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ursuburbanmother · 22 days

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I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Two

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: Hi guys! Back with chapter two!! Thank you for all the love last chapter! You guys are too sweet! I hope you like this chapter as well, although we get a little angsty in this one oops. Also author note at the end!

Word count: 5k.

Find: Part 1

Enjoy!

December 17th, 1970. Still.

Paul Hunham didn’t think his luck could get any worse but then that moron at the Janie Patrick's Girl School had to go make his problems, his. Then at the young lady’s arrival Angus Tully practically had hearts popping out his eyes like those cartoon characters on TV. That would be an issue. An issue he had to deal with at once.

As the boys grumbled and moaned on their way to the infirmary, as if they were the Athenians sent to march to Marathon in 490 BC, he made his way to the kitchen, looking for a certain cook.

“Hello, Mary,” he greets. She sits at her desk with a cigarette between two fingers, writing something down in her notebook.

“Mr. Hunham. I heard you got stuck with babysitting duty this year. How’d you manage that?” Her tone tiptoes on the edge of teasing.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I failed someone who richly deserved it.”

“The Osgood kid? Yeah, he was a real asshole. Rich and dumb. Popular combination around here.”

“It’s a plague. Uh, and you? You’ll be here, too?” God, he hopes she is. He doesn’t think he will be able to survive as the only adult on the school grounds.

To his relief she nods her head, “All by my lonesome. My little sister Peggy and her husband invited me to go visit them in Roxbury, but I feel like it’s too soon. Like Curtis will think that I’m abandoning him, you know. This is the last place my baby and I were together, not including the bus station.”

Paul pursues his lips, unsure of what to say. “Well, maybe you won't be completely alone. How would you feel about letting a female student sleep in the staff common room? We could push some couches together, I'm sure. Make a nice bed that way.”

“Female student? What do you mean?”

“I’m unsure about the exact details, but I have been entrusted by the idiots across the lake with taking care of one of their students.”

“Ahh,” Mary is beginning to understand.

He nods, “Her name is Y/n L/n, I think she and Tully are in cahoots somehow. You should've seen the way he looked at her.”

“Oh no, don't do that though. You can’t have that poor girl sleep on a lumpy couch all break. She needs a bed.”

“I just want this whole ordeal to go smoothly. If I can keep those two as far away as possible, I believe all will be well.”

“Please that Tully boy wouldn't try anything. Sometimes he is the only one to say thank you when we place the food down on the lunch tables.”

Paul mulls it over for a second. “I suppose I could give it a try. Not that I think it is wise.”

Mary smiles slightly, “I know those kids are hard to handle but hold out hope for them. Some trust too. It's not too late yet. Their brains are still moldable or whatever corny crap you teachers say.”

Paul smiles slightly, his attention pulled to the bottle of bourbon on her desk, “You mind if I uh…”

“You want some of that? All right.”

“Thank you.”

“You know this is a necessity,” Mary says as she pours the liquid into a mug for him.

“Oh yes,” for life, love, pain or the next two weeks. Paul understands too well.

…

“Put the bed farther away Angus,” you say, your arms on your hips and you watch him struggle to drag his bed closer to yours.

“Why? Do I smell or something?”

“It's already a stretch to think he might let us sleep in the same room, he's definitely not going to let your bed be that close to mine.”

Huffing he begins to scoot it back to its original place, “Fine.”

Music has started blaring loudly from where Teddy and Jason are bunking in. Park and Ollerman are minding their business in their own space. You are across, what you think will be the place Mr. Hunham will stay in. Your hope is that him having an accessible view will make him more lenient towards you and Angus, despite his earlier warning of having you be on your own.

You situate your lavender near the window and begin to unpack your things. Angus does the same and you can hear his rustling get faster.

“What's wrong?” You ask.

“My…” He trails off. Suddenly he storms off like a man on a mission. You ignore the magazine you were flipping through and let it fall on the floor as you get up to follow him.

You see him head directly towards Kountze. “Where’s my photo?”

“What photo?”

“I think you know what photo, and you stole it.”

“I resent that baseless accusation.”

“Give me my goddamn picture!” Angus shouts.

“Hey man, if you took the photo just give it back,” you plead exasperatedly to Teddy, already tired of his whole innocent act.

“Stay out of it Y/n, it's alright,” Angus assures you and you move back to lean against the doorway. You sort of hope Angus socks him.

Kountze leaps to his feet and stalks towards him, “You need your girlfriend to defend you now? Seriously, what's your problem, Tully? Homesick? Maybe the little boy misses his mommy?”

“Fuck you, Kountze. Leave her out of it. And hey, why are you even here anyway? Where’s your family?”

“We’re renovating our house. It’s all torn up. They’re storing the tools and stuff in my room.” “That’s what they told you? It’s winter, idiot. Nobody renovates their house in the winter. Your parents don’t want you around because you’re a fucking insecure sociopath.”

“Hey, take it easy, guys.”

You can see Angus getting angrier. His shoulders are tense and in a last ditch effort you go up to him and whisper in his ear, “Punch him later. In private. Hunham won’t even hear our reasoning for rooming together. He’ll punish you by punishing me.”

Misery loves company, right? That was the saying at least. In your mind, suffering with Angus was better than the alternative. You didn’t want to spend these two weeks inside a glass case. From what you had seen, Hunham would have no problem in making you sit at your own lunch table or study in a separate classroom. You know that is what Ms. Orchard would have done if she was forced to take in the boys. She would have locked you in your dorm and insisted it was because you would “distract” them.

You can see the gears turning in Angus’s mind. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally nods before turning back to glare at Kountze. “You’re an asshole. I just needed you to know that.”

He turns around to retreat back to the room only to run straight into Mr. Hunhams chest. Angus leaps off and leans his back against the wall. Your own eyes widened, you hadn’t even heard the man's footsteps.

He surveys the room and notes all your disheveledness. Teddy's face looks flushed while Angus is still trying to control his heavy breathing. Everyone is completely silent and too scared to even make a move.

“What is going on here?”

“They weren’t fighting,” Alex squeaked. Mr. Hunham only seems to grow more suspicious. He shifted his sights to you and his eyebrow begins to raise, “They weren’t bothering you were they.”

“No. We were just talking,” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“What about?”

“Hmm?” You hum, straightening up.

“What were you all discussing mere seconds before I barged in on what, I am sure, was a highly intellectual conversation.”

“Shocking Blue,” you blurt out and Hunham turns his head as if asking for clarification. “The band that was on the radio.”

“Yeah, we love Shocking Blue,” Angus nods. The rest of the boys chime in, faking their agreement.

“They’re so good.”

“I listen to them all the time.”

Mr. Hunham continues to look unconvinced. Without a word he walks out, and you all collectively let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, you all stare at each other with giddiness. Like when you're a kid and get away with stealing a cookie from the cooling tray. You let yourself relax but shrivel back up upon the echo of Mr. Hunham's haunting voice, “Mr. Tully, Ms. L/n, in here. NOW.”

You frown, gazing up at Angus, “I think he found the room.”

…

After a stern talking to, Mr. Hunham begrudgingly agreed to let you and Angus sleep in the same room. He took a string of jingle bells that hung from a nearby Christmas decoration and tied it around Angus’s bedpost so that if he dared to move, he would hear it. You two were just fine with that.

Later you were escorted to the large dining hall. Mr. Hunham sat at the head of the table as the rest of you indulged in mindless chatter. You and Angus were on your third round of rock, paper, scissors, competing for nothing, when a lady came in to set down a platter of chicken, potatoes and asparagus.

“Lovely. Thank you, Mary.” the older man says.

You wait for the initial rush of grubby hands and pushing elbows to pass before you serve yourself, when you find that Angus already did it for you. He sets down the plate in front of you and then gets himself a serving of the green vegetable on his own dish.

“Didn’t we already have this for lunch?” Jason asks.

“And it was crappy then,” Teddy says through his eager chewing. You gag at the scene.

“Consider yourselves lucky. During the third Punic campaign, 149-146 B.C., the Romans laid siege to Carthage for three entire years. By the time it ended, the Carthaginians were reduced to eating sand and drinking their own urine. Hence the term punitive.”

The woman from earlier, that you now know is Mary, returns with some water. You give her a passing smile which she returns.

“Mary, maybe you’d, um, maybe you would care to join us,” Hunham stumbles through his words.

Kountze looks up from his food then glances at you with alarm. Like he can't fathom the idea of sitting with the cook.

You think Mary can sense his disdain when you notice her demeanor sour after a glimpse in his direction. “No, I’m all right. Thank you.” She escapes through the kitchen doors.

Teddy pipes up, “I mean, I know she’s sad about her son and everything, but still, she’s getting paid to do a job. And she should do it well, right?”

The chewing and scraping of silverware halts. You and Angus gauge each other's reaction, both of you completely shocked and slightly horrified. That boy for some reason just never knows when to shut up and continues, “But I guess no matter how bad a cook she is, now they can never fire her.”

“Will you shut up!” Mr. Hunham yells loud enough for you to flinch. He slams his fork and knife down. “You have no idea what that woman has… For most people, Mr. Kountze, life is like a henhouse ladder -- shitty and short. You were born lucky. Maybe someday you entitled little degenerates will appreciate that. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, and we will not have done our jobs. Now eat!”

…

You're on your bed and catching up on some reading and soaking in the orange hue that the bedside lamp offers you. The boys are still getting ready for bed, and you were graciously offered the first shift in the showers. You’re waiting for your hair to dry when Angus walks in with his pajamas on, and a towel draped over his shoulders.

“You look very dapper,” You smirk.

“Thank you,” he plops down into his mattress. “You think Walleye is still mad?”

“Probably. I don’t blame him.”

“It made for a pretty awkward evening though.”

“Not one of the worst dinners I ever had. I’d rather endure another night like this than any dinner with my parents.”

“Oh yeah,” he sighs, “Your parents... You never did tell me the reason why you’re here holding over.”

You shuffle around in your bed and bring your blanket up to your neck, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, it's just me now. Tell me. I told you!”

“It's no big reason, just small ones. They didn’t specify. I didn’t want to go home. It's complicated.”

“Okay you just gave like four different excuses right there. What happened? Is it super embarrassing? Did they forget about you or something,” he laughs.

You wince at his words and pray that the world opens up and swallows you whole. Realization dawns on his face, “Oh shit. Did they?”

You nod solemnly and begin picking on the thread of the blanket, trying to make the threading come undone.

“How could they do that? The same assholes who always make a huge deal about RSVPs and invitations. Seriously?”

“It’s alright. I’ll live. I mean what would I have done if I was there? I’d be in my room and waiting for them to drag me out so they could introduce me to people. They’d act like doting parents, ditching me a second later to play blackjack with their friends.”

“I’m sorry. I wish you would have told me, we could’ve… I could have done something.”

You smile, “I didn’t tell you cause I know you. You would’ve cursed them out the minute you had hold of them. Anyways, maybe it was faith to get stranded at Barton.”

“Or bad luck,” he quips, “maybe the universe wants us to die of mundanity together.”

“Either or,” you grin. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let's go to bed.”

Angus nods and spreads his long limbs across the bed exaggeratingly before turning to face the wall. “Whatever you want. Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight,” you go to turn off the lamp, wondering if you're being paranoid in sensing something off in the way he says your name.

…

Day 4 - December 20st, 1970

The last few days had been the same grueling routine. Mr. Hunham would wake you up with the banging of bedpans and you would groan and try to shove yourself deep into your pillows.

“All right, you fetid layabouts,” he would say, “It’s daylight in the swamp. Arise!”

In the quad you were all forced to run laps. You hadn’t anticipated doing exercise, so you were forced to wear some joggers from the lost and found. You had been able to convince him that walking would be better suited for you and your imaginary cramps. His face had completely paled, and he hadn’t even let you finish speaking when he said you walking would be just fine. Men and their immaturity, you think.

When Angus and the rest of the boys would pass by you, he would glare jokingly at you while you would stick your tongue out and wave him goodbye as he flew past you.

During study hall, you would read some more and ignore the ongoing feud between Kountze and Angus. In the span of the last few days, you must have read three entire books. There was a lot of downtime in between recreational time with Mr. Hunham and dinner.

Today you had all decided to walk along the river. You can hear the church bells in the distance signaling the fact that it is the afternoon. Angus is swinging around a branch while Teddy and Jason pass around a football. You steer clear of both. You walk in sync with Alex and Ye-Joon. You’ve taken a liking to them. They remind you of the little sibling you always wanted but never got.

“What about your car?” Angus suggests, “We could take it, go somewhere. Boston maybe.” Jason shakes his head, “Nah, we’d get in so much trouble. Face it. We’re stuck.”

“If we just had some way to get out of here. Just split,” Angus kicks a pile of snow.

“Well, you could put a chopper down right in the Quad.”

“A what?”

“A helicopter, dumb ass,” Teddy snaps, “His old man’s CEO of Pratt & Whitney.”

“Got his own bird,” Jason confirms, “Takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our backyard. Pilot’s name, Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon awes.

“Yeah. Flew up to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me,” he shrugs.

“Flying with presents, like Santa Claus,” Alex comments with glee.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistles and tilts his head for Teddy to “go long.” They play catch, getting farther from the group as they go.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar,” Alex reminisces. You smile sadly at the boy.

“That sounds so nice,” Ye-Joon agrees.

Kountze runs back suddenly and grabs one of Alex’s gloves and throws it into the river.

“What's wrong with you?” You intervene.

“Hey!” Alex says simultaneously.

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, little Mormon,” Teddy laughs, not an ounce of regret at what he just did. You tap Angus’s shoulder as you go trailing after the young boy, “I’m going to go help.”

“It’s gone! My glove’s gone!” Ollerman shouts. You continue searching for it through the clearing.

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose. Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more,” Angus shouts back.

Ollerman looks to be on the verge of tears. He stares down at his hands and starts walking down a snowy ramp. He throws the other glove before you can do anything to stop it. He watches it disappear downstream as you make your own way down.

“Did your mother make you that?”

He nods. “It’s alright. I know where he keeps his wallet. We’ll steal it and buy a new one.”

You manage to bring out a muffled laugh from him. You consider it a win.

…

Angus wakes up in the middle of the night to see you knitting. He gets up from the bed to see your progress.

“Oh hello, grandma,” he scoffs. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Girl scouts before I quit. You guys had a bunch of yarn just rotting behind your auditorium stage. Did you know that?”

“No? Are you making that for the kid?”

“Yeah, I feel bad.”

“That looks like crap,” Angus chuckles as he messes around with the gloves fingers. You swat his hand away.

“I never said I earned the badge. Besides, it's the thought that counts.”

“I’m going to get a glass of water. You want some?”

“No thanks.”

Angus leaves the room, only to return a couple seconds later.

“Ye-Joon is crying,” he whispers. You furrow your eyebrows and get up to follow him. His cries become louder, and you turn the corner to see the poor boy shivering.

“Are you all right?” You ask.

“I had a nightmare,” You crouch down so you can hear him better.

“Don’t worry we get nightmares too. Right Angus?”

“Yeah, I’m always falling. Or drowning.”

“Also, I had an accident,” he weeps.

You motion for Angus to check. He doesn't have to look far.

“Yeah, you did. Shhh. Stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends,” he sobs full-on. You hush him gently.

“You have plenty of time to make friends. You’re like a freshman, right? I would start worrying when you're fifty and living vicariously through your kids.”

“Yeah man. You could have a thousand friends and not like any of them. What would be the point of having them then,” Angus adds.

“We’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right?” You wipe his tears with a tissue from a Kleenex box nearby. “Find a dry spot and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” Park smiles consoled. Before going back to bed you ask him one last thing, “Hey do you like gloves?”

Ye-Joon gives you a quizzical look. …

Day 5 - December 22, 1970

Once again, you’re all studying in silence in a fancy room with portraits of dead white guys on the wall.

Mr. Hunham clears his throat loudly and Jason leans in to mutter in disgust, “Are you kidding me? It’s only eleven and he’s already lit. I can smell the whiskey on him.”

“Can you blame him? It’s freezing in here. It’s fucking Greenland in here,” Angus retorts.

From outside you hear the faint whirring of a machine. Not a car but something else. You all approach the window and spot the helicopter flying above the trees. It lands in the quad just like Jason had said it could. An older man steps out and he looks like one of the men you imagine roam Wall Street.

“He finally caved, the big softie!” Smith exclaims. He all but skips to the door and turns to you all, “Hey, any of you guys like to ski?”

You and Hunham stay behind as the rest go racing after him, filled with hope for what must be the first time in days. He goes to subdue the riot they make as they whoop down the hall, but you stop him by grabbing a hold of the end of his sleeve.

“Uh, sir? If Jason is inviting us, would you have to call our parents?”

“That would be proper protocol, yes.”

“Oh. Is there a way I could stay here then? I never cared for skiing and my parents would say no anyway.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I’d have to ask Woodrup about this first. Come on along,” he clears the path for you.

Grumbling, you find your way to the administrative offices. Hunham, Jason and his father shut themselves in a room. The boys along with Angus all try to listen in on the conversation by pressing their face as close as humanly possible against the glass. You watch from the sideline as Jason gives you guys a thumbs up. The hallway erupts in cheers and a minute later Mr. Hunham steps out with an announcement, “Gentlemen, good news. I was able to reach Dr. Woodrup and your parents. Most of them, anyway.”

Paul glances at Angus and you. Angus expression falters.

As the rest pack, you find refuge in your room. You can, however, hear Angus’s pleads.

“Try calling again. Just one more time. Please.”

“There’s no point. The desk clerk said no one’s answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”

“Excursion,” he repeats.

Mr. Hunham scoffs, “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so. I could be spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.”

“Maybe they’re back by now. Just call again.”

“Okay,” he gives in and marches down the corridor.

Ye-Joon had wished you goodbye a moment ago and now does the same for Angus, “Happy Holidays.”

“Same to you.”

“Take care, Tully.” Smith follows Park, giving him a pitiful pat on the arm.

You catch Alex as he is about to exit. You’ve wrapped the gloves you worked on endless last night in newspapers. “This is for you. Try not to get them stolen by Teddy again. I don’t think my fingers can handle another round of knitting.”

Ollerman smiles genuinely, giving you a hug you didn’t expect. You’re unable to return it as he has your stiff arms completely glued to your side. You follow him out, and Angus scowls in your direction.

“Why aren’t you more upset about this? That was our only way out and we blew it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Did you really want to go skiing with Kountze that badly?”

“No, I wanted to get out of here badly. Your parents seriously didn’t answer either?”

“Um-.”

“Hey, you know what! Maybe Hunham can call them again and they can take us both in!”

“Angus no-,”

“Yeah, come on! Let's go ask,” he tugs at your hand to get you through the corridor.

“No Angus. I don’t want to.”

“What, why?”

You run your hand through your hair, “I asked Mr. Hunham not to ring them.”

“Wait. So, you didn’t even try to leave!”

“No! I thought I was clear the night we talked about why I didn’t want to go back to that house. If they answer they’ll pull the victim card and be all ‘I can’t believe you guys kept my child from me! Who do I sue?’ before coming to fetch me and berating me all the way back.”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything because I could tell you were upset but you could have at least let them know for both our sakes. Then we could have spent the holidays in a hotel in Boston or something! We didn’t have to stay with them.”

“I knew you were off that night!” You curse the way you’ve managed to read him. “Anyways, with what money? To do what?”

“I don’t-, I don’t know… we could have figured it out.”

“I can’t believe you're getting mad at my decision.”

“It’s a pretty selfish one,” his eyes widened like he couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth.

You gasp and hit him harshly at his side. “Ow!” he yelps.

“You’re being an asshole right now. I’ve never been madder at you in my entire life.”

“Really? What about that time I spilled mashed potatoes all over your dress? Your face was beet red,” he mocks.

You go to swat at him again only for him to dodge you. You try once more and fail, almost falling onto the floor but stopping yourself by putting your hand on the nearest wall. If you weren’t so angry this would have reminded you of the times you would wrestle when you were eight. Especially now and the way he holds you back by putting his hand on your forehead to keep you at arm's length. You give up with a huff and you b-line to your room.

“Tell Mr. Hunham I won't be at dinner tonight!”

You hear him groan behind the door you slammed shut and then the sound of his footsteps fading. In your solitude you collapse on the bed, letting out a scream into your pillow. Even though it's muffled, you hope Angus can feel it from where he is. That it reaches him and causes goosebumps to arise all over his stupidly long arms. …

You had skipped out on dinner like you said you would. Although Mr. Hunham had been polite enough to bring a plate down to the infirmary. As he handed it to you, he said lowly, “I’m not sure what that little deviant did, but I’m sure it's related to his foul mood and your absence tonight. Let me know if I can do anything.”

You almost wanted to cry at his politeness. Later he invited you to the kitchen common room and claimed there was a TV there. Considering you had only stared at words on a page for the last few days, you jumped at the offer. You saw Mary there and to your displeasure Angus had been forced to tag along so that Mr. Hunham could supervise him.

Your eyes were glued to the television, not letting Angus’s burning stare get the best of you. They were watching “The Newlywed Game” and drinking from mugs. It was not half-bad. In fact, it was starting to get pretty good to see these couples have their relationship crushed within a thirty-minute runtime with ad breaks in between.

The boy had begun throwing pieces of balled up paper at you and you picked them off your hair and tried your damnedest to not pay him any mind. You could hear him tear a new page from that magazine of his and finally you snapped at him. “Will you stop it? You’re wasting paper.”

“Thank God. You’re talking to me,” he stood straighter in his seat. “Here's the thing, I'm sorry. I should have never said that you were selfish. Cause you’re like, not. You’re honestly the most unselfish person I know.”

“I don’t want your apology right now. I’m watching TV.”

“I just got caught up in the moment is all. The truth is that-.”

“Angus, I said I don’t want to hear it!” You raised your voice loud enough to catch the attention of both Mr. Hunham and Mary.

“Everything alright back there?” Hunham takes the pipe out of his mouth to ask.

You get up, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “Can I be excused. I’m pretty tired.”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” You pick up your discarded book from the nearby coffee table before leaning down and whispering in Angus' ear, “Don't follow me.”

As you stomp away you hear Mary say, “We need to get those two onto this program. Win us a trip to Bermuda.”

Mr. Hunham lets out a suppressed chuckle, embracing it soon after along with Mary. You roll your eyes at the pair and their drunkenness. You’re comforted by the fact that they’ll have a big headache tomorrow. …

You’re shaken at a frantic rate. You went to sleep early but were awoken now by a mischievous looking Angus. He dangles a set of keys right in front of your face.

“What are you doing?” You squint under the harsh glare of the flashlight.

“Inviting you on a night of adventure. Walleye is completely blacked out. He won’t even notice us gone.”

“No thank you,” you turn away from him and drape your blanket over your head. He tugs it back down.

“Come on. Please?”

“I’m still not in the mood. Plus, now I’m tired.”

“Y/n,” he whines.

“If you find a cookie in a pantry somewhere you know what to do,” you murmur, already being lulled back to sleep by the warmth you feel under the covers.

“Y/n,” he says more seriously, “I am sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh. Maybe you had been too harsh. You prop yourself up on your elbows, “It’ll be better tomorrow. We will talk then.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He embraces you tightly in a hug. As he parts away, you two are face to face. You’re able to notice his eyes gleam under the light of the moon. You wonder when his eyes got to be that dark of a brown. Those same eyes flicker to your lips. You stare at him wearily as he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. He walks backwards to leave, his back bumping into a nearby lamp. “Shit. Sorry. Uh, goodnight. Bye.”

You were probably disorientated. Sleep deprived most definitely. Or maybe that secondhand smoke finally got to you. Surely you were just seeing things. Because surely, your best friend hadn’t just looked at you the way songs and books always seemed to describe love.

a/n: Thanks again for reading! Just to clarify some things, obviously Y/n knows about Angus’s dad, but just like in the movie, he doesn’t let it show how much it affects him. That’s why Y/n is unaware of why Boston is such a big deal. Anyways bye :)) until next time. Let me know your thoughts.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully #the holdovers

157 notes · View notes

holy-puckslibrary · 1 month

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sid to a furry friend's rescue!

florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot

parents mentors for the day

chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader

... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)

gif from @littlemessyjessi

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

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4rtificialfolio · 2 months

Text

It’s complicated, my darling - The Prologue

“Ada is an operative in the 1940s from Brighton in England, sent over to New York City to work with the Americans, uncovering secrets and spying on potential suspects. She meets a handsome young man, Nick Folio, on the train into the city; little does she know how that moment would change the trajectory of her life”

Parings: Nick folio X OFC

Word count: 1.4K

Chapter Warnings: brief hinting at death, explicit language

Series master list

(see masterlist for overall warnings, chapter begins below the cut)

Ada

May 19th 1941

New York City, USA

8:23 am

Dear Diary,

Spring is coming any day now, the chill has died off and flowers are beginning to bloom, but I’ll say the air here in America feels a bit thicker when you’re not by the sea. Oh, I miss the seaside, Dad says they closed the beaches back in Brighton last year after Dunkirk, it was too dangerous to keep them open. It’s a shame, our Peggy loved the beach. We used to buy her a 99 and take a walk down the pier watching the seagulls nick a chip out of an unsuspecting victim’s hand. This one time, Peggy laughed so hard she dropped her ice cream and made me and the old man march back down the pier to buy her a new one, just to do the walk up the pier all over again. I would give anything to see her smile again but for now, it’s back to business aye?

Speaking of business, my dick of a boss, John, back in England assigned me a new mission yesterday. Something about money being stolen from one of the precincts in the city? I'm not sure, I haven’t gotten all the details yet but I guess I’ll find out more in today’s briefing at the head office.

Anyway, must be off. My train into the city should be here any minute now and God knows my grumpy sod of a boss will have my head if I’m late to another meeting.

Talk soon.

__________________

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you mind if I sit here? All the other seats are taken”

You avert your eyes from the book you’ve been engrossed in for the past 10 minutes; “The So Blue Marble” by Dorothy B. Hughes, a truly riveting thriller novel. Bookmarking your page, your gaze meets the handsome young chap standing before you.

“Oh yes of course, please, sit down” He’s a rather handsome fellow, clean-shaven with his hair slicked with a side part, perfectly framing his chiselled jaw. Heat flushes across your cheeks and you can’t help but feel a little flustered as he takes a seat in front of you.

“Thank you, Ma’am” He extends his arm for a handshake.

“Please, call me Ada”

“A pleasure, Ada” You can’t help but notice his peculiar accent, it appears to be a southern accent of sorts but you can’t quite place it.

“Is that a southern accent I hear- oh sorry, I didn’t ask your name?”

“Ah no, Maryland although I do get that a lot, and no worries. The name’s Nick but everyone calls me Folio” You tilt your head ever so slightly at the nickname, wondering how that came to be. As if he already knew your next question, he smiles.

“My surname Is Folio, there’s another Nick amongst my friends so over time I just became Folio”

“Aah makes sense. Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Folio” You flash a smile, trying your best not to blush too hard.

“Judging by your accent, you’re from England I assume? What brings you to America, New York City at that?”. It’s the dreaded question you always fear to answer. Although you’re trained to lie, to be deceitful, you can’t help but feel a little guilty each time you respond to that question. It’s not easy to live your life pretending to be someone you’re not, half of the time you��re not even sure what’s real anymore; but that’s the job. Everyone is doing what they can to help the war effort, you included and if that means putting up a facade each day, then so be it.

“My family evacuated from England, we would’ve gone to Canada but my brother is deployed here in the States” You feel your heart drop to your stomach. This isn’t a complete lie; your mother and youngest sister, Mary and Agnes, did evacuate from England, but the ship carrying them to Canada took a devastating blow and ultimately sunk; the total casualties are still unknown. No one knows the whereabouts of your brother, Dennis. You received a telegram in July last year to notify that he was M.I.A when he didn’t return to base with his aircrew. So, no, it wasn’t a complete lie but you have to carry the sadness on your own.

“So, what will a gorgeous lady like you be doing in the city? ” He leans forward on the table, raising his left eyebrow. His words make your heartbeat speed up a million miles an hour. Of course, he doesn’t know the real reason you’re in the city but a little fun can’t hurt, right?

“I’m looking around for a job but most businesses are shut and I’m not first aid trained, so that’s pretty much any job out of the question” Another lie.

“Well, I can’t give you a job but If you ever want some company, please feel free to come down to the 13th precinct. I’d be happy to keep you company” His flirtatious manner doesn’t go unnoticed, nothing overly forward but enough to make your face burn up. A high-pitched whistle blows outside of the train and it isn’t until you see passengers standing up collecting their belongings from the overhead shelves that you realise you’ve reached your destination. You both walk off of the train onto the platform, pushing through the crowd of busybodies.

“Well I must be going, I’ve got some job interviews lined up today. It was lovely meeting you, Folio”

“You too, Ada. Good luck with the interviews, I’m sure you’ll find something soon”. Folio, once again, extends his arm for a handshake. Saying your goodbyes, you make your way along the path towards the north exit gate but your attention is averted as you hear that familiar, not-so-southern, voice.

“I hope you take me up on that offer, Ada!”. He bellows. Turning on your heels, you chuckle thinking about the gorgeously mysterious man you just met.

__________________

“Ah right on time Chapman, makes a change. I was beginning to wonder if that pretty face of yours knew how to tell the time” Alfred, your other male chauvinist pig of a boss, says as you walk into the meeting room.

“Morning Alfred, Sir” Oh how you’d love nothing more than to punch his disgusting, smug face, but you need this job and you need the money, especially if you want to get your dad and Peggy over here in the States.

“As John mentioned to you yesterday, he has assigned you a new mission. The higher-ups believe that someone in the 13th precinct is stealing money from their funding-”

“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but did you say the 13th precinct?” This can’t be possible, surely not?

“For fuck sake Ada, maybe if you spent less time dressing like a whore and more time paying attention you would’ve heard me. Yes, I said the 13th precinct now shut up and listen” Anger rises through your body as he berates you in front of your team, but you take a deep breath, reminding yourself not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Sorry, sir. Please continue”

“As I was saying, you will be tracking one man. We believe he is acting alone, stealing money to put into an offshore account. You will be working at the precinct undercover as an accountant, you will need to keep track of all the money that goes in and out of their accounts. You’ll be given a written brief with more details. Make sure to read it thoroughly after the meeting ends, if that’s even possible for that empty fucking head of yours. We will go over the target’s name and description so everyone is aware of exactly who the suspect is”. Annie, Alfred’s assistant, hands out copies of the brief around the table.

Flipping over the first page, which details the goal of the mission, you see the name of the suspect.

“Fuck” Is all you can mutter out under your breath as you stare at the page, mouth agape in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” There’s no denying the name and image that’s staring right back at you. Is this a sick joke? A punishment for leaving your family behind?

“Billy, can you please read out the suspect’s name and character description” A part of you still hopes that you’re imagining what you’re seeing in front of you.

“Nick Folio, sir”

There’s no such thing as fate, but the universe has a funny way of deciding it for you.

________

AN: i genuinely loved writing this first chapter. I hope you guys will love this story as much as me, please let me know your thoughts! also please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for each chapter :)

reminder my inbox is always open if you’d rather send your thoughts anonymously (no fic requests)

#nick folio #bad omens #bad omens band #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio fluff #nick folio smut #nick folio x ofc #nick folio au #alternate universe #1940s #noah sebastian #nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson #bad omens fic #nick folio fic #fish boy #4rtificialfolio #it’s complicated my darling

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playbucky · 1 year

Text

Love, Honey.

Y/N is a stripper, and Bucky is a Mafia leader along with his friend Steve. When the pair of them come to the business to ask a deal with Natasha, Y/N’s business partner and best friend. A lot of history is being upturned. Characters – Reader, Bucky, Steve, Natasha. Word Count – 2.8k

‘Nat, we gotta do something about Richie.’ You said, pushing the door to your friends office, not noticing the two men lounging in the chair across from the redhead. ‘He’s grop -,’ ‘Y/N.’ Nat said sternly, you looked up making eye contact with her before Nat gestured to the men. You looked at them, smiling before turning back to her. ‘What are we going to do?’ You asked her, she arched an eyebrow smirking. ‘We can help?’ The blonde offered; you shook your head. ‘Thanks but we like to handle it in house.’ You told him, watching his blue eyes shine. ‘You can take care of him.’ Nat said, your head whipped around to her, the curls you had expertly put in your hair early wrapped around our neck. ‘Really?’ You asked hopeful, she snickered. ‘Yeah, let our guests see how the team works.’ She stated, you raised an eyebrow before turning, quickly walking away. You could hear the men’s heavier steps as your heels clicked, feeling their gazes on your back since you were wearing the black pants and matching bra, but had a sheer dress that didn’t leave anything to their imagination. You quickly marched across the busy room, ignoring the stares from the men and few women that watched your quick steps, in the dangerously high heels. ‘Y/N.’ Richie said, stretching his hand out at his sides, Peggy and Maria moved away from him, when they saw Nat a few steps behind you. ‘Richie.’ You said with a smile as you bent over him, keeping your legs straight giving him the perfect view of your cleavage. ‘What have we said about handling the woman?’ You asked, he smiled wider. ‘They like it, they always like being man handled.’ He said cockily, your tutted before standing up, lifting your foot. Resting your toes on the edge of the seat between his spread legs. His rough hand automatically wrapped around your calve. Taking a deep breath you smiled sweetly, reaching out with your opposite hand. Your fingers sliding through his shoulder length, greasy hair as he looked up at you. Grabbing his hair, you watched his pupils dilate before you yanked his head forward. It connected, with a snap, against your knee. ‘You bitch.’ He hissed, pulling away and cupping his, hopefully, broken nose. ‘You touch the girls again, I’ll break your nose then I’ll give your little man,’ you glanced to his crotch, ‘A new hole to pee out of.’ You finished, dropping your foot down onto the ground. ‘Understand?’ You asked him, he nodded before standing up and moving past her, scurrying past everyone else. ‘That was interesting.’ The blonde said, you turned back to them, then turned to the girls. ‘Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you?’ You asked, they shook their heads. ‘Good, take a breath, grab a drink on the house.’ You said, they nodded before slowly walking away. ‘Steve, James, I’d like you to meet, Honey, my -,’ ‘They just saw me threaten a man with my heel, you can tell them my name.’ You stated, Natasha arched an eyebrow. ‘Okay, fellas this is Y/N, my partner.’ Natasha said, the brunette man eyebrows furrowed as the blondes shot up, almost touching his forehead. ‘We were told you don’t have a partner.’ James said, Natasha smiled as she moved around to stand at your side ‘Y/N prefers to stay in the background, half of the money that went into this place is Y/N’s.’ Nat said, both the men looked at you. ‘So why do you dance?’ James asked. ‘Dancing since college, trying to make money but now…’ You told them, looking around the room. ‘Now I, we, help others. Give them better care than your nine to five jobs do.’ You stated, the men arched their eyebrows before nodding. ‘Do you need me to sit in the rest of the meeting?’ You asked, looking at Natasha before you both turned to Steve and James. ‘We want to go into business with you.’ Steve said, you titled your head, surprised at how forward he was. ‘Why?’ You asked, Nat gently whacked your bare arm. ‘What, two leaders come to us and show interest. Last time that happened, he who shall not be named tried to take over.’ Nat commented, James and Steve watched as Y/Ns eyes glazed over. ‘We don’t want to take over.’ James said, you arched an eyebrow. ‘Our plan is to take all your buildings under our name, still working together but we want to protect it.’ He said, both you and Natasha’s eyebrows dropped. ‘Protect?’ You asked, they nodded. ‘We’re aiming to reduce drugs, we know it’s impossible to fully stop it but slow down and help users.’ He explained, holding eye contact with you.

‘Hey doll.’ Bucky said, you didn’t reply to him as you kept your head in the freezer. ‘Doll?’ He asked, stepping closer, ‘What are you doing?’ He continued, reaching out and touched your shoulder. You took a deep breath as you stood up, shutting the door as you turned to him. Keeping an eye shut as you rested the ice pack against it. Bucky’s eyes widened before all emotion dropped from his face. ‘What happened?’ He asked, his hands coming up and cupping your cheeks. ‘I fell -,’ ‘Bullshit.’ ‘Bucky, I’m wearing nine-inch heels.’ You pointed you, lifting a foot up balancing on a heel, unwavering. Just proving his point. ‘And you’ve never fell before.’ He stated. ‘How would you know, you don’t watch my every move.’ You commented. ‘Trust me doll, I’ve watched your since you marched into Nat’s office bitching about a customer.’ He admitted, you scoffed and shook your head. ‘So, you gonna tell me what happened?’ Bucky asked, you shrugged your shoulders. ‘A fall out with one of the girls, I’m fine and it’s been sorted.’ You told him, the corners of your lips curled up. He reached up and cupped your hand carefully pulling it away, you kept the ice bag in your hand before he looked at the bruise. He dropped your hand before gently brushing his finger across it. ‘It’s not that bad.’ He said, you tilted your head forward. ‘I know, I’ll ice it tonight.’ You told him. ‘Oh, there goes my plans of asking you out.’ He commented and chuckled. ‘Bucky, we haven’t left my apartment in the last four days, unless it was for me to come to work.’ You said, he straightened and looked down at you, smiling before stepping closer. ‘Well you certainly haven’t been complaining.’ He replied, you stuck your tongue between your teeth as you tried not to laugh. ‘I need to go. My show starts in five minutes.’ You told him, he nodded as the familiar music of Wanda’s dance filled the building. ‘You look good baby.’ He called out as you walked away, you looked over your shoulder. ‘Always do honey.’ You replied, sending him a wink. ‘Steve.’ You said when you opened the door to reveal the tall blonde. ‘Y/N.’ He greeted you, before he could say anything else you were running down the stairs, still confusing him with the height of the heels. Turning to Bucky, he took in the wide eyes before he chuckled. ‘Damn you are one love sick puppy.’ He commented, Bucky’s eyes snapped to him.

‘Y/N?’ Bucky called out, looking around. ‘Y/N?’ He called again. ‘She’s not here.’ Wanda said, Bucky turned to her watched as she gently touched the cut across her forehead. ‘What do you mean?’ He asked, watching she wiped the blood down the side of her shirt. ‘He took her.’ Wanda told them, Natasha bent down and picked a chair up. ‘Who Wanda?’ Natasha asked. ‘Rumlow. Brock Rumlow.’ Wanda said, Natasha froze fixing the chairs as she whipped her head around to the other redhead. ‘Why would Rumlow want her?’ Bucky asked, Wanda shrugged her shoulders before Bucky turned to Natasha. ‘Nat?’ He asked, she didn’t reply and he stalked over to her.She didn’t back away as Bucky leaned down to her. She refused to make eye contact until he snapped his hand out, grabbing her jaw. ‘Why does that scumbag want her?’ Bucky quizzed, forcing her head back to look him in the eyes. ‘Y/N is his girl, was his girl.’ Natasha managed out, Bucky let go. ‘What do you mean his?’ Bucky asked, anger filling his chest at the thought of the scumbag touching her. ‘They dated about five years ago, she was a dancer at his club and just like you he took a liking to her.’ She pointed out, jabbing a finger into his chest, ‘They dated for a year, she broke it off and left.’ ‘In his brain Y/N is still his and will forever be his.’ Natasha finished, holding eye contact with him. ‘Why aren’t we informed about him?’ Sam asked, Natasha turned to him. ‘He hasn’t been around for two years.’ She told them. ‘Why now?’ Steve asked, Natasha scoffed.‘Because you all showed up, showing your interest in my girls.’ Natasha spat out, angrily fixing the chair before shoving it under the table. ‘Na -,’ ‘No, Y/N said it was a bad idea we discussed and -,’ she breathed out, covering her mouth and nose, gasping. ‘I am not losing her, not to that dickhead.’ She breathed out, ‘Not again.’ Her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed to the ground.

Bringing your crossed legs up the metal chain clinked, resting your chin atop of your knees, you wriggled your bare toes. The cold tiles underneath your bum were creating a chill and causing your bum to go numb, there was a bed across the room, but your refused to sit or even lie in it. ‘Y’know sweetheart it would be easier if you gave in.’ His rough voice filled the room, you tilted your head so you could see the dark eyes looking at you. ‘Rot in hell.’ You spat out, he chuckled.The door was pulled open, you kept your focus on the floor. You flinched with every step, the low heels of his dress shoes echoed around the room. When they stopped, you flicked your gaze up seeing the polished shoes. You clenched your jaw as he crouched down, his hand grabbed your chin and tilted your head back. ‘It’d be a shame if something were to happen to your face.’ He said, you narrowed your eyes at him. ‘Untie me and it’ll be a fair fight.’ You said. ‘Fair?’ Rumlow asked, you nodded once. ‘You’ve always been scared that I could win.’ You told him, he scoffed as his gaze darted to the chain that was attached to your ankle. ‘You so sure about that?’ ‘Untie me.’ You snarled, Rumlow’s lips curled up.

‘Y/N?’ Nat said, you looked at her, the bags under her eyes resembled yours before she quickly crossed the room and wrapped her arms tightly around your shoulders. Pulling you up off the hospital bed. ‘You’re okay.’ Nat breathed out, either to comfort herself or you, but you didn’t care as you grabbed tightly onto her arms. ‘I killed him Nat.’ You breathed out, she pulled away and looked you dead in the eyes. ‘Rumlow?’ She questioned, you brought your lips between your teeth. ‘Yeah.’ You answered. ‘Good on you. Bucky will be pissed he can’t do it.’ She commented, you tensed up slightly and she pulled away. ‘I can’t dance, not for a while.’ You said, ignoring the fact that she brought up Bucky. ‘You aren’t coming to work.’ She said, you shook your head. ‘I can’t be alone.’ ‘Bu -,’ she started, you quickly you shook your head. ‘I’ll stay in the office, I promise.’ You told her, she opened her mouth before nodding, brushing her hand down your head, trying to tame your knotted and messy hair. ‘You’ll need to talk to him eventually.’ Nat said, you lowered your head. ‘I will but I don’t want to see the look of pity he’ll give me.’ You told him, you know what that look could do and it might break you. ‘He’s out in the hall.’ Nat told you, you slumped in the bed. ‘Please, tell him I’m too tired or doctors have to run tests.’ You said, her brows wrinkled as she looked at you before nodding. ‘Okay, but you should know that he didn’t give up, he spent days searching everything he could and nights he followed all the leads.’ Nat told you, you rubbed your lips together. ‘And I’m grateful but I can’t face him just now.’ You told her truthfully. ‘Y/N, what happened with Rumlow last time or even this time will be smothered by the love that man has for you.’ Nat informed you, making the tears run to the surface. ‘I know that, but I can’t face his love when I’m broken on the inside.’ You told her truthfully, touching your chest, catching sight of the raised burns around your wrists, ones that matched your ankles. ‘Okay, okay.’ She said soothingly. ‘I’ll tell him.’ She added, you sniffed loudly but nodded.

‘Y/N?’ Bucky called, you lifted your head. ‘Bucky, what are you doing here?’ You asked, he looked good in the all black suit. ‘You’re better?’ He asked, you could feel yourself shrinking under his intense stare as he took you in. You were wearing mum jeans, the blue fabric hanging loose over your legs as you paired it with trainers and a black long-sleeved top. ‘I am.’ You agreed, he rubbed his lips together as he nodded. ‘What are you doing here?’ You asked him again, tucking your hair behind your ear. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Nat.’ Bucky said, you closed your eyes. ‘So do I.’ You told him, he narrowed his eyes. ‘There isn’t any way she’s double booked us, is there?’ He quizzed, you shook your head before you spotted your red headed friend, reach into the room and pull the door shut. ‘Nat.’ You called out, she managed to give you a wave before shutting the door completely, the lock clicked. ‘Nat?’ You questioned, trying the handle but it wouldn’t budge. ‘I’m not letting either of you out before you make up, none of us can take the pining anymore.’ She commented, you leaned forward and let your head hit the door and sigh. ‘God dammit Nat, we aren’t teenagers.’ You sighed, you heard her laughing before she walked away. ‘How is she meant to hear us if she’s left?’ You asked, pushing yourself away from the door and made your way over to one of the leather chairs. You had noticed that Bucky was now standing in front of the window, his hands tucked in his pockets as he focussed on something outside. You started to drum your fingers on the arm of the chair, before you let out a huff of air and flung your head back and shut your eyes. ‘Why haven’t you talked to me?’ Bucky asked, his voice filling the room. ‘I haven’t had a reason.’ You said, his head dropped. ‘Y/N.’ He said, you opened your eyes and looked at the unit. ‘Bucky?’ ‘You were taken by that man and you don’t even talk about it.’ Bucky said, you shook your head as you took a small step back. ‘Because if I talk about it, it becomes real.’ You spat out, he turned to you, watching as you bounced your leg up and down. ‘That man whether he is dead or alive, has and will haunt me.’ ‘He took everything from me, and I thought I was safe but then he appears back and everything is in a loop.’ You said, rotating your fingers in a circle. ‘I can’t love someone like you, when I am so fucked up in here.’ You told him, moving your fingers to tap the side of your head. ‘You love me?’ He said, his blue eyes widened as he looked at you, you wanted to be annoyed that he only took that from the conversation, but he looked so hopeful. ‘It’s kinda hard not to.’ You glanced at him to see his wide eyes, ‘You are most the populations dream man.’ You added, giving him a smile. ‘No, you love me. Not loved, love.’ He said, you looked away from him but nodded. ‘Yeah, I love you and I can’t stop it.’ ‘Well don’t.’ Bucky said, your eyebrows shot up.‘What?’ You questioned. ‘I love you, I have since well you -,’ He admitted. ‘Marched in and bitched about Richie?’ You asked, he chuckled but shook his head. ‘No, I think it was actually when you broke his nose on your knee.’ He said, head tilting to the side. ‘He had to three stitches.’ You told him proudly, Bucky smiled. ‘I know, Steve and I paid him a visit the next day.’ He informed you, you leaned back. ‘You threatened him?’ You quizzed, he gave you a sheepish smile. ‘Maybe.’ He said slowly, the pink tint taking over his cheeks giving you his answer. ‘How many did you do that to?’ You asked him. ‘I am not disclosing that information.’ He commented, his blue eyes darting to the ground. ‘Bucky?’ You warned, he shook his head.

#bucky barnes x reader #reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #marvel x reader #reader x marvel #marvel imagines #marvel #the winter solider #sebastian stan

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stevetonyweekly · 2 months

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SteveTony Weekly - March 10 - Week 10

I’m late, I’m sorry! Spent all of yesterday in a haze of senior pictures for my kid, and I’m still not sure what day it is--ANYWAY! Here is this week’s reads--enjoy and be sure to drop a comment/kudos for your author!

business affairs by meidui

It’s two years of wanting him the way he hasn’t wanted Emma since their honeymoon to the pearl of the Pacific, eighteen months of Steve slipping into his hotel suite on business trips away from the prying eyes of New York, and twelve months of staying late after the cleaning staff clock out because Steve will ride him behind his desk with the door unlocked.

my thoughts: i’m a sucker for infidelity fics, and this one is just--very soft and tony’s love of steve and conflict with Emma, and the way that he focuses on Steve’s emotions over Emma’s was everything to me.

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club by sara_holmes

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.)

"When Steve brings Bucky back to the tower for the first time, Clint’s first thought is that Tony Stark’s pride and joy is quickly becoming a less of a very tall and expensive ‘fuck you’ in the faces of investors who don’t believe in self-sustaining energy, and more of a superhero rehabilitation center."

Boyfriends, compromises and learning to like oneself.

my thoughts: this is more focused on winterhawk than stevetony but what I LOVED about the stevetony background ship is how it looks at Steve as human, and the weight of juggling Bucky’s recovery and his ongoing relationship with Tony. Everyone of them--Steve, Tony, Bucky and Clint--are flawed and this fic doesn’t flinch away from that, but rather examines it in a real real and lovely way. The scene where Steve is sobbing in Tony’s lap is heartbreaking and beautiful.

The Scars of Your Love by blue_jack

On the day Peggy moved out, Steve stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at all the ragged lines running over his body. He felt like someone had taken a knife to him, slicing every inch open, and he didn’t understand how there wasn’t any blood. He traced one particularly thick scar on his stomach, gritting his teeth against the pain, the memory of the first time he’d brought Peggy over to meet his family and all the teasing that had accompanied it burning through his mind. He couldn’t imagine her marks ever disappearing, and in that moment, he didn’t want them to, didn’t want to ever expose himself to that much hurt again. Once in a lifetime was enough.

my thoughts: oh this was so lovely. The idea of heartbreak causing physical scars was gorgeously executed.

Hot Stuff by sayah1112

Steve is an art major who can’t stop drawing his muse. The problem is his muse…is a stranger he met randomly on the street.

my thoughts: this Tony was so adorable and Steve was so besotted--perfection.

Draw Me by sayah1112

“Draw me like one of your French girls, Cap.”

Tony, Steve thought with cheeks burning a brilliant shade of red that was bright and deep enough to match the shimmering paint of Ironman’s armor, was a little shit.

Such a little shit.

Only Tony could turn a lost bet into a punishment for the winning party.

Steve had won, he thought furiously as his hand moved across the parchment paper, the blunt pads of his fingers dusted with charcoal. His fingers sketched out a form that he knew from memory. That devious curl of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, the way a lock of hair fell across his brow despite his best efforts to keep it tamed. The sharp line of his jaw, strong and willful, the arch of his brow as it lifted in mocking censure. Steve knew every curve and divot of that face from memory. Making this bet a really unnecessary one.

Or that one where Steve edges us all. A quick and dirty one-shot

my thoughts: I’m a sucker for artist Steve. It was delightful.

The Storm by sayah1112

Steve and Tony haven't seen eye to eye in a long time. Once inseparable, the two can no longer stand the sight of each other. But when he gets a call from Natasha telling him that there is something seriously wrong with his ex-lover, Tony rushes out into the wilds of Maine to meet her.

Only...there's a blizzard. And when he finally reaches the cabin, it's not Natasha there waiting for him. But Steve himself.

Crafty Russian.

my thoughts: I super love the drop everything for my ex trope and this is EVERYTHING.

with your own two hands by Thahire

There’s nothing quite like sitting still and letting Tony shave him, careful, precise strokes against his jaw and throat. Nothing quite like carefully washing Tony’s lovely hair while he sits and chatters away about his newest invention.

Steve and Tony take a bath together after a hard day’s work.

my thoughts: 1872 is such a depressing verse for the most part, and this one was very soft and gentle and I loved it.

The One That Got Away by lomku

Steve Rogers wants to go on a coffee date. Maria Hill is out for the enemy’s blood. Tony Stark is arguing with himself about what to do with a certain super-soldier’s advances.

Oh, and the Skrulls are invading. Again.

my thoughts: oh this one. This was a better of a mindfuck and I really loved that because so few of them are. Read it.

Leaves Me Wanting More by lomku

“You’re compromised,” Romanoff tells him one day. Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s swirling the spoon in his coffee cup.

No shit, he thinks. He’s been compromised since he first met Iron Man, all these months ago. He’s been nothing but compromised.

my thoughts: Villain Tony!!! I love villain Tony and Steve being so damn soft for him.

copacetic by starvels (dinosaur)

The man Tony spots across the market square looks just like Sheriff Rogers. When Tony catches up to the man, he moves just like Sheriff Rogers, touches Tony just like Sheriff Rogers, gets spitting mad just like Sheriff Rogers.

The problem is, Sheriff Rogers was murdered 4 months ago.

my thoughts: the 1872 angst I mentioned? Here it is.

wolf like me by starvels (dinosaur)

It's been a busy few days for Steve Rogers: he's been thawed from the Arctic decades after being frozen, battled a villain or two, joined a superhero team called the Avengers, and now been invited to come live at their new base of operations.

There's just one little thing they forgot to mention, and Steve can smell it the second he gets inside the mansion: there's another werewolf who lives inside.

my thoughts: I really love the sense of desperation that starvels conveyed in this and in steve finding someone like himself. It was gorgeous.

Confessions by Neverever

Tony is perfectly okay with his crush on Steve. But then Peter tells him that Steve might be in love with Tony. That can't be right, Tony thinks and needs to find out the true answer.

my thoughts: the oblivious pining is everything. Perfect.

what a way to lose (all of you) by tinystark616

On the night that the Superhuman Registration Act becomes law, Steve shows up in Tony's penthouse.

my thoughts: love this angsty beautiful sad thing.

The Billionaire Hooker's Deceived Artist by tsukinofaerii

During Tony's senior year at MIT, his partying habit finally hit the edge of his parents' patience. When Howard and Maria cut him off from his usual sources of money, he decides to turn to less conventional ones.

my thoughts: This is a reread, but a favorite. Love the identity porn and just how soft both of them are.

#stevetony weekly #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #stony #iron man #captain america #stevetony fic #stony fic #fic rec

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swan-of-sunrise · 1 year

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Sunshine

Summary: Steve pays a visit to the Smithsonian’s new exhibit honoring Captain America, and a little bit of sunshine unexpectedly breaks through his cloudy day.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a candid depiction of depression and its symptoms, and brief depictions of PTSD

A/N: I wanted to start this new one-shot collection off with a look into Steve’s POV, specifically when he meets (Y/N) in the Smithsonian. It was my favorite moment to write in The Winter Soldier and I had so much fun revisiting it from a new perspective! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!

Sunshine March 2014 Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Washington D.C. (Fanfiction Masterlist)

Although it had been over two years since he’d been discovered alive and frozen in time within the wrecked remnants of Schmidt’s plane, Steve Rogers still didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had work, of course; completing missions on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. was familiar, reminiscent of his past and all the work he’d done alongside the SSR as the leader of the 107th tactical team throughout the war. But outside of work, he struggled to find ways to keep himself occupied. The notebook he filled with seventy years of various pop culture references kept him busy but as his understanding of the 21st century grew, so too did the disconnect he felt from the people and places that surrounded him.

So, on a beautiful spring afternoon that others were no doubt spending with their friends and family, Steve found himself sitting alone in the screening room of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum’s ‘Captain America: A Living Legend and Symbol of Courage’ exhibit. The filmed testimonials of various men and women who’d been directly or indirectly impacted by his actions included an emotionally-charged interview of Peggy Carter from the early 1950’s, several years after the creation of S.H.I.E.L.D. and her promotion to its first Director. Her hairstyle was different and her brown eyes had the hardened look of someone who’d seen far too much pain in such a short span of time, but to Steve she looked exactly the same as she had when they’d fought through Schmidt’s mountain fortress together in 1945.

“That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve…Captain Rogers, he fought his way through a Hydra blockade that had pinned our allies down for months.”

Steve remembered the battle, just as he remembered each and every battle before and after. His elevated body temperature and high metabolism kept him from feeling the chill of the blizzard that raged on as he fought, but nothing in the super-soldier serum could keep his body from going numb when he saw the frozen and broken bodies of hundreds of soldiers scattered amongst the snow. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from visualizing the explosions ripping through Panzers and hearing the roaring gunfire ricocheting off his vibranium shield, and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes and refocusing on Peggy.

“He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would…who would become my husband, as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life.”

He looked down at the compass in his hands and studied the black-and-white photograph he’d clipped out of a newspaper back in ‘44. He was happy that Peggy had gotten to live a long and happy life surrounded by loved ones and he made sure to tell her every time he visited her in the nursing home, but he couldn’t help but envy her a little; she’d lived the life he’d always wanted back before he took the serum and became Captain America, but after all he’d seen and done since, he wasn’t even sure what sort of life he wanted to live. He was lost in an unfamiliar world filled with people who believed he should be grateful for a chance at a new life and who didn’t care to know how he truly felt about his situation. It didn’t take him very long to learn that only one thing remained constant after seventy years: the rest of the world only saw Captain America, the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan, and not Steven Grant Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn who hated bullies and who only wanted to do the right thing.

The video continued to play as Steve stood and exited the screening room, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets and bowing his head while he went. The rest of the exhibit was filled with tourists eagerly examining artifacts from his life before and during his time of service, and Steve felt a familiar twinge of discomfort at the sight; it’s like they don’t understand that they belonged to real people and not characters from a story, he thought to himself as he walked past a group of young adults snidely critiquing Dum Dum Dugan’s combat gear displayed on a mannequin along with the rest of the 107th tactical team. There were far fewer people near the display dedicated to Bucky, so Steve gravitated towards it and studied the old photograph of his best friend; he was smiling and there was still a sparkle of life in his eyes, eyes that hadn’t yet seen the brutality of war, the unspeakable horrors concocted by the Nazis and the gruesome torture inflicted on him by Hydra while he was a POW.

Steve’s memories of Bucky and that fateful mission in the Alps were suddenly interrupted when the young woman standing in front of him turned and collided with his chest, dropping her notebook onto the ground and scattering its loose papers across the floor; she immediately knelt and began gathering up the sheets and Steve winced at the accident he’d inadvertently caused. “Sorry! Here, let me help you with that.” He kneeled on the ground before her and assisted her. “I wasn’t paying attention, I’m sorry-”

“I’m the one who should say sorry, I was so wrapped up in writing that I didn’t see…” The young woman’s voice faltered when she looked up from their shared work and her (Y/E/C) eyes widened in recognition. “Steve?”

Steve’s own eyes widened as he finally recalled just where he’d seen the woman before. “(Y/N), right? From yesterday morning?”

(Y/N) nodded. “That’s me.” She took the papers and tucked them inside her well-worn notebook as they stood. “What brings you to the Smithsonian?”

He shrugged and took a moment to adjust the bill of his baseball cap while he thought up a suitable answer. “I had the day off, and I guess I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. What about you?”

“Research,” She answered with a smile as she proudly brandished her notebook. “I’m writing a novel, so I was looking up information on Soviet Cold War-era missiles. Then when I finished with that, I thought I’d also see what all the fuss was about. I actually had another spark of writing inspiration before I smacked into you just now.”

Steve’s brows rose with interest. “You’re a writer? Have I heard of any of your work before?”

“Well, this novel I’m working on is actually my first.” They both stepped aside to let a group of schoolchildren read Bucky’s display. “I’m trying to become a historical fiction novelist, and I chose to write about the Cold War for my first novel.” Steve couldn’t help but admire the brightness in her smile and how the simple gesture illuminated her entire face, so much so that he nearly missed her question. “So, what do you think? Is everything here historically accurate?”

“Pretty much. What do you think of it?”

(Y/N) considered his question for a moment before answering. “I don’t know yet; on one hand, I think it’s great that an exhibit like this exists to educate people, especially children, about history, but part of me can’t stop thinking that it’s also an invasion of privacy.” Taken slightly aback by her reply, Steve frowned in confusion and watched as she gestured towards the many display cases surrounding them. “Like these, for example. These are private sketches of your family and friends that I’m sure you never meant for others to see. And over there, they have your underwear on display, for God’s sake!” A nearby middle-aged couple threw her a disapproving glare at her exclamation and Steve did his best to stifle his chuckle. “I don’t know, I think that they should show more respect when they create exhibits like this, especially if the person they’re about is still alive. You may be Captain America, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a little privacy, too.” The earnestness and underlying indignation in her words of defense took him by surprise, and it wasn’t until her head tilted to the side in curiosity that he registered the small smile playing on his own lips. “What is it?”

“Nothing…you just sound a little different from most of the people I’ve met since coming out of the ice.” Steve looked over at his best friend’s display and awkwardly cleared his throat as he struggled to keep their conversation going. “It’s lucky that I ran into you, actually, I was gonna try and stop by the VA today but I have no idea what the address is.”

“Oh, I’ve got it right here!” She reached into her pocket for her cell phone and began tapping away. “Let me see, where did I-ah, found it! It’s 50 Irving Street Northwest. All you have to do is go down North Capitol-wait, it might be 6th Street instead…and of course, no signal in here…” A small line formed between her brows as she frowned. “Urgh, if I had my car with me, I’d just give you a ride since I’m going there later anyways but Sam took it to work this morning…”

“I could always give you a ride, if you want?” Steve blurted out, praying that he wouldn’t start blushing as she considered his abrupt but sincere offer. “It’d be no trouble at all.”

(Y/N)’s smile brightened her expression and she nodded. “Okay, then. I’m pretty much done here, so just let me know when you wanna leave.”

“Let’s go.” They walked out of the exhibit and Steve snuck a clandestine look at the writer walking beside him; she was undoubtably pretty, with strikingly intelligent (Y/E/C) eyes and lips that seemed perpetually ready to curve into a teasing smile, and just as he’d done the day before when they’d first met by the National Mall, he compared her to sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky. She was vivacious and so full of life – a shining example of a modern 21st century woman – but at the same time, something about the way she talked and carried herself reminded him of a different time. He’d gone on a couple of dates since coming out of the ice but up to that point, the only woman he felt comfortable being around was Natasha, his coworker and occasional mission partner at S.H.I.E.L.D.; with (Y/N), though, he felt unusually at ease and the only discomfort came from the shyness she brought out in him. C’mon, Rogers, there’s nothing scary about just talking to her, he scolded himself before swallowing thickly and speaking up. “So, how far along are you with your novel?”

“I’m actually almost done with it, thank God. Not that I don’t enjoy writing, of course, but some days it feels like I’ve been writing this thing for a decade.” (Y/N) hitched the strap of her messenger bag higher on her shoulder and flashed him a thankful smile as he held the museum’s front door open for her. “Today was my last day of research. All I need to do is finish writing the last few chapters and then I can send them to my publisher for final approval.”

Steve smiled at the enthusiasm he detected in her voice. “Have you already chosen a title?”

“It’s called For Queen and Country, but there’s a funny story about how that came to be. I originally titled it The Détente Paradox, because the novel chronicles how a female MI5 agent discovers a plot to infiltrate and destabilize peace talks between the United States and the U.S.S.R.; my publisher argued that even if American readers knew the English translation, they wouldn’t understand the story from the title alone-”

“The Relaxation Paradox; makes perfect sense to me.” Steve felt himself flush as (Y/N)’s brows rose in surprise. “I, um, speak a little French. Sorry, you were saying?”

She looked impressed as they made their way towards the museum’s parking lot. “The criticism got under my skin and I couldn’t think of anything else until one night, my publisher called me after binge-watching some classic James Bond movies with his wife. In a couple of them, James Bond sometimes says he does the things he does as a spy ‘for Queen and country,’ and-wait, do you know about James Bond?”

“Nope, but I’ll go ahead and add him to the list,” Steve replied as he pulled out his notebook and jotted down the fictional spy’s name.

“So anyway, my publisher convinced me to change the title to For Queen and Country. I’d hate to boost his ego, but it sounds a lot better than anything I thought of.”

Tucking the notebook back into his pocket, Steve scanned the parking lot for any potential threats while he remarked, “In my day, authors usually sent a completed novel to a publisher instead of sending it in separate parts. I guess that’s changed, too?”

“No, that hasn’t changed; this publishing company’s co-owned by one of my old friends from high school who also happens to be the only person I trust to edit my writing. My situation is a little unorthodox, though; to convince his publishing partner to give a first-time novelist like me a chance, he’s been giving him some of my short stories to read. His partner likes them so far, so as long as I keep sending in things that he enjoys he might agree to publish my novel once it’s finished.”

Steve hummed to himself, even more impressed by the writer walking beside him than he already was. “Sounds stressful.”

“Well, it’s not ideal but it makes balancing research and work a little easier, and I’m not about to quit now, not while I’m so close to being published.” (Y/N) shrugged and looked over at him with a kindly smile on her face. “But what about you? What’re you doing to keep busy these days?”

Hastily deciding that (Y/N) didn’t need to know how he spent his free time alternating between visits with his ninety-three year old first love and moping alone in his apartment, Steve replied, “I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Whenever I have some free time I read the internet and go through my list to mark things off. I didn’t have much to do this morning, so I listened to some of the soundtrack from American Graffiti; it’s not what I’m used to, but I liked it. All the songs sound unique from one another.”

The writer’s eyes lit up when he mentioned her music recommendation, and he felt his heart stutter at the beautiful sight. “Right? My mom was born in the sixties so she grew up listening to that type of music. Whenever my brother and I had to help on chore day, she’d put on her old records so that we’d have something fun to listen to while we cleaned the house.” They walked through the parking lot and as they turned down an aisle, Steve subtly checked that they weren’t being followed while an unaware (Y/N) continued to talk. “Sam thinks that music from that era is too cheesy, but this is also the guy who thinks that Marvin Gaye’s better than Jimi Hendrix so what the hell does he know?” He stopped beside his motorcycle and she sucked in a quick breath. “Is this yours?”

“Yep, it’s a Harley-Davidson Street 750. The one back there in the exhibit’s a Harley, too, a modified ’42 WLA Liberator. I’ve always preferred motorcycles to cars, so it was nice to see that they haven’t changed too much over the-” The rest of his sentence died in his throat when he caught sight of the unreadable expression on (Y/N)’s face, and his heart instantly plummeted in his chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you that I didn’t have a car. If you’re not comfortable with-”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle!” (Y/N)’s exclamation took him by surprise, but he managed to return her excited smile with one of his own. “Do you have a spare helmet?” He pulled a helmet out of the bike’s back compartment and tossed his baseball cap into it, trying his best not to think about how cute she looked when she placed the helmet on her head. “Wait, what about yours?”

Steve flashed her a teasing grin. “Super-soldier, remember?” She rolled her eyes as he swung a leg over the bike and sat, giving the empty space behind him a pat before placing his hands back on the handlebars. “Hop on.” She followed his direction with less than perfect grace, doing her best to respect his personal space while also trying her hardest not to fall flat on her face, and Steve bit back a smile as he watched her progress in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be able to hear you over the engine noise, so feel free to give directions as we go. And make sure to hold on tight, okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Chuckling, Steve revved up the engine and backed out of the parking spot; the writer seated behind him predictably panicked at the sudden movement and involuntarily moved her hands from beneath her seat to rest on his waist, causing Steve to blush as he gently took hold of her hands and guided her to wrap her arms around his torso. If he weren’t a super-soldier with heightened abilities, he almost certainly would’ve crashed the motorcycle because of how distracted he found himself by (Y/N)’s presence. He could feel the warmth of her body through his jacket and smell the faint scent of her perfume as she clung onto him and on a wild impulse, he sped up and grinned when she shrieked in delight and tightened her hold on him. True to his word, he heard her give him directions amidst her laughter and much to his disappointment, they reached the VA in under fifteen minutes.

Steve parked the motorcycle in front of the building and switched off the engine before turning in his seat to look at his beaming passenger. “So, how was your first ever motorcycle ride?”

“Amazing!” She held onto his shoulders as she clambered off the bike and removed the helmet. “I might even have to trade in my baby for one!” Steve’s eyes widened at her remark, and she hastily shook her head. “No, no, that’s just my dumb nickname for my Volkswagen Bug! I don’t have an actual baby, of course, and if I did I certainly wouldn’t trade it…um, so yeah, no baby…and no guy, either, in case you were wondering. I’m single, single like a Pringle.” (Y/N) cringed at her own words and dropped her head in her hand to avoid eye-contact. “You can stop my dumb rambling anytime now, Steve…”

Steve’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, it’s not dumb. Entertaining, yeah, but definitely not dumb.”

The writer shot him a glare that would’ve intimidated him if it hadn’t looked so adorable on her. “You know, you’re a lot more of a pain in the ass than the history books make you out to be.”

Just as he was prepared to say something flirtatious, his cell phone chimed with a notification and when he looked to see what it was, his heart sank in his chest and reality came crashing back down on him.

Nurse Alia: Mrs. Carter’s been having a rough day. Might do her some good to see an old familiar face.

Steve tucked his cell phone back into his pocket and looked back up at a confused (Y/N) with an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry but I’ve gotta go, something just came up. I’ll try and make it for the end of the meeting, though.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to let Sam know!” Their fingers brushed as he took the helmet from her and stowed it away, and she gave him a half-hearted wave as he revved the engine and backed out of the parking spot. He returned her wave and sped off down the street, the image of (Y/N) standing by herself on the sidewalk with a befuddled expression on her face burned into his memory while he navigated the streets of D.C. to reach Peggy’s retirement home. But while he drove, he recalled the way his heart lurched when (Y/N) smiled at him, how lovely her laughter sounded as he gave her her first ride on a motorcycle and just how – for the briefest of moments – he hadn’t felt so alone and unseen. Like sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky, he thought to himself once again, resolving to see the writer who uncovered Steve Rogers from beneath the façade of Captain America again as soon as he could.

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

A/N: This was my first time writing from Steve’s POV, so let me know how you liked it so I can decide if I wanna write from his POV in a future one-shot! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, and I hope that you enjoyed it!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Part I)

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Stumblin’ In Book I: “The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345 @crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

#stumblin in #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #peggy carter #director carter #nick fury #director fury #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel cinematic universe

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littlereyofsunlight · 5 months

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Saturday Stork Club, November 2023

Here's the beginning of something from a few years back. I won't be using it for this year's Secret Santa Exchange and I (as usual) ran out of time to cook up something entirely new for this month. Thank you SO MUCH to @bitchymama and @steggyisimmortal for your prompts, I'm absolutely going to work on something incorporating parts of each for the December Stork Club! @steggyfanevents

Steve shook the remnants of the night’s cold, stinging rain out of his overcoat as he entered the SSR base at Brompton Road Station. The cavernous space was as quiet and dim as Steve had ever seen it. All the day’s bustle had died down, though a few clerks shivered at their desks on the overnight shift, barely illuminated by the sallow cast of their individual desk lamps. Two operators kept watch over the wireless, support for an ongoing mission.

Agent Carter’s little office, directly across from Colonel Phillips’s significantly larger one, was off a hallway that led down from the main room, but Steve wasn’t sure if when Peggy’d told him to meet her at headquarters, she expected him to wait out in the hall or to find her. He dawdled, feeling overlarge and awkward in the hushed hall.

While he was still trying to decide if he should sit or seek her out, Peggy marched around the corner with a stack of folders. Her pincurls drooped a bit, her skirt was creased and her red lipstick was fading at the center of her bottom lip. She had a scarf wound around her neck and tucked into the collar of her jacket, fingerless gloves on her hands. Weariness shaded her movements and softened her stance as she delivered some of her files to a colleague’s desk and deposited the rest into a mail cart. It was clear she’d been at work since the early hours of the day. Even cold, tired and disheveled, Steve thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Captain Rogers,” Peggy caught sight of him. “Thank you for coming in.” Her spine straightened and Steve noted she didn’t let any tiredness affect the command in her voice.

“Agent Carter,” he returned her greeting with a small smile and deferential nod of his head. “I appreciate you making time.”

“Well,” she said, “my office is this way.” Peggy flicked her gaze over to one of the desk agents and looked away just as quick.

The agent had his ear cocked towards them, and he’d stopped writing whatever notes he’d been making on the report in front of him. Steve didn’t want Peggy to endure any office gossip on his account, especially not over this meeting. He knew she’d been a target before just from her prior work with him. “I’ll be brief, I’m sure you’d like to get home.”

She gave him a wry smile as she started back to the alcove where her office was. “I’ve a week’s worth of reports to go through still tonight. I don’t imagine I’ll be going anywhere.”

He nodded again, following. “Always more work to do.”

“Indeed.” She shut the door behind him and moved to sit behind her desk while he took up a stack of papers from the other chair in the room and looked around for a spot to set them down. “So, tell me what sort of intel you’re looking for. Your note was rather vague.” Peggy gestured for the papers and, when he’d handed them over, set them on top of a precarious pile behind her.

Steve scratched at the back of his neck. “Er, it’s not about Hydra.”

Peggy regarded him impassively.

“Well, see, Christmas is coming up.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“The fellas, I guess they have too much time on their hands, have all gotten together and organized this secret gift exchange? We each drew a name and exchange presents, but you can’t let the person you got know they’re from you until Christmas.”

Her brows came together quizzically.

“I got Philips.” He shrugged and looked at her, plaintive.

Peggy blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t know what to get him.”

Now she stood up, the better, he supposed, to look down her nose at him. “You want me to tell you what gift to give our commanding officer for the holidays?”

Steve swallowed hard. “I was hoping you might know what he likes. That you could point me in the right direction? All I really know about him is that he doesn’t like me much.”

“He doesn’t like anyone much,” Peggy retorted, placing her hands on the desk. “And he’ll hate this. How does it even work, anyhow, if he hasn’t agreed to participate? Won’t someone else be going without a gift?”

“He is participating. Don’t ask me how, but Dum Dum says it didn’t take much to talk him into it.”

Peggy's answering look spoke volumes.

#saturdaystorkclub #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #my fic #(maybe?) resurrecting this semi-abandoned WIP

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imkittyjustkitty · 2 years

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🌈 — Kitty's Daily Pride Masterlist 2022

prompt list

💌 — Romantic ✉️ — Platonic

Day 1 : (cup)cake decoration — Lily Evans x Reader 💌 (ft. Jegulus, Wolfstar, & Dorlene)

Day 2 : love letter — Jo March x Reader 💌

Day 3 : the night sky — Marlene Mckinnon x Reader 💌

Day 4 : celebration — Marauders + Co. x Reader ✉️ (ft. Dorlene & Marylily)

Day 5 : strength — Peggy Carter x Reader 💌

Day 6 : anniversary — MtF!Lily Evans x FtM!Reader 💌

Day 7 : holding hands — Lily Evans x Reader 💌

Day 8 : (gender) envy — Ethan Green x Bestfriend!Reader ✉️

Day 9 : your favourite trope || Lex Foster x Reader

Day 10 : sleepover — Amy March x Reader 💌

Day 11 : rain — Ethan Green x Bestfriend!Reader (a Bonus/Part 2) ✉️

Day 12 : phone call || Charlotte Sweetly x Reader

Day 13 : wearing each other's clothes || Regulus Black x Reader

Day 14 : choose your own au ! || Marauders (No x Reader)

Day 15 : picnic || Marauders (x Reader?)

Day 16 : first meeting || Mouthface (+ the Dikrats family) x Reader

Day 17 : superhero(es) — Spiderman!Robin Buckley x Reader 💌

Day 18 : fashion show || Lily Evans x Reader

Day 19 : hair || Wolfstar x Reader

Day 20 : future || Sirius Black x Reader

Day 21 : platonic || Hermione Granger x Reader

Day 22 : cosplay/costumes || Lex Foster x Reader

Day 23 : solidarity || Hannah Foster x Reader

Day 24 : wedding || Luna Lovegood x Reader

Day 25 : perfume || Dorcas Meadowes x Reader

Day 26 : mistake || Hannah Foster x Reader

Day 27 : accidentally falling asleep together — Alice Woodward x Reader 💌

Day 28 : party games || Marlene Mckinnon x Reader

Day 29 : movie night || Remus Lupin x Reader

Day 30 : ribbon || Hannah Foster x Reader

(Extra) Day 31 : flowers || Lily Evans x Reader

there's 31 because i'm a fool but it's too late to turn back now

#lily evans x reader #jo march x reader #marlene mckinnon x reader #marauders x reader #little women x reader #peggy carter x reader #agent carter x reader #masterlist #robin buckley x reader #alice woodward x reader #ethan green x reader #amy march x reader

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inafieldofdaisies · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @josephseedismyfather and @simplegenius042 ❤️

This week we're diving in some Leslie and Cal shenanigans, and then stopping by for a visit at the Ryes. ❤️

"So, I see your morning has been going well.", Leslie noted with amusement the second the door of the bar closed behind them. Calahan snorted a laugh as he picked up Zorro and headed towards his truck, "If you count having the woman you like almost walking in on you when you're about to be butt naked…", he shook his head at his companion's raised eyebrow, "What?" Leslie came to a stop by the passenger side door and popped it open for him, "Not a problem I've faced before." "No?" "Were you like… trying to seduce her?", the words left him slowly, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to ask the question. Calahan shot him a wink as he placed Zorro in the seat, "What do you think?" "Probably not… and that it won't even work with her." Tell me about it, chief. "Yeah." The simple but very true statement bounced around his mind as he climbed behind the wheel and tugged at the seat belt with more force than necessary. The pent-up frustration was beginning to get to him, especially when he couldn't imagine taking to bed anyone but her. You're messing with my head, Angel. It's not good. Zorro eyed him as if sensing his souring mood, and Calahan couldn't help but crack a smile, "Feeling like visiting uncle Nick, my boy?"

The slam of the car door cut him off and he watched Leslie settle in the backseat before he muttered, "Sorry." "What for, chief?" "For what I said about Mary May…" Hartley waved him off, turning the key in the ignition, "It was the truth." "I think she likes you." Two pair of blue eyes met in the rearview mirror as Calahan backed away from the Spread Eagle's parking spot, "Yeah?" "She certainly looks at you the way I wished Rina would look at me someday." His confession wasn't all too shocking after how he had spoken about Sabrina the night before with the alcohol loosening his tongue and letting the hurt slip out a little. He must have seen something in Hartley's eyes because he rushed to add, "I'm over that." "Even if you ain't… I'm not judging." Leslie cleared his throat as he shifted his gaze out of his window, "Where are we headed? You said Nick…" "Nick Rye. I have to drop him off some spare parts for his truck since Gus and the boys fled the Garage. Plus, it's always good to check on him and Kim. John has them on his list." Calahan felt the sigh that left his new partner when they passed by a group of cultists rounding up civillians in the back of a van, "He's probably laughing at all of us from his bunker."

"He won't be for long. I promise you that.", he said and hit on the breaks sharply, the screech of the tires making the two Peggies and their hostages look up as he came to a halt behind them. The Eden's gate truck he was driving served its purpose, winning him a couple of extra seconds where they didn't react by reaching out for their weapons, or at least that's what he blamed their inaction on. "Get down, my boy.", was all Hartley shouted before he swung his door open and jumped out with Leslie in toll. "Brother Jo-", one of the Peggies uttered out in confusion, not getting a chance to finish whatever he was about to say thanks to Calahan's fist connecting with his face. Parish took down his buddy as he was reaching for his walkie to call back-up. "Aye, Leslie, see what I mean about using you as decoy?" "Very funny." "It would work. You can straight up march into his bunker and they'd be none the wiser." "Sure, past the first gate. Then I'd be dead." Calahan rolled his eyes as he walked over to the civilians and pulled out his switchblade, "Not if we have the right outfit. Come on, Detective, doesn't your kind love going undercover?" One by one the men and women were freed of their zip ties, muttering quiet thank yous before scrambling down the road towards Falls End. "Stay safe, people.", he called out after their retreating forms.

Leslie released a groan and sent a hateful look at John's billboard ahead of them, "I'm not dressing as John Seed, Calahan." Hartley looked up from the man he was meticulously tying up, "For now." "Ever." "We will see." Seconds later the two Peggies were in the place of the people they were planning on kidnapping: defenceless and restrained in the back of the Eden's Gate marked van. "What do we do with them?", Leslie asked as he slammed the doors shut and secured the lock. "I'm gonna call in my buddy. Oakley's gonna make sure we get whatever information we can out of them. It ain't everyday we get potential alive informants." "Think they know about Sabrina?" Hartley raised the walkie to his mouth, "Doubtful. Come in, Moore. Over." Silence filled the other line but it wasn't long before Oakley Moore's modulated voice broke it, "Rookie. Listenin'." "I have a package for you, just outside Fall's End near the fucker's billboard. Two 'volunteers' for pick-up." A haunting chuckle mixed with the static, "You know how to start my morning just right, buddy. I will be right there. Over and out."

"So… Oakley?" Calahan smirked as he patted Zorro's head before starting the truck, "John's not the only one who can make people talk and spill out their secrets." And Moore was damn good at it, never turning down an opportunity to unleash her anger about the Project going after her grandparents and forcing her to come back to Montana after working as a private military contractor overseas. "Now I'm curious to meet him." He bit back a smile at the incorrect assumption and the chaos it could emerge from it at the introduction. He could almost picture Parish's expression when he inevitably would realize the mistake he had made. It would be priceless. Popcorn worthy even. Oakley would love it too. "Can be arranged. Though, Oakley is someone we need to warn in advance if you don't want to be taken out for good when your pretty face gets mistaken for John Seed's." "I'm starting to think I should shave." Calahan's eyes scanned the road ahead of them, watching out for more targets, "And ruin our plan for infiltration? No." "Your plan.", Leslie corrected him, "That you devised after getting drunk yesterday." "Most of my plans are conconted that way, chief."

Parish pursed his lips, "From all the people you folks had to decide I look like…" "You still ain't gonna admit you're a dead-ringer for good old Johnny?" "Am not." Calahan's fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he turned on the radio and "Oh, John" boomed from the speakers, filling the truck and making Leslie swear out loud. "Oh, Leslie, bold and brave, agree to march over to Johnny's GATEEEE…", Hartley sang over the usual lyrics, meeting Zorro's dark gaze, "He looks like John, right, my boy? Even the universe agrees, Parish." The torture with cult songs didn't proceed much further since he himself couldn't tolerate them, so he switched to his usual station, humming along the song that came on. Leslie's head poked in between the seats as they took the turn, leading up to Nick's property, "Should I prepare myself to be punched in the face or worse upon meeting the Ryes?" "Erm…" "Doesn't sound good." "Nick and John don't get along. Just stay behind me, and you should be fine." "Should?" Calahan shrugged, "I can't predict the future, chief." "And Nick, he's a pilot?", Leslie asked as they went under the gate marked with a "Rye & Sons Aviation" sign. "Yeah. Used to give tours, offer deliveries before everything went to hell. Gray even took Tiny for a visit once, she wouldn't stop talking how uncle Nick promised she'd fly with him next time." "Fuck."

"Yeah.", Hartley cleared his throat, willing for the gut-wrenching feeling that swooped in anytime he thought of Savannah to dissipate, "Everything will be alright." It had to be. He couldn't imagine losing anyone else to the Project. As he pulled into the driveway, the first thing his eyes stopped on was an all-too-familiar crude mark sprayed over the white siding of the Rye's house. "Sinner.", Leslie read out loud, "You weren't kidding about them being on his list." His words were a hopeless statement, and Calahan couldn't help but dread finding the house empty the next time he'd stop by. That the Ryes would vanish like Ms. Darcy and so many others, the numbers only growing since the start of the Reaping. "I'd be damned if he takes them, too.", he muttered darkly as he reached around to let Zorro's out first, who lasted no time to start sniffing around one of his favorite places in the Valley. "Nicky, y'all awake?", Calahan called out as he slammed his door shut, the sound of Leslie's echoing simultaneously, "Stay behind me, chief." "You sure they're here?", Parish asked in a low voice, "What if-" "Nothing's out of place, Leslie. Nick would put up a fight if John's fuckers had stopped by." He couldn't in fact imagine a not-so-friendly visit not leaving behind any traces, not with how much Nick Rye had to protect.

The two watched as the front door swung open and Calahan breathed out a sigh of relief at the confirmation his friend was alright for the time being. Nick took a second to stare at the house's extrerior before descending down the small set of stairs, hollering back, "Rookie" and reached out a hand for Hartley to shake. "I'd ask you to fine the bastard for defacing my property, but ain't the times different now.", he added quickly, noticing for the first time Calahan had brought along company. "Nick. Before-" "Holy fuck.", Nick exclaimed in surprise, his tone making Hartley reach out his hand to stop a potential assault from taking place. Maybe I should let him shave… "I know he looks like a certain someone. But he's far more pleasant, I promise." "Rookie-" "Leslie Parish,", Calahan slipped into his usual introductions, "Nick Rye. Nicky, Les is a friend of Sabrina's. A detective, nonetheless." He could feel Parish cautiously inching closer until he was standing by his side and a hand was offered to Nick in a greeting, "Pleasure to meet you." The man's aviators were doing too good of a job of concealing his eyes and any indication of where the encounter might go. Second ticked by before a smile spread across his face and he grasped Leslie's palm, "Well, if that ain't something I didn't think I'd see. KIM." "What?", a faint voice carried from inside the house. "Come and greet our guests."

"Guests?", Kim's question was accompanied by the creak of door as she peeked outside, then as she noticed the people standing in her driveway she walked over with a hand cradling her very pregnant belly. "Hello there." "Not John Seed." Kim rolled her eyes at Calahan's automatic warning, "Figured that, Rookie. I'd accept the world is ending the day I see you and John in such close promixity." "Kim Rye.", she announced when she turned to Leslie, "Hope my husband here didn't do anything drastic." "Ah, Kim, I was on my best behavior.", Nick argued, looking at Calahan quickly, "Help me a little here, partner." Leslie just gazed between the two in amusement, "No, m'am. Leslie, Leslie Parish, nice to meet you." "Well, aren't you the sweetest. Come on, enough standing around out here.", her eyes darted around the yard until they stopped on Zorro, who was swatting away at a butterfly, "Glad to see you got him out." "My boy bit off a Peggie's finger, Kimmy.", Calahan said proudly as the group climbed onto the porch. "He truly is your kid, Rookie.", Kim replied with a smirk as Nick let out a laugh and asked, "Think our son would hate John and his men as much, baby?" She sent him a glaring stare, "We talked about this already." "Aye, woman, technology ain't always right." "Nick!", Kim called out after his retreating form as he breezed into the house and disappered in the direction of their kitchen. "Won't convince me, until baby Rye is in my arms, Kim.", he shouted back.

Calahan could tell Leslie was doing his hardest to be polite and not chuckle at the exchange as they followed closely behind Kim. "Sit. Sit, you two.", she pointed at the kitched table as she opened the fridge, "Beers? Shit. Or is it too early? Coffee?" Nick nodded, "I will get those, you sit down, too." Calahan watched the two exchange a look, the type that oftentimes filled him with a sense of longing in the recent days and made him wonder if he'd ever have what they had. Jesus. Am I getting old? Is it too late to ask for that beer? Or something stronger… "Thank you.", Leslie muttered as Nick placed a cup of coffee in front of him. "So, a friend of Sabrina's ending up in Hope County-", he started, taking a seat next to Kim and grabbing her hand in his. "Any news?", Kim interjected his small talk attempt, worry slipping into her gaze.

"No.", Calahan hated it was all he had to offer anytime anyone inquired about Sabrina. Nick leaned in, like there was anyone around to overhear, "And Harker… he's positive it was her?" "With John Seed from all people.", Kim shook her head, the same way she had when she first had heard the news, "Why would she even?" "He said so. I showed him a picture, I needed to know for certain." "How reliable is he on Bliss?" "Nick." "What? All I'm saying, is you know how potent that shit is. People have seen Bigfoot on it, for Christ's sake, Kim."

The whole time Leslie sipped his coffee without a word, his frown only growing deeper. "Savannah was with them.", Calahan reminded them with a scowl of his own. "He left us a note to go with his other "we're coming for you next" message, you know." Kim sighed, "Nick." But her appeal didn't stop him from getting up and retrieving a folded piece of paper that he passed over to Calahan. "He really thinks by marking my house, he'd scare me into joining them. Claims he cares for the "three" of us, Rookie. Fuck, we should have left when we had the chance, Kim barely sleeps as is." "We're not leaving. We talked about this, too." "And have him go after our son once he's born? Parade us around like he's doing with Hudson?" His words won another eyeroll from Kim, "Daughter." Calahan stared at the letter, scanning over John's no doubt carefully selected words. The empty reassurances were something the Baptist loved using as a tool, how he had convinced so many to join him: by instilling fear and promising safety, when he himself was the danger.

Nick, The Collapse I talked to you about has started. I know you want to protect YOUR FAMILY. The only way to do this is by joining OUR FAMILY. Our bunkers have everything Kim & Baby Rye will need to survive. There are dozens of expecting mothers and children here already with us. This is my final plea to you. Say YES. John Seed

"Want me to send someone over as back-up, Nicky? Give you two some peace of mind." "I can protect my family, Rookie. Would at any cost. You know that." "I know.", Calahan nodded as he placed the letter back on the table, "But… if you need any help, just say the words." Nick took off his sunglasses, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "Thank you, partner." "Did you two pick out a name yet?", Leslie broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the room, his question making Kim groan out loud while Nick beamed at the in he had unknowingly granted him. "Oh, here we go." "We've been making a list, actually. Agreed each would get 6 names for boy and girl." Calahan just bit back a smile, having heard a version of Nick's name ideas already, but back then the list had been longer.

Leslie gave him a small nod, "I assume John is off the table." "Hell yes.", Nick raised a hand, counting the names as Calahan drummed his fingers on the table for dramatic effect, "So for boy, we have Nick Jr., Nick II, Ace, Pilot, Gunner and Wingman." Parish chuckled, "Naturally." "I, of course, deeply feel like baby Rye would be a boy. But Kim, here, insisted I have back-ups in case it's not…" Kim send her husband a warning look, "Were you not with me at the ultrasound appointment, Nicholas?" "That was on a messy black and white TV screen. You know them things ain't reliable." "We're having a daughter, Leslie. Nick is just still in denial he won't be handing off the business to a son. Breaking a little tradition they had going on." "It's not certain yet.", Nick insisted, "And anyways… if, and that's a huge if, baby Rye turns out to be a girl, I narrowed the names to Nicole, Nicola, Nikita, Nikki, Nicky and Nicoletta." "Cute.", Calahan noted, knowing no matter what name or gender baby Rye had, they would be loved unmeasurably. "Don't encourage him, Rookie, please." "Who do you think helped me with my first list, Kim?" Kim patted his hand, aiming to change the subject away from the name picks, "Ah, Leslie, you know Sabrina was the first person to guess we will be having a girl. Took one look at my belly on her last visit and said how she couldn't wait to meet my daughter. Nicky did his best to convince her her feeling was wrong, but then we went to the ultrasound…" Her revelation made Leslie crack a smile, "Rina's always been intuitive. Our captain hated to see her go, probably hoped if I come to visit her, she'd change her mind and return."

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @strangefable @strafethesesinners @voidika @madparadoxum @florbelles @corvosattano @henbased @aceghosts @adelaidedrubman @jillvalentinesday @cassietrn @clicheantagonist @josephslittledeputy @g0dspeeed @poisonedtruth @purplehairsecretlair @nightbloodbix @thesingularityseries @theelderhazelnut @trench-rot @chazz-anova @euryalex and anyone with something to share ❤️

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thestruidora · 1 year

Text

Misery

Supernatural RPF Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dom/Sub

Category: F/M

Pairings: Jensen Ackles/You, Jensen Ackles/Reader

Summary: You know what time he wakes up and what time he goes to bed, even though he tends to stay awake far later than what it’s healthy for him, but that’ll change soon. You know what’s his favorite dessert and how he takes his coffee. You know he is a stomach sleeper and a light snorer. You know that he loves the rain but is a little scared of thunder. You know everything there is to know about Jensen, you’re his number one fan. But most importantly, you know exactly what is the room number of the hotel he’s staying in for the night, and now he will get to know you.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: This chapter was very hard to write because it was so plot heavy, but don't worry, there's definitely not much plot in the next ones.

Chapter Two

I Will Follow Him

“Ever since he touched my hand I knew that near him I always must be. And nothing can keep him from me. He is my destiny.” — Peggy March

It didn’t start out like this.

It didn’t have to be like this.

But it was the only way. The only way for them to be together.

When she first saw him, it was through a TV screen. Her heart skipped a beat and everything else turned blurry like it didn’t matter anymore. He was gorgeous. His face, and his hair, and his skin, and his smile… He was perfect.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspect. She watched every show, every interview, and every public appearance. He was funny and charismatic. Charming beyond belief.

She gushed about him to her family and friends and went on and on about the day that the two of them would meet and how he would fall in love with her at first sight. But no one paid her any mind, just laughed it off. Called it a schoolgirl crush, which was fitting, since at the time she actually was in school.

And she believed that.

She wholeheartedly believed that it would go away like people said it would. So she had a crush on some celebrity, what’s wrong with that?

But it just grew, and it kept growing.

Every penny, every cent she ever made went down the drain. Merch, collectibles, books, autographed souvenirs… Anything she could get her hands on. And conventions, of course, conventions.

They were the epitome of a fangirl’s dream. Because there he was, right there, no longer a collection of pixels put together to form a virtual image, but the real him, in the flesh.

She’d make sure to get all dolled up for him, but every time he would look right through her, as if she was just any other person in the crowd. She’d go to the Q&As, wait in line for ages to ask her question, which was always directed to him, and he’d always ask her name, every time. She lost count of how many times she introduced herself to him, only for him to forget her in a few months’ time.

Was that what she was to him? Forgettable? Expendable?

Why did he treat her like this? Why did he ignore her time and time again? Couldn’t he see what she saw? Didn’t he know what she knew? That they belonged, that they were meant to be.

But it was fine, she wouldn't hold it against him. He was tired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated. She forgave him, every time, because love shows grace even when it’s faced with indifference.

It would happen, any time now. Their eyes would meet and his heart would skip a beat and everything else would turn blurry for him.

There was no hurry. She could be patient.

She would go on to graduate and start her life and even go out with a few unimportant guys, while he dated his own unimportant girls. And that was okay, because love is persevering even when it’s faced with drawbacks. These were all just delays in their path to each other, and that was perfectly natural.

She could live with that. She could be tolerant.

But what she couldn't deal with was the disrespect. He went out, met some bitch, and got married. He proposed, became engaged, and then tied the knot with a woman that wasn’t her. The audacity!

Was he blind? Was he crazy?

Because that was just too damn much. That crossed the line.

She was waiting for him. She was being fucking accommodating to his fucking stipulations. So what the fuck was that about?

It’s been eight years, eight long insufferable years and nothing has changed. He stayed with someone else. She had thought that, maybe, it would blow over. He would realize what a huge mistake he had made and have the decency to get a divorce. But no, every time she saw him there would be a ring on his finger still.

Something was not right. He clearly needed her help. She couldn't wait for him to make the first move anymore, or it might never come. Y/N knew what had to be done. It was time for her to take control of the situation.

It wouldn't be easy for him to understand, but she had to get him alone with her, if not only for a few weeks. Long enough for him to get to know her just as much as she knew him, for him to realize that they were soulmates. And for that, she was gonna have to implement some unusual methods that could only work if she did what he taught her to do best: be patient.

So she orchestrated, and elaborated, and planned. She planned for months, she dedicated herself to this venture, because it meant the world to her, and soon it would mean the same to him as well. She moved to Canada. She moved to a fucking different country for it. Left behind all she had, started out fresh. That’s how seriously she took this. That’s how far she was willing to go.

It was tough, acclimating to somewhere new, but she took it in stride.

She applied and got a job at a hotel in Montreal. The hotel in Montreal. She remembers so vividly when Hector, the front desk manager, and her soon-to-be supervisor, asked her on her first day, with his heavy french accent so foreign to her ear at the time, why would someone like her choose to be working in a place like this. She was fresh out of college, smart, spoke many languages. Why work in a two-and-a-half-star hotel where the paychecks weren’t even that good?

She couldn't tell him the real reason, of course. So she simply smiled and fed him the same bullshit story she had served to her family and friends; that she wanted to travel, discover herself, have new experiences, broaden her horizons… Crap like that. And he bought it, just like the folks back home had.

Y/N wasn’t aware that she was such a good liar, or that maybe most people are just stupid and unassuming. Either way, she would use it in her favor.

Throughout the time she spent working there, which was almost an entire year, she built connections with her co-workers and the various guests that came and went. She was polite, reserved, and competent. Pleasant with all. Soon her responsibilities grew, but so did the perks of her position. She had networked her way into becoming a very trusted and integral part of the establishment's staff. And in that way, what took place upon the day of Jensen’s arrival and its subsequent events were all part of a masterfully tailored web that Y/N had weaved.

That is, with a couple of bumps in the road, provided that she was definitely not expecting the man to kick a hole through a door, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

On the afternoon his check-in was scheduled, she accessed the booking system and tweaked some of the information so that his name wouldn't show up when searched. She magnetized the keycard lock of his door so that no key could open it. She marked all other available rooms as booked. All in hopes of forcing him to move to the presidential suite, situated on the most secluded floor of the hotel.

But that was asking for too much collaboration from the universe, right? That was too much wishful thinking right there. Because she should’ve predicted that he would decide to act like a real-life superhero and kick the dammed thing in. It was stupid of her to assume that everything would naturally pan out the way it was supposed to. She swears sometimes it feels like the cosmos is conspiring against her for some reason.

Now she’s gonna have to recalculate and that’s alright. Her mom did always tell her that sometimes there’s nothing better than for life to throw a curveball at a person, it helps to keep them on their toes. And Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could readjust. She could improvise.

“Hey, Hector, that guy just left his bags in the middle of the lobby. Should I bring it up to his room?” The bellhop, Antonin, whose name she would never recall if not for the name tag attached to his vest, had come to the front desk with the question right after Jensen had left with his co-stars for dinner.

“It took forever to find that man’s booking, he stood in front of me the whole time saying how much he wanted to get into his room. I manage to find his name in the system, give him his key and he leaves all of his things right here and goes out somewhere! This is why, for the life of me, I can’t understand Americans.” Hector shook his head, gesturing dramatically, his thin, long fingers flailing in his emphatic state, which happened to be his norm.

Y/N was standing by his side behind the computer screen of the front desk, pretending to type something up on the keyboard while listing closely to their exchange.

“You better hurry up and take his luggage to his floor before he comes back and complains about it!” He said to Antonin, who began moving to do it at once, only to be interrupted by an elderly couple that asked him for help with their own bags.

“I can do it.” Y/N said to Hector once he noticed that the bellhop had suddenly become wrapped up in another task right before their eyes, an idea forming in her mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you, young lady, that today is your day off?” Her manager reached in and booped the tip of her nose as one does to a dog or a child, his beautifully painted nails scraping lightly against her skin. “You’re not getting any money from the extra work you’re putting in.” His tone was stern and playful at the same time.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, my liege, that my whole life is this place?” She smiled at him, thinking for a second about how her relationship with Hector had grown from strangers, to colleagues that barely tolerated each other, and finally to close friends. Well, he saw her as a friend, at least. “I have nowhere else to go today, might as well be useful.” She shrugged, as if it was no big deal if he said yes or no to her, even though it was, in fact, a big deal.

The lean and stylish man pondered before giving his response, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he puckered them while in thought.

“Alright, take the bags.” He waved her off, and she promptly came out from behind the desk and went to pick the items off the floor, finding them to be less heavy than what she expected.

“What’s the American guy’s room number again?” She asked nonchalantly, going to the service elevator and pressing the call button.

“666, le nombre de la Bête.” Hector informed her, in a mocking way.

“Scary.” She laughed at him referring to it as the number of the beast, holding in the urge to roll her eyes. As if she would ever allow anything bad to happen to Jensen while in her vicinity, that’d be preposterous.

The elevator arrived and she walked in, but instead of pushing only the specified floor number, she pushed various different buttons as well, making it so the machine would stop at many other floors before getting to the right one, giving her enough time to do what she did next.

She opened his suitcase and his hand luggage, going through his clothes and unfolding and crumpling whatever her hands reached, turning it all into a big mess. Once she was pleased with her handiwork, she closed everything up again, making sure to leave the zippers exactly in the position that she found them in.

Now she had the pretext to hopefully get into his room, and that was at least one less thing to do.

When the elevator finally got to the right floor, she left his things in front of his door, passing a few guests on her way and offering them modest smiles and unpretentious nods, which they returned in kind. That was the usual impression she left on the people that interacted with her, that she was meek and demure, harmless in every possible way. And that’s how she liked it.

She then chose to go down the stairs, walking straight through a short hallway that led to the hotel’s kitchen. She pushed one of the double swinging doors to enter the space. She was met with shiny pots and pans, modern industrial stoves, and wide, open windows that allowed the last rays of light from the sunset to come in. She expected the area to be empty around this time, most of the cooks being on one of the many cigarette breaks that they took throughout the day, except for one.

“Hi, Claire.” She greeted the blonde, pale-faced woman that was busy chopping some greens on the kitchen island prior to Y/N’s entrance.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. What’s up?” The chef rested her sharp knife on the cutting board, her face contorted into a welcoming expression.

“Do you know where we’re keeping the gift baskets?” Y/N tried to appear neutral enough as she inquired, seemingly succeeding by the response she obtained.

“Right over there.” Claire pointed to the shelve on the adjacent wall, numerous baskets lined up on top of it. “Why?”

“It’s for Mrs. Vonesch.” Her fingers tapped on the doorframe, having to quickly contrive a reason for her need for the object.

“That bitch is here again?” Claire’s face soured at the mention of the name.

Mrs. Vonesch was an older and bitter Swiss woman that visited the hotel frequently. She was known for being horribly mean and hateful towards the staff. In her opinion, the bed was always lumpy, the steak was always overcooked, the floor was always dusty, and so on and so forth. But for some reason, she kept coming back.

“Yep.” Y/N sauntered towards the shelve, taking one of her desired artifacts and holding it carefully. “She always books the same room, right? But I think I screwed up or something, ‘cause she came to check-in a week ago and there was already some other guest in there, and she threw a fit.” None of that was true, only the part about Mrs. Vonesch having arrived a week prior, but what was Claire gonna do? Fact check?

“I can’t stand that lady, I swear to God.” The blonde shook her head, going back to her fastidious chopping.

“Oh, me neither.” Y/N began to move ever so slightly towards the exit, already machinating her next moves like an action movie sequence. “By the way, why would someone from Switzerland want to come here for vacation? Like, I would think that anyone that lives somewhere that cold would prefer to go to a warm place in the winter.”

“She probably combusts when in contact with the sun, like the blood-sucking vampire that she is.” Claire joked with a vivaciousness that made it almost sound like she truly believed her own words, and Y/N reacted by laughing openly.

“Anyway, it’s the last day of her stay so I’ma bring this basket to her, and be all nice and sweet, and apologize. Hopefully, she won’t give us a bad review like she did last year.” Her free hand was pushing the door open to leave, doing her best to make it look like she wasn't in a hurry.

“Good luck, girl.” Claire waved her off.

“Thanks.” She says and only then walks away from the kitchen.

She proceeds to take the long way around the premise of the building, avoiding being seen as well as she could. She was on a mission, her goal to remain undetected. Finally arriving at her destination, the staff sleeping quarters, Y/N felt that she was methodically approaching her eventual objective.

Upon reaching her room, she retrieved the keychain she always kept with her from her pocket and used one of its keys to open the door.

Her room was simple, with plain white walls contrasting the dark-colored floor. There was not much in terms of decoration, since there was none. She only had one tiny window that barely provided any ventilation, but then again, when one has already worked the whole day from the top of the morning all the way to the end of the night, one ends up not giving a shit about fresh air.

Her small single bed was one of the only pieces of furniture in the space, apart from the dresser that also doubled as her closet. She closed and locked the door behind her and went to said dresser, rested the gift basket on top of it, and used another key from the same keychain to open the lock she had put into the bottom drawer. Inside, there was a plethora of Jensen Ackles paraphernalia, a super fan professional kit. Among the miscellaneous articles, she found the packet of sealed beef jerky that had been previously laced with potent sedatives and took it out of the drawer.

Carefully untying the bow that was secured around the plastic wrapping of the basket, she places the jerky between the other goods, and it fits in an inconspicuous manner as though it always belonged there. She ties it all back together, making sure to leave it just as it was before, without any signs of interference. Knowing how much he loves the salty snack and how rarely he gets to eat it, she’s sure he’ll take the bait.

After all of those preparations, she went to bed that night with the absolute understanding that things would go her way for the day to come. That Jensen would get back to the hotel and discover that his key didn’t work, be offered the presidential suite, and accept it. Once he got back from the convention, she would go to him, introduce herself for the last time, present to him a welcome gift as a first-time guest, and offer to rearrange his clearly messy bags.

With a bit of luck, it would all come true, but nothing ever did come easy to her, did it?

He made a massive hole in the door and was able to get inside his room, forcing her to find a way to work around that. Which she did, but couldn't he just act like a normal person and spare her the extra hassle? Damn.

But the end result was all the same. He did accept the gift basket, and he did let her in. Now, she has him at her fingertips, literally, as she sits by his side on the bed, where he lies unconscious.

Y/N can’t believe how breathtaking he really is. There’s no retouching, no filter, no concealer, but he’s still mesmerizingly good-looking.

His eyes are closed, and his facial expression is relaxed in his state of deep sleep. She runs the pads of her fingers against his smooth skin till the point where it reaches his growing beard and the texture becomes rough to the touch. She can see so distinctively now how the hair on his head is darker than that of his eyelashes, which are a much lighter shade of blonde. She contours the outline of his lips that, even when he’s passed out, remain pouting.

It is not fair. How can she help herself from wanting him so much when he’s that handsome? How can anyone blame her for needing him all to herself?

Snapping out of the trance that is admiring him, she gets back to the task at hand. She goes to his phone on top of the nightstand and unplugs it from the charger, taking his hand in hers and using the fingerprint of his index finger to unlock the device. Opening the messaging app, she types up a text to his wife, having to fight the urge to cringe when the woman’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hey, honey. Just wanted to let you know that Jared and Misha came over and invited me to go out to see a bit of the city. I thought it might be good to have a fun night out and clear my mind. Probably gonna wake up late tomorrow, though. Love you.’

Having to write the last words stings, but Y/N does it anyway, sending the text and then locking it again, knowing that this step will be crucial in order to buy her more time. The longer people spend not wondering about Jensen’s whereabouts the better.

She shoves the phone in her pocket and grabs the almost fully empty packet of beef jerky and puts it back in the gift basket, taking it with her as she exits the room. In the corridor, she finds a garbage can and sticks the basket in it, leaving it there to be thrown away by the cleaning crew.

She walks down the stairs once more and arrives at the lobby right on time, without a minute to spare. Mrs. Vonesch was just done checking out and was rudely instructing Antonin on how to properly carry her many bags and suitcases to her cab.

“I can help you with that, ma’am.” Y/N rushes over to Mrs. Vonesch and takes the one bag that Antonin couldn't carry from her hands, finding it to be surprisingly heavy.

The grey-haired old lady scans Y/N up and down and lets out a relieved huff.

“Finally someone that steps in. I swear that this place’s customer service gets worse every year.” Her thick Swiss accent made her tone even more cutting as she began to walk ahead to enter the car that was going to take her to the airport.

Y/N moved at a shorter pace, allowing Antonin to get in front of her. The poor bellhop did his very best not to step over his own feet as he tried to balance the countless amount of luggage that he carried in his arms, the taxi driver jumping out of his seat to help him fit it all in the trunk.

Utilizing the commotion in her favor, Y/N unzipped Mrs. Vonesch’s bag and found it full of travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, as well as anything that is usually stocked in the guest’s mini fridge. Not having the time or the will to do anything about that, she pulled Jensen’s phone out of her pocket and stuffed it inside the bag, zipping it back closed in a single fluid motion. That way, if anyone tries to track his location through the device, it will point to somewhere all the way in Switzerland.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Antonin says to her after she gives him the hand luggage, the last item to be put in the cab’s trunk, which was stuffed so full that a lot of elbow grease had to be used just to close it.

“You’re welcome.” She responds with a kind nod and watches as the taxi driver gets back in his car and turns on the engine. Y/N leans down to see into the backseat, where Mrs. Vonesch is seated with her head to the opposite window. “Farewell, madame. We look forward to your next stay.” That was actually true, since she was not going to be there to deal with it anymore, but no one else but her knew that, yet.

The old lady rudely waves Y/N off in a flippant gesture and doesn’t say another word, doesn’t even turn to give her a single glance, and soon the cab drives off, leaving both her and Antonin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did she even give you a tip?” She asks the bellhop.

“What do you think?” He scoffs and then shrugs, walking away.

The young woman takes a second to wrap her head around just how shitty her job has been in that place, but only a second, because she’s leaving very soon. Matter fact, right now.

She goes to her bedroom again, but this time she doesn’t intend on ever coming back. She pulls her suitcase from under her tiny bed and puts it on top of her thin mattress, opening the case as wide as possible and beginning to take all of her belongings from the drawers in her dresser and packing it up. Once it is done, she zips it shut and rests its wheels on the floor so that she can make the bed. She runs her hands through the sheets and flattens them, getting rid of any creases on the fabric.

Taking a final look around she makes sure that there are no traces of her presence left behind in the space, and then begins to move towards the small rectangular mirror that hangs on one of the walls. She inhales deeply and her eyes start to water more and more as she stares at her own reflection, dense tears taking form and finally dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

After a couple of minutes, her face is red and puffy, and that’s when she takes her suitcase and drags it out of the room, hurried steps taking her to the lobby.

“Hector, Hector!” She frantically calls out to him, voice breaking in between her crying.

Her supervisor turns to look at her, shocked at her state, as well as her other colleagues and all the guests on the floor.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, sir.” Hector says and hangs up the phone call he was taking at reception. “What happened, what’s wrong?” He comes out from behind the front desk to examine Y/N more closely.

“My mom, it’s- it’s my mom!” Her co-workers begin to gather around her, never once having seen her so emotional. “I just got a call from my dad and she’s sick!”

“Sick how?” Claire’s voice sounds by the left side of her, concern clear in her features.

“I don’t know, but it’s very bad and she’s at the hospital and I think she might die.” Y/N hears gasps all around her and Hector’s hands hold her by the shoulders.

“No, that’s not going to happen.” He says in an attempt to calm her down and the people next to them murmur in agreement.

“I need to go to her. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to leave like this, but I need to be with her.” Her sentence comes out rushed and choked up.

“Y/N, this is your mother you’re talking about, of course you want to go see her. But it’s so dark out, you should leave tomorrow.” The man’s french accent becomes even more prevalent with the nervousness of the situation.

“No, I can’t wait, I’m gonna go to the airport and take the first flight home.” Y/N declares, determined even amidst sniffles.

“Are you sure?” His fingers wipe at her tears that continue to fall down.

“Yes.” She nods vehemently.

“Listen, if that’s what you wanna do, that’s completely fine. We’ll miss you and you’ll forever be welcome here.” He wraps her in his arms in a tight hug.

“Thank you, for everything.” She hugs him right back and whispers in his ear before taking a step back.

Her fellow workers move in and take turns giving her more hugs and words of encouragement, the whole process taking way too long for her comfort, but she plays it like it all means the world to her.

They walk her to her car, the minivan in the staff’s parking lot. Antonin takes her suitcase from her hand, ignoring her protests to do it by herself. He helps her put it in the car and she thanks him for his kindness.

She then gets in the driver’s seat and waves goodbye to the group that had formed by the side of her vehicle, some of them even shedding tears of their own. It would be quite moving if she did feel anything other than contempt for those people.

“I love you guys, bye!” Is the last thing she says to them, feet pressing on the gas pedal as she drives away.

In the review mirror, she can see them lingering there until her car turns on the street corner and she contains her laugh before realizing that she doesn’t have to, letting it out. She shakes with laughter, previous tears drying on her skin. She couldn't believe that it worked, that they bought it. Maybe after all this is over she can talk to Jensen to get into acting, ‘cause she is good.

The thought of Jensen alone in that room, out cold from the megadose of sedatives she had given him, flashes across her mind and her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

She makes a U-turn back to the hotel, parking in front of the loading dock where the produce, bedding, drinks, equipment, among other things tend to come in and out of. She opens the backpack atop the passenger seat and takes out a room maid's uniform along with a dust mask, letting out a long sigh at knowing that she’s almost there, she’s almost at the finish line. She removes her clothes and changes into the uniform, putting on the dust mask and fixing her hair up in a bun, all so she won’t be recognized.

She gets out of the car and looks around, not a single soul roaming the area. The dark cloak of the night aids her while she opens the back of her minivan, proceeding to pull down the wheelchair ramp. With it all set, she goes back inside the building through the dock’s entrance, taking a big laundry cart with her on the way up to room 666. She passes many familiar faces but none of them pay her no mind in her disguise.

Once she’s inside the room though, is when the real tough part takes place. She looks at him, spread out in bed, lightly snoring, and then looks at the laundry cart.

“Fuck my life.” She murmurs underneath the mask that covers her mouth and nose.

She’s gonna have to put him in the cart. Will she be able to move him? Will he even fit?

She moves close to him, calculating how she’s going to do this, exactly. Maybe she should have brought a paddle or something, you know, to use as a lever.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I think there’s only one way for me to do this.” She whispers to him, receiving nothing but silence in return.

Y/N starts to carefully pull him towards the end of the bed, one limb at a time. And not surprisingly, it’s a workout. He’s heavy and really not cooperating, letting out soft sounds of discontent every time she repositions him. After his whole body is at thevery edge of the mattress, she places the cart against it and exhales due to the exertion.

Did she really have to fall madly in love with such a big guy? The man is 6’1 with broad shoulders and toned muscles, but he’s still known as the ‘short one’, go figure.

“This might hurt a little bit.” Another whisper, and she gives him a final pull, causing him to fall inside the cart with a dull thud.

Half his legs hang outside the container and she has to fold him in half so that all of him will fit. He groans in his sleep and she mentally tells him to suck it up, they are almost home now.

She grabs a handful of heavy blankets from the cabinet near the bathroom and throws them on top of him, covering him entirely. Feeling relieved that the worst was over, she gets on with pushing the laundry cart out into the hallway, to the service elevator, and ultimately outside to the loading dock where her car is parked. Making use of the ramp she had attached to her minivan, she wheels him up onto the back of the vehicle. She gathers the ramp and shuts the rear doors, climbing into the driver’s seat once more, only this time, he’s with her.

Then, she drives, for hours, taking him far away. To a cabin in the snowy mountains of Canada, where she’s got it all planned out. Where he awakes, tied securely to a chair.

“Wh- what?” It’s the first word he’s able to form, eyes adjusting to the low light of a strange room. He moves to get up and finds himself stuck, but he tries not to panic. “What’s going on?” He’s so confused. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He remembers the convention, going to his room, getting in the shower before bed, and then… A knock, but not much else.

This doesn’t feel right. His mouth is dry and his brain is hazy. He attempts to move one more time and he can’t, his heartbeat picks up and he starts to pant. This isn’t funny, whatever it is. He gulps, suddenly out of breath and hearing a ringing in his ears. There’s sweat forming on his forehead and he begins to thrash, only a thought in mind, that he needs to get out. He needs to run. He needs to break free. He needs to-

“Shhh, sweetie, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He hears a tranquil, feminine voice and it all comes rushing back, that’s when he panics. She’s further away in the dimly lit room, watching him as he keeps putting all his strength into snapping the cords that bind him. “I’m gonna have to give you some more medicine if you don’t stop.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!” He roars, never once in his life feeling such fear and rage all at once. It’s her, the receptionist from the hotel. Did she roofie him? But why? Did she want money?

“Baby, please, try to be reasonable.” The way she’s aiming to talk him down only serves to make him madder and Jensen yells, looking around for something that might help him, for an escape. When he doesn’t find it, he struggles even more violently against his restraints. “Use your words.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” These are the words he chooses to use, not knowing how much he would come to regret them. Because after he spits them out, there’s a long beat of silence and then she’s on him, right by his side. There’s something shiny in her hand and then he feels a sharp pinprick on his neck.

She takes a step back and the needle she’s holding enters his field of vision, but he can’t see much else afterwards, since the walls start to spin and everything gets darker and darker.

“Rude.” He can hear her comment, disappointment saturated in her tone, before he’s off to dreamland yet again.

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