said, and as both Tony and the other brawler looked up, Bucky flicked a knife through the air. Tony had time to watch the light spinning off the edge before it buried itself in the brawler’s sleeve and pinned it neatly to the wall. Bucky already had a second knife in hand. “The next one will put you in no condition to entertain your fucktoy. This one belongs to me. That’s my mechanic.”

The brawler’s hand loosened, although it seemed more like reflex than choice. Tony’s chip stuttered a few times, sparked, and then he felt the current racing along his skin, like a breeze, to deliver a jolt to the man, who yelped and let go.

“Take him, and get gone,” the man said, cradling his shocked hand, the hair on his arm smelling burned.

Tony took several steps back out of the big man’s reach, then turned toward Bucky. “Val sent me for you,” he said. “Can you walk? Do you need help?”

“‘M all lopsided,” Bucky complained. “Keep over balancing for an arm that ain’t there.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “I bet. Come on.” He tucked himself against Bucky’s side and slung his arm around Bucky’s waist, supporting. “Let’s get you home so I can fix you up, hm?”

“Home sounds good,” Bucky said. He leaned heavily on Tony, practically letting Tony drag him, as he occasionally gave directions. As they moved into parts of the city that looked more familiar, Bucky leaned into him a moment. “Have… have you been drinking?”

“A little,” Tony said. “But mostly she just dumped some on my head.” He poked at his chip. “Probably what made this malfunction.”

Bucky put his palm against the door, which screeched, and then got about half open. “Home sweet home,” Bucky said, pushing the door the rest of the way. “Maybe we can afford better digs.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Tony helped Bucky to the nearest chair. “She was going to collect on her bets when I left to find you.” He scrounged around in cabinets and shelves until he found a first aid kit, then grabbed up his toolkit. “How bad is the pain on the arm?”

“I feel ev’ry bit of a hundred damn years old, and like someone ripped off m’ arm,” Bucky admitted.

“Excuse me, Mr. Soldier,” the holo-com flicked on and there was a miniature of the Grandmaster in the kitchen. “Mr. Soldier, congratulations on your win. We’re so very impressed with you here--” There was something blue and tentacle-y wrapped around the Grandmaster, who snuggled into it. “As a token of our esteem, we’d like to send you a choice virgin, to celebrate--”

“No thanks,” Bucky said, and then his jaw clenched as he realized what refusing the Grandmaster’s gift might cost. “No. Thank you. I already got one.” He made a gesture toward Tony.

“Oh… oh, well, then--” and the holo flickered out.

Tony bit his lip. “I might not be,” he said, opening his toolkit and rummaging in it as an excuse not to look at Bucky.”

“Don’t matter none,” Bucky said. “I’ll pick my own bedmates, not let him send me some poisoned slipper.”

“I think you might be mixing your metaphors, a little,” Tony said, but it made him smile, and his shoulders dropped from the hunch he hadn’t realized they’d been in. He pulled another chair over beside Bucky’s and straddled it. “Let’s see if I can turn off the neural feedback for your arm.”

Bucky reached out his right hand and touched Tony’s cheek. “Hey. Thank you.”

Tony looked up, startled. “I’m just... Uh. You’re welcome?”

Bucky leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and let Tony get to work. It wasn’t until he’d managed to get all the nerve clustering shut down, put a temporary cap on the end of the arm, and was helping the man out of his armor, that he realized that Bucky was wearing the lock of Tony’s hair, braided small and sewn in a loop, around a strap on his armor.

Tony paused, touching it hesitantly. “I guess it... helped?”

“Maybe it did,” Bucky said, and he covered Tony’s hand with his. “You’re th’ first person who’s treated me like a person and not a weapon in more’n fifty years.” He flicked his gaze up to meet Tony’s, those grey eyes warm and inviting.

“Oh.” Tony licked his lips, and then he wondered what it would be like to kiss Bucky, to be wrapped up in that big, strong body, to let Bucky take possession of his mouth, his skin. Bucky’s lips were thick and plush and soft-looking, and they were hypnotic, drawing Tony in...

The door slammed open, banged against the wall and screeched at the halfway point. “Are you-- are you molesting my mechanic?” Valkyrie bellowed, wine bottle in one hand and a glowing holo in the other. “The grandmaster said you were, an’ I did not pay for him to be deflowered by the likes of you!”

She shoved at the door again, kicking it angrily, as Bucky jerked backward, as if they’d both been caught in the midst of doing something more incriminating than not-quite kissing.

You didn’t pay for me to be deflowered at all, Tony thought. I’m a mechanic. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it aloud, though, not with Val yelling and banging on things, too similar to Howard for comfort, and damn it, he’d run away from this. He caught himself edging behind Bucky and made himself stop. He couldn’t turn Bucky into a shield, that was unfair.

“Pipe down,” Bucky said. “I didn’t touch ‘im. Besides, virginity is an overrated social construction.”

Valkyrie blinked a few times, putting her wine bottle down. “Did you just… make a full sentence or something? I didn’t know you knew how to do that. Look, look, stupid social construct or not, virginity is both rare and valuable on Sakaar.” She wobbled in Tony’s direction a little, expression more drunk older sister, protective and somewhat condescending, rather than angry. “I’m not saying don’t give it to this lug, I’m just saying… make sure you know what you want, when you give it to someone.”

Tony gaped at her. That was... surprisingly sweet. “I’m... better off, I’d rather give it to someone I know and trust and like, than have it given away for me, like some kind of prize.”

“Up to you,” Valkyrie said. “I didn’t pay that much for you, you still get to decide. But consider it. I can put you in touch with a buyer, if you want. First times are over-rated. Awkward, embarrassing, never as good as you’d want it to be. Might as well get rich, right, Soldier?”

“And how many times have you sold your virginity?”

“Once.”

“This is a very uncomfortable conversation,” Bucky pointed out. “Sober up. I’m going to get some rest, and tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to spend our ill gained riches.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed weakly. “Rest. It’s been... a hell of a day.” He looked around the tiny apartment as Valkyrie rolled her eyes and stumbled her way into a bedroom, the lock on the door clicking loudly. “So, uh. Where am I sleeping?” Tony wondered cautiously.

Bucky gave him a long, steady look. “You were an emergency acquisition. No place for you to bunk up, except my room. It’s a big bed, we can share it.”

Tony looked around the apartment again, but there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. It was Bucky’s bed or the floor, it seemed. “Right,” he managed, and waved. “Lead on.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said, opening another door to his cold-as-ice bedroom. “Val talks a big game, but she’d rip my spleen out if I did anything to you that you didn’t want.”

What about what I do want? Tony wondered, but he wasn’t entirely sure, himself, what that was, so he just followed Bucky into the small bedroom. “I’m not worried,” he said. “Not about you.” And that was... oddly true.

Bucky woke up with a jolt, as if he’d fallen a hundred yards before landing on a soft bed. His eyes sprang open and his heart was beating so hard in his throat he couldn’t have screamed around it if he’d wanted to.

It was dark, and cold, and--

He scrambled for his arm, his arm, his goddamn arm--

Instead of finding his arm, ragged and torn from his body, bleeding out in the snow, his fingers encountered warm, soft… snuggly.

Someone in the bed with him took a deeper breath and curled more urgently against Bucky’s side.

Oh.

Tony.

Tony was sleeping, half on him, a bundle of blankets and shivers pressed against Bucky’s chest, head pillowed on the shattered remains of his bionic arm.

“Hey--” he said, soft, trying not to startle Tony too much, but-- the feedback was getting to him. Bucky’d offered Tony the side of the bed that was away from the wall, so the boy wouldn’t feel like Bucky was pinning him in. But now it meant that Bucky was the one pushed all the way up against the wall.

“Mm?” Tony cuddled in closer, practically burrowing into Bucky’s side. “Jus’... jus’ need a min--” He froze, stock-still, for a count of three breaths, and then scrambled back. “Shit, shit, sorry, I didn’t-- oh fuck, it’s freezing over here,” he whined, his tone ping-ponging from apologetic to startled to indignant.

“Hey, shhh,” Bucky tried again. “S’okay, you-- were jus’ layin’ on a bad spot.” Bucky reached for the cap of the arm, trying to figure out what, exactly it was. “Could feel m’ arm fallin’ off, dreamin’ about it.” He gave up, waving his hand near the panel, bringing the room lights up slowly. “Can you see?”

Maybe he could, but Tony was, instead, staring at Bucky’s bare chest. Even with with temperatures close to four or five degrees, Bucky put out a lot of heat while he slept, and he’d woken once before, practically swimming in sweat, and he’d shucked most of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor over Tony’s shoulder.

“I, uh...” Tony’s gaze jerked up to meet Bucky’s, and he blushed furiously. “Sorry, I’m just. Um. Arm. Yes. I can... Let me take a look at...” He stopped, scrubbing his hands over his face roughly, and then took a breath and held it as he leaned in to examine Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hope you meant what you said earlier,” Bucky said, conversationally, trying to ignore the fact that he was dressed only in a pair of thin shorts and Tony was all but climbing into his lap to look at his busted up arm.

“What I said?” Tony’s hands were sliding over his shoulder, gentle and careful even through the feedback the arm was jittering through his brain.

“That you can make a new one,” Bucky said. “Ain’t like there’s much warranty on the old one left over.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can.” Tony curved his hand around what was left of the arm and lifted it a little. “I mean, it might depend on what kind of materials I can get my hands on, and how long we’ve got before you have to go back out-- oh! I think I see it, hang on a sec.” He stretched for his bag, precariously balanced on the very edge of the bed, and dragged it closer to fish out a pair of wire cutters. “Okay, this might pinch just for a second...”

The pain was as horrific as it was mercifully brief. Bucky blinked away spots and realized that his eyes were watering in reaction. But then everything went easy and still. “Oh, that’s better.” The complete lack of pain was shocking, like he hadn’t realized that so many parts of him still hurt. He’d sublimated so much of it, had adjusted to it, that he hadn’t even noticed it anymore. “Oh.” His eyes wouldn’t stop tearing up as he shuddered with relief.

“Are you okay?” Tony’s hand was hovering, not quite touching, his eyes wide and worried. “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough. “Yeah, I-- maybe for th’ first time since this happened. It don’t hurt. Like at all.”

“Oh.” Tony swallowed, loud in the quiet room. “We’re gonna... When I make the new arm. We’ll make sure that doesn’t hurt. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky repeated. He wasn’t sure he knew who he was without the constant pain. Like the person he’d used to be was buried under it. “Come on, lay down, get some sleep. You look so exhausted, you’re makin’ me tired jus’ lookin’ at you. I know it’s cold--” He went to shrug and realized his shoulders didn’t move like that anymore. “But I run hot as Hel, an’ I can’t sleep at normal room temperature.”

“Yeah, I kind of noticed you run warm,” Tony said, wriggling carefully back down into the covers. “Why is that? You from an ice planet or something?”

Bucky shifted around until he had Tony in a little spoon position, keeping him in the warm circle of his body. “Enhanced metabolism. Healing, speed, endurance. I eat a lot, too. Val complains constantly.”

“Not enough to sell your bond, though,” Tony noted, snuggling in. “If we’re going to keep sharing, I’m going to need some more blankets. Tell me about her.”

“Val? She’s smarter than she acts,” Bucky said. He leaned his forehead against Tony’s back and waved the lights to dim again. “There was a war. She’s one of th’ survivors. She drinks to forget ‘em. Most of everyone she loved is dead. She told me, once. She was drinkin’ more than usual, had a bad dream. She’s brave, though. Stands up to the Grandmaster. Aren’t many here who do. She washed up here, years ago, fought her way up to freedom. Now she’s trying to challenge him for the championship. That’d be you an’ me. Oh, an’ she’s got a lady friend, comes ‘round once in a while, they get roasted together and make love with alarming frequency.”

“You’re just trying to make me blush, now,” Tony accused sleepily. “Does she... get mad? Throw stuff or, or break things or...?”

“Not s’much,” Bucky said. “Think the door frustrates her. She keeps sayin’ she’s gonna get it fixed. It sticks. Mostly, she sings. And cusses about the Grandmaster. I like her.” Bucky thought about that for a moment. It hadn’t really occurred to him, in a long time, whether he liked anyone. But he did. She was… sassy.

A little shiver ran through Tony’s body, and he seemed to melt, just a bit. “That’s good. She’s--” He yawned. “--hard to read. Was worried she might be like m’dad.”

Bucky pulled him in, smelling his warm, sleepy scent. “Don’t worry,” he said, yawning once. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. Need me a good mechanic.” With that thought, he nuzzled at Tony’s shoulder once, and drifted off again.

Tony woke with a jolt, not sure where he was, and then registered the icy tip of his nose, even if the rest of him was surprisingly warm. The previous day’s events scrolled through his mind in a blur, leaving him half-sick and half-triumphant and entirely overwhelmed. “Oh god,” he whispered. Had he really done all that?

And then woken in the middle of the night to pull a shorting wire from Bucky’s arm and maybe reveal entirely too much about himself? Not his identity, probably, but how best to hurt him, maybe. Tony bit his lip, but Bucky was still holding him protectively close, and Tony thought, if he had to trust someone, it would be Bucky.

But he was still going to get some extra blankets.

Bucky shifted against him, mumbling sleepily, and-- hello, morning wood pushed against the back of Tony’s thigh and Bucky rolled his hips, slow and sensual.

Tony’s breath caught. He had no idea what to do -- he’d been handling his own arousal for years, now, but he’d been carefully watched and strictly chaperoned and none of his near-agemates back in Manhattan had really interested him, that way, anyway -- and he had no idea what to do with someone else’s cock, pressed insistently against his leg.

All he knew was that he wanted to do something about it. His own dick was stirring, filling and firming with each heavy pulse of his blood. He couldn’t deny that he found Bucky interesting and attractive, and maybe that was just the sheer adrenaline of... everything, and the desperate need to bond with someone he could trust, but...

Biting down on his lip, Tony cautiously rocked his hips back, pushing into the heat of Bucky’s body, feeling that hardness against him.

Bucky made a soft, urgent noise, a throaty sort of moan that went straight through Tony, lighting his nerves on fire, and then that mouth was pressed against the back of Tony’s neck, tongue darting out to sample the skin right at the join of his shoulder. His hips rolled with Tony’s, a heavy, desperate rhythm. “Mmmm?”

Tony’s breath left him in a soft groan. “Yes, yes...”

At the sound of him, Bucky stiffened even more noticeably, and then, with a suddenness that took his breath away, Tony found himself on his back, with Bucky practically hovering over him. Misty eyes gazed at him, then-- “Are we awake?”

“I certainly hope so,” Tony said, breath coming faster as his heart sped up. He lifted a hand to brush Bucky’s hair back, skating his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky tipped his face, turning into Tony’s hand, kissing the fingers, then-- “Oh, we are.” He ground down, pushing against Tony’s hips, moaned softly, then, “Are you?” He did it again, rubbing them together with interest. “Stars, you feel good.”

The movement set sparks fizzling under Tony’s skin, more than any touch of his own had ever managed, and he gasped, rutting up against Bucky without even thinking. “Good, yes,” he managed. “Bucky--”

“Sweet, you’re so sweet, look at you--” Bucky murmured, and he nuzzled the side of Tony’s throat, kissing his neck, his jaw, peppering little kisses along his chin, before claiming his mouth. More aware of the way it juddered along his nerves, Tony noted that they were both fuzzy mouthed and sour from sleep before that all washed away as Bucky’s tongue slid into his mouth, flicking over his teeth and along the inside of his cheek.

Tony surrendered to it, and then answered Bucky’s explorations with his own, his tongue sliding along Bucky’s, testing the places where their mouths were sealed together. His hands curled around Bucky’s back, pulling them tightly together. “Bucky, I don’t-- I haven’t-- You’ll have to tell me what to do,” he admitted.

Bucky looked up at him, those beautiful eyes outlined with thick lashed. “Yeah? That-- I like that, you know. That ain’t no one else ever known you, no one’s ever touched you like this. You like it, me kissin’ you? Touching you?” He demonstrated, shifting so he was laying next to Tony instead, leaving his skin rippling with gooseflesh as he traced lines and swirls over Tony’s chest and belly, a teasing curl that got closer to Tony’s groin with each tempting whirl.

Tony shivered and shuddered under those light touches, arching into them eagerly. “I like it. I didn’t think it could feel like this, so...” He shook his head, out of words. “Kiss me again?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, spearing his hand into Tony’s hair, pulling him closer, thumb rubbing at Tony’s ear and came in to kiss and tease at Tony’s mouth. He licked his way into Tony’s mouth, breath a soft puff against Tony’s cheek. The scrape of his stubble against Tony’s chin tingled, sensation drowning every rational thought in Tony’s brain, leaving a restless cry of more, more, in its wake. Tony shivered again, and Bucky grinned at him. “You still cold, doll? Let me see if I c’n warm you up.” He disappeared under the blanket, sliding down to tug up Tony’s undershirt, licking at the skin of Tony’s belly.

Tony gasped, arching up into the touch. “Oh...” He pushed his hands into Bucky’s hair, mindlessly trying to direct that hot mouth where Tony’s body insisted it needed it most. “Bucky, please...” His hips were twisting, lifting, desperate in the search for friction.

Bucky laughed, a soft, amused sound that might have been humiliating -- did Bucky think he was cute? -- except that Bucky traced his finger up the length of Tony’s dick, from balls to crown, pressure over the material of his drawers that he’d worn to sleep in.

Tony let out a needy whine, then clapped his hand over his mouth, glancing toward the wall. Oh, god, how was he supposed to be quiet when Bucky was making him feel like this? “Bucky, Bucky, I need, please, I need...”

“Gonna take care of ever’thing you need,” Bucky told him, and did it again, slowly dragging his hand up, fingers trailing along Tony’s groin, a tease and exquisite torture, more than Tony had ever felt in his life, and still not enough. He wriggled and thrust up against Bucky’s hand, who just pulled it back. “It’s okay, I’ll get ya there, honey. Slow, breathe with it. Know it don’t feel like it right now, but it’ll be better if you take it slow.”

Tony whined again, but sank back down onto the bed, panting, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even tried to jerk off slow, too concerned with taking care of the need of the moment before anyone could suspect what he was up to. The very idea was maddening, a torment, and a delicious thrill up Tony’s spine. He tried to slow his breathing, to match Bucky’s easy pace, but it was next to impossible. It seemed he was one huge mass of heated sensation and aching need.

Bucky grumbled in the back of his throat. “This’d be easier if I hadn’t had t’ blow up my own damn arm,” he complained, then, “well, guess I’ll jus’--” He slid his hand down the front of Tony’s drawers, palm brushing against Tony’s skin, then over the head of his cock, smearing copious amounts of pre-come around. He mouthed at Tony’s chest, pushing Tony’s tee up as he went, until that hot, lush mouth closed on Tony’s nipple, tongue working the sensitive flesh.

Tony writhed, each breath coming out on a moan, the heat building until it seemed he had to be burning up. “Bucky,” he pleaded, “I’m so, so close, I just, oh god...” He shoved his hand over his mouth and bit down to keep from screaming as that heat and pressure exploded, a white burst behind his eyelids as his whole body shivered and shuddered through his climax.

Bucky flicked his tongue over Tony’s nipple again, a scrape of teeth against the pebbled skin, then he pulled back, cupping Tony’s cock and nursing him through the aftershocks until Tony was too sensitive and squirming away. “Ain’t you pretty,” Bucky observed, and when Tony opened his eyes, raised his fingers to his mouth and licked away the evidence of Tony’s spill.

Tony’s cock twitched at that sight, trying valiantly to push through its exhaustion. “You are so damned gorgeous,” Tony murmured, curling up to catch Bucky’s lips with his, kissing again and again, licking the taste of himself out of Bucky’s mouth. “That was so, so fantastic,” he panted between kisses. “I want to, I need to see you come, too, can I-- tell me what you want.”

Bucky kissed him, cuddled him, petting his arm and hair with fondness. It was comfortable, in a way Tony had never thought about, being utterly relaxed with someone else. “We’ll get to it,” Bucky said. “Just catch your breath, honey. I ain’t in a hurry.” Bucky kissed the tip of Tony’s nose, and then slid out of the bed, letting in a draft of cold air.

He rummaged around in a drawer and came back with a few things; a cloth that he used to clean up the rest of Tony’s spend, a bottle of water that he offered over and a small tube. “Just in case,” he said, then crawled back into the bed with Tony. “How do you feel?”

Tony drank a few big swallows of water -- it was almost too cold, just from being in the room -- and flopped back onto the bed with a contented sigh. “I feel great.” He tipped his head, looking at the tube. “What’s that?”

“Slick,” Bucky said. “Keeps everything from rubbin’ too much an’ making it sore.” He rolled onto his back, wordlessly inviting Tony to spread out over him, sharing his body heat. “You-- back in my time, we’d use hand cream, t’ you know, jerk it. This is like that, only… so I don’t hurt you.”

“Oh, lube,” Tony said. He might not have much (any) experience, but it wasn’t like he was entirely lacking in knowledge. “What the heck kind of planet did you come from that didn’t have lube, what--” He eyed Bucky’s face, gauging age. “--twenty, thirty years ago?”

Bucky made a soft noise. “Older than I look,” he said. “A lot older. You might not believe it. When-- I remember th’ first man to walk on our moon. Space travel. All this-- that was a dream and a wish when I was a teenager.”

Tony scoffed. “That’s, like... hundreds of years ago. Almost a thousand. You can’t be more than... thirty-five, tops.”

“Well, I wasn’t awake for all of it,” Bucky said, reasonably. “Cryotube got lost. I guess, in time I been awake and aware, I’m about ninety. Give or take.”

“You don’t look ninety, either,” Tony pointed out. “They had cryo back that far?”

Bucky ran a hand up Tony’s body, from his thigh and up his hip, over his ribs. “They’ve had cryo since the 40’s. The nineteen forties.” He leaned down, kissed Tony’s jaw. “It’s a long, boring story. You don’t want to hear it, an’ I want--” He plucked at Tony’s shirt, strange how he’d not yet managed to get his clothes off. “-- to see you.”

“Uh. Yeah, yeah, I can--” Tony sat up and reached back to pull his shirt off over his head. His nipples promptly tightened into hard nubs in the frigid air, but he was still snuggled up close against Bucky, who was putting off heat like a bonfire. Tony shoved at his pants, getting them the rest of the way off, and kicked them off the bed, spreading his arms in a little “here I am” sort of gesture.

“So damn beautiful,” Bucky said. “Wanna kiss you all over. You feeling okay, not too sensitive anymore?” He illustrated his point by licking over Tony’s nipple, puckered and stiff from the cold air, and it felt good, somehow more than it had before. “Listen to that, you like that.” Tony could feel Bucky’s lips smiling against him, before he practically devoured Tony’s chest, licking and sucking at the one side.

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, twining his fingers in Bucky’s hair and holding on as if for dear life. Each flick of Bucky’s tongue, each delicate drag of teeth, was like a lightning bolt of pure need, shooting from Tony’s chest straight down into his balls. His cock was starting to swell up again, and he rolled his hips without even thinking about it, rubbing against Bucky’s body. “Ohhhh, god, that feels so good,” he said, breath hitching. “Thought... Thought we were going to take care of you next?”

Bucky leaned his chin on Tony’s chest to look up at him. “You bein’ relaxed an’ happy is taking care of me,” he said. “It’s fun, watchin’ you squirm around, listenin’ to the way you hitch your breath in. Ain’t never gonna be this way again, new an’ fresh. Want it to be good for you, want to be good for you, honey. Damn Val for sayin’ what she did. Your first time, it oughta be damn special.”

“It’s been pretty great so far,” Tony said, and it had been a long, long time since he’d felt this uncomplicatedly happy. And that was mostly because of Bucky. He ducked his head to catch Bucky’s mouth in another kiss, because kissing was fantastic, why had he not done more of that before? “Do I get to see you, at least?” he asked when he’d finally been forced to come up for air.

“Look all you like, honey,” Bucky said. “You already seen th’ horrific bits.” He reached for his shoulder, the stump, the scars. There was an expression on his face that Tony wasn’t sure how to read. Resignation, maybe. “And it didn’t scare you off.” He rolled his hips up. “You can help me with these, if you want.”

“I want.” Tony scooted back just enough to hook his fingers under the waistband of the thin shorts that Bucky was sleeping in. “You’re not horrific, not any of you. Hurt, some, but who isn’t? I think--” And whatever he’d been about to say dropped right out of his head as he got Bucky’s clothes off and he could finally see what had been grinding into him since he’d woken up.

Bucky’s cock was thick and long, just slightly curved, heavy and flushed with desire, and it was an odd sort of pride that swelled in Tony’s chest: that was his doing; Bucky wanted him. “Oh, oh wow, you’re... wow.”

Bucky scoffed. “Ain’t that different from yours, honey. Works just the same.” He took Tony’s hand, loose and easy, and let the palm brush down the skin, hotter even than the rest of Bucky’s skin, soft and velvety. The whole thing jumped and twitched under Tony’s fingers, as if it was begging to be touched, wanting his attention.

“No, I know that,” Tony said, but he couldn’t draw his eyes away, fascinated by the feel of it. “I just... it’s a different angle. And I haven’t seen all that many. Not in this state, anyway.” He flushed a little, focusing on what he was doing to Bucky’s dick so he’d have an excuse not to try to meet Bucky’s gaze.

“You can get t’know him, if you want,” Bucky said. “How it feels in your hand, or… you can put your mouth there, if you want. Whatever you want.”

A shiver ran through Tony, just thinking about it. “Yes. That.” He shifted his weight, slithered down Bucky’s body until he was curled into the warm cradle of Bucky’s legs. He hesitated, just for a moment -- what should he do next? What if he messed up? What if Bucky didn’t like it? -- and then huffed at himself impatiently. He nuzzled against that silk-soft skin with his nose and his lips, feeling that heat, breathing in Bucky’s scent, and then licked tentatively, a broad lap from the base nearly to the tip.

“That’s… that’s so sweet,” Bucky said, his breath coming harder, huffing out between his words, like he wasn’t completely calm, or collected. Like Tony had done that, too. It was a strange, heady sensation, a rush of power and exhilaration. And close on the heels of that was a desperate desire to do it right, do it again, make Bucky as wild and crazy with pleasure as Tony had been.

He licked again, and then again, spiraling like Bucky’s cock was an ice cream cone, trying to taste everything, to feel every little bump and ridge, testing, in search of the spots that got the best reactions -- pretty similar to the same spots on Tony, as it turned out, which made it easier. He lapped tentatively at the head, getting the sharp-bitter flavor of precome and a delicious moan.

He glanced up at Bucky’s face and blushed again at the realization that Bucky was watching him intently. He bit back the ridiculous urge to ask if he was doing it right and closed his mouth over the head of Bucky’s cock, dragging his tongue across it and sucking carefully. How hard was too hard?

Bucky’s hand closed on the sheets, tugging like he was trying to hold himself down as his hips rocked in time with Tony’s movements. Bucky shook his head back and forth, long hair getting into his face, eyes closed, mouth open, and he rocked back to expose a gorgeous, vulnerable throat. He said something in a language that Tony didn’t speak, but the tone was familiar enough, a prayer or a curse, but said with reverence.

“Okay, okay, that’s-- oh, god, that’s good, Tony,” Bucky said, but at the same time, he was struggling to sit up. “I… gotta know, if you want me t’ come like that, or, you want to move on, to the next step.” He was breathing hard, body coated with a light shimmer of sweat, steam practically raising off his skin in the cold air.

Well, that was hardly fair. Tony wanted it all, of course. How could he not, when Bucky was so gorgeous, and it was Tony who’d given him that pleasure? But he looked up at Bucky and knew he wanted to give Bucky everything, even if it was just this once. “Show me,” he said. “I want it all.”

Bucky drew him in for a sweet kiss, not heated much at all, just a brush of lip, a flick of tongue. “And I want to give it to you. Want to be the first, the one-- your one. So, I’m gonna talk you through it, a bit, an’ if it don’t sound like something you want any truck with, you just say, all right? We can always do it th’ other way ‘round, if you’d rather. I-- I mean, I ain’t got lots of experience with teachin’, but for me, helped that I, you know, knew what it felt like, before I tried stickin’ it to someone else.”

Tony nodded, doing his best to ignore the blush that wouldn’t go away. “I want you to... Want you in me,” he said. “Definitely, pretty sure, like... like 85 percent.”

“No foul,” Bucky said, spreading his hand wide. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to stick with that. Jus’ tell me, we’ll back it up. I won’t be upset, ‘kay? Promise.” And he actually crossed his heart and then kissed two of his fingers.

The childish gesture made Tony laugh, and eased a knot of tension that he hadn’t even realized had been forming. “Promise,” he agreed. “What, uh, how do you want me?”

“Lay on your back for a bit,” Bucky said, decisely. “Spread your legs, no, not that wide, I ain’t a hippo. Just need a little room to work. Gonna slick you up and work you open. One finger, then two. Get you used to how it feels. See what you like.”

“Okay.” Tony shivered a little in the cold air, but mostly he was burning, aching for Bucky to touch him again.

Bucky picked up the bottle of lube, then looked at it, befuddled. “Well, fuck,” he said. “How ‘bout that. Forgot that I didn’t have two hands. Here, you-- yeah, get the lid off, would ya?” He cupped his hand around the shiny substance that Tony poured into his hand, blew on it. “Warm it up for you. Stuff is chilly half the time anyway, lucky it ain’t frozen, bein’ in here with me, and what would be the fun in that?”

“That... does not sound fun, no,” Tony agreed. He wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable, but mostly just flinching back from the cold sheets. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Shh,” Bucky told him. “I’ll know when you’re ready.” He scowled again at the empty space where his other arm used to be, then leaned in, awkwardly cupping the lube, and kissed Tony, heat, and wanting, his tongue sliding in to taste. The way his tongue flickered against the sensitive inside of Tony’s lip, encouraging him to open his mouth, and then that tongue would move again, tickling at the corner of his lips. Bucky bit him, so light, teeth barely dragging against Tony’s lower lip, stretching it out.

Like all the kissing they’d done before was practice, and this was some sort of encore. Bucky kissed him, and kissed him again, and somewhere in there, slid his hand between Tony’s legs, and one single fingertip brushed along the pucker of his asshole, just a faint touch, but it sent currents straight up his spine; pleasure and weirdness and -- it wasn’t pain, not that, but it was odd.

Tony wiggled a little -- but that just made it stranger. “Oh, oh that’s... that’s different.”

“Yeah, little bit,” Bucky said, and he did it again, just that little brush, but after his hand moved, Tony felt… wet. And the next stroke after that was… more. A brush, but also with a smooth glide to it. Bucky’s fingertip circled the tight pucker that marked Tony’s entrance, and-- weird, but also squirmy. Embarrassing, really, if he had to be honest. Tony’s body spasmed on the next wave, clenching everything up, his thighs, his toes curled, hands balled into fists. “Shhh, easy does it. Here, kiss me again, it’ll help.”

Tony curled up to kiss Bucky, and Bucky drew it out, teasing and coaxing until Tony was swaying into the rhythm of it, losing himself in the slick slide of tongues and mouths and-- Bucky’s finger was in him, he realized suddenly, almost stroking him from the inside. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Bucky said, and he was smiling, soft and looking at him with eyes nearly black. “This okay?” He slid the finger in and out again, pausing as he got almost all the way out to twist around the opening, which shot sunbursts of sensation all up and down Tony’s body. “Looks like part of you is enjoyin’ it, leastways.” And Bucky flicked his gaze down to Tony’s cock, which was more than half hard. Aroused, but not yet urgent about it.

“All of me is enjoying it,” Tony said, though it still felt distinctly odd, but in a good way. “I like it, it feels...” He frowned, trying to put it into words. “Filling? That sounds weird.”

“Stuffed,” Bucky said, apparently agreeing with the assessment. “That’s what I always think. Stuffed full, that sort of… like a good meal and just… letting your body do its thing. Hang on a second, this might… stretch a bit.” Bucky pulled all the way out, and that left him feeling weirdly empty and his hips chased the sensation for a moment without any conscious awareness on his part to move, and then-- more of the slick, wet stuff. Bucky rubbed two fingertips over his hole, and then, slow, almost methodical, he pushed both fingers inside Tony.

Tony’s breath caught and he couldn’t quite let it back out, the stretch becoming a mild burn, not quite painful, but teetering on the edge of it. “Oh, that’s... Fuck, that’s a lot,” he finally gasped, when his lungs refused to hold the air any longer. “Are you, uh. Sure? That I can... I mean, you’re...” Bigger than two fingers, he couldn’t quite say. If only two fingers felt like this, how would he manage Bucky’s cock?

Bucky actually laughed, and that hurt for just a second before Tony realized that Bucky was blushing and laughing, more at himself than Tony. “I promise, it ain’t that big, no matter what you think, babydoll. Here, lift your leg a little, there, that’s it, see if that’s better, an’ just wait, once you relax a little more… then it gets real sweet.”

Tony moved his leg, and shifted it again, and Bucky’s fingers in him just kept pushing at him, even though Bucky wasn’t moving much at all, but it was strange and stretching and-- Tony closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. He’d been through so much worse, and this was, this would feel good, soon. Bucky had said so, and he trusted Bucky’s word, and he wanted to make Bucky feel good, too. With a quiver and a jolt, his body suddenly let go, and that stretch didn’t burn anymore, and that nice full sensation was back. Tony let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, yeah, okay, that’s better, that’s... that’s good.”

“There ya go, yeah, that’s… ahhh, look what I found,” Bucky said, and it was playful and teasing, and then-- something that Bucky touched, deep inside him, responded. Like he had when Bucky stroked his cock for the first time, or the feel of Bucky’s tongue and lips on his nipple. But more, so much more, almost too much more. Pleasure and a sudden, inescapable pulse of desire. “There, that’s nice, right?”

Tony’s eyes had flown wide and he stared at Bucky in shock. “What-- Oh shit, do that again!”

“Yep, that’s the whole plan, doll,” Bucky said, and he worked his fingers inside Tony’s body, pressure and light, brushing sensations that seemed to go straight from Bucky’s fingers, through his balls and right up his dick. “Sometimes, feels so good, you can come just from this. Others, you need a hand to help you along. Which I ain’t got one t’spare at the moment. You can rub it, if you need to, but if you come again, we’re done for the night. I ain’t aimin’ to make you so sore you can’t get out of bed.”

Tony considered that and decided to keep his hand off his dick for now; it felt so good, but he still wanted to see Bucky come. Wanted to be the reason Bucky came. “Later,” he said, and his voice came out breathy, a little hoarse. “Bucky, I want, I want you. Please.”

“Yeah, okay, it’s uh. You know what, let’s swap places, okay? I only for th’ one hand and I don’t want to squash you,” Bucky said. “And uh, you can control the pace, if you’re on top. You don’t have to go any faster than you want, and you can get off as soon as you need to. Okay? Just… gonna take you for a ride. And, you’ll uh, you’ll want more slick. Put it on me, so that’ll… yeah, just like that, oh--” Bucky’s voice spiraled up as they moved around and Tony put a hand on him.

It was even more awkward like this, Tony balanced on top of Bucky’s body, trying to lower himself onto a cock he couldn’t see, that seemed determined to slide away from him every time he tried to push down and back. He finally braced both hands on Bucky’s shoulders and curled his toes into the sheets, and Bucky reached down to steady himself and then-- oh, that burned, and Tony bit his lip hard, looking up at the ceiling and widening his eyes so they wouldn’t tear up.

Just like before, he reminded himself, just have to relax, just have to let it go. Thinking about it did not seem to be helping.

Bucky was probably getting impatient, his own pleasure so close at hand. Tony took a couple of shallow breaths and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tony--” Bucky said, voice soft and easy, as if he wasn’t teetering on the edge of anything. “Hey… you’re okay. We’re good, baby, so good. You don’t gotta go any further, if you don’t want, if it’s too much. We can try again later, or never again. Hey, come on, look at me a minute, yeah?”

Tony managed to look down, and Bucky was looking back up, expression patient and gentle and... and concerned, like he was actually more worried about Tony’s enjoyment than his own. It hit like a blow to the chest, only warm and reassuring instead of cold and painful.

So not like a blow to the chest at all, Tony thought, and hiccupped out a startled laugh. “Sorry,” he managed, and giggled again, helplessly. “I just, it’s...” Another spate of laughter, until he had curled down against Bucky’s chest, unable to stop.

“Nah, I get it. Sex is pretty damn ridiculous,” Bucky said, “an’ here I am, an arm down and not really able t’ help you. Like to sit you right down on my damn dick, I swear to you, I would.” Bucky nuzzled at the top of Tony’s head, breath sifting through the hairs to tickle at his scalp. “It’s okay, really. First time I did it, came all over the girl’s thigh and ‘bout burst into tears, thinkin’ she was gonna hate me forever. She didn’t; she showed me what to do to get her off, an’ it didn’t involve my dick at all.” Bucky wiggled two fingers at him, making a gesture that both meant nothing and seemed to say everything at the same time.

If Tony didn’t know much about sex with another man, he knew even less about sex with a woman. He managed to get his giggling under control, but didn’t move for a moment, just breathing, feeling the heat radiating off Bucky’s skin and enjoying the closeness. He thought... Maybe, possibly, it had done him some good. He felt a little easier, a little calmer, now. “I want to try again,” he said.

He lifted his head and kissed Bucky, melting into it, trying to show how grateful he was for this, for Bucky’s patience and guidance and for making this so, so unbearably sweet. And, yes, awkward, but that seemed okay, too, like the sort of small flaw that made a handmade item more precious than a perfect machined one.

Holding that thought, cradling it close to himself, Tony sat up again and found his angle, and pushed. And there was that stretch, again, but the burn wasn’t so bad, more of an ache, really, like stretching a tight muscle.

Tony sank down farther, feeling Bucky’s thickness filling him, until he realized there was nowhere else to go; he’d taken it all in.

“--oh, god,” Bucky said, short, glottal, voice straining. His whole body was shaking under Tony’s, skin rippling with gooseflesh, and he rolled his hips once, pushing Tony up. He opened his eyes, wide, staring, like he was seeing something precious and perfect, dear and adored. “Yeah, that’s… that’s exactly right, baby. You’re doin’ it.”

And that look, god, what Tony wouldn’t do for that look. He braced his hands on Bucky’s shoulders again, and started moving, slowly. Lifting up and pushing back down, shifting the angle slightly, testing. Somewhere in there, his body gave in to the intrusion, gave way, and even the ache faded into pure pleasure. “Oh god,” Tony groaned. “Bucky, that’s--”

“Jus’ right,” Bucky agreed. “You’re -- so tight, Tony, I don’t think I’ve ever, not like this, never like this. Want you, want you so bad--” Bucky was gasping, his hand opening and closing gently on Tony’s hip as he rolled up just as Tony came down, setting some rhythm in there somewhere, like the steady beat of a drum.

Tony tried to reply, you’ve got me, I’m yours -- but his throat wouldn’t push the sounds out, just a harsh groan as he rocked into Bucky’s rhythm, sensation overwhelming everything else. Another small shift and -- fuck, yes -- he’d found an angle that dragged Bucky’s cock against that place inside him, a little jolt of pleasure that only made everything light up, sweeter and better.

Gasping, he grabbed for his own dick, curling his hand around it and squeezing tight, stripping it mercilessly, chasing sensation toward the finish line, trying to hold out only long enough to pull Bucky over with him.

“There, yeah, there, honey, just like that, you-- oh, you’re so sweet, Tony,” Bucky was babbling, almost senseless, and between words, he was touching as much of Tony as he could reach. “Yeah, that’s… squeeze down, baby, can you do that for me, can you-- oh, oh!”

Tony tried to do what Bucky asked. He wasn’t sure if it actually worked, but Bucky threw his head back, jaw hanging open and throat working as he came, thick pulses inside Tony’s body. Tony closed his eyes and let himself tumble over the edge, too, spilling over his hand onto Bucky’s stomach. “Oh god,” he gasped. “Bucky... god.”

Bucky managed a weak chuckle as Tony practically fell on him. “That was so good, honey,” he said, absently patting Tony’s back and hip. “Now, here’s the not-fun part. I’mma pull out, and you’re gonna find out the hard way that body fluids go from warm and wet to freezin’ and sticky in about point zero two seconds.”

Tony lifted his head just enough to give Bucky a sad, betrayed look. “Why.”

“I didn’t design th’ system, love, I just work with what I got,” Bucky said. “Roll over, this side, an’ I’ll let the blanket cover you up. Get you a washcloth and clean up a bit. Layin’ in the wet spot is not recommended.”

Tony grumbled, but did as Bucky suggested. He pulled the pillow over his head when Bucky got out of bed to get the washcloth. “I don’t want to get up,” he complained.

Bucky brought over a damp washcloth and gently cleaned Tony up, wiping away sweat and semen with a few quick motions. He spread a dry towel over the wet spot to cover it and then climbed back in, bringing his insane body heat with him. “You don’t gotta,” he said. “This is my bed, you c’n stay in it s’long as you want.”

Tony grabbed onto Bucky and snuggled into that warmth with possibly aggressive fervor. “Pretty sure our boss is going to have something to say about that, at some point.”

Bucky pulled the blanket up and nearly over their heads. “She’ll be sleepin’ it off a while,” Bucky pointed out. “We can lounge around most of th’ day, at least.” He nuzzled at Tony’s ear, kissed his jaw. “It’s good, we’re good here--” Bucky blinked a few times, his lashes closing slowly, and he drifted off to sleep.

Tony dozed for a while, but he’d never really slept much, and he was still sort of processing... everything. So eventually he sat up, leaning back against the wall where he could watch Bucky and the door, and pulled up the ‘net connection that his ident allowed. He had an arm to design, after all, assuming he could get his hands on some decent materials.

Which meant he was deep into schematics and engineering better joint solutions when Val slammed the door open. “Boys, we--”

She stopped dead, staring at Tony, her eyes moving from his crazy, sticking up hair, across his shoulders which might possibly have had bite marks on them, to Bucky, still mostly asleep and curled up with his head pillowed on Tony’s thigh.

“Really?” she asked, blinking. “One day. You couldn’t make it one day?”

Tony reached down and lightly brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, feeling a fond smile tugging at his lips. “No, I don’t think we could.”

#winteriron bingo #tonystarkbingo2019 #bingo fills #Tony Stark X Bucky Barnes #lemon

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