#the thigh holster is back yall

[anniesardors]

We’re getting some blackout gear and thigh holster?!? Yes I’m here for it

(BTS picture from filming Saturday night 😊)

#the thigh holster is back yall #time for us all to freak out #and jay AND Hailey in some blackout gear?? it’s gonna be so badass I won’t know what to do #I literally can’t wait #give it to me know #chicago pd #hailey upton #jay halstead #jesse lee soffer

[fett-djarin]

Anything

this bitch done YEET

anyway this is Boba Fett x f!Reader! I had this idea kicking around for awhile and shit finally came together and i was able to get it done!

Rating: 18+

Length: 4.1k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, canon-typical violence (not in the smut), PiV intercourse, unprotected sex, fingering, riding, throne sex come get yalls juice, multiple orgasms, creampie, spanking, slight cockwarming?, pet names, swearing

NSFW BELOW THE CUT!

Boba Fett was an enigma. He intimidated you, intrigued you--but he didn’t scare you. Boba could be violent, occasionally cruel, but only to those who had earned his ire. You had nothing to fear.

You still remember the day he stormed into Jabba’s palace, a wrathful spectre on a mission. You had been afraid you would be caught in the crossfire, an exchange of possession through violence. But then your chains were blasted apart, scum of men dying around you instead of finding your own demise. Instead of fleeing like the other girls, you dove towards a dropped blaster and levelled it at one of the smugglers putting up a fight. This particular one had been a thorn in your side for a long time. You’d be lying if you said you felt no satisfaction watching him fall lifeless from your well-placed blaster bolt.

“Nice shot,” the woman--Fennec, you had come to learn--commented. You had turned in a panic, pointing the blaster in her direction, her own rifle coming up in an instant, aimed squarely at your head.

“Easy, girl,” the Mandalorian--Boba--had said. “We have no interest in fighting you.”

“If you mean to sell me again,” you spat, “it would be easier to kill me now.” Your fingers flexed on the blaster, and you tried to steady your shaking hands. Fennec’s aim hadn’t faltered.

“Stand down, Shand,” Fett directed the sharpshooter, who immediately lowered her weapon. He then addressed you again. “I don’t deal in flesh.” You slowly dropped your arm. “What’s your name, girl?”

That had been...a few standard months ago, now. Boba ran his syndicate under a tight fist. He had no use for slaves, and had told you you were free, even offered you credits to return home. Some of the others took his offer. You had opted to stay--your birth planet had nothing to offer you, and you did not want to try your luck as a newly freed woman with nothing to your name on Tatooine. You didn’t even have a name, really. You were called something different each time you moved; your birthname was no longer you. That person had died long ago.

“Call me anything,” you had told Boba. “I don’t mind.”

He thought for a minute, and then decided. “Mayen.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. The gruff, seemingly serious man had a sense of humor. Mayen--Mando’a for ‘anything.’ His lips quirked in a sly smirk. You liked it. Mayen it was.

“You know Mando’a?” He had asked.

“I’ve picked up things here and there,” you smiled in return.

He later on told you that you could pick your own name, you had no obligation to go by the silly pun he called you. But you had a sense of humor, and actually liked how it sounded. It was a new beginning. You decided you would keep it.

You knew quite a few languages, or bits and pieces you heard over the years. Boba had hired you as a translator, and you accompanied him to meetings with traders, smugglers, and pirates. He didn’t allow any of them to harass you. If they so much as leered in your direction, they tended to lose a few fingers or teeth, either by your hand or his. At Boba’s insistence, you now carried a blaster and a vibroblade. Fennec had been showing you how to properly aim and shoot so you could better protect yourself. He had gifted you the vibroblade as part of your payment.

Yes, Boba Fett was a hard man, but you appreciated his kindness.

His scars added to his imposing figure, and you often found yourself wondering about their origin. What he must have gone through for his skin to be marked so. You also wondered about how stupid some people could be--Mandalorians were legendary warriors, and Boba Fett had some infamy connected to his name, yet fools still picked fights they were destined to lose. His armor impressed you--and the dark stare of the T-visor when he looked your way always had something low and warm stirring in your belly.

It didn’t help that sometimes he would watch while you practiced with your blade. Your heart thundered in your ears the first time he came up behind you, chest to your back, and moved your arms into the correct defensive position. His boot also nudged your stance wider, centering your weight. It’s part of training, you told yourself. You prayed he didn’t notice the heat in your face or the way you refused to look at him. Stars, if you turned your head you could kiss him--

What could you say? He was a handsome man.

Occasionally he offered to spar with you, which was laughable. The first time you had outright refused. “I don’t want to die, thanks,” you said.

“You’re gonna have to face people bigger and stronger than you sometimes, princess,” he said the endearment mockingly.

“Most people aren’t Boba Fett.”

“You’re right about that. Still, come on, show me what you’ve learned.”

Your first fight ended miserably in about three seconds. You gave him a pointed look that said I-told-you-so, and he just shrugged. “Not bad for your first time.” Sparring became regular.

“You’re quicker than me. Use that to your advantage, stay out of my reach. Strike and retreat.”

“Arms up, but keep ‘em close--protect your body.”

“Stagger your stance, distribute your weight. Make it harder for people to knock you down.”

“Move with confidence--this is not the time to falter.”

His words of advice came with each session and stuck. After a few weeks, you could hold your own for a minute against Fett. Then five minutes. Then your sparring was like a coordinated, aggressive dance, blades flashing and deflected, ducking, dodging, weaving, spinning around each other. Once, you had even managed to disarm him, knocking the blade from his hand--you both froze in stunned surprise before Boba recovered and had you pinned to the floor in an instant.

“Very good.” He said from his place atop your legs, pride curling darkly through his voice. “But next time, press the advantage. You freeze, you die.” Now you froze for an entirely different reason--his weight on top of you caused something hot and wanting to smolder in you, his thumb gently stroking the hollow of your throat making your breath hitch. And then he was off you, pulling you back to your feet with ease.

You still couldn’t beat him--you don’t think you would ever be capable of that. The best bounty hunter in the galaxy against you? You much prefer being on his good side.

Boba had just returned from a recent bounty hunt alongside a fellow Mandalorian, having left you and Fennec at the palace. You had been helping her sort through the datalogs and contraband left behind from the previous occupants when he appeared, moving surprisingly silent for such a broad, imposing man.

“Mayen,” he called you, and you looked at him over your shoulder, having been preoccupied cataloguing the contents of the crate in front of you. He was still in his armor, adding to his bulk. The green-painted beskar gave nothing away. “I’ve got a meeting. You’ll be needed. Fennec, I sent you scouting information on the next bounty.”

You nodded, and with your acknowledgment, he turned and strode back towards the throne room. Fennec stood, brushing sand off her pants. “Careful,” Fennec warned. “Keep your blaster close. You never know how these meetings will turn out.” She patted you on the shoulder.

“Got it,” you said, adjusting your tunic so she could see the holster on your hip. It would be the first time she wasn’t there alongside you while Boba arranged deals with crime lords. Sometimes Boba would go in alone, or the both of you would attend. “Trained by the best.”

She cracked a smile at that. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to track down our next target.” She exited the storage room opposite of the way Boba went.

You gathered yourself, then followed after Boba. Entering the throne room was daunting, as the traders he was meeting with were already there and turned to stare. A few of them openly looked you up and down. Your eyes were fixed solely on Boba lounging on the throne, legs spread, seemingly completely at ease and exuding power. You strode past the group of men come to bargain, refusing to look away from the void of Boba's visor that tracked your movement. One of them muttered something as you passed that you couldn't make out, but it had not sounded pleasant. You took your place at Boba's side.

"Boba Fett, the legendary bounty hunter back from the dead," a wiry human man stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. His grin was more of a baring of teeth. "Now that you run this joint, I have a few propositions to consider--"

Since he was speaking Basic, you have to admit, you tuned out. You watched the two Twi’leks that had accompanied him, who kept throwing glances your way, murmuring to themselves. Something about them put you on edge. Of course, you never trusted the people who came to do business with Boba, but you liked this group even less.

You translated for a Rodian bounty hunter when it was his turn to speak. You noticed the Twi'leks and the first human had been getting antsy, shifting from foot to foot and continuing to eye you and Boba. The Twi'leks had never come forward. They spelled trouble. You were tense the entire time, but they reached an agreement and left without trouble.

Boba on the throne was a sight. Your mind wandered, wondering what it would be like to sit on his lap, straddle his strong thighs. You shook your head to clear it as Boba cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

"Go get some rest, little one." And with that, you were dismissed.

You touched yourself thinking of him that night. Imagining it was his fingers instead of yours bringing you to your peak. You bit your fist as you came, muffling your moans and preventing you from calling his name out into the night.

The next day, he had gone out once again. When he returned, you noted his armor had some new scratches, some of the fresh green paint chipped away. He beckoned you forward with a wave, following him to the throne room. He sat with a heavy sigh. You stood before him, waiting for his direction, when he removed his helmet and set it aside. There was a new cut on his cheek, dried blood sticking to his skin.

"You're hurt," you said, stepping forward. Boba grunted noncommittally in response, reaching into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a small container of bacta.

"Use this," his voice was gravelly and he tossed the container to you. He...wanted you to put the bacta on him? Your pulse kicked up. But you would do as he asked.

You unscrewed the lid, swiping your finger through the gel. "What happened?" You asked as you spread it as gently as you could over the cut.

"Those hunters from yesterday," he sighed. "Thought they could catch me unaware out in the dunes. Their last mistake." He chuckled. "This was really the only hit I took," he gestured to the cut along his cheek. You had finished spreading the bacta, but your hand still lingered. You were entranced, being this close to him. Your thumb mindlessly caressed his cheekbone.

"Mayen," he said your name. You met his eyes, the heat in his gaze taking you by surprise. He always had fire and fight in him, but this wasn't like that. It was wanting. Boba grasped your wrist of the hand that still held his face, his other coming up to cup the back of your head.

Then you were kissing him.

You don't know if you leaned down or if he pulled you down or if he leaned up or if it even mattered, all you cared about was his rough lips against yours. When you gasped into it, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. Boba's kisses were all consuming, overwhelming--he demanded all of you, and wouldn't accept any less.

He leaned back, bringing you with him so you had no choice but to straddle his lap or be pulled off-balance. You settled along his thighs, sighing as you could now grind your center against his stiffening member. He nipped your bottom lip, breaking away to press kisses down your throat.

“Tell me, sweetheart…” he murmured, worrying a mark into the delicate skin of your neck.

You whined, rolling your hips against his. His hands clamped down like durasteel around your hips, stilling you. “Tell me. We stop if you say so.”

“I want you, Boba,” you gasped, and he rewarded you with another hickey sucked into your neck. He guided your hips back into a slow grind, thrusting up against you. The layers of clothes between you dulled the sensation, but warm waves of pleasure still radiated through you. You cradled his jaw, bringing his lips back to yours, before trailing your palms down his chest. You pawed at his chestplate and robes, making him chuckle.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased you lightly. You squeaked when he pinched your ass. “Take this off, princess.” His hands slid up under your tunic, running up and down your sides before caressing your breasts.

You lifted your arms, helping him slide your shirt over your head. Instinctively, your arms came down to cover yourself, but Boba tutted at you. “Don’t get shy on me now, mesh’la. Let me see you.” He murmured in your ear before lightly nipping the lobe, sending shivers down your spine. He encouraged you to put your hands back on his chest. You whined against him, need building in your core as he undid your bindings and continued to guide your hips in a deep grind.

Boba’s fingers crept along the waistband of your pants before diving inside. You moaned as they landed on your clit. “This wet already? Someone’s a needy little thing.” You felt your face heat at his teasing accompanied by his rough fingers circling your clit built you up even more. You hid your face in his shoulder, grinding against his hand for more of that raw pleasure. Boba suddenly pressed hard against your clit in a tight circle, making you cry out loudly and grip his robes for dear life.

“Boba, please,” you whined, lips tracing his throat, his jaw, wherever you could reach. You brought your own hand down to cup him through his pants, running your hand along his bulge. He cursed lightly in your ear as you gently squeezed him.

“Up,” he said, patting your ass. You stood, taking the opportunity to shimmy out of your pants and panties. He lounged back against the throne, taking in your form. You didn’t cover yourself this time. “Good girl. Come here.” You stepped between his spread knees and he took you by the elbow, pulling you down and turning you so your back was pressed to his chest and your legs were spread by his own. His touch returned to your clit, sliding through your slick folds to tease your entrance. You pressed your ass back against his hardness and he groaned.

His arm banded around your waist as he finally slid a finger into your dripping entrance. You gasped, head falling back to rest on his shoulder. When he introduced a second one, you began to squirm. The stretch was so good as his fingers slid within you, curling and pressing into that perfect spot that sent you soaring. You were practically riding his hand, your hips circling as his fingers moved faster and faster.

“Oh,” you gasped as he added a third, legs trembling. Your hand shot to his where it was locked around your middle, holding you against him, while your other curled up and back, turning his head so you could kiss him. Boba found that spot in you that made you clench tight around him and zeroed in with deadly precision. You felt him grin smugly against your lips as your breathing stuttered. “Boba!”

“Look at you, so desperate for my fingers. Squeezin’ me so tight, sweetheart, can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

You found yourself teetering at the edge of release. You turned your head, burying your nose in Boba’s neck. “Please, Boba, g’nna cum, please--” you gasped out. It was a good thing he held you to him, else you would have been bucking off his lap.

“Cum on my fingers, cyar’ika.”

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you tipped over the edge of orgasm, cumming hard around Boba’s fingers. Your cunt flooded with wetness, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into you becoming even wetter. If he hadn’t been holding you to his chest you would have doubled over with the devastating pulses of pleasure rocking through you from your center. He continued working you through it until you whined, pushing at his hand that still moved between your thighs, need building up in you again.

Boba brought his fingers up to his mouth and you moaned at the sight of him sucking and licking them clean of your arousal. “Taste so sweet,” he said. “Open.” You opened your mouth, and he slid his fingers inside. Obediently, you sucked on them, swirling your tongue around his fingers like you would his cock. Boba groaned. "Dirty girl."

He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and you begged. "Want your cock, please, Boba--please fuck me, please--"

"Hush, needy pet. You'll get what you want." He bit your neck, the sharp pinpricks fading into a warm buzz that made you squirm, wiggling your hips on his lap. Boba reached down between you two and shifted himself out of his robes, sliding his cock against your soaked folds. You looked down and Maker, he was thick. You were suddenly glad he made you take three fingers--you hoped you would be able to take his cock.

He rutted against you, his cock sliding through your folds and pulling breathless little gasps from you each time his head nudged your clit. Each slick drag of him against your lips coated his cock in your wetness. Boba evidently grew tired of teasing you, because he urged you up and took hold of the base of his cock, guiding it to your dripping entrance. You moaned at the feeling of his thick tip splitting you open, sinking down the first inch.

Boba's hand came around to rub little circles on your clit, making you jerk against him, his other hand caging you in by your hip. Slowly, he encouraged you to sit back on his lap, the thick drag and push of his cock working inch-by-inch deeper into you. Stars, you felt him in your fucking guts. Your thighs trembled, and when your ass touched his lap you nearly sobbed from how full you felt.

"Look at that," he murmured into your hair. "Takin' me so well, princess. Feels fucking good, doesn't it?" You clenched around him at his words, making him choke off a moan. He rubbed your clit a tick faster just to feel you spasm around him again and he laughed at your high gasp of pleasure.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was too good--that ache, the raw sparks shooting down your legs and up your spine. Shifting the slightest bit pushed him right up something devastating inside you and you couldn't stop the wrecked moan that tore from your throat. Boba gave an experimental thrust and you nearly shrieked and lurched off of him, if he hadn't grabbed a hold of your hips and held you on his lap. You babbled senselessly, too overwhelmed as every ridge of his cock pressed your walls just right. "B-Boba, Boba, move, please--"

His big hand slapped your inner thigh and this time you did wail, the hot sting fading into a pleasant, buzzing warmth. His fingers dug in to the soft flesh hard enough that you knew there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers come morning. Then he lifted you slightly off him, cock sliding only a few inches out, before pulling you down in time with a thrust upwards, burying himself in you with a deep grind. You let out a choked moan, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

"Ride," he demanded. Your breath hitched as you scrambled for purchase, hands going to his strong thighs for support. It was sort of an awkward position, your feet barely touching the floor, requiring you to go on your tiptoes to pull a few inches off his cock. Boba's thick fingers cupped your pussy in a V shape, so every time you rose and fell they rolled against your clit. You couldn't tell if you wanted to push your hips back away or forward for more stimulation.

He slapped your other thigh this time, rubbing to soothe the sting, encouraging you to bounce on his cock faster. Your breath was coming in high, moaning pants as each drop of your hips buried him deep inside you, reaching places you never had and lighting up your nerves like a star gone supernova. Paired with his touch teasing your clit with every thrust, you weren't going to last long.

Boba's hands on your hips guided you faster, rougher--each downstroke hitting deep and holding you there for a second just to feel how full, how stuffed your pussy was of him. His thrusts up as you dropped down allowed his cock to hit your g-spot dead on, over and over. You felt yourself rhythmically clenching around him, heard his groans as your cunt strangled his cock, and you were so close to cumming again. The feeling coiled up at the base of your spine, the pleasure winding tighter and higher and ready to burst.

And then--then Boba hooked his hands under your knees, pulling your legs up so all your weight rested on where he was buried in you, and he slipped another inch further inside. You couldn't stop the sob of pleasure as he held you like this, open for him to take, and he set a punishing pace. The dull slap of skin-on-skin paired with the wet gush of your arousal around him, dripping down his balls and onto the throne, made your head tip back onto his shoulder and wrenched moan after moan out of you.

You were talking, babbling nonsense--begging, pleading for him to make you cum again. Boba tilted his hips just right and you keened as it pushed his cock right against the soft spot along your walls. Each thrust shoved you closer to the edge right until that coil inside you snapped. Your legs shook and your pussy clamped down so hard around Boba's cock that it stunted him to short, shallow thrusts as you rode it out. You distantly heard him groaning, praising you, telling you good girl, good fuckin' girl--you were spasming around him, each jolt of pleasure like a white-hot knife radiating from your core to your toes. Boba kept fucking you through it and you nearly begged him to stop--it was too much, the bite of overstimulation burning your nerves--when he pulled you down, fucking into you as deep as he could and he came with a groan of your name, cock throbbing as his release coated your walls.

Somehow, you ended up turned, face buried in his neck and legs wrapped around his waist as you trembled and caught your breath. His hands trailed up and down your spine and thighs in soothing motions as you came back down. You sighed and cuddled closer to him, the hard beskar plating cold against your bare skin, but it felt good on your overheated body.

"Made quite a mess on me, sweetheart," he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest under your ear. You just mmm'd and clung closer to him while he chuckled. It was true. Your arousal coated your thighs, dripped down onto the throne, soaked Boba's cock where it was still buried in you. Boba pulled his robe around you and stood, supporting you with his hands under your thighs. "Come on, little one, let's go to bed." You closed your eyes as he made his way out of the throne room and through the palace. He didn't drop you off in your bedroom, instead taking you to his and laying you in the spacious bed before stripping off his armor and joining you.

#boba fett x reader #boba x reader #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #fanfic #fanfiction #the mandalorian #reader insert #no y/n #boba fett x you #boba x you #my writing

[brightjimini]

Sway With Me

Dick Grayson/Nightwing x fem!kinda!villain!reader

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: drugging, needles 

A/N: I honestly was just feeling myself while I wrote this. Sway With Me from Saweetie and GALXARA slowed version put me to this. I recommend listening to it before reading. The more comments this will have the sooner ill post the last part of Missing. So let me know what you thought of this. And let me know if yall want a part 2 for this

my masterlist for more!

---

Walking past people, I admired the ballroom. I wore a beautiful dress in my favorite color and the train of the dress dragged on the floor behind me. I was at a charity event of Bruce Wayne. The Batman.. but you didn’t hear that from me. Although I wasn't here for him. One of his associates had something from me. A necklace that Harley Quinn stole from me. The necklace was gold with red rubies on it.  

She sold it off to one of the women that were supposed to be here. Fortunately, this event was a masked ball of sorts. Everyone wore one. Some covered their whole faces, some only the side of their face or only their eyes. I wore one that covered my eyes and it was tied with a ribbon around my head. To be sure I also used a few pins so that it wouldn’t drop. See, some people did not like me. 

I wasn't a villain or bad guy but I certainly was not a good guy or hero. I took the easy way to do things. Sure I had killed a few people but most of them were accidents. Most. Anyway, it isn’t as if the heroes haven’t hurt people. Oh yeah! Nightwing was also after me. 

How? I did not accidentally steal his motorbike, I still have it. But it caught his attention and since then we have been playing cat and mouse. I am not gonna lie, I secretly liked it. It made a boring bank robbery a little more exciting. 

Anyway to the task at hand. I needed to wait for a while. I eyed the woman in the red dress with my necklace around her neck. I had paid a waiter to spill his tray of wine glasses on her. That way she would need to go to the bathroom to clean her dress in a hurry. I would go after her act all nice, offer to help her, and steal the necklace back. I could be gone in less than an hour. Being in the same room as Batman did not make me very comfortable. 

Looking around I could tell that everyone that was invited already was here. I had hacked into the organization plans. Bored I grabbed a little pastry from the buffet table. I tried not to act suspiciously. I could feel someone’s eyes on me. I slowly turned around and let my eyes glide over everyone. My eyes locked with those from the waiter. I had met him earlier for a minute to give him the money. 

I sighed. Of course, he was waiting on a signal. I gave him a little nod and he made his way around the room. Still, I felt like someone was watching me. I brushed it aside. I needed to focus on the mission. 

I watched the scene unfold. He spilled wine over her. She shouted at him. He apologized over and over. She ran toward the bathroom stalls. That was my cue. I made my way through the groups of people and walked to the hall the woman went in. I walked past a few corridors and doors before I saw the toilet door with “women” in golden letters on it. Someone in a black dress and red hair hurried past me. She put her hand on my arm before I could open the door. I tried not to reach for my thigh holster where a knife was strapped. 

I had paid a security guard to be able to take into the building. 

“Honey you don't want to go in there. Someone is crying and she-” The woman with red hair said. 

“Oh, I really need to go. I don't mind and maybe she needs a shoulder to cry on?” I answered with a kind smile. That is what she got for stealing my grandmother’s necklace that has been passed down to every eldest daughter in the family. 

I brushed her hand off and she walked away. I opened the door and walked into the bathroom. The marble floor and golden lights made this room even prettier than my bedroom. There she was vigorously trying to wipe some white wine from her dress. I mentally prepared myself to act like a kind stranger who just wanted to help her. Small hiccups echoed through the bathroom. I rolled my eyes. 

“Oh no are you alright?” I said in a sweet but worried voice. 

She looked up. Her mascara was clearly waterproof but some of her eyeshadow was smudged and her cheeks here wet. Her mask that she previously had worn was on the sink. I tried not to eye the necklace while she looked at me. “Of course not!” I was taken aback for a second.  “That stupid waiter ruined my dress.” Right, what did I expect? She was the daughter of a billionaire.  I walked to her and took the paper towels she had in her hand carefully away from her. 

“Here let me help you.” I said. I dabbed the wipes on the darker parts of her dress. She let me. “You need to try to absorb the wine carefully, otherwise it will stain.” I explained. She sniffed. 

I stopped cleaning her dress. “ Why don't you touch up your make-up?” I offered. “Yeah.. Yeah..” She said trying to come down from her crying. I threw the paper towels into a bin and grabbed my purse. Inside I had a syringe with anesthesia to knock her out. I quickly took it out and hid it behind my back. 

Without drawing attention to myself I eyed the stalls. Well, wooden doors. None of the toilets were in use. I looked back at her. She took a little eye shadow brush and tried to touch up her makeup. “I didn’t expect my night to go like this.” she started still focused on her reflection in the mirror. I laughed at that and walked closer to her. I stopped behind her and looked over her shoulder. I looked at her neck. I saw her frown and her hand slowed her movements. “Well.. I did.” I said and put the needle in her neck. 

She gasped and her hand tried to grab my wrist. But it was too late. Her hand loosened and her legs gave out from under her. I quickly took the needle out of her neck and put my arms under her shoulders. I dragged her unconscious body to one of the stalls and opened the door with my foot. I grunted dragging her inside.  

I lowered the toilet lid and sat her on it. She slumped forward I blew her hair out of my face and let her lean against the wall with her back. I needed to be out of there quickly before someone else would enter. My hands went behind her neck to the clasp of the necklace. 

Finally, the golden chain loosened. I got the necklace, took one look at her unconscious form, and closed the toilet door. I grabbed my purse that was on the side of the sinks and put the empty syringe and necklace in there. I walked back to the stall one last time and grabbed the dagger that was hidden under my dress and locked the toilet door from the outside. Thankfully the locks had slits on the door that let you close or open them. Sure they were actually to let someone know the stall was occupied, but this made the job hiding a body for a few minutes easier. 

I put the dagger back in its place under my dress and checked everything. I heard the clicking of heels on floor tiles getting louder. Shit! Her purse, make up brush and mask were still on the sink. I quickly grabbed them and put them in the bin. At that moment the door opened and two women walked in. I lowered my head and grabbed a paper towel as if I was drying my hands and put that in the bin to hide the things in it. 

The women talked happily. One of them went into an unoccupied stall. I walked to the door and opened it. Time to go home. I walked through the dim lid hall back to the party and the exit. With my thoughts so focused on leaving I did not think the next thing would happen. 

I walked past a corridor off a dark hall when someone grabbed my wrist. I gasped as I was pushed up against the wall. My hand was tightly put behind my back before I had the chance to grab my dagger. The strong body pushed me a little harder against the wall. I was confused for a second. I couldn't see the attacker’s face from the corner of my eye. It was too dark, only a shadow was visible. Their face came closer until their lips were against my ear. 

“Look at you back in my claws sweetheart.” A deep voice said. I pushed the feeling of an upcoming shiver down and groaned. 

Of course, Nightwing.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x y/n #dick x reader #dick grayson #dc imagine #dc x reader #dcmultiverse #dc #nightwing fic #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing x y/n #nightwing #batman #young justice x reader #Young Justice

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [91]

vii. the queen’s gambit

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: anxiety, fighting, death, mentions of blood, mentions of self inflicted violence (not in the traditional sense??? if you need clarification, let me know), torture, injuries.

Summary: after a failed escape attempt from bardo, you discover that you are more valuable to them than you could have ever imagined.

a/n: i literally can’t believe we’re in the 90s!!! we don’t have many episodes left which is very weird bc i feel like I just started sharing sub rosa with yall! i’m so excited to share the ending, but so sad that it’s nearing the end! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You wake slowly, your mind trying to catch up to the events of the last few hours. 

Bellamy’s death hits you before anything else, just as painful as the first time. Then Gabriel’s betrayal follows, and as you start to open your eyes and comprehend what’s happening, you feel someone lifting up your shirt. Your eyes fly open and your gaze lands on someone from Bardo, who is staring down at the scar that the Azgeda assassin gave you in Mount Weather. They look up at you in surprise as you sit up, their hand dropping your shirt as they step away from you, hands lifted in surrender. “I’m sorry, I was changing you and I just noticed your scars.”

You ignore the person and look down, your clothes different than the ones you were wearing before. Your disciple suit is gone, your clothes from Skyring too. In their place is a shirt from Bardo, their symbol on the front, and a pair of pants to match. You’re barefoot, and the knife that usually sits strapped to your thigh is missing too. In a state of panic, you reach up to your neck, relieved to find your necklace still with you, and one glance at your finger reveals your ring hasn’t been taken either. Your eyes search the room quickly, finding your clothes in a pile nearby, your boots beside the pile, your knife on top. You quickly jump off the examination table and cross the room, running over and grabbing your weapon. You pull it from its holster before you spin around, facing the person in the room, taking in the fear in their expression before you snap, “Where are my friends?”

“They’re being examined by the medical team in the rooms nearby.”

“Examined? Why?”

They look terrified of you, their voice shaking slightly as they glance down at the knife in your hand. “Standard protocol for new arrivals.”

Your brain is running at a million miles a minute, trying to process information as fast as it can, but ultimately you know you need to get out of here. Your friends are in rooms around you and you are trapped on an unfamiliar planet, with no access to the Anomaly Stone. But maybe if you can cause a distraction, your friends can get to the Stone Room and go for help. You’ll be trapped here, but it’ll be worth it if the others can escape and bring an army back for you. You have the layout of Bardo memorized, and you have a general idea of how to cause enough chaos to get them out of Bardo, you just need to free one of your people so they can free the rest. You look back to the Bardoan in the room, noticing for the first time that they’re young, probably a few years younger than you. They're part of the medical staff in some capacity, and they look terrified, clearly not a fighter. Something about them reminds you of Clarke, back before she became Wanheda, when she was young and naive and just wanted to save lives. But that similarity is the reason you decide to spare the person from the distraction that’s forming in your mind. “Where is Octavia Blake?”

“Across the hall. But you can't get out of here, they have Bardo on lockdown.”

“Who’s gonna stop me, you?” They shake their head and you nod once. “Good, because I don't want to kill you, but I will if you get in my way.”

They say nothing, keeping silent and backing up against the wall, clearly believing your threat and more than willing to allow your escape. You reach for the button that activates the door, but stop when the medical aid calls out, “Wait, there are guards!”

You pause, turning to look at them. “How many?”

“One outside each door.” You run the math, figuring there are at least 6 guards outside. You're sure that you can take them, but it'll only raise suspicions earlier than you can afford. You’re trying to figure out a plan when the aid mutters, “I can help you.”

You give them a skeptical look. “And why would you do that?”

“To prevent any more killings.”

You watch them closely, looking for any signs of deceit, but you find none. They seem genuine in their pursuit to prevent any more disciple deaths, and though you don’t care about the disciples dying, you do care about staying under the radar for as long as you can. Which is why you nod at the aid, accepting their help. “Fine. What do you have in mind?”

They cross the room slowly, both of you suspicious of the other, before opening the door to a supply closet. They dig around for a second before pulling out a small canister, holding it up for you to see. “Knockout gas. We’ve been perfecting it in preparation for the Last War, so there’s always some laying around in here.”

They hesitantly walk closer to you, reaching out to hand you the canister, and you take it with a nod of thanks. But you’re well aware that you can’t leave them conscious, so you look at them with regret and mutter “sorry” before swiftly knocking them out. It’s probably safer for them this way anyways. You cross the room again, back to the door button, and you hit the switch. As the door slides open, you pull the pin from the canister and toss it down the hall. You hear a yelp of surprise followed by the thudding of bodies, and you wait a solid minute before pulling your shirt up over your mouth and nose and venturing out into the hall. All six guards are unconscious and taken care of, so you cross the hall to the other door, hitting the button that opens the door to Octavia’s room. 

Your eyes find her quickly, falling on Octavia, who is sitting in the middle of the room, looking at you in surprise. Beside her, a doctor looks at you in fear before tuning and running towards a panic button on the wall. You grab your knife and throw it towards him, the blade going clean through his hand and stopping him in place. He lets out a cry of pain as he stares at the knife, and you cross the room in record time, knocking him out and grabbing your knife before turning towards Octavia. She’s looking at you in confusion, trying to figure out what’s going on. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of here. Can you stand?” She nods and stands with no issues, and you continue, “Good. You need to get the others and get to the Stone Room. They should know how to get there if you don’t.”

She shakes her head, immediately disagreeing with your plan. “What about you?”

“I'm going to cause a distraction so you can get to the Stone Room and then back to Sanctum with no resistance. Tell Clarke what’s going on, and bring back our army.”

You don't wait for her to accept your plan before you start to turn away, your mind thinking of the limited time you have to pull this off. Octavia grabs your arm and stops you, pulling you to look at her. “La lune, you can’t.”

“I have to. Bellamy would want me to keep you safe.”

“He’d want me to keep you safe.”

You counter, “Then get the others and get out of here. You can come back for me.”

“There’s so much you don’t know. You’re not safe here.”

You shake your head, pulling your arm from her grip, already backing away. “Octavia, there’s no time. None of us are safe here. You can catch me up on everything else later, but for now, I need you to get the others and get back to Sanctum, please.”

She hesitates, clearly wanting to tell you now, but she understands the limited time you have so she nods. You turn and run from the room, snatching a few grenades off the fallen disciples as you jog down the hall. You mentally pull out the map of Bardo that you have memorized, just in case something like this happened, thinking that the oxygen farm might be your best bet for a distraction. It’s far enough away from the Stone Room, and it’s an important resource, so they’ll be eager to protect it. You run towards the farm, passing no one on the way, confirming that they really have locked down Bardo. You reach the farm with ease, hitting the button to open the door and stepping inside. 

It’s raining, the drops of water landing on your face and running down your cheeks like tears as you look to the sky. It’s easy to imagine that this is Earth and you are home and Bellamy is just around the corner, waiting to dance in the rain with you. But the weight of the grenades in your hands reminds you that this isn't Earth, and Bellamy is dead, and you are on a mission. You immediately pull the pin from one of the grenades and toss it into the trees nearby, taking off running as fast as you can to put distance between you and the explosion. An alarm immediately goes off, likely thanks to some sort of fire alert system, and you throw more grenades as you run through the woods, keeping your path random and erratic. You toss the last of your grenades into a clearing before you slip into the trees and turn to face the door.

You hear the doors to the farm slide open and you duck down behind some brush, hiding yourself completely from view and watching as a large group of disciples files into the farm. “Spread out and find her before she gets us all killed.”

You back away and slink into the shadows as the disciples break up into pairs and start to search for you, starting at the grenade explosion sites. You situate yourself behind a few large trees and hold your knife tight in your hand, crouching and waiting for a disciple to come your way. Your anxiety grows with each passing second that you spend hidden, the anticipation of an impending attack starting to wear you down, but just when you think you can't take it anymore, you hear a twig snap nearby. You peer around the tree, watching two disciples walking your way, scanning the brush around them. One is walking slightly ahead of the other, giving you the perfect advantage, and when the disciple steps within arms length of you, you step out from the trees and grab him, quickly shoving your knife into the space between his suit and his helmet, right into his neck. You feel blood rush over your hand as you pull the knife out, the other disciple turning towards you in shock. 

They have enough time to process their partner's body hitting the ground before you close the space between you and kill them too. You look around, searching for any other nearby disciples, but with none of them close by, you use the moment to quickly strip down the disciple closest to your size and slip into their suit. From there, you walk off in search of the other disciples, not bothering with ghost mode since they’d be able to see you anyways. It doesn't take long for you to come across another pair, both of them turning towards you as you approach. “Any sign of her?”

You use your mind to activate your weapons system, lifting both of your arms towards them as you mutter, “Yeah, I am her.”

And then you kill them both.

You’re able to do this for 6 more disciples, taking them out before they even realize what’s going on. Unfortunately for you, someone stumbles onto the first pair of dead bodies, one of them stripped from their suit, and they announce, “She has a suit! Everyone gather in the clearing!”

You’re about to slink back in the shadows and rid yourself of the suit in question when a pair of disciples appears from the woods behind you, grabbing your arm as they walk past. “Come on, newbie, clearing’s this way.”

Your anxiety spikes as you wonder how you're going to get out of this, your body being led into a group of disciples that all seem to want you dead. As soon as you arrive in the circle, a disciple in the middle of the group, clearly the leader, looks over everyone gathered around. “Is this it? Where are the others?”

Someone answers, “Dead.”

The man practically growls with anger, “Helmets off, I want to find her.”

There’s no way for you to avoid unmasking as everyone pulls off their helmets, because if you don't do it, they'll know it's you. If you do it, they'll know it's you. With no other options, you pull off your helmet too. Everyone is looking around, trying to find a face they don't recognize, a face devoid of tattoos, and it only takes seconds for them to realize you’re the imposter. The remaining 12 disciples all turn towards you, lifting their arms and training their weapons on you. “You! Drop the knife!”

You shake your head and bite back, “Not a chance.”

“Fine, any last words?”

You feel a flash of fear as you start to wonder, is this it? Is this where you die? But then you think of Bellamy, killed on the same planet, waiting for you in the stars, and you get a sense of peace. You can die knowing you did whatever you could to save your friends and get them home. That’s your tribute to Bellamy. You couldn't save him, but you could damn well save the rest of your family. You tip your chin in defiance, glaring at the leader of the group, anger written all over your face. “Yeah, go float yourself.”

His glare deepens, a sneer contorting his mouth as his arm takes aim at your chest. You close your eyes, waiting for the blow, waiting for death, waiting to join Bellamy, but it never comes. Instead, the moment is interrupted by someone yelling, “Wait! We need her!”

Your eyes pull open in surprise and confusion, your gaze landing on a man in a long white cloak with white hair, walking quickly towards you. Anders. All around you, weapons start to lower as Anders yells, “She is Clarke Griffin's twin! If we want to get the Key, we need her alive.”

Clarke? Your mind latches onto a memory that’s flying past, a snippet of conversation from Bellamy’s death video. Let him go, and I'll tell you everything you want to know about Clarke. You turn your gaze towards Anders, noting his excitement as he says your twin’s name, and you spit, “Clarke? What the hell do you want with Clarke?”

“She’s the Key to everything.”

His tone is reverent, serious, hopeful, and your stomach flips in fear. You know something is wrong, something about this isn’t okay. You know that if it comes down to it, Clarke will do anything to keep you safe, including putting herself in danger. She's all you have left in the world, your only blood family left, and you can’t let her do that. Which is why you lift the knife still gripped in your hand and hold it to your throat. A dozen disciples lift their weapons towards you in alarm, but Anders freaks out and yells, “Weapons down!”

You glare at him, “I won't let you use me to get to her.”

“Miss Griffin, please. You don't understand.”

“And I don't care to. You already took the love of my life from me, I won't let you take my twin too. If this is how I have to keep her safe, then so be it.”

As your grip on the knife tightens and you prepare to slit your own throat, Anders interrupts once again. “Wait. Before you do something reckless, consider this.”

On cue, a group of disciples marches your way, your friends held in their grip. Gabriel, Echo, Octavia, Hope, Diyoza, all captured and held at gunpoint. You pause, your grip loosening slightly as you look at them in alarm. Octavia mouths an apology to you before Anders mutters, “Interesting. We thought your friends might be your weakness. Put the knife down, or we kill them all.”

You look at him in shock before turning to look at your friends. Octavia is nodding her head, encouraging you to drop your knife, and Gabriel is too. But beside him, Echo is shaking her head, a glare on her face, telling you to follow through with your plan, silently telling you to protect your sister over the rest of them. But you love all of them too, and you can't stomach knowing that you’d be the reason they all die. You fight back a sob as you turn back to Anders, resigning yourself to your fate. “Fine.”

You drop the knife, and no less than six disciples descend on you before it even hits the dirt. As you watch Anders, your expression one of defeat, he smiles a little. You can't interpret it, unsure if it's meant to be smug or genuine happiness or what, but you don't get long to think about it before the disciple leader mutters, “Lights out.”

You turn towards him just as someone hits you in the back of the head, hard, darkness quickly swirling at the edges of your vision. His smirk is the last thing you see before the darkness swallows you whole. 

-

The next time you wake, it’s with a groan.

Someone mutters your name as soon as they hear you stir, and you hear them shift towards you as you slowly pull your eyes open, fighting against the pain radiating from the back of your head. 

Your eyes fall on Gabriel, who is staring down at you with worry. “Cielito, are you okay?”

You look at him in confusion before you abruptly sit up, looking around the room, suddenly remembering the danger all of you were in the last time you were conscious. “Where are the others?”

“I don't know. They took them to a different cell block.”

“Are they okay?”

“They were the last time I saw them. We’re being taken care of, meals and beds and supplies, so I’m assuming we’re worth something to them.”

You nod, taking the information in, already aware of your worth to them. A worth that stems from their fascination with Clarke, though you don’t understand why they’re so enamored with her. You open your mouth to ask Gabriel if he’s heard anything, but as you do, you’re suddenly cut off by the doors to your cell opening and a swarm of disciples moving inside. Two men grab Gabriel and pull him away from you as two other guards grab you, both of you sharing a look of alarm. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“Let me go!” You kick and fight against them, but they hold you tight in their grip, practically dragging you down the hall behind Gabriel. “Where are my friends?”

“Doubt they'd call either of you a friend after what you’ve put them through.” His words make you panic, your mind imagining the worst. Your friends tied up and tortured, all because you failed in your mission to save them. You start to fight harder, slipping from the guard’s grip slightly, but they readjust their hold on you and grab you tighter, their fingers squeezing bruises into your arm. Gabriel yells back towards the other cell blocks as you are dragged away, clearly in just as much turmoil as you are. “No, no, no! Echo! Hope! I'm sorry!”

You and Gabriel fight the entire time you are led down the hall, and you only stop when the guards pause outside of a door, waiting for it to open. You freeze as you realize where you are, you and Gabriel exchanging a worried look as the doors to the Stone Room slide open. The guards release Gabriel and step back, but they keep their grip firmly on you as a white clothed figure steps into view.

Anders.

He smiles at Gabriel before turning to extend you the same greeting, but his smile drops into a frown when he sees the guards at your side, still holding you tight. “Release her.”

“Sir, with all due respect, she is dangerous. I don't think we should-”

He cuts the guard off with a raised hand. “I didn't ask what you thought. Release her.”

The guards let you go, though they still seem hesitant to do so, despite the demand by their leader. Once you're free, Anders again smiles, greeting you both. “Dr. Santiago, Miss Griffin.”

You and Gabriel stand frozen in the doorway, and he motions you closer. “Come, please.”

The two of you move hesitantly closer, and your eyes fall on the only other person in the room, the conductor. Gabriel’s gaze shifts to the Anomaly Stone, which Anders quickly takes note of. “Miraculous, isn't it? A gift from those who have transcended, or so we believe.”

Gabriel questions, “Transcended?”

“The Shepherd teaches us that winning the Last War brings upon the final evolution of a species. I thought Orlando would have taught you that.” You turn towards Anders at the mention of Orlando, and Anders watches you and Gabriel carefully as he continues, “He hanged himself in the cabin.”

He turns and motions to what appears to be a body, covered in a sheet, your eyes missing it earlier. But they don't miss it now, because your gaze is locked on the form as your brain struggles to process the words. He hanged himself. He hanged himself. He hanged himself. Gabriel shifts beside you, uncomfortable, but Anders continues speaking, ignoring the heavy feeling of grief in the air. “It appears we need to rethink our penal system. We lost 35 disciples thanks to you and yours, 10 from Miss Griffin just in the last day. I sent the others off to Nakara, but I thought that you both might like to say goodbye.”

Gabriel mutters, “I'm sure Hope and Echo would too.”

“We have different plans for them.” 

He motions towards the body again, encouraging the two of you to move closer. You glance up at Gabriel, and he reaches out for your hand and pulls you closer to Orlando's waiting body. You both kneel on his right side, and Gabriel whispers, “La muerte es la vida.”

“May we meet again.” Tears well up in your eyes as you look down at the covered body, imagining what Orlando must have felt as the four of you left him behind on Skyring. Clearly it was painful enough that he hanged himself because of it, and you feel guilt start to press heavy on your chest. Another person led to Death, thanks to Wanlida. Her presence is beginning to feel like a curse again, the way it used to, no longer offering you the comfort it did on Skyring. She doesn't care that Orlando is dead, but you do. Because he was your friend, and this is your fault. You reach out tentatively and rest a hand on what you think is his chest, your voice barely a whisper when you say, “Please forgive me.”

You feel tears tighten your throat and attempt to choke you, and Gabriel squeezes your hand, which is still held tightly in his own. You look at him with tear stained cheeks and nod, letting him know you’re okay, and he nods back before turning his attention back to Anders. “Is Nakara your heaven?”

The Anomaly powers up nearby, and you and Gabriel stand, stepping away from the body of your fallen friend as the green glow quickly grows and takes Orlando’s body before receding again. At Gabriel’s question, Anders turns to look at the two of you in surprise. “He left that out too, did he?”

You and Gabriel exchange a look, suddenly realizing that Echo really was right. Orlando was your friend, but you were never his people. Five years on a planet with him and he only ever told you what you needed to know, despite all of you telling him everything about your lives before him. Anders takes in your shared look before he continues, “No, we don't believe in heaven, doctor. Like I said, we believe in transcendence.”

“Transcendence through the stone?”

You look away from the two men, your mind blocking out whatever they're saying, uninterested in transcendence or the mystery of the Anomaly Stones. And as you look away, your eyes lad on an imperfection on the floor behind Anders. Black and charred, in the exact place where your fiance last stood before he was killed by one of the disciples. And now you think that the 35 dead disciples aren't enough, because you want to burn Bardo to the ground. Its existence has brought you nothing but trouble from day one. You feel tears prick your eyes, but you work hard to keep them at bay, not wanting Anders to see you crying, not wanting the people of Bardo to know that this is something bothering you, because when you destroy them, you want them to be surprised. You don't want them to suspect the anger hidden deep inside of you, or the anguish that you're keeping buried, so you work hard to keep your mind off of the spot on the floor.

Anders aids in your distraction techniques when he says a word that makes your blood run cold. “Because you don't want to be executed.”

You look over at him in alarm, digging through your subconscious memory to figure out why he’d say that. You finally find Gabriel’s question that prompted the response, something along the lines of why should he help the Bardoans with the stone. Gabriel senses your rising tension and squeezes the hand that is still in his own, before he levels a serious look at Anders. “I don't want my friends to be executed either.”

“Well, that's up to them.” He walks around the stone before stopping on the other side and watching Gabriel closely. “Given your history with the stone, I would like you to help us unlock it. We'll share our knowledge, you'll share yours, and all you have to do is say, ‘yes’.”

Gabriel turns to look at you, his gaze asking what you think. Your mind runs through the information you have. Clearly, you know next to nothing about Bardo and the disciples, thanks to Orlando. And if you want to destroy this place, having an inside man, with loyalty to you, is the best way to do it. Which is why you look at Gabriel and nod once, letting him know you think he should do it. Gabriel turns back to Anders and jokes, “Do I get a robe?”

Anders cuts him a look, so Gabriel adds, “Yes, I’ll join your cipher team.”

Satisfied, Anders nods once and smiles, but you start to realize that things aren't adding up. You and Gabriel were separated from the others for a reason. Because you serve a greater purpose to them. But you know next to nothing about the stones and have little to offer them for scientific advancements, so what use do you have to Anders and his people? “I don't know anything about the Anomaly, and you clearly know that, so why am I here?”

“We need you to tell us everything about Clarke Griffin.”

“Clarke?” Your brows furrow, just as confused as the first few times they mentioned Clarke, not understanding why she’s so important to them. “What does Clarke have to do with any of this?”

“She's the Key to everything.”

You shake your head, growing frustrated. “But what does that mean?”

“Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll do the same for you.”

You feel a wave of realization pass over you when you catch on to what he really wants. Sure, he wants to know about Clarke, but it’s more than that. “You want my memories.” 

“Yes.” The door to the room slides open on cue, and a group of disciples walk in, moving towards you. “We’d prefer if you went willingly, but we’ll take you by force if necessary.”

You remember your earlier desire to destroy Bardo, and your need to stay cool and calm. And despite the fact that you want to scream and cry and fight every Bardoan in this room, you put on a brave face, tip your chin in defiance, and mutter, “The guards aren't necessary.”

Gabriel looks at you in alarm, not expecting your willingness, turning his gaze to Anders. “No. No way, she isn't going to M-Cap. That thing is torture.”

“Only if you fight it.” Anders turns to you, waiting to see your reaction to the same thing Hope said to you 5 years ago. You stay calm and shrug, “I won't.”

You turn to look at Gabriel, this time squeezing his hand in reassurance. “I’ll be fine. Have a good first day, doctor.”

He must sense something in your gaze, and because he trusts you, he drops it. You let go of his hand and turn to follow the disciples and Anders from the Stone Room and down to M-Cap, your mind remembering the path easily, thanks to your years of studying the map that Orlando drew. As you step into the room, the disciples stay outside and motion you inside, towards a man in white, his back turned to you as he sets up the machine, which has clearly been fixed since Echo used it to kill a man. The man in the room turns towards you when he hears you approach, and you're surprised to see Levitt standing there, watching you with a blank expression. You almost react, but then you remember that you aren't supposed to know each other, so you copy the same blank expression on his face, and follow Anders inside of the room tentatively. He looks at the other disciples over your shoulder. “We’ll be done in an hour.”

They nod and close the door behind them, leaving you, Anders, and Levitt alone, and he motions towards the M-Cap chair. “Please, take a seat Miss Griffin.”

You do as he asks, sliding into the seat, the leather cool against your arms. You lean back a little, resting comfortably, as Levitt begins to attach straps around your wrists and your torso. You look at them warily, and Levitt catches sight of the look. “Don't worry, these are more to help you than hurt you.”

You give him an unconvinced nod, and he finishes up with the restraints, turning away from you and pulling a pair of glasses down onto his face. He begins fiddling with a hologram that only he can see before Anders looks over at him. “I want to see what she sees.”

Levitt spreads his arms wide and a large holographic screen expands in front of them both, big enough for Anders to see everything that Levitt can. He turns and tugs a weird helmet over your head, pinning you in place, and he gives you a look before turning away again. You don't have time to interpret what it means, because Levitt asks, “You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

A million faces flash through your mind on hyperdrive. Your brain thinks of the deep blues and purples of the sky overhead, dotted with stars, and you turn your head to see Bellamy. His hand lifts and points back to the sky, and you follow his finger to see the Ark in the sky overhead, your dad’s hand reaching out for yours. He takes it and turns you around, turning you to face your mother, who smiles and offers you a flower. As you look down at the flower, it transforms into the ones around Shallow Valley, that Clarke used to sit and sketch for hours. You look at your twin, a vast purple sky behind her, the desert of the dead zone stretched around you both, and Anders exclaims, “There! The Key!”

Levitt grabs onto Clarke’s photo from the stream of passing faces, and you grunt a little as the M-Cap machine connects with your mind. It’s not painful, but it’s uncomfortable, like someone’s hand is in your head and holding your brain, their grip tight enough to put pressure on your entire skull. You decided instantly that you hate the sensation, and you want to fight and disengage the link, but that’s not the part you should be playing. But then you remember that you shouldn't be thinking about the part you're playing while your brain is hooked up to a machine designed to read the memories in your head, so you switch to thoughts of Bellamy, his lips on yours, hoping the intimacy is enough to get the two men out of your head. 

“Bring back Clarke. We need to know everything we can about her.”

Levitt turns back to you, his voice soft when he asks, “What’s your earliest memory of Clarke?”

Your brain starts moving backwards, landing on a memory from age 10, until you remember one even younger, age 8. But then another memory pops into your head, back to 6, then 5, before finally settling on 4. Your father is holding your hand tight in his own, leading you towards your shared room with Clarke, his expression frantic. He takes you to the hiding spot in the closet, moving the false door aside to motion you inside, but you plant your feet and refuse to be pushed inside. “No, dad, I don't want to hide!”

Your father kneels down to get into your line of sight, trying hard to hide the anxiety in his expression, though he does a poor job of it. “La lune, I know you don't, but the Chancellor is on his way right now, and he can't know about you. We talked about this, remember?”

“I remember, but I don't want to.”

Suddenly there's movement to your left, and Clarke steps into the room. She looks over at you, just as upset that you have to stay hidden, her expression identical to your own, in more ways than one. She crosses the room to you, something held tight in her grip, and she lifts her hand to offer it to you. It’s a bear, crudely stitched together, almost creepy, but it’s Clarke’s favorite, the one she sleeps with every night. “You take it, Mr. Stuffings will keep you safe.”

You shake your head, not wanting to take your twin’s most prized possession. “Clarke, that's yours.”

She pushes it towards you again, into your hands. “But when you have to hide, he’ll be yours.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, and you step forward to hug her, wrapping your small arms around her. “Thank you, Clarke.”

She hugs you back before you step back, turning to your father, “Okay, I'm ready.”

He nods and you step into the hidden location, watching as he puts the false wall into its place, plunging you into darkness.

When the memory ends, your brain comes back to reality shockingly fast, suddenly conscious of your surroundings again. You're covered in a thin layer of sweat, already exhausted after one memory, and you already want to cry at the thought of how many more memories they’re going to want from you. Levitt turns to you, a proud smile on his face. “You’re doing great.”

But across the room, Anders disagrees. “That memory gave us nothing. We don’t know anymore about the Key than we did before it.”

“Sir, all due respect, sifting through memories takes time. There could be information about the Key that we need from the early memories, we can't rush through these.”

“She must have thousands of memories of Clarke. It’ll take weeks to go through all of them.”

“Probably.”

Anders sighs and steps away from the hologram, “I want everything in the report, and I want reports daily. Anything urgent or important comes to me immediately, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Anders turns and exits the room without another word, leaving you and Levitt alone. He lets out an audible sigh once it’s just you two, turning to look at you in relief. “I’m glad all of you are okay.”

You counter, “Why did you tell us to go to the surface if it's not survivable? That man Echo killed said we’d need rebreathers.”

“You’d survive for at least a few hours. Long enough for me to figure out how to get all of you out of here. Though, you got pretty close with your plan. The others made it to the door of the Stone Room before a disciple stumbled upon them by accident. They knocked her out, but she had already alerted the others.”

“Great.” You don't know what else to say. Almost freeing your friends is not enough. They're still here, half of them god knows where, and a reminder of your failure isn't helpful. “Where are they? Are they okay?”

“They’re okay.”

“When can I see them?”

“You can’t.”

You give Levitt a skeptical look. “Why not?”

“Because all of you play different roles in Bardo now. The others will be prepped for something different, and any fraternization between you is discouraged.”

“Just discouraged? Not banned.”

“For you, consider it banned. Anders values your memories and the information about the Key that you can offer us.”

You give him another look. “Which means that I can use my status to negotiate a visit with them.”

Levitt shakes his head, stopping any ideas before they have a chance to form. “It means that you will be kept away from the others, with the exception of Gabriel. There is a consensus that you’ll get reckless in an attempt to protect your friends, and that you may cause more trouble if given the opportunity to see them. Anders doesn't want to risk that.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at the situation you’re in. “Yeah, imagine getting separated from nearly everyone you love, on a strange planet where your fiance was murdered months before, and then trying to escape. Can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing.”

Levitt ignores your sarcasm, his expression softening. “I’m sorry about what happened to Bellamy. We never wanted anyone to get hurt. But your ways are strange to us. We don’t love individuals, we value the collective. Your constant attempts at escape, which often result in a myriad of disciple deaths in the process, set us back further and further in our preparations for the Last War. We need your information and we need every disciple on Bardo to fight, so we can’t risk you seeing your friends and attempting another escape.”

“Then it seems we’re at a crossroads, because I don’t understand why I should help you.”

Levitt gets a fearful look on his face, and he leans closer to you, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You can’t say things like that. If they hear you, they’ll start killing your friends to get you to comply. I know you don’t want that.”

You look at Levitt and the fear he has, and you start to think that maybe the Bardoans aren’t as advanced as they think they are. You’ve only ever killed people to survive or save the people you love, but they’re willing to kill people, your family, just to break you. And after losing Bellamy, you can’t stomach the idea of losing anyone else. Which Levitt must know, because he takes your softening demeanor as a sign to continue. He does offer you an apologetic look though. “I don’t like digging in your head any more than you like being here. But it’s something we both have to do. And if there aren't at least five memories in the report, Anders will get suspicious. I don't want him to kick me off your case the way they did with Octavia.”

You sigh, knowing you don't have much of a choice. Better that Levitt is sorting through your memories than someone else. For the rest of your time that day, and every day after that, Levitt sorts through your memories of Clarke. He starts as far back as he can and works through the memories in your head, skipping the ones that aren't relevant, though he does tend to sit through some of your memories with Bellamy, the concept of love unfamiliar to him. And every day the disciples have to practically carry you back to your shared room with Gabriel, M-Cap draining your energy even when you're not fighting the machine. And every day Gabriel worries about you the second you are unceremoniously delivered to your room. He keeps you awake long enough to eat whatever meal is provided to you and then he watches over you as you sleep. You know he does, because the bags under his eyes are dark and visible, and he always looks worried. You try to encourage him to worry about you less, not wanting your mental torture to torture him too, but he never listens and he continues to worry.

Still, all things considered, your time in Bardo is not bad. At least, not until your 6th day of M-Cap. Levitt has now made it to your memories in Polis, when Clarke put the Flame in her head to stop Alie. Clarke has just pulled the kill switch and everyone is coming to. Bellamy has just appeared at your side and the two of you are kissing, but as the memory plays out, Levitt mutters, “Wait, stop.”

The sound of his voice pulls you back to the present, and you turn to look at him in confusion, but he doesn't look your way as he rewinds the memory that just played out in your head, zooming in on something in the background. As you and Bellamy pull away and your eyes open, they catch sight of something on the throne, despite it not being your focus. There, Clarke sits, your mother now removing the Flame from your twin’s head and pressing it into her hand. Levitt spins around to look at you in complete shock. “Clarke doesn't have the Flame anymore?”

You look at him in confusion. “No, why would she?”

“In Octavia’s memories...I never saw…”

He trails off, and you put the pieces together quickly. “Wait, you’re telling me that Clarke is the Key because of the tech in her head?”

Levitt nods slightly, stunned, and you continue, ”And you never looked in Octavia’s memories beyond this to know that Clarke took it out?”

You're careful not to mention Madi, realizing that if the Flame is this important to them, Madi could become a target next since she had the Flame most recently. Levitt nods again, confirming that the Bardoans obsession with Clarke stems from something that hasn't been relevant in years. You can't help yourself, but you laugh. Loud, deep, full of disbelief. Everything you've been through, the days of M-Cap that have drained you, all for nothing. Levitt turns to look at you when he hears your amusement, his expression worried. “No, you don't understand. The reason you've been safe until now is because we thought Clarke had the Key. But if she doesn't, then all of you, you and your friends, are useless to us.”

The laughter dies in your throat as you look at him with fear. “Levitt, you can't tell them.”

He turns back to the screen, already moving things aside, shifting, editing, deleting. “Trust me, I did not allow Octavia to punch me twice just to throw it all away now. I’m erasing this from the report, but from now on, you can’t let me into your head.”

“You’re saying that I have to fight the machine?”

He turns to you, shaking his head. “You can't fight the machine, because your brain will hemorrhage. But you can beat the machine by repeating a single phrase over and over, like the one that Bellamy used to say to you.”

“Tell me about the stars.”

“Right, good. We’ll begin tomorrow, but for now, get some rest.”

He walks to the door and lets the disciples in so they can carry you back to your room, back to Gabriel, your anxiety higher than usual after an M-Cap session. Because now you are hyper aware that your survival, the survival of your friends, and the survival of the people you love, all depends on your ability to beat a machine designed to dig through your memories or kill you trying. 

-

The next morning, the disciples lead you back to M-Cap, your hands damp with sweat as you think of the task ahead of you. Beat the machine, save those you love. Easy, right? Except it’s not, because when the door opens, Levitt is in the room waiting for you, like usual, but a second figure clothed in white is in there too. Anders turns towards you with a smile, some of your previous memories playing out on the screen behind him. “Miss Griffin, nice to see you again.”

You nod at him awkwardly, not sure you can trust your voice to stay strong as you face the prospect of beating the machine in front of Anders. You cross the room on shaky legs and plop down into the chair you’ve sat in for the last 7 days now, and Levitt turns to face you and prep you. He senses your fear and gives you a reassuring smile, but through his teeth, he whispers, “Pain.”

You look at him in confusion, but he just shakes his head, letting you know he can't say anything else, leaving you to mull over his words. Once the machine is ready, he begins with the same question he always does. “You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

And just like every other day, your brain cycles through a scroll of faces, and Levitt picks one to begin. This time, it’s your father, his smile bright and happy. Beside you, Levitt mutters, “Good. Neural link is engaged.”

Anders moves closer to you. “I’m curious, some of the reports mention that you call Clarke ‘shining star’. Why is that?”

You glance at Levitt from the corner of your eye, and he gives you a look, reminding you of your conversation the day before. So you fight against the memory that threatens to rise to the surface, you, your mother, and Clarke all on your couch, your father standing across from you, and you start to repeat, “Tell me about the stars. Tell me about the stars. Tell me about the stars. Tell me about the stars.”

The memory playing on the screen nearby stutters, before disappearing, and through your repeated words, you can hear Anders ask, “What is she doing? Bring the memory back!”

“She's trying to block the machine.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, sir.”

Anders glares at Levitt, “Turn it up.”

“But sir-”

He cuts off Levitt’s disagreement. “Do it. Now.”

You glance at Levitt as he dials up the machine, and he flashes you another look, his mouth moving over a silent word, unseen by Anders. Pain.

Pain? It must mean something because Levitt wouldn't risk telling you twice if it didn't. But you are pulled from your thoughts by Anders' voice once again muttering, “The shining star.”

Again, a memory starts to take shape in your mind, your family together, three perfectly wrapped boxes held tightly in your father's hands, and you attempt to use the phrase to resist the memory. But you know which one it is, the allure of it too strong to resist, wanting to relive the moment again. A small box held in your small hands, your dad’s grin is wide and bright, and it makes you feel happy too. But your conscious mind still fights. This memory is meaningless, pointless in the quest for information on Clarke. But if you can't resist this, what will happen when the important memories come into play? You again remember Levitt’s words, the pieces finally falling into place as you realize why he is repeating the word pain. He wants you to hurt yourself.

After countless days spent in this chair, you know there are sensor spikes situated all around the helmet. They serve a dual purpose of relaying information while also keeping the helmet steady in one place over your head. But these sensors are sharp enough to injure someone, because you watched Levitt accidentally cut himself on one a few days ago. Which is why you quickly tip your head to the side and scratch the spike along the side of your head, something warm and wet dripping down the side of your face as you cry out in pain. But you don't stop there. You lift your head and move again, dragging the spike through the already open wound, injuring yourself further, repeating the process over and over again until Anders finally growls in frustration, “Enough. Send her back to her cell.”

Levitt nods and retrieves the disciples, and when he broaches the subject of bandaging the cut on your head, Anders says something about letting Gabriel do it before he storms out of the room. Levitt gives you an apologetic look as two disciples lift you and half carry you from the room, your feet dragging beneath you, but you don't have the energy to care, already drained from your fight against the machine and the pain you had to cause yourself. You are escorted back to your room quickly, Gabriel standing as you are pulled into the room. His eyes find the black blood on the side of your face with ease, his expression shifting to one of horror. “What happened to her?”

The two guards plop you onto your mattress and attempt to leave again, but Gabriel grabs the closest one and spins around, pushing them against the wall. “What did you do to her?”

The second disciple grabs Gabriel and pulls him away from his partner harshly, Gabriel stumbling in an attempt to keep his balance, and the disciple snaps, “She did it to herself, doctor. First disciple Anders said you can clean her up.”

He reaches into a pouch at his side and grabs a small first aid kit, which he tosses at Gabriel before both men turn and leave the room. Gabriel scoops it up and closes the space between you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You wave your hand, trying to push away his concern. But his worry persists as he reaches out to gently grasp your chin, tilting your head so he can get a look at the cut down the side of your face. “Did you do this to yourself?”

“Yes.” He cuts you a look, so you add, “I had a reason.”

“What reason could there possibly be to do this?”

He reaches into the first aid kit and begins pulling out supplies, including a suture kit. Your eyes dart from his busy hands to the cameras in the corners of the room, wondering how much you can say. You tilt your head down, keeping it low so they can’t see your lips moving, and you drop your voice to a nearly inaudible level. “They’re watching, but Clarke isn't the Key.”

“What do you mean?”

“They think she's important because she has the Flame in her head, but they never went far enough into Octavia’s memories to see that it was for a couple of hours on one day over a hundred years ago. If they find out the truth, we’re all dead.”

Gabriel looks at you in alarm, careful to keep his head low too as he preps the sutures. “And the cut…”

“Was to beat the machine. Anders was in the room today and I couldn't keep him out of my head. This was the only way to do it.”

Gabriel nods once, letting you know he understands, before tipping your head back into the light, giving him a better look at your wound. As he begins to stitch you up, the cut starting near your temple and dragging back and down into your hairline, he mutters, “How long can you keep this up before they realize you’re no use to them and kill you?”

“As long as they think Clarke is the Key, they won't risk losing me.”

“I don't like this.”

“I don't either, but it's the only way for me to keep all of us safe. We have to figure out how to get off of Bardo before it’s too late.”

Gabriel nods, lost in thought, probably working on a plan to get all of you out of here. He finishes up your stitches, checks over the wound and cleans it up a little more before nodding with satisfaction. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

He glances at you, a smile on his face as he repacks the first aid kit. “No thank yous needed, cielito.”

You smile at the nickname and lean back into your bed, the drama of the day starting to catch up to you. You feel exhaustion weighing heavy on your lids, dragging them down, and before Gabriel can say another word, you’re already fast asleep.

-

The next morning, you are dragged right back into M-Cap, this time a little harsher than before. Anders is in the room, and Levitt is gone, replaced by a different man, but you know better than to ask why. You can only hope they haven't done something to him. As you are led over to the M-Cap chair, you work hard to keep your expression neutral and hide the fear that you feel creeping up your spine. They lock you down in the chair, attaching every restraint, which they have never done before. 

Once you are held down and the machine is up and running, the new man turns to you, his expression blank, and asks the same question Levitt used to ask you. “You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

Your mind starts to cycle through faces and memories, and you feel your anxiety spike, not even wanting Anders to get the neural link engaged. Which is why you jam your head wound into the sensor spike again, dragging down the wound and breaking Gabriel’s stitches, just like Clarke did years ago in Mount Weather. Your pain levels rise, blocking the machine from engaging with your mind, and Anders breaks his calm nature long enough to growl, “Try again.”

With your pain levels on the rise, you decide to combine the two methods to beat the machine, and you scrape the sensor over your wound as you repeat, “Tell me about the stars, tell me about the stars, tell me about the stars.”

Anders keeps you in the room for hours, trying to get through to your brain, before he finally gives up and sends you back to your room with a group of angry disciples. Gabriel stitches your wound again when you return, his look disapproving, though you know he doesn't mean it. He just hates that you have to bear the weight of this on your own. Just like Clarke, you are now bearing it so they don't have to. 

That night, when you’re laying in bed and Gabriel is asleep, you start to realize that maybe the reason the phrase doesn't work well for you is because you aren't concentrating on it enough. But the problem with concentrating on it is the slew of memories associated with the phrase, memories that Anders can use to link you to the machine and forcefully dig through your mind. But maybe, if you use the same phrase in Trigedasleng, your mind will have to focus on it and the translation more. There’s only one memory associated with the Trigedasleng translation, when you and Bellamy were watching a brewing civil war from the windows of a tower in Polis. But fighting one memory is much easier than fighting the countless others you have of Bellamy asking you to tell him about the stars.

The next day, as soon as the disciples come to take you, you begin your chanting. “Tel ai hashta skaifaya. Tel ai hashta skaifaya.Tel ai hashta skaifaya.Tel ai hashta skaifaya.”

You focus on the words, the translation, making sure it’s correct each time you say it, which gives Wanlida time to close the door to your memories, locking them away where Anders and the others can't reach them. You repeat the words the whole way to M-Cap, you repeat them as they strap you down, you repeat them as they try to probe your mind again. And after another long day of attempts, you come out on the other side successful. Your memories are safe, your stitches in tact, and the knowledge of the Flame is still safely tucked away. 

The process repeats for the next few days as they try to break you and get back into your head, but with a combination of pain and your mantra, they never even successfully link the machine to your mind. By day 3, you’re feeling pretty proud of yourself when you are delivered back to your shared room with Gabriel, a smile on your face, which he quickly takes note of. “I have seen you smile like that since Skyring.”

You feel a wave of guilt when you realize that you’re smiling so soon after losing Bellamy, your brain temporarily forgetting that he isn't back on Sanctum with Clarke. He’s dead and gone, and you’re smiling like nothing happened. Your expression quickly drops, and Gabriel seems to regret saying anything. You don't want him to think it's his fault, because it's not, which is why you answer his question anyways. “I beat the machine again.”

“And you didn’t rip out your stitches to do it.”

You nod and he smiles, just as proud. He’s about to ask you something when the door to the room pulls open and no less than 10 guards file into the room, walking towards you. The air in the room is menacing, and you get a sudden thought that this is it. You were wrong about them needing you. You outlived your usefulness, and now they’re here to kill you. At least your memories will die safely along with you. Gabriel must have the same fear that you're about to die, because as soon as they reach for you, he starts to yell and fight. “Leave her alone!”

You watch him knock two guards aside, and you do the same, hitting the man to your left in the throat, choking him. You twist your arm out of the other man’s grip before grabbing his helmet and curling our fingers beneath the seam, grasping at the safety latch that keeps the helmet in place. You find it easily, removing the helmet from the man’s head and using it as a weapon to knock him out. 

You can hear the grunt of fighting behind you, and you turn around to see Gabriel struggling with a circle of guards around him, all of them tugging, pulling, and grabbing at him. You start to attack them from behind, knocking them back one by one, but just as you start to get the upper hand, more disciples flood into the room. You feel someone yank on your arm hard, and someone else’s fist connects with your face, knocking you off balance. You manage to catch yourself at the last second, only to be tackled to the floor, someone pressing down on your back and pushing your face into the floor as they work to restrain you. 

You feel a pair of cuffs latch around your wrists before you are harshly yanked back to your feet, gravity making you realize that blood is now dripping from your stitched up cut. The black liquid runs down the side of your face and neck, disappearing beneath your shirt, as you turn to face the door. There Anders stands, looking over you and Gabriel both, a disapproving look on his face. “See? Their bonds need to be broken, otherwise they will never be like us.”

You look at Gabriel in alarm, blood dripping from his nose, a bruise already blooming around his eye, both of you sharing a look of fear. Anders motions to the guards holding you, pointing them towards the door. “One day, you will both understand. As will the others.”

You are being led towards the door, and at the mention of your friends, you start to fight. “The others? What about them? What do you mean?”

You've heard no mention of them in ages, and both you and Gabriel know that asking about them is useless, because they'll never tell you anything. Anders shakes his head in disappointment at the frantic tone of your voice at the mention of your friends. “You are all so attached. That is not our way. We have to break your bonds, and there's only way to do that.”

And then he motions for your guards to take you out the door. You start fighting against them, trying to get back to Gabriel and the safety of your cell, but they hold you and him tight, both of you fighting uselessly to escape. “Gabriel! Don't let them kill me! Gabriel!”

He screams back, his voice just as desperate, “Cielito! I'll find you! Just don't fight them!”

You heed his words, letting some of the fight drain from your body, suddenly aware that you’re wasting your energy on them. It’s useless to try to escape in this moment, and you could need your energy later if things get worse, which you are starting to suspect they will. So you drop your fighting down to a milder level, mostly allowing the disciples to carry you off, your mind and eyes taking in everything around you. They lead you to the elevator and direct it to the sixth floor, one that you haven't been to before. You rack the map in your brain, trying to figure out where they're taking you, but the only thing you can remember on this floor is the adolescent training, and you’re sure that can't be where you’re going.

But sure enough, they lead you to a door labeled “training” and hit the button, the door sliding open to reveal a large room, a gray mat stretched across the floor. Inside of the room is a group of people, and they all turn towards you at the sound of the door opening, the disciple on your left announcing, “Sorry to interrupt. First Disciple Anders wanted her to join the other trainees.”

Your brows pull together in confusion, your mind convinced ten seconds ago that you were being led to death. But instead they brought you to training? You shift your gaze over to the trainees, and the crowd parts a little, revealing four familiar faces that you haven’t seen in a couple of weeks. Your jaw drops in shock as your eyes move over the four women: Octavia, Echo, Diyoza, and Hope, all of them staring back at you in happy surprise. Octavia is the first to break the silence, her voice full of happiness as she looks at you and whispers, “La lune.”

-

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

[mattmurdocksscars]

Miscommunication

Alright guys! Third fic in 24 hours, let’s go! ;) This is the start of my First Order Poe fic! I’ve been bouncing this idea around for a bit and I’m excited for yall to see it. I’m already working on the second part too so hopefully I’ll keep up with it and have a normal schedule! The first few chapters are going to be to introduce the characters and then after that, it will probably be snapshots. I hope you guys enjoy!

Pairing: First Order!Poe x Fem!Reader

Rating: Teen for language! Reader likes the word Fuck, canon typical violence

Word Count: 2018!

Tag List: @criminal-cookies​ and @himbopoes​ (I tagged you cause of the post earlier, if you wanna be tagged in everything, let me know)

The mission was supposed to be a straightforward information swap. You were to meet up with your informant, get the information, and get out. When you landed your ship, you noticed the village seemed more deserted than usual. Alarm bells instantly went off in your head, but you needed this information. So, hood pulled over your head, you still made your way to the cantina and found your informant sitting in a back booth as usual. What was unusual was how nervous he looked. Every few seconds, he would nervously look around but when you entered, his gaze zeroed in on you. His eyes widened in panic for a moment before he pointedly looked at another booth in the cantina before looking back to his table. As casually as you could, you headed to the bar instead of the booth your informant was at and ordered a drink. Once you had it, you began to run your gaze across the room. Making sure to appear as natural as possible, you kept your gaze away from the booth you were interested in for a few minutes before finally looking it over.

Your heart immediately stopped in your chest. Sitting at the booth were four first order officers, one of which you recognized instantly. Captain Poe Dameron was one of the First Order’s best pilots and was known for being absolutely ruthless. If he was here, they had obviously been tipped off about the exchange. The fucking informant. He must have squealed which is why he looked so guilty, sitting at the booth. You were going to have to get out of this on your own. So far, you seemed to have the upper hand in that they hadn’t noticed you. This meant that they didn’t know who exactly they were looking for, which gave you an advantage. If you could maintain your sense of calm, you might be able to just walk out of the cantina and back to your ship.

Except Captain Dameron was approaching the bar and his gaze was locked onto you and Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit-

“Hello, sweetness.” Fuck. Not only was this asshole incredibly handsome, but his voice sounded like sin.

“Somethin’ I can help you with, sir?” You asked, purposefully pitching your voice. His eyes raked over you, not seeing much thanks to the cloak you were wearing.

“Little warm for a cloak, don’t you think?” Oh, this fucker was just playing with you now. If he wanted to play, you could play too.

“A little warm for gloves and a jacket, don’t you think?” You snarked back. Already you were working on a plan to get away from this man. So far, the other officers at the table hadn’t moved and didn’t even seem interested in what you two were doing. Your informant was still sitting at his booth, looking between the two of you, the officers, and the table. If you didn’t get out in the next few moments, you would be screwed. At least on the streets, you stood a better chance of getting away or hiding.

“Someone’s feisty. I think we both know how this is going to go. Why don’t you walk with me back to the booth and I won’t kill everyone in this filthy place?” That brought your eyes back to his and you found them smoldering with intent. He clearly thought he had the upper hand here and while that was likely true, you never gave up that easily. Stepping closer to him so there was almost no space between your bodies, you watched the way his eyes dilated. Smirking, you walked a hand up his chest to the back of his neck. He let you pull him in so you could whisper in his ear, still thinking he had the upper hand.

“Sorry, love, but I’m not that easy.” Your fingers sunk into his hair and yanked. He hissed in shock and before he could recover, you were slamming your fist into his stomach then bringing his head down to meet your knee. The whole bar scattered away from the two of you as you whipped out your blaster and fired off at the other officers. You downed two of them with lucky shots and the third ducked behind the booth to hide. Using the momentary chaos of the bar patrons fleeing, you took off out the door and began running through back alleys. Knowing your cloak would only assist them in finding you, you dropped it, leaving you in your shorts, thigh holster, utility belt, and tank. Weaving in and out of the streets, you were almost back to the hangar your ship was parked at when you realized there were now stormtroopers storming the village. Ducking back into an alley and behind some crates, you leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

You had to think fast. You were under direct orders not to be caught but with the troopers searching the village, it would only be a matter of time. Looking around the corner, you noticed three stormtroopers making their way down the road. You took a deep breath to ready yourself, waiting until the troopers were parallel to you before lashing out. You whipped one of them across the skull with your blaster before shooting at the other two. One of their blasts grazed your upper arm and you couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that left you in response. A few more shots and the other troopers were downed. You could hear more converging on your location, so you took off running again. Cutting through alleys, you led the troopers on a chase throughout the village. If you could keep them on your tail, you could lead them away from the hangar and then double back.

Coming up on the bazaar that set in the center of the village, you quickly realized that your plan wouldn’t work. The other officer from the cantina was standing in the bazaar with a company of troopers.

“When I see that fucking informant again, he’s dead.” You grumbled under your breath. This was not how today was supposed to fucking go. You could hear footsteps behind you and turned to see a couple of troopers coming into the alley. Deciding that taking on the ones in the alley was your better choice, you took off back the alley. You weren’t counting on more troopers joining them and before long, they had overpowered you. One of the troopers ripped your blaster away from you while another punched you viciously in the face.

“You punch like a bitch.” This earned another punch to the face before you were roughly pulled to your feet and brought into the bazaar. The two troopers holding your arms dragged you in front of the officer before kicking your knees out, so you were forced to kneel. A pair of cuffs were slapped on your wrists and a hand gripped your hair to make you look up at the officer. The man in front of you had a smug grin on his face as he looked you over.

“Let Captain Dameron know we’ve got the woman.”  The trooper he addressed did as told and the officer stepped closer to you. He grabbed your chin, looking you over with poorly concealed interest. Narrowing your eyes, you spit the blood in your mouth out at him. It hit him directly in the face and he stumbled away from you with a shout. Someone close by laughed and you were able to turn just enough to see Captain Dameron approaching. His lip was busted and there was blood caked around his nose and you almost felt sorry for the man. Almost. He stopped in front of you and looked you over, being smart enough to keep his hands to himself. He let out a low whistle at the state of your face.

“You certainly look worse for wear, little rebel.” You looked at him in confusion for a moment before understanding crossed you and you began laughing. Dameron and the other officer shared a confused look before looking back at you.

“Oh, that’s just precious. You think I’m with the Resistance? Oh, honey, is Armie still not telling his officers everything when he sends them out?” Now, you were just absolutely amused. Would you be in trouble when they brought you in? Probably. But you just couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces. Straightening as much as you could, you looked Dameron directly in the eye. “Take me in. I need to speak to Kylo Ren.”

“Oh no, bitch. You’re our prisoner and we’ll be taking you to General Hux.” The other officer suddenly tried looking important while Dameron eyed you in interest. A slow smile crossed your face at this news.

“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

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

You were brought aboard the Finalizer and taken to an interrogation room. Strapped into a chair, you barely moved when General Hux stepped into the room, followed by Captain Dameron and Officer Douchebag. Officer DB had been unnecessarily handsy with you and you had told him more than once that as soon as you were free, you would be kicking his ass. He had only found that amusing. When General Hux saw you strapped to the chair, his already pale face lightened even more. That slow smirk crept back up on your face at the slight panic that flickered into his eyes.

“Hi, Armie.”

“This is who you captured today.” Hux asked, his voice a little high. Officer Douchebag didn’t read the room and seemed to swell with pride.

“Yes. We caught this rebel scum in the village, exactly where the informant said she would be.” Dameron was looking between you and Hux with interest but kept silent. You could see the gears in his head turning as he tried to figure out just who the hell you were.

“You absolute fool. Get her out of the chair before-“ The door sliding open behind them cut Hux off. Standing in the doorway was Kylo Ren and you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

“General Hux. Would you like to explain to me why you have my intelligence officer in a prison cell?”

You could have heard a pin drop with how silent the room got. Officer Douchebag was looking between you and Kylo with confusion, understanding was crossing over Captain Dameron’s face, and Hux looked about ready to pass out.

“Your intelligence officer? This is a rebel, she’s not-“ Kylo cut Officer Douchebag off, force choking the man who clearly had no brains.

“Release her. Now.” Dameron was the closest to you, so he reached over and quickly undid the restraints holding you in place. Rubbing your wrists, you shot him a wink before walking over to the officer. You gave him a sweet smile before punching him in the face. His nose broke with a sickening crack and blood gushed down his face. Kylo released him and he dropped, holding his nose and crying.

“Oh, do shut up. I warned you.” You rolled your eyes and turned to Kylo. “My apologies, sir. He doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.” Kylo nodded, before turning to leave the room and indicating for you to follow him. With a sigh, you brushed yourself off and turned to Hux.

“Armie, you should really consider vetting your officers better. Today was an absolute waste of time.” You turned and walked to the door to follow Kylo out but paused as you came up beside Captain Dameron. You let your gaze drag slowly up his form before stopping at his eyes. They were dark and full of curiosity and a spark of heat. You brought a hand up to cup his face, running your thumb along his busted lower lip. “Well…maybe not a complete waste. Do get that looked at, love.” With a final stroke of his lip, you turned and left the room leaving behind a sniveling officer, an exasperated General, and a very interested Captain.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #first order poe #first order poe dameron #first order poe x reader #poe dameron x female reader

[wienerbarnes]

Breathe Deeper

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,324

Prompt: “Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” (from a random prompt generator)

Warnings: murder, violence, staging a suicide, ~feelings~

A/N: cafe bustelo does wonders for you at 1 am anyway ive been trying to finish this for like two months. have a couple more ideas for these two but feel free to send me any ideas or requests and ill do em if the inspo strikes! also title is purely the song im listening to as i type this out and has no correlation to the story LOL but hey if yall like tame impala enjoy

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

A single pop is heard as a bullet flies out of your gun into the head of the old man who opened the door.

“Christ! No build up?! No tension?! No confirmation that it’s even him?!” Bucky yells as he wiggles his ear to rid the ringing from it.

You brush past Bucky and slide the gun back into the holster strapped to your thigh. You step over behind whatever his name was, Bucky’s having trouble remembering after that blow to his eardrum, and hook your hands under his arms in order to  drag him back into the empty house.

“Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” Bucky questions you as he closes the door behind him, stepping in between splatters of blood.

“Nope, gotta leave leftovers for the bugs that live in my mouth.”

“That’s gross.”

“Shut up, help me lug this guy to the bedroom.”

The two of you are in a small town in Northern Oklahoma on the property of one of your ex-Hydra handlers. After a few days of researching, the two of you were able to figure out where he moved to and what he changed his name to after retiring from his prior lifestyle.

“I knew it was him from the second I saw him. You never forget.” You explain to him, both of you positioning his body in the corner of the room.

“You go clean up the entryway, I’ll finish staging over here.” Bucky offers it to you. He takes out his own gun from his own waistband and fires a single shot through the same hole you put in between the guy’s eyes. The splatter that explodes on the walls behind him are perfect, artistic almost. Bucky then starts looking around the room; in the closet, under the bed, until he reaches the night stand where a pretty little pistol lays. Not the same gun as his, but he has a feeling the police system in such a small and unpopulated town won’t bother to investigate this death as a murder as opposed to the obvious suicide that took place.

Bucky notices the small skull and octopus stamped into the side of the gun as he places it in his hands. He rolls his eyes before making his way back over to the entryway where you’re sat on the ground, scrubbing away with a rag in your hands and a bottle of bleach next to you. 

Bucky walks over and takes a seat on the loveseat positioned a few feet away from where you are.

“So, where we heading after this?” Bucky asks you, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the arm of the seat.

“Back to New York? You probably gonna be busy working on that murder case.” You glance at him confused before going back to scrubbing.

Bucky pauses before speaking again, “How do you know about that?”

“I… keep up with my fair share of news.”

“You don’t pay for newspapers nor do you have a TV or a phone; you don’t have news. Besides, we haven’t released any information to the public about anything before we get more leads. So, how do you know about that?” Bucky stares at you, eyebrows pinched a bit in the middle as he awaits your answer.

“Do you wanna stop and get some pie on the way back?”

“No. Did you see something about the murders?” Bucky ignores your attempt at changing the subject.

“You just said you haven’t released anything-”

“I don’t mean on the news, I mean in that empty head of yours.” He teases.

You sigh, “I hate when you ask me about my… head.”

“Well, you could be helping here! You can try and be good!”

“I’m sitting on the floor scrubbing an old guy’s blood out of the wood of his own house after I’ve just blown his brains out.”

“Yeah, a bad old guy!”

You get off the last of the specks of blood before standing up and screwing the cap back onto the bottle of bleach. “I didn’t even see anything about the killer, anyway.”

“So, what did you see?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Fetch me a bone here, doll.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like that, dog.”

He grabs the bleach and rag from your fingers to free up your hands from carrying anything. Tingles travel up the tips of your fingers and flow up through your wrist into your chest. You glance up and make eye contact with Bucky and the dramatic puppy eyes and pouty lips he’s throwing your way. 

You stare for a few more seconds before looking away, “Check that huge pond in Central Park tomorrow. His next victim will be floating there.” You satisfy him before turning and making your way back outside and to the car the two of you took on your little road trip.

While walking back to the parked car, Bucky quickly rushes in front of you and grasps the handle before you can reach it, allowing you to get in the car while he holds it open for you. He throws you an innocent looking smile, a smile coming from a person who surely didn’t just stage a suicide. You bite back your own smile before taking a seat and letting Bucky close the door behind you.

…

When you open your eyes after your nap, it's dark outside the moving car. You slowly lift your head up off the car window and glance over at Bucky, who you now realize is on the phone with someone.

“I told you, it was a weird anonymous number, Sam. I don’t know where it came from.” Bucky speaks softly on the phone before turning his head to look at you in your sleepy state.

“All they said was to check the pond in Central Park tomorrow. I know it’s sketchy, but we don’t have any other leads anyway, we might as well try it.”

“We sounds like a lot of people, ain’t you say that to me one time? Not all of us are on vacation, you know.” You hear another deep voice through the tiny speaker of the phone against Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, man.”

Bucky wraps up his conversation as you process what you’ve heard. Bucky has lied, again, to the government, to Captain America, in order to protect you and your existence.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks before your thoughts can get too far from you.

“Fine. We’re already heading back to New York?” 

“We’re stopping at a motel for the night, but after tomorrow’s drive, we’ll get there by sundown.”

You sit up proper and stretch your legs as far out in front of you as you can, the bones crunching and popping in relief at the new position. Bucky cringes next to you. He glances at you and watches you pick at the crust gathered at the corners of your eyes, a yawn escaping you along with the last of your grogginess.

Bucky doesn’t know how he’d fully express it to you, but he’s so happy to see the person you’re growing into. Everyday a little bit more of your personality, your mannerisms, your weirdness, your humor, your ideas; everything about the real you, shows more and more. He sees this beautiful woman who, maybe a year and some ago, was walking the line of death and now sits beside him with neon green nail polish and mismatched socks and cute flower earrings adorning the curve of your ear. He stares at the tattoo on your neck, that angry red face with large eyebrows and wonders whether or not that was your idea or not. He wonders if you have any other tattoos hidden among the space of your skin, he doesn’t remember seeing any along your sides or stomach that nightmare of a night in his apartment-

“You’re swervin’.” 

Bucky clears his throat and snaps his head forward, fixing the car to drive straight on the road. Soon, he sees the promising sign, “Motel in 10 Miles,” and the two of you park in the small lot of the light orange building.

The inside smells of old people, an aged scent that isn’t necessarily bad, but makes you scrunch your nose nonetheless. No bugs in clear sight and the roof is still intact, so it should be suitable for a night of rest.

“We only have rooms available on the first floor for tonight, I’m assuming you’ll want one bed?”

Bucky's throat goes dry for a second, “Yes, that’s fine.” He doesn’t want to consult you as you look far off out the front window of the lobby, back turned to the young woman at the front desk. No matter how small a town in whatever state there is at this point in their journey, there is no risking anyone recognizing you, even if your search mission has been deemed unsolved.

A plastic card is slid into Bucky’s right hand and he begins making his way back outside and down the walkway towards their room for the night. You follow him silently.

“I call showering first, I think there’s small clumps of blood still stuck in my hair.” You tell him, flinging your backpack onto the bed, and pulling out a large sweatshirt and panties and taking them into the bathroom with you. 

While the water begins to run, Bucky undoes the blankets, looks thoroughly through the pillows and in between the sheets in search of bed bugs. Next, inspecting the lamps, outlets, and anything else that could possibly hide a camera, microphone, or any other device. He even contemplates tearing apart the carpet under his feet, but decides against the extra work. He places your bag along with his own backpack on the small table in the corner of the room and fixes the bed to not look like he tore it apart recklessly. I wonder what side she prefers-

The bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam flows out, you soon emerge with a towel wrapped around your head, large sweatshirt hanging off your frame and bare feet digging into the soft carpet beneath you. You fling the towel off of your head using momentum from throwing your head and neck forward, the towel landing on the floor in front of you and your wet hair sending a light spray Bucky feels on his warm face.

By the time Bucky finishes with his shower, the room resembles a sauna and his metal arm has gone hot. A long sleeved shirt and cotton shorts are slipped onto his body along with a pair of thick socks to keep him warm at all times. He steps out of the bathroom, using his towel to rub through his hair, and he spots you using the small mirror on the wall. 

Your legs are on display and your underwear is in sight. Bright pink with WEDNESDAY printed on the behind in bubble letters, it’s Friday, the bottoms of your butt cheeks hanging out the bottom of the fabric. The cotton hugs your body and Bucky can’t help but blush at the sight. His mother would smack him over the head if she were here right now. 

Your shirt is lifted, one of your hands holding it high on your chest where Bucky can see a slip of under your breast peeking, the curve intriguing him. Your other hand is occupied rubbing a colorless liquid along your side, Bucky focuses his attention and realizes your rubbing along the scar he left you from your stitches. The bottle on the table has a label that read Vitamin E Natural Oil. 

Your fingers seem unbelievably soft and gentle as he watches them glide along your side, massaging the shiny oil into your smooth skin. You drop your sweatshirt and gather a bit more oil on your hands before rubbing it into your hips where Bucky can see the faintest stretch marks.

“Sorry ‘bout the scar. O-on your side, I mean.” Bucky stutters out, convincing himself that his body is warm from the shower he took. 

“It probably saved my life, so I can’t say I’m sorry about it.” You respond without turning around, as though you knew he was there watching you lather yourself in oil like the beginning of a softcore porn but didn’t mind him enjoying the show.

“What’s that stuff for, anyways?” Bucky asks as he gathers his old clothes back into his bag, folding each piece before placing the packed bag next to yours on the table. Your bag that clearly does not have folded clothes, only crinkled ones. Bucky empties your bag and folds your clothes for you before neatly packing it and closing the zippers.

“Helps fade scars.”

“Yeah, but why? Scars are cool.” 

“I suppose. I’d still like to lighten them a bit. So they look better, prettier.”

“You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in the last few decades.”

“You don’t even remember most of the last few decades,” You try to joke.

“I mean it. It’s a compliment. It’s okay to accept and enjoy compliments, doll.” Bucky looks at you, forcing you to meet his eyes. You see in your peripheries as he puts the cap on the bottle of oil and places it next to your bag. A small smile adorns his face as he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel a knot form in your throat.

It’s been a long while since you’ve received any kind of love, whether that be physical, emotional, mental, or self. It’s an overwhelming feeling when someone who you aren’t actually the closest with gives you such a deep and personal compliment. 

Aren’t the closest with- this is your only friend he the only person you even know. The point is, being the most beautiful woman of the century is much different than having pretty hair or a good sense of humor.

You look away from him before the small bit of wetness can gather in your waterline.

“Which side of the bed do you prefer?” Bucky whispers softly to you, as to not break the safe atmosphere created by his sweet comment.

You clear your throat that now feels thick with tar, “The right.”

“Good. I prefer the left.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #~gasp~ and there was only one bed #series #oneshot

[kashimos-hajime]

viper | s.r.

summary: you would laugh at the irony — bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, they kiss n stuff so ig its cute sometimes, civil war discourse, guns, unstable reader, also TREAT YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS RIGHT or ill come beat you with a BAT lmk if i missed anything pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 12.5k

a/n: written for hann over @sunmoonandbucky​!! and i’m so sorry this is late! this is a stand-alone kinda prequel that occurs in the same universe as come undone so sorry yall steve is still an asshole and this ain’t up to snuff but i was having trouble keeping it a reasonable length (like maybe less than 15k???) my prompt was “i bet they have a sex dungeon” but i reworded it just a tiny bit. gif not mine

It begins with “Maybe I can get Thor to come down,” and “Only if you call your blondie first.” (You add you could pretend to put a gun on Jane and he’d instantly come down in a blaze of white and rainbow light — Jane retorts with the fact that Steve Rogers bought a bouquet of roses on your first date a week after you began being her shadow and writes you hand-written letters every second week. The instant you call, he’ll come running)

It begins with a friendly competition between Thor and Steve, who are not even present, but love the women there just as much (Thor would say he loves Jane more than Steve loves you because everything’s a competition on Asgard — Steve would say he loves you in some poem he wrote on the flight over with pink cheeks and a shy smile)

It begins with jokes and smiles, “I bet there’s a sex dungeon,” and laughter. (Jane comments that the abandoned warehouse is full of cobwebs and the readings are off the charts — you tell Darcy under your breath that that’s something you hear everyday and it’ll take more than that to interest you)

It ends just the opposite.

It ends with Jane Foster pulling your smoking body from the ashes of an abandoned warehouse. (Her hands nearly burn as they grab at bits of melting leather — your veins glow beneath your paling skin in bright, unearthly red)

It ends with a call to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve Rogers being pulled out of Washington, D.C. (Darcy makes the call because Jane doesn’t want them involved — they’ll end up doing what’s best for them rather than the best for you)

You end.

And something else begins.

.

It’s 2010.

You’re assigned to shadow Tony Stark alongside the Black Widow. You’re fresh-faced and chirpy, someone who whistles when they make coffee in the morning, the type of girl who’ll dance like no one’s watching and belt out the lyrics to her favourite song. Someone who believes that the insurmountable can be an anthill if you only look at it with a new point of view.

You wear combat boots and three thigh holsters and knives to work, but you love wearing makeup and sundresses and taking walks on the beach at sunset.

Essentially, if the Black Widow is the night, you are the day. 

Essentially, if you ask Natalia Romanova her opinion of you, then you’d get that you’re annoying as fuck, but if she catches anyone looking at you the wrong way, there’s no doubt they won’t live to see another day. That is, if she gets to them before you do.

Because before the sunshine girl Natalia affectionately calls a pain in her ass, you are the Viper. 

And vipers never strike twice.

.

It’s 2002.

Budapest is cold at this time of the year, but you’re only here because you owe Yelena a favour and if you don’t pay it back, she is going to kill you.

Whether that is a figure of speech or not, TBD.

Anyway, you figure you’re going to die anyway when your tires are shot out as you speed across the Liberty Bridge. It’s your last night in Budapest after killing whoever you’re meant to kill, and although it’s spring, it’s still fucking cold.

So, there you are, appropriately panicking internally because you do not want to plunge into ice cold water. You’re already shifting gears as you try to gain control of your car and you hear cars beep at you, but it’s two in the morning and you’re exhausted and you think maybe you can pull it off. Then another tire blows.

You fail miserably.

Swerving off the road, you let out a short yell before you’re sinking into the Danube, and the night air weaves underneath your tac suit before the freezing cold of December currents slams into you. You cut yourself free with the knife strapped beneath your dashboard as another wave of river water laps at your waist. Sucking in a huge breath, you fight back the freezing cold and reach up to your sunglasses department.

“Yelena, I’m going to kill you,” you mutter between your shivering as you grab the automatic center punch and press it against the glass. The glass shatters near instantly and you take a deep breath, climbing out through the window as your car sinks deeper into the river. The water nips at your cheeks and you fight off the urge to gasp at how bracing it is. Pushing yourself to the surface, you suck in a gaping breath and glance for the closest shore before swimming as hard as you can. An odd sensation of something burning you from the inside out fills your arms and legs as you paddle to shore, and you drag yourself onto dry land, wet dripping, squeezing out with every press of your body against the ground.

“Fuck.” Wiping off the water from your cheek, you roll onto your back and suck in a cold breath that is somehow warmer than you are. Closing your eyes, you let the breath shudder in your lungs as you try to pull yourself together. A list of names runs through your head as you push yourself up on aching limbs. You cross off a name one by one of those who’d want to kill you and instead rub your arms, trying to get some warmth back into you. You’re quite sure a mighty bruise is gonna bloom along your arms and ribs in a few days as an arrow lands at your feet.

“Stop.”

A voice, American, male, makes you turn around and you know immediately it is the one who shot out your tires.

“What do you want?” You look up to see him, a blur of dark violet and black as he propels himself down and lands a distance away. His bow folds back into a compact black rod that fits on his back, and he lets go of the rope as another figure appears at the top of the bridge. A flame of red hair and a black suit that looks a lot like yours drops to the ground and you gasp, lips barely parting and this time, it’s not from the cold.

“My name is Clint Barton, I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D.” The man smiles. Your eyes drag warily back to him, a hand on the pistol strapped to your back, along the line of your waist. The woman with red hair steps off the rope, shaking her head when the water laps at her feet. Pebbles crack beneath her feet and your breath rattles as your eyes dart back to her. “You’re who they call the Viper, right?”

“Yes,” you murmur, hand still on the gun. 

“Well, me and my partner here were tasked to kill you, but we’re thinking of making a different call.”

“We’ve been tracking you for a while now.” Her voice. The smirk you can barely see and the way she tosses the hair out of her face. Even the way she walks is the same

“Natalia?” Your voice bursts from your throat and you feel breathless at the sound of her name. The woman with red hair looks up jerkingly and your eyes widen as you soak in her face. She hasn’t aged a day, and you almost want to cry. “Tali, it’s me.” Her body goes limp, her arms swinging by her sides as you let go of the gun at your waist. Taking a tentative step forward, you press your lips together in a desperate attempt to smile. “Nat? Natalia?”

“No…”

“It’s me.” Your eyes burn now and you take another few steps, your knees weak and shaking. “I thought you were dead. They… they told me you were dead.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.”

“Fucking funny, Talia,” you spit, unable to help the tears clogging your throat as Natalia Romanova takes a step towards you. “It’s… it’s fucking… it’s really fucking funny.” You let out a sharp, chilling breath just as she opens her arms, and you glare at her, half-hoping she melts into a puddle at your feet.

“Come here,” she whispers and then you are flinging yourself into the Black Widow’s arms. Melting in her warm, dry embrace, you bury your face in her neck. You wrap your arms as tight as you can around her and squeeze, eyes closing shut. “Oh, god, Vipe,” she breathes out, and then she murmurs a Russian prayer of thanks you haven’t heard since you were five. Joining her, you can feel the smile beginning to pull at your lips at the familiarity of a sister’s hug.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Clint says, “but it’s a moment, so I guess I’ll let it slide.”

.

It’s 2012.

And there is a god on the loose.

“Can I just say that I hate this? For the record, that is,” you chime in helpfully, and Tony rolls his eyes at you through the screen as he fixes his mask and you sigh, stuffing another one of Peter’s pair of pajama bottoms into a duffel bag you’ve brought with you. “I don’t think we need to move Peter out of New York when Loki’s going for Stark Tower.”

“Just make sure Parker’s good. I don’t like the thought of us losing as much as the next person, but if we do lose, you know it’d be good if I didn’t get another Parker killed.” Tony’s voice echoes and you press your lips together in half a smile, wry and tired. 

“What happened at StarkExpo two years ago wasn’t your fault,” you say, but he merely shakes his head as you rifle through the closet for day clothes. The moment Peter is back from school, you’re taking both Peter and May to Tony’s place in Malibu for the weekend. “Ben Parker did what he thought was best.”

“Hammer drones killed him and they were going for anyone with the mask, Vipe.” Tony sounds exhausted, and you pause, glancing over your shoulder at your phone propped up on a stack of Peter’s textbooks. Sighing, you momentarily abandon your task of packing Peter’s bags and instead head to grab your phone. “If it weren’t for you, Peter would be dead, or worse—”

“You’re the one who saved him, Tony,” you murmur, sitting on the bed. You know he’s spiralling despite how put together he is externally, and you wish you could be there. You wish you could just reach over and hug him. But you can’t. Not yet. “I just made sure he stayed safe.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“I know.” You pull a strand of hair away from your face. “Tony, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Cannot be guaranteed, Little Miss.” Rolling your eyes at the nickname as playfully as you can, your small smile tugs at your cheeks. Tony barely has the goggles on his face, holding them by one hand as the blowtorch sparks in every direction and you lean on your knees, just watching him at work. It’s always been something so intriguing to you, watching Tony make a suit, but now, it just makes you tired and sad.

“Then, at least put on your goggles,” you whisper, and it is at this volume that Tony finally looks at you. He blinks, squints at you with those dark, wet eyes and absorbs your sagging frown, the bags pulling underneath your eyes. “Tony.”

“Yeah. I will.” He sets down the blowtorch to pull the strap over his head before glancing up. “I’ve gotta go, Little Miss. I’ll see you on the return trip.”

“Bye, Tony.” You smile and he manages one of his own forced grins before you end the call and let your hands drop, leaning heavily on your knees as your head hangs low. The weight of the situation has always been on your shoulders, but for the first time, you feel like you have something to lose now. And it isn’t just Tony.

Coulson wasn’t the only one who ‘watched Captain America as he slept.’

You know everything there is to know about him, but you wish you knew Steve Rogers half as well you knew his alter ego.

So, when Steve Rogers asks you out on a date the old-fashioned way in the middle of the airport, you want to say yes. There are a ton of reporters around, snapping pictures of Captain America in his domestic life, and you’re tanned from your weekend in Malibu. Peter is clinging onto the luggage cart even though you’ve told him not to. May’s gone to the bathroom, and your eleven year old companion interrupts Steve’s no-doubt-memorized speech on how much he likes you with coughs he refuses to acknowledge collectively as a symptom of a cold.

“You always come with the extra set of arms and legs?” Steve asks when you don’t respond right away. He jokes to ease the tension, and you grin, just glad to see him in one piece. Unexpectedly, Steve smiles back and you feel your heart beat faster. You think you might just be a little in love with that smile as May comes back.

“Uhm, no. Sorry to disappoint you but I don’t think Peter wants to go on a date with us,” you quip and he chuckles. “I’m being reassigned in London, so maybe I could put a rain check?”

“Of course. I’m going to Washington, too, uh, since Fury said he has some work for me there.”

“Perfect.” You smile and he brushes hair away from your face, a bit shyly. A delighted pink flush swells in his cheeks as he turns, walking to the cart. He begins to push and you blink as he sets off in the direction of the exit. A protest builds up in your throat — you can push your own luggage — but Steve is already off with Peter clinging onto his back, and you’re left with May.

“He’s good with kids,” she hums and you agree. “You two would have cute kids.”

“I just said yes to a date,” you admonish, much to her amusement. “May!”

“I’m just saying!” She throws her hands up in the air, walking after Steve and Peter who are being chased by reporters, and you let out a frustrated groan. You’re sure your boys are already playing a game of Tag with the paps chasing after them.

Wait.

Your boys.

Oh, you’re fucked.

You fall head over heels in love without a second look back.

.

It’s 2013.

After New York, Steve was reassigned to Washington as the newest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and you to Jane Foster on Phil Coulson’s secret, special command. He owes Thor a favour.

So, you shadow Jane Foster as her bodyguard of sorts and you don’t say from who but you have enough charisma to lay down some heavy hints.

After all, Phil’s supposed to be dead. But he isn’t.

And the moment you touch the black cube, some part of you knows you’re supposed to be dead, too.

But you aren’t.

When you wake up — and you’re surprised you wake up —  you can taste the blood pooling in your head that feels like it’s splitting open and the drying tears on your cheeks. The sky is too bright and it’s pitch white, red and blue spiralling at the edges of your vision as a high-pitched siren rings between your ears. A violent push forces you into a sitting position and a scream tears itself through your throat as you cough, hot smoke spilling out of your mouth.

It curls in your lap, black as sin and silky between your thighs as a hand lands on your back, warm, heavy and familiar. 

“Doll? Hey—” You jerk away, the mind-splitting agony causing another round of tears to burn at your eyes. The hand wraps around you and a hot rush surges down your fingers as something snaps. “Hey, it’s just me.” Your hands plant themselves against the pavement, the roughness grating against your skin as lips brush against your ear.

“S-Steve?”

“That’s right, baby girl. Just me.” You blink, face twisting as the pain begins to melt away. It flows down your spine, nests at the base of your skull as the hand runs up and down your back. “Hey, you got yourself into some trouble, huh?” You raise a trembling hand to your face as you pry your eyes open and you let out a choked sob at the blood running down your wrists. 

“Steve, I’m… what happened?” Your words slur and echoes in your skull as you screw your eyes shut again. “Everything… hurts.”

“I know, doll, I know. Just hold on for a moment, okay? You’ve been out for thirty hours. S.H.I.E.L.D. set up a perimeter, but it’s…” He lets out a breath in a whistle and your eyes flutter open. 

“Where’s… Jane? Is she okay?” As your eyes begin to adjust, you try not to let your tears overflow. You run a hand over your face. Blood smears over your cheeks and Steve hushes you quietly, taking gentle hold of your hands. “What?”

“You’re bleeding. Just… let me take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you.” His words whisper over your skin and you turn towards him, raising your chin just enough to catch a glimpse of his sapphire eyes. The moment his gaze meets yours, it’s like a shock runs through your system. You’re all at once aware of how cold you are and you shake your head slowly, turning to examine your surroundings.

A white tent has been set up around you, and it’s where you lay now, on wet pavement beneath the ceiling you know now is not a white sky. The police sirens swirl along the walls, flash through the tarp flaps, and you feel something tug at your arm. 

“Don’t pull on your IV,” Steve murmurs, and you blink, dazed. Looking down at your elbow, you spot the IV that runs up to the stand and frown at how many marks there are there along your skin, as if some amateur did it. “They asked me to keep you hydrated, but I did a pretty bad job.”

“Where is everyone?” you ask, turning to look at Steve again. He looks exhausted, plum half moons staining beneath his eyes, his blond hair barely shining in the darkness of the tent. The whole tent is drowned in shadows and you feel him rub at your hands with a rag. Glancing down, you watch him tug at your fingers, slowly coaxing the red off your hands. 

“No one could touch you. Every time someone tried, it was like something lashed out. Whatever you touched inhabits you. Like that movie you made me watch when I came over to visit last Christmas.” 

A chuckle builds up in your throat and you let it spill, a smile tugging into your cheeks as you sniff. 

“Alien. It was the Chestbursters,” you whisper and he laughs against your cheek as he runs his hand through your hair. 

“Right. Well, it was sort of like that,” he continues and you nod, burying your face into his shirt and you breathe in the smell of sweat and blood as he wraps an arm around your waist. “But you’re safe now.”

“Steve—” The words catch in your throat. It feels like layers of you have been peeled away and you can taste whatever it is that squirms beneath your skin as you fling your arms around him. Holding onto him as tight as you can, you bury your face into his neck and let out a shuddering sigh— “Thank you.” 

“You’ll have leave, and be reassigned to a facility back in New York. Tony will love to have you back,” he says and you pull back. Quirking an eyebrow, you try to make yourself look as attractive as you can — as the sunshine girl Steve knows and maybe even loves, but you find yourself failing at how gross you feel. Like there’s something inside your body, sharing you, taking over. You feel like vomit. Not like vomiting.

Like stomach acid and day old corn, beef, potato salad, stale water and foul air.

And it makes you want to cry at how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” you say weakly and Steve chuckles as you poke his cheek. Wetness meets your fingertip and you blink, for the first time noticing the tears streaming down his face. His cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, he looks like hell took him and spat him out.

“You scared the life outta me, doll,” he murmurs when you plant your clean hand against his cheek. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to, Stevie,” you mumble and he sighs, almost like he’s exasperated and grateful and half-in-love before he pulls you tight towards him again. Steve’s lips press into the juncture of your neck and shoulder before he hugs you tighter and you let out a wheeze. You raise your hand, the other clean one still flat against the ridges of his back, and marvel at the way the siren lights play with the dark blood streaking across your skin.

And as you focus on the warmth flowing through your body, swirling in your stomach and ebbing down your arms, red sparks at your fingertips.

“Everything used to be normal,” you whisper, closing your fist tight. Crescent moons imprint on your skin as you close your eyes. Steve’s arms tighten around you and you let out shuddering cry. “What happened to me?”

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” He pulls you back by the shoulders, makes sure you meet his eyes because they are sure as stone. They anchor you and you cup his face, feel his heat. He feels so real.

You nod. The sirens stop and you can hear people walking, murmuring to each other, words you can hear that they might as well have screamed in your ear. Freak accident, crazy, broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, hand tilting your chin up as he half-smiles. “We’ll figure it out, and I love you, and I promise you I will fix this, okay?” Your eyes widen and you suck in a helpless breath as his smile shrinks. “What is it? Are you hurt?” He looks down at your body, still sopping wet and freezing, but you can barely feel the numbness tingling at your feet. Heat shoots through your veins as you fling yourself at Steve again, wrapping arms around him. 

“You love me?” 

And he laughs, laughs and laughs against you until all you know is the sound of him in your ears and the feel of his heart against your chest. “Of course I do.” He turns your face so he can kiss you and you smile into his kiss, a wet smile that he doesn’t care about because any smile of yours is… priceless. 

“I love you, too,” you utter and he smiles against your mouth, eyes closing. “I love you so much.”

“That’s perfect, ‘cause I plan on staying around for a while.”

You roll his words in your head before smiling to yourself. Melting into his arms, you press your ear against his chest as red wisps curl coyly around your fingers and you look into your lap, stained with the black you’d coughed up and the slick of blood. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you whisper above the sirens. You can barely hear yourself think, but Steve merely holds your head to him, supports you in ways you cannot.

“Anytime.”

.

It’s 2014.

You pace the length of the glass, pulling at the electrodes connected to your head while Thor, Steve, and Jane all yell at you through the intercom to stop. It’s been twenty four hours and you haven’t slept in any of them. Instead, you refreshed yourself on French, Croatian, and Finnish.

Instead, you’ve recreated your room to look like scenic Sweden in the middle of summer and you’re strolling through the streets of Stockholm.

It’s a neat little trick, that.

“Look, if this Malekith wants to come get me,” you say, planting your hands on your hips as a bird flits past your head, “he can come get me. Can I at least get a breath of fresh, non-filtered air? It tastes stale.”

“Sorry, doll, but no.” Steve’s voice filters through the speakers in the room and you let out a frustrated groan, your fist flaring up as you throw him a glare. Or at least where you think he might be standing. The illusion burns away by red flames and you face the mirror and pale white walls you can see in the reflection. Your boring test chamber. Prison. “I know, it’s New Year’s, but—”

“Steve, save it. It is New Year’s, and Tony and I were supposed to go to Peter’s party because I promised him.”

You haven’t seen Peter in months. You wonder how he is, and you think it would be enough to hear voicemails, but instead it isn’t. Your phone is flooded with voicemails from him, voicemails you’ve saved and listen when it gets hard to sleep, and you want to show him the newest thing you’ve learned in your detention. The hopeful smile he’d have… the one full of wonder and his eyes…

Thinking of him just makes you miss that boy more, and you want to scream at the top of your lungs, but then Steve would tell you to be quiet and that Malekith can hear you, and whatever it is — the Aether — will flare up and you’re just so sick of sleeping in a glass cell like a test subject. 

Whatever.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea how to make this easier for you, but you just gotta look on the bright side.”

Not whatever.

If anything, you’re so sick of false promises. You’ll be out once we’ve run some tests, you’ll be okay, whatever’s inside you isn’t hostile and Viper, Viper, Viper, someone wants to come in and do another round of blood tests, maybe your chemistry has changed and— 

You want to snap.

“You’re right! I’ve only been here ever since you guys found me passed out in London. I can’t leave, I have fucking powers I can’t understand and apparently I can make anything I want become reality.” Whirling around, you spot the croissant you haven’t touched from breakfast yesterday and grab it as a surge of energy flows up to your palm. Immediately it flickers in your hand like some hologram, distorting until a croissant no longer rests in your palm, but a rich red apple. You show it to the three watching you, show them the fruit of your labour. “See that? I’m doing great controlling this thing, huh.”

“Doll, stop. Power spikes might tip off Malekith on your location and—”

“You know it’s real,” you comment, cutting off Steve coldly. Biting into the apple, flavour bursts on your parched tongue and you swallow down the fruit before you toss it in the air. Letting it land in your hand like a baseball, you look down at it. “Or, I think it is. It tastes real, and at this point, any type of reality feels better than this, y’know?”

“My lady, you must control your temper.”

“Thor’s right.” Jane’s soft voice makes you pause and you rip your gaze away from the bitten apple in your palm to the mirror. You can only stare at yourself, at how much you look like some insane asylum patient. The electrodes, the issued white jumpsuit in a white room with a white bed and everything burning white or silver, the ankle tag in case you walk out of your cell, because everyone knows you can.

After all, if you can literally turn water into wine when you want to, what else can you do?

“Thor’s right,” you repeat dully, a terrible smile etching itself into your face. “Yeah, he’s right. ‘Cause I’m crazy, right? And some dark elf is trying to kill me, but I should stay the sunshine girl, right?” If your every word was corrosive, you know the glass would have melted. Would’ve been fitting, and for half a moment you are tempted to burn the whole building down.

The searing heat singing in your arm balls at your wrist and you glance down to see bright red smoke spiralling down to the floor, kissing at the apple you have dug fingernails into and juice leaks down between your fingers. You let out a heavy breath when the heat is blown away, cool conditioned air puffing against your bare skin. At how everything is regulated, even the temperature, what you eat, your calories, your oxygen levels, everything tiny little thing you don’t know about.

A knot in your chest twists harder and you want to throw a bed across the wall or shoot something, or just go for a round of sparring but instead you settle for throwing the apple hard enough it splatters on impact. Bits of fruit go everywhere and you watch the juice track down your reflection as apple seeds clatter around you. You didn’t try to break glass, but you think you can hear something crack as you close your eyes.

“We could give you a few hours,” Jane says, apprehensive for a potential galactic war, maybe, worried about your sanity and her safety, definitely, “right?”

“Malekith will take any chance he has to reach the Aether. There is no time for whims of the one,” Thor says.

“Doll, I’m sorry—”

“No, shut up! I miss kissing you, Steve, okay? I’m horny! And I’m supposed to be normal, you know? As normal as I can get!” You fling your arms out to the side and you spin around from the bed where you have a tray of food that was pushed in the flap in the door resting atop your blankets. You slam a hand against the glass, red smoke running along the surface. Your breath comes out ragged and you look at your own reflection, eyes wide and your shoulders heaving. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Natalia’s pain in her ass, and I’m supposed to wake up in the morning next to you and bring Tony his coffee or tell him to sleep because Pepper’s out of town or help Peter with his homework. 

“I’m supposed to be there for him,” you whisper, eyes closing as a burning in the corners of your eyes track down your skin. Pressing your forehead against the mirror, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “I’m… I’m supposed to be figuring out whatever the hell they did to me with you, Steve, not… not alone. Not as some lab rat for S.H.I.E.L.D. to poke and prod.” Your hand runs flat along the cold surface and you look up at your own reflection, at the mess your hair is, at the paleness in your face and how gaunt you look. At the red that seems to flow through your veins instead of blue and how utterly witch-like you look. “I’ve had enough of that in the Red Room, and I thought I switched sides for a reason.”

“I’m right here, okay?” Steve murmurs through the speakers and you sniff, trying to imagine him on the other side of the glass. His blue eyes staring back at you — eyes you have not seen in months. His blond hair swept off to the side and maybe he’s wearing a white tee-shirt and that dark jacket you bought him as a parting gift when he got reassigned to Washington. “I swear, we’re going to get this son of a bitch, but for now, you’re just a walking dart board, and I know they won’t miss. I miss you so much, but I can’t lose you.”

“Steve.” You slide down onto the ground and it’s almost as if you can feel his heat. If you close your eyes tight enough, maybe you can imagine him just on the other side of glass you’re not too afraid to break. “I miss you, too.”

“We’ve had quite a courtship,” he teases and you chuckle, pressing your cheek against the mirror. “Long distance, then London, isolation, and hell, I promise I’ll take you wherever you want as soon as this is done. I’ll take one of Tony’s jets and we’ll go, fix this, find someone who can fix you. Marry you, if that’s what you want.” Red smoke flares brightly at your fingertips and you shove them beneath your thighs, snuffing it out.

Some part of you wants to feel grateful.

Another part of you wishes he told you there’s nothing to fix instead. Wishes Steve can just accept that this is who you are now, as you have.

“A wedding sounds nice. Like a jailbreak party,” you whisper and he laughs, crackling over the comms. “But I need a ring first.”

“Give me a few hours.”

When dinner rolls around, the door beeps and swings open to reveal Steve Rogers in sweatpants, one of his hoodies he bought in some Brooklyn corner store, and dinner.

You smile and invite him down to your cot where a TV hung on the wall plays Aliens.

“What do you say to a movie night?” He pulls the hoodie over your head. Tucking hair away from your face, he kisses you sweetly. He tastes like sugar and heat, and you plant your hands flat against his cheeks. 

The hoodie smells ripe of him and you dig your nose into the collar, inhaling deeply before looking up at him. “It’s sweet but how’d you convince Coulson to allow you in here?” The blond doesn’t respond except for another few quick pecks and you pull away from his seeking lips with a scandalized gasp. “He doesn’t know?”

“Would it kill you if I said no?” he mumbles and you laugh into his next kiss as he sets down the tray of food on the floor and plucks something off it. He slides off the bed, sinking to one knee before you and you rake hair away from your face, the elated smile freezing on your face as he cracks open a velvet box. “‘Cause it would kill me if you did.”

“Steve?” His name stutters in your throat as you stare at the diamond ring way above your pay grade. You have a sneaking suspicion that Tony had something to do with it but it sparkles, glimmers in the artificial light. “Steve, I was joking—”

“I wasn’t.” In sweats and a grey hoodie, Steve has never looked more like a god. The white light plays in his hair, turning it silver-gold and his eyes are alight with pure hope that you nearly melt as you sit on the edge of your bed, just… speechless. “I love you, and I’m here for you. Sickness and in health. So… what do you say?”

“Yes, but also, we can’t get married here,” you warn and he laughs, leaning over to kiss you as he picks the ring out from between the cushion of velvet. Sliding it onto your finger, he pushes you over against the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Draping himself over you, he kisses your chin, your lips, down your neck and you giggle, outstretching your arm as the red mist curls around the ring, curious to what this new thing is.  

“Doesn’t have to be now, ‘s long as I got my yes,” he mumbles and you close your eyes. All of a sudden, the walls in your prison have pushed themselves out by three inches. Letting your hand fall back, you run your fingers through his hair. “And what was that again? You said you were horny or was that my imagination?”

“Rogers,” you warn, but you can’t help the way he chases away the weights sitting on your chest as he brushes kisses up and down your neck. “C’mon, they’re watching.”

“Oh, no, they’re not.” His fingers poke teasingly into your sides and you let out a squeak as he chuckles, lips meeting yours again. “Forgot how ticklish you are, doll.”

“Steven Grant Rogers—”

“Shhh,” 

“But dinner—”

“Can you forget about the stupid dinner? I’m trying to take your clothes off.” You wiggle beneath his body, hair splaying beneath your head and he growls, nipping lightly at your jaw just as his phone vibrates and he jerks back. Bracketed between his legs, you prop yourself up on your elbows and frown, the joy slipping away like oil. Weights crush down on your shoulders as Steve’s eyebrows knit together and you reach up to cup his cheek just as your vision flickers.

Like a faulty TV, it breaks with red and you blink at how Steve’s face seems to fizzle as your fingers meet his cheek. His blue eyes meet yours immediately, drowning away the red and you let out a sharp breath.

“Steve?” Your voice catches and he flinches back, stung. “Steve, what happened?”

“Something in Washington,” he whispers and he stumbles off the bed as you sit up. The heat of him leaves a chill on your body and you stand up. He texts furiously on his phone and you walk after him as he gets the door to open. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Can I help?” You reach for his arm and you can’t help yourself from wondering what on Earth is this important. You know Tony’s in town and Natasha can handle Washington. Hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. is based in Washington and whatever it is, surely— “Captain America doesn’t need to go, does he?”

“Look, I have to go.” He shakes off your hand and hurt slams into you like a truck at how he doesn’t so much as spare you a glance before he pockets his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says and you think he almost means it by the way his blue eyes widen inconsolably. “I’ll be back.”

“Steve!” He pushes you back deeper into the room just as everything flickers red and you let out a gasp as something digs into your brain. “Steve, wait!” Your hands clutch at your skull as you fall to your knees and you squeeze your eyes shut. The pain blisters, pulsing like a heartbeat inside your spine before it drains away as quick as it came, and you let out a shaking breath.

When you open your eyes, you see everything outlined in blood red, their edges flickering like TV static. The ring on your finger burns cold and you rip it off, flinging it into the glass.

It cracks, shatters your reflection, and you turn away so you do not see your own tears fall.

.

It’s 2015.

You breathe new air for the first time in ages and your lungs spasm in your chest as you feel the sun on your face. With your bags packed and ready, you stand at the entrance of the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound and wait.

Sokovia was two months ago and you have some new teammates to meet, apparently.

“Steve said he’d come pick me up, right?” you ask the agent standing next to you. He’s swiping on some datapad but turns to look at you with a smile. “A hundred percent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Cool.” You twist the ring around your finger and pretend not to notice the imaginary ants you have crawling on your boot. It’s not like you’ve told Steve. You know he’s been busy with whatever made him run out on you the first time and you know he said he might be a little bit late picking you up, but you didn’t think Captain America believed in being tardy. Not really.

A part of you wants to be angry that he’s a hero, and another part of you wants to just go home on your own.

Thirty minutes roll by.

“Do you have any cars I could borrow?” you ask. Sighing, you don’t wait for an answer and pick up your bags. “I’ll just drive back on my own. New York isn’t too far from here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The man smiles and you half-smile before you fish out your phone. “I’ll have someone bring one around to the lot.”

“Thank you for waiting with me,” you call and he merely nods before heading back in. A disappointed pang hits at your stomach as you walk over to the lot, and you try not to let it bite at your heels until you’re bleeding.

You’re sure your heart already is.

You drive back to the Avengers facility where Tony’s working with Bruce on something and the welcome you deserve resides in Tony’s arms. Nearly two years since you’ve seen him and some very exhausted part of you jumps at the sight of him. Even if he’s visited, you know nothing will ever compare to seeing the exhausted eyebags beneath his eyes.

“Welcome back, Little Miss!” he cheers and you grin, holding onto his neck tight. “Welcome back to society.” You nestle your head against him, holding on for a second more before pulling back. 

“Hey, Bruce,” you whisper, turning to hug him quickly and he smiles like how you think your dad might’ve when you came back after an unruly tussle when you pull back. Or maybe that was the Red Room and how the madame would smile when you beat every opponent in your class. Parts of Bruce’s face stretch too wide, and his eyes narrow when you blink, and you wonder if it’s your mind playing tricks or he really looks like a stone-cold killer behind warm brown eyes.

You don’t even want to think about it.

“Cap didn’t pick you up?” Tony asks and your gaze darts to him warily. His face flickers red and for a moment, there’s two of Tony in your field of view before it’s gone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A lot’s happened, y’know?” you say with a slight smile and he smiles, then, too, sad and bittersweet. “Uhm, can you show me to my room, Tony?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He claps and the lab lights turn on systematically, revealing more than what’s illuminated on the table Bruce turns back to. “Bruce, if you could work on the… the thingy.” He doesn’t stop to hear the answer, guiding you out of the lab. 

“So…” You descend down the steps, your sneakers slapping against the tile as you pull yourself together. Red wisps, barely there and faint as steam, play at your fingers as you try to come up with a reason Steve just… disappeared. You’re getting good at that, making up excuses. “Steve didn’t pick me up, and I was wondering if you knew where he was?”

“Steve didn’t come?” Tony’s eyes land on you and you press your lips together as you shake your head. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you turn to look at your friend. “I—”

“It’s fine. Two years — basically — of solitary confinement and he just… doesn’t come to see me out. It must’ve been important.” You shrug then, and Tony frowns. “It’s okay, Tony. I love him, like not-crazy love him but close enough, and I know it had to be something important because we’re getting married, y’know?”

“Yeah, congratulations to the happy couple,” he says but it’s half-hearted. “You give Cap too much credit,” he adds under his breath and you frown, blinking as you look at the floor. Stomach the soil, seeds of doubt are planted deep in your gut as you run Tony’s words through your head. “He didn’t even text you?”

“Maybe it was a mission.”

“And he didn’t take Wilson?” Tony shoots back, and you look up jerkingly, eyes flashing to the man beside you as you stop at the lounge. He walks around to flop down on the couch and you nearly cringe at the crumbs littering the glass coffee table. Tony leans back, kicks up his feet, and slaps the space beside him.

“I still have to meet Wilson,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest and walking onto the carpet. Sitting down, you nearly sink into the cushion and let out a yelp. “Shit, this is comfortable.”

“Haven’t had luxury in a while?”

“I was in a detention facility, so no,” you retort and you lean in towards Tony’s heat. “I’m just gonna wait and maybe it’ll be okay, y’know?”

“Right.” Tony claps again before resting an arm along the back of the couch. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you show Vipe where her room is?”

“Right away, boss.” You sit up, tucking your feet beneath you just as the elevator dings. Looking towards the sound, you watch as the doors open and your mouth drops open as a blond and a redhead step out. “Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers have returned.”

“From where, exactly?” Tony calls out and Steve immediately whips around to the sound of his voice. Natalia is basically sleepwalking as she rubs at her eyes and you stand, grabbing an empty cup from the coffee table. Red smoke fills up white porcelain as it fills with warm tea and you rush over to her, offering her the drink. 

“Hey, Tali,” you whisper as Natalia looks up sharply, blue eyes wide and sober. A face-splitting grin on her face, she knocks the white mug to the ground, hot tea spilling everywhere. It shatters, a sharp cacophony, and white shards go everywhere, hot tea splashing against your shoes.

“You’re out!” Her arms wrap around you tight and you let out a wheeze when she lifts you up but the smile dies as you meet Steve’s gaze. He looks stricken at the sight of you, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as your sister puts you back down. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay. I drove myself back,” you whisper and you cup her face, relishing in the warmth of her smile before a yawn on her part breaks the moment and you grin. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Promise,” she agrees and she heads up the stairs before you turn to Steve. Tony jogs past you, climbing the stairs after Natalia and you turn to watch them go before looking into his stricken face.

“Where were you?” you ask quietly, trying not to sound hurt. But you feel hollow, and everything is red when you’re not with Steve. “I really missed you these past few weeks.”

“Sorry. It got really busy with the new assignment,” Steve says with a shrug and you nod, pressing your lips into a smile as you open up your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” He walks into your embrace and you melt into his hold. “God, I’ve missed you.” His lips press against your hairline and you close your eyes.

“I love you,” you murmur and you tilt your chin up to look at him. His blue eyes are dark, tired, and he’s barely able to keep them open as you card your fingers through his hair. Just looking at him makes you feel so empty and whole at the same time that you know it has to be real. To feel such a paradox, such an oxymoron that you can’t even describe it, it must be real. “I love you, so it’s okay and you can tell me why you didn’t pick me up.”

“I needa tell you about Bucky,” he says and you thumb his cheek, feeling the soft swollen bags beneath his eye. He takes your wrist carefully, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyes meeting yours beneath the hood of his brow.

“Tomorrow,” you say and he sighs against your palm. You step closer, your other arm wrapping around his waist as you tilt your head. “Whatever it is you need to tell me can wait. For now, shower and get some sleep.” The blue of his gaze lightens and he leans down to press a gentle kiss against your mouth. Breathing him in, you nearly sob at how soft his lips are, the smell of him so overwhelming — the smell of sea salt and smoke — that you feel your sinuses sting.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you pull back with a nod. As he goes, you let your hand drop with a shattered sigh. Turning to watch him ascend the steps, you feel something inside you ache.

He looks as hollow as you feel.

.

It’s 2016.

“Couldn’t they put this as a PDF or something,” you murmur, trying to get a hold of the thick-as-fuck Accords. Words spin in your head as you flip over another page and Steve, with his arm around your shoulders, ignores you to argue with Tony. You sneak an arm around his waist, running it up and down his side as you scan the next few lines. “Save the trees.”

“I really don’t think that’s the U.N.’s priority right now,” Natalia comments from across the way and you sigh, setting it down in your lap. You can’t help the weird feeling in your stomach as wisps of red weave between your fingers. They seem to want to drag your hand back to the Accords and keep reading, but your head spins. 

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose,” Steve exclaims and you look up warily. Tony’s eyes meet yours for a moment before you turn your gaze back to the Sokovia Accords. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go?” You unweave your arm from around Steve’s waist and stand, tossing the Accords onto the glass table between them. Wanda and Vision, sitting on a bench, reach for it. “What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“Steve, I really think you need to read this,” you begin and razor sharp azure meets your eyes. “Look, if this doesn’t happen now, on our terms, they’re going to do this to us. That’s not going to be fun for any of us.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda begins, and you whirl around to face the girl. She holds the Accords, too large for her slim frame and her eyes glow as red as your veins do. 

“We would protect you.”

“Look, Vision, that’s sweet, okay, but it’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“There are weapons of mass destruction in this room,” Tony continues, “and the government’s not going to allow a couple of nukes to walk in downtown New York. Ross had a point. Do we even know where Thor and Bruce are?”

“No.”

“Maybe Tony’s right.” Natalia sounds certain, and you turn to her, surprised as she breaks like static. Blinking, you see color other than red once again and try not to let it show on your face. Other than the fact that going from red-vision to full-colour still makes you surprised, you hadn’t expected her to pick a side so soon. You cross your arms as you sit down next to Steve once more. His arm falls around your shoulders as you tug at the skirt of your sundress. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“What?” You look sharply at your sister who shrugs helplessly. Shaking her head, she looks at Wilson with a fierce stare.

“I’m just… I’m just reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Something vibrates against your leg and Steve’s arm slides from your shoulders. You turn to look at it, distracted as Steve grabs it and you slide your arm along his shoulder as he reads whatever message he was sent. Running your thumb over the curve of his shoulder, you rest your head on his shoulder just as he gets up. Your arm falls flat and you catch yourself just barely.

“I have to go.” Steve’s voice cuts clear across the tension and you watch the man leave, throat knotted. You feel something inside you twist and your eyebrows furrow as you try to come up with some reason, some way you can follow.

“I’m going to, uh, go see what that’s about.” You clear your throat, getting up to follow after him and you hear his footsteps echo as he descends the steps before stopping at the landing. “Steve?” He leans against the banister and bows his head with a heavy sigh, and you come up to him with gentle hands. “Steve, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Steve, is it Bucky?” You lean in beside him, trying to get a read on his state as he pockets his phone and you sigh softly, trying to figure out what to say. “Is it the Accords? Because you seem pretty adamant on not signing.”

“And you are?” 

“I could’ve been the person who killed the Wakandans.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Someone did.” As soon as the words leave your lips, Steve’s head twists towards you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks whole in your eyes, not a flickering edge in sight and you sigh at how much relief it brings you. “I’m not saying Wanda meant to do it on purpose, but she’s a kid and kids need supervision.”

“She had it.” Steve crosses his arms tight across his chest, and you turn to him, planting a hand on the rail and another on your hip.

“Did she? Because I read the report, Steve.” You throw up your hand, turning back to lean against the rail again as you try not to let your anger simmer. Your brow furrowed, your chest begins to tighten. “Rumlow said Bucky and suddenly, nothing else mattered, did it?” 

“Doll—”

“And… it feels…” You trail off, and you have no idea why. You think you’re softening the blow for him, but maybe you’re softening the blow for yourself.

“What?” Steve’s voice, sharp as daggers, sinks into you and you drag your gaze towards him. He looks shocked, pale as a sheet with rosy lips barely parted as you let out a soft exhale. 

“It feels true.” You shake your head before meeting his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What does is that I’m going to sign. Because we may not be kids, but we are dangerous and we need oversight.” Fingers reaching for his, you’re stung when he pulls his hand away. Clenching your jaw, you try to keep your voice hushed.  “Steve, I don’t want to fight.” 

“We can barely agree on when to get married, doll.” When he looks at you, it’s almost as if he stares right through you. “I don’t see how we can’t fight when we can barely make the small things work.”

“This isn’t some small decision! This isn’t choosing a winter wedding or a summer wedding, or whether the napkins should be folded in a Sydney Opera House or a lotus. This is whether or not we allow ourselves to get arrested or we play our cards right.”

“I’m not trusting a panel who won’t care about the people we’re supposed to be protecting.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s happened before.”

“Okay, but this isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.” Your voice sharpens and you bite your tongue. “This is something we can give input to. What do you think they’re going to do when we disagree? Restrain us?”

“It isn’t that simple! Just because you see everything black and white doesn’t mean I have to. We can’t just choose to give over our rights and be okay with it.”

“You’re the one who’s seeing things black and white! Because this is a fucking grey area and we are drowning in it. This is… It’s not easy to just hand over the keys to people who don’t know us but we need this.” You struggle to find the words. “Steve, open your eyes and just… just understand that I want us to stay together. And if you do this, it’s almost as if you don’t care.”

“I’m standing up for what I believe in. I thought you could respect that,” he whispers harshly and you hold back a groan in frustration. Planting a hand on your hip, you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“And you don’t believe in family? In staying together? Because we can make changes. I promise, and you can still search for Bucky, I just—” Your breath hitches in your throat and Steve looks at you, eyebrows quirked. “Bucky.”

“What about him?”

“It’s Bucky. It’s always Bucky,” you whisper so quietly under your breath you don’t know if you even said it. “Natalia told me that—” You turn to look at the top of the stairs desperately. You can’t begin to describe how much you want to run up the stairs, down the hall and never look back. But you’re an optimist.

You always have been.

“Told you what?”

“That I’d never be your first choice.” The words come out bold and burning, and you can feel the ash it has left in your gums as you clench your jaw. You can still hear your sister’s voice echoing in your skull, whispered in confidence the day after one of Steve’s secret missions when he was looking for Bucky. Specifically, the mission that caused him to miss your birthday. You can still taste the bitterness, the tears that pressed bruises into your throat. “And I think he’s part of the reason why you won’t sign the Accords. Because you’re afraid they’ll issue sanctions if you go on your secret, unauthorized missions.”

Steve sighs, and his eyebrows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself. You stare at him, wait for him to deny it, but you know he won’t. Because you’re in love with a man who supposedly loves you, but clearly doesn’t love you enough.

“Ever since Bucky came back into your life, it’s all you ever think about,” you continue, leaning against the banister once more. You cross your legs at the ankles, and turn to look at him. Your eyes immediately soak in the shadows that play across his face, the way the pale blue light of the sunroof has cast him a god of wind and sea. “And even though I’m talking to you… you’re not even here.”

Steve’s gaze darts to yours and you hold it, searching for someone who you haven’t seen in years. 

“I love you,” he insists and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you can breathe in his scent. He smells cool and clean, like sleep, and you want to go back to yesterday, last week, last year. You want to go back to when you were too afraid to break a bubble that you lived in, when the Accords didn’t exist. “I’m in love with you, but I’m so damn sorry.” His whispered words push into your mouth as you kiss him chastely, a barely-there kiss that makes your heart mend and break. His forehead knocks into yours and you hold him there for a moment, just watching the tiny little twitches of his face. Burning him into your head.

“It’s okay,” you say, hand stroking over his face and into his hair. His eyes half-mast, he just watches you as red runs beneath your palm, through your veins. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and it just makes you all the more aware of the hole he has carved in the shape of pieces he took from you. He won’t even touch you. “I can’t compete with what you and Bucky have.” 

“I don’t want you to. You’re the only one I want—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you murmur and he closes his eyes pulling away to stare at his feet. He grips the handrail and you stare into your palms, red playing against your flesh. The silence is thick and you swallow, trying to think of something to say — anything. Your chest is smashed to ashes and an ache spreads in your lungs as you close your eyes, hot tears sliding over your cheeks. “Steve—”

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbles and you’re not quite sure if the salt on your lips is yours or his as he presses a quick farewell kiss to your mouth and pulls away. He wipes at his face with a sleeve, and you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand as he turns away to hide his red-rimmed eyes and sniffing you can still hear. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, you always do,” you murmur and you watch him go as he bows his head, sleeve to his face. Sucking in a cold breath, you lean against the banister and tilt your head back. Closing your eyes, you try to ignore the migraine digging into your skull.

But you can’t. It only grows when you sign, and with the deadline to bring in Steve Rogers, and nearly tears you apart as you fly to Germany.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks as you walk to your position in the airport. He looks good in his new suit Tony had designed and you smile tiredly as he fidgets with the mask. You ruffle his hair, leaning over to kiss his forehead before trying to reinforce your weak smile.

“Yeah, I am. Watch yourself out there, okay?” you add and he nods as he opens up his mask. “If May finds out Tony smuggled you into Germany, my ass is going to pay for it.” He half-laughs, and you nudge him towards his hiding spot. “Go kick some ass.”

And you do, and he does, and you think maybe team Iron Man might make it work bringing in a rogue Captain America without J-SOC.

That is, until the giant.

“Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestion.” Tony’s voice echoes in your ear, adding to the headache balling up between your eyes as you throw yourself at Clint. The man catches you by the rod of his bow as you wind yourself around his waist and flip him over.

“Would it kill you if I said I have untapped energy potential?” you ask into your comms and Clint sends you a confused look as you roll your eyes through the pain. Everything is hazy red and red mist spills from your hand as you stop Clint from swinging at you with a baton.

“No, I like that idea.”

“Tony, it’s not a good idea.”

“It was a joke, Stark,” you growl, flinging Clint away. The rod of his bow skids a few feet away and you scramble towards it, snapping it open with a sling. As you pull the string taut, an arrow forms between your fingers and you let it fly, following after Hawkeye with a barrage of arrows and keeping him busy running. “I’m trying not to kill anyone today.”

“Understood, Madame Secretary,” Tony teases and you squint an eye, letting another arrow fly just as Clint jumps onto the walkway leg. It nearly tags him in the ankle and you draw the string once more, black metal materializing between your fingers just as someone tackles into you. You’re slammed into the ground with a hard groan, your head snapping back into concrete. You hear something crack and you groan as Sam Wilson’s voice rattles in your ears. 

“I got her, Steve. It’s a go from me.” 

Steve… you repeat in your head, dazed. Turning over, you watch as Sam takes off after a jet and you try to get up. When you blink, your world is covered in red film, breaking like faulty holograms and you let out a sharp breath, trying to rub it out. The roar of the jet echoes in your heart, weaves into your chest as you reach out a hand. Red energy curls against your palm, soothing a nefarious drilling digging deep into your brain. Steve is getting away, and I can’t stop him. No, no, no— 

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together — to know Steve’s the one who put a target on your back. Blood shoves its way up your mouth as the ball of pure agony in your head explodes. 

“They’re getting away.”

“Get up, Viper! Come on, get up! You can stop them!”

You can’t get up. You can barely see as you plant your hands against the ground. Blood slick against your palms, you roll onto your stomach as you try to push yourself up. Shockwaves shake your bones and you let out a painful groan when your head tips you over. Landing on your side, you feel something warm dribble down your chin.

“Vision, I got a bandit on my six.” 

“What’s happening?” Peter’s innocent question makes you turn blindly towards him and you reach out just as strong arms hoist you onto your knees and you try to open your eyes only for white light to seep into your irises. “What’s happening? Are you okay? Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?”

“Vision! You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider.”

“Pete.” His name is thick in your mouth as you pat blindly and you come into contact with his face as you cough, black dotting the edges of your vision and you let out a groan when the blood pooling in your chest sloshes against your lungs. “It hurts. Shit, it hurts, Pete, it hurts so bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Oh, god, what do I do? Is there some way I can make it better?”

“Pete, you gotta go. You needa go, you needa go.” You can feel his arms holding you up as your hands trace down his cheeks and onto his neck, streaking blood all over his skin. You can barely see him but you know that he is smiling through his tears, tears that run over your knuckles and you think, brave boy. A brave boy who shouldn’t be here. “Pete, go.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here alone! You’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do. What do I do? Where does it hurt?”

“Rhodey!”

“Everywhere! Fuck, my head, Pete, you need to just… go. It hurts, it hurts. Make it stop,” you whimper as a ripple of agony travels across your skull. Jerking back, you rake your hands through your hair, trying to keep your eyes open through the tears. Everything is blinding white and red as you catch a glimpse of Peter’s face, brown eyes wide and tears dripping down his face as a double of him flashes before your eyes. A jackhammer digs into the center of your mind and you let out a scream, a pulse thundering through your body as you flare scarlet red.

“Tony, I’m flying dead stick.”

“No—”

“Leave me alone.” The words slip out of your mouth, incoherent, barely audible as voices begin to echo in your head. You half-recognize some of them, and others you barely know as frost sinks into your limbs, paralyzing you. Your whole body rigid, you fall to your elbows and knees as Peter’s hands hover around you. You can feel his warmth, every single molecule of his being, the racing of his heart and the soft whomsh of his blood. His breathing echoes in his ear, and you can hear his fingers twitching, the blink of his eye, the thickness in his throat, the roar of the quinjet and the sound of a body whistling through the air, falling faster and faster, too fast, and two men desperate to catch him—  

You can barely hear your own thoughts and your breaths come in sharp, painful gasps as you try to sort through the storm in your head — your thoughts from whatever it is that lives inside you, or changed you, or whatever it did because you can hear voices in languages you don’t understand and everything turns red, static and breaking apart as your reality crumbles to pieces around you.

“Let me help—”

“Leave me alone!” Pushing him away blindly, a surge of heat sinks its teeth down into your bones as everything inside you breaks. You pitch forward, bones snapping as voices echo in your head, and the ground splits beneath your hands.

“RHODES!”

.

It’s 2023.

You wear a black sweater because Pepper said it’d look nice and the heels Tony bought for you after the Civil War that’ve been gathering dust in the apparent five years you’ve been gone.

A part of you wants to toss the heels into the lake when the service is down, and you want to see if you can siphon what is left of the energy you have to bring Tony back to life. But you can’t. So you don’t try. You sit at the edge of the lake as the water laps at your feet, and you send gentle wisps of red over the soft waves as they lap at your feet. Tony’s last message echoes in your head, and you can picture him so clearly. And Natalia too, her last words to you— 

“Don’t go—”

The wisps take shape, mere figures of shadows of Tony and you and Natalia, memories playing like puppets on strings, jagged and sharp and all too wrong.

“Hey.” 

The figures vanish, sink into the water, and you flinch at the sound of his voice. Putting on a smile, you turn around and he stands there, hands shoved in his suit pocket, face pale and swollen around the eyes. Wiping at your own tears, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Natasha’s service is tomorrow, so I was thinking we should all get some rest,” he says and you nod, turning back to the lake. He steps up to the shore beside you and you try your best not to look at him, no matter how much you want to. Your ring seems to cut off the blood to your finger as he breathes in quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m alive,” you reply softly. “Guess that’s what matters.”

“Doll—”

“Don’t call me that. Just…” You turn to him and stare into his glossy blue eyes, eyes that you haven’t seen in so, so long. Your heart nearly snaps in two as his lower lip trembles and you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him so tightly you can barely breathe. “I missed you so much, Steve. Oh, god, I miss you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, and then suddenly his arms are around you, squeezing the life you’ve just gotten back out of you and you run your fingers through his gelled hair. “Germany, I— I never meant for that to happen.” Cold water douses whatever warmth you feel and you pull back, face pulled back in a terrible mask of an empty smile. “I never meant to leave you in the middle of one of your breaks.”

“Steve, that was apparently seven years ago and… it was for Bucky. You’d do anything for him. Do anything for anyone from your past, apparently,” you whisper and he tries to smile, but even he can now see how finished you are. How you’ve given up, and you wonder if that can scare him any more than it scares you. “And it’s sweet, and admirable, and that kind of loyalty is rare. I wish someone was like that with me, but… it’s just… you were always the only one who could stop me and in Germany… in Germany you were the reason it happened.” His arms fall away and you step back, clearing your throat. “But it’s in the past, now.”

“Doll—”

“Steve, fighting Thanos was the fucking scariest thing of my life, and I wanted to kill him so badly I tore open what Stephen Strange thinks is a multidimensional tear. Because I lost control, and I didn’t want to come back.” You can still recall the feeling — like free falling and knowing the clouds will catch you — as you just let go of everything holding you up. Of falling into the darkness and just barely snagging the last of the light so you can pull yourself out again if you wanted to.

And you didn’t want to until it was over.

Until Tony was dead.

“Everything from the past doesn’t matter, because I have more important things to fix,” you continue blithely. Steve barely has time to open his mouth before you lean up to kiss his lips. “I love you, Steve.” 

“I need to tell you something—”

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Steve. My best friends are dead, and it’s permanent. I’m not so lucky as you.” You force a smile onto your face and run a hand up and down his arm in farewell. “I’ll see you at the cabin.”

You don’t.

It is Bucky who tells you the man is gone.

You would laugh at the irony — Bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this. Like your world is ending and like you’re not good enough and like the ring on your finger was just a cheap way to keep you around. 

Instead you thank him, and go to Natasha’s funeral. Because that’s what you do.

You look to the future. You are the sunshine girl after all. The Viper who can shed her skin and move on.

The Viper who is searching for someone. Who doesn’t know yet, but someone who doesn’t want to fix her, because she is not-fine-but-accepting of the way she is now. Who isn’t searching for someone else, someone from their past, someone you aren’t and can never be.

And you find him, weeks after the Battle, in one of New York’s finest bars.

Because if Steve Rogers is a loyal golden retriever, then Quentin Beck is the snake in the garden.

#fic: viper #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x yn #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader angst #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x y/n #captain america x yn #captain america x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #avengers imagine #1.5kconstellationswritingchallenge #my writing

[golbrocklovely]

the chosen daughter // colby brock - chapter ten

A/N: i just looked and realized it’s been over three weeks since i last updated this story??? holy shit i’m so sorry !! hopefully this chapter makes up for it. thank you for all the love and support yall have given me in my writings. it really means a lot. okay, enjoy this chapter :)

story description

taglist: @far-to-many-bands , @idfk-tbh-oops , @muted-mayham , @ughwhyislifesohard , @justtanerd , @ashyoungxblood ,  @cmburgos

trigger warning: cursing, fighting, vampire powers, blood, magically powers, wound

word count: 1888

~~~~~~~~

It’s been a week since I last saw Colby, or really anyone from XPLR for that matter. All I've been doing is going to work, eating, and sleeping.

And also vampire proofing my house.

I've hidden stakes everywhere throughout, just in case Cyrus decided to show up. Plus, I carry around multiple vials of Angelica dust just in case.

I'm not fucking around this time.

I have been keeping in contact with Sam, though. I ask him every couple of days what's been happening with Cyrus; is he getting closer. So far, Cyrus has been on the decline, like he's almost gone underground, which I thought would be a good thing.

Turns out he might just be playing around with me. Or he caught up with XPLR who were still hunting him.

Sam told me to just keep living my life, go about like nothing is unusual.

It's hard to do that when it feels like at any second Cyrus could show up and kill me.

"Jade! I need five shots of tequila, stat please!" Ronnie yelled, waving her hand in front of my face.

I blinked a few times, finally getting out of my thoughts. "Yeah. Sure. Sorry."

"Where are you tonight? You've been really slow." Ronnie asked, leaning against the bar.

I had explained some of my problems to her, but not all. Mostly because how could I tell her a vampire was possibly hunting me down? Or that my blood might make vampires more powerful and I don't know why? Or the fact that Colby and Mike, two vampires I thought I could trust, almost killed me a week ago?

So... I kind of just lied.

"Colby was acting... weird last week and I'm honestly still confused about it." I mumbled, pouring the shots.

"Girl, move on from that loser vamp. You literally work at a vampire bar. You could find a new one in a second." She laughed, grabbing the tray and walking off.

I sighed. "Yeah... right."

~ \/ \/ ~

I was so ready to be home, the night feeling like it took even longer than usual to be over. As I walked up the stairs to my apartment, I clutched the stake that was holstered to my thigh. A new accessory I've had since last week.

I unlocked my apartment door quickly, slamming it shut and locking it again. I took a deep breath, relaxing for a second as I leaned my head against the door.

"Why are you so scared, Jade? Afraid a vampire might be around?" A voice called from behind me.

I spun around, my eyes landing on a man. Dark black hair and vibrant green eyes, I knew who it was instantly.

"Cyrus." I whispered.

He chuckled. "I thought you would forget what I looked like. I'm glad you didn't."

Cyrus stood up hastily, his eyes never leaving mine. He licked his lips, glancing over me slowly. "I took the liberty of getting rid of all your stakes. I don't think you really need them. Not after tonight anyway."

Shit.

"So, before I kill you, I gotta ask... why'd you kill my friend?" He questioned quietly.

I gulped, sliding my hand behind my back and clicking the button on my bracelet.

Dear God let them get here soon.

“He attacked me. What was I supposed to do?” I spit, trying to put up a front.

“Die, preferably.” Cyrus shrugged.

I exhaled. “I didn’t kill Jasper. Colby did.”

“Right… your little friend killed him. But you’re the reason he’s dead in the first place.” Cyrus grunted, stepping towards me.

I pressed my back against the door, trying to put room between us. “Maybe he should have just left me alone.”

“Well he couldn’t.” Cyrus argued.

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because his power didn’t work on you.” His chest brushed against mine, his eyes staring into me. “He was so adamant about finding out why. I kept telling him to let it go, but he needed to find out. And now he’s dead.”

“Good riddance.” I smirked.

I yanked the stake from the holster on my thigh and shoved it into his side. He yelled out in pain as I began to run away. He wrapped his arms around me quickly, slamming my body onto the floor hard.

“You fucking bitch!” He fumed, jumping on top of me and holding my hands down.

Veins popped out from under his eyes as they suddenly turned crimson. I thrashed my body around as much as I could, screaming.

He smiled brightly down at me, his fangs almost glistening. “That’s not gonna stop me.”

Cyrus slammed his teeth into my shoulder with a large bite, drinking my blood speedily. His hold loosened on my hands, allowing me to slide my hand down to my pocket and grab some Angelica dust. I gripped the vile and smashed it onto his back.

He snapped his mouth away, howling in pain. He tried to reach the spot on his back where the dust was burning his skin off, but he couldn’t. I crawled out from under him, standing up instantly.

Cyrus grabbed a chair next to him, picking it up and throwing it at me, knocking me back onto the floor. I felt a throbbing pain shoot up through my leg as it twisted uncomfortably.

He grinned as he gazed at me, ready to attack me once again. Before he could reach me, he was thrown against the wall by a dark blur. My eyes followed it, landing on Colby.

In their vampire speed, they began to fight; almost too fast for me to recognize. I could see Colby pull something shiny and small out of his pocket, trying to stab Cyrus with it. Cyrus suddenly had Colby by the neck, choking him intensely.

Colby tried his best to fight back, taking the shiny object and aiming for Cyrus, only for Cyrus to rip it from his hand and push it violently into Colby’s stomach.

“You think you’re the only one that knows about Angelica?” Cyrus laughed, shoving the syringe deeper.

Colby winced, his hands trying to stop both of Cyrus’ from killing him.

I had never seen Colby unmatched before in a fight. It was like he wasn’t strong enough to fight Cyrus. But I knew he was. Cyrus was a younger vampire compared to Colby! It didn’t make sense.

Wait…

My blood… it’s in Cyrus’ system!

“No! Let him go!” I screamed, struggling to get up.

Cyrus didn’t react, his grip on Colby only tightening. Colby’s eyes landed on me as he fought.

I felt a warm sensation flow through me unexpectedly, starting from where my necklace laid and flowing through my whole body.

I felt powerful, like I could fight Cyrus and win.

I glanced over at where my stake had fallen, too far away from me. My hand raised up, reaching towards it. The stake shook, tapping the floor multiple times before it shot to me, landing in my hand magically.

The pain that was in my leg no longer existed. I was able to stand up normally. With the stake in my hand and my strength back, I ran towards Cyrus.

Before he could turn to me, I shoved the stake right through his heart.

Time felt frozen.

Cyrus let out a breath, his grip on Colby’s neck let go, dropping him to the floor. Pulling my hands away from the stake, I watched as Cyrus’ body slammed to the ground dead. His body turned a grey color as his skin began to dry up.

The warm feeling dissipated from me as Colby groaned suddenly, pulling me away from Cyrus.

“Oh my God, Colby!” I collapsed to my knees.

I glanced at the syringe in Colby’s stomach. The liquid inside was still mostly full, meaning the dose of the poison hadn’t been injected. But some must have gotten into his system.

“I’m gonna pull it out, okay?” I asked, holding the syringe softly.

Colby nodded; his breath ragged. “Hurry.”

I slowly pulled the syringe out, tossing it away. The hole that had formed from it wasn’t healing like it should have. Colby’s blood slowly began to pour out.

“Why aren’t you healing?” I questioned breathlessly.

“It’s… killing me.” He choked.

“No. No. No it can’t be! You barely got any in you.” I argued.

He uttered. “Any amount is all it takes.”

“Colby!” Sam yelled, appearing in the doorway and running over to us. Katrina followed right behind him.

“Fuck, what happened?!” Sam exclaimed.

“I got stabbed, brother.” Colby hissed.

Sam grimaced. “Shit.”

“What can we do, Sam?” I replied.

He didn’t respond. His eyes just stared at Colby’s wound.

“What the fuck can we do, Sam?!” I belted.

“I don’t know!”

I gasped at Sam’s voice. His voice was heavy, eyes welling up with tears.

Holy shit… Colby was going to die.

Katrina placed her hand over Colby’s wound, mumbling something under her breath quickly. Her palm began to glow a white and yellow light. We all stared in awe at her.

“Oh my God… you’re a witch.” I whispered.

She pulled her hand away, glaring down at the wound. “It’s not healing.”

“What do you mean it’s not healing? You’re a witch, shouldn’t it be healing?” Sam queried angrily.

“I’m doing everything I can but it’s not healing. Maybe the poison got too deep in.” Kat admitted.

“What are you saying, Kat?” Colby moaned, sweat dripping down his face as he became more and more pale.

“I don’t think I can save… you.” Katrina answered, her eyes watering.

“Fuck… it’s getting hard to breathe.” Colby gulped, trying to remain calm.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Sam screamed, punching the floor.

I gasped. “Wait! What about my blood?”

“What about it?” Sam responded.

“What if it could help? Why don’t you drink it?” I stared down at Colby.

He shook his head. “Jade, I don’t know-”

“It’s either you drink my blood or you die. What other choice do you have right now Colby?” I huffed.

“It may not do anything! I might just drain you dry and then die!” Colby barked.

“Well it’s better than nothing!” I snapped back, pulling the sleeve of my shirt up to expose my wrist.

“Fine then! Sam, get Kat out of here.” Colby demanded.

Sam scoffed. “What? Colby, I’m not leaving you!”

“Yes you are! You’re taking Kat out of here in case she smells Jade’s blood and can’t handle herself. I’ll be okay.” Colby insisted.

“What if you don’t make it?” Sam retorted.

“Then it was one hell of a ride, brother.” Colby smirked painfully.

Sam objected. “This ride ain’t over yet for you. C’mon Katrina, let’s go.”

Sam grabbed Kat, pulling her out of my apartment quickly.

“It’s now or never, Colby. Drink up.” I raised my wrist up to his mouth.

Colby’s eyes turned red instantly, veins appearing from under them. His fangs slid out sharply.

He growled. “Fuck it.”

He bit into my wrist hurriedly, a whimper falling from my lips. His hands traveled up to my arm, holding it tightly and closer to his mouth.

Dark dots began to cloud my vision, a woozy feeling falling over me.

“Colby… drinking… too much.” I mumbled, slurring my words as I tried to stay awake.

Then in a flash, everything went black.

<< CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 11 >>

#colby brock #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock vampire #vampire #the chosen daughter #sam golbach #katrina stuart #colby brock x oc #colby brock story #colby brock angst

[wkemeup]

Hiya! I am so in love with your writing and I keep re-reading Guiding Light, it’s just so stinkin’ great and I can’t get enough. That being said, I wonder if we’ll find out what happened in the time Y/N was The Destroyer and how she ended up back at the compound out of the blue? I gots to know! Lol, thanks for bringing your amazing talent to the world!

series masterlist  // series playlist

“She’s exquisite.”

There was a ringing in your ears louder than the voice of the man standing next to you. A white hot burning ached in your palm and you looked down to find a gun gripped tightly in your hand, finger still pressed to the trigger. It was heavy in your hand, but familiar, like you’d used it before. 

You narrowed your eyes upon the weapon, lifting it carefully and examining the shades of deep grey and metallic in the trimming. As you lowered the weapon back to your side, you caught sight of a man curled up on the floor. 

He was wearing a white lab coat, cracked glasses on the brim of his nose, and a far distant look in his eyes. A single bullet wound at the center of his forehead and a pool of deep red circling around him. It flooded over the concrete and touch the edges of your boots. 

“Good work, princess,” a voice purred and you turned to face a man with a jagged scar over his face and cutting through his eye. He grinned at you, something sinister and unkind, but you couldn’t place why. 

You realized then it was you that had killed the man at your feet. 

Several men stood against the wall, scribbling into clipboards and murmuring amongst themselves. Some snapped pictures, others attempted to step forward to take measurements and run tests judging by the foreign equipment in their hands but the scarred man held a hand up in warning. 

He turned back to you. “You’ve come so far. We’re about ready for you to complete your mission.” 

You nodded, relieved. 

The mission was something you could focus on. It wasn’t like the constant flush of blurred images in the back of your mind and the haze of fog that clouded in your brain. It wasn’t scattered memories of a man blue eyes or ginger hair and camouflage uniform. 

It was clear. It made sense. It was what you were built for. 

They’d shown you pictures of the traitor who escaped from his duties at Hydra, who betrayed the men who raised him and gave him new life. They told you of the atrocities he’d committed since his escape and the so-called ‘heroes’ he hid behind. They told you he was vindictive, a monster, a personification of the devil himself. 

They only referred to him as Soldat. 

“We have one last task for you, princess,” the man with the scar said. 

His hand circled at your lower back and your whole body went stiff. His touch was revolting and you couldn’t understand why. He was the man who saved you, who trained and fed you. He was not your enemy, and yet, you couldn’t shake the unpleasant twist of your stomach as he guided you down the hall and away from the body of the man you’d killed. 

He handed you a piece of paper with a series of coordinates. You took in your hand, studying it carefully. 

“Once you arrive, press the red button on the inside collar of your suit,” he told you. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded and the smirk that curved on the edges of his lips was sickening. 

“Good. You don’t have much time now,” he opened the back door of the hallway where a series of cells laid in your path. He pulled down a lever to his right and a siren wailed through the hall. The cell doors began to open and prisoners began to sheepishly emerge from their cages, looking around curiously. 

Most were ready and eager for a fight. 

“Have fun.”

With that, the scarred man disappeared and you were alone. It had been a while since they’d had you use your hands in combat. Two knives were settled against your thighs and you yanked them from their holsters, pleased to be of use. 

A man at the front of the crowd growled at you, and you charged. 

***

You arrived at the coordinated given to you six hours later. Copper stung in your mouth and red stuck in dried crust along your arms and in your hair. You were used to it, welcomed it. You wore it as a coat of armor. 

The fields around you were open and green, with trees lining around an extensive series of buildings. Stars peppered in the night sky and it was stunningly quiet, save for the crickets chirping in the distance. 

Something about the curve of the running paths and the lake nestled behind the left wing of the compound was familiar. It burned in the back of your mind where the clouded images were locked away and you pushed it from your focus. 

You walked up the long driveway, surprised to find no resistance along the way. The handle of your knife was gripped tightly within your grasp, ready and eager for a fight, the image of the man named Soldat fused to the forefront of your mind.

You’d do what you were ordered. You’d kill the man they demanded of you and they’d give you reprieve from the electric shock of the chair. It was how this worked. Follow orders, get rewarded. 

Fail and be punished. 

It was a simple system.

You stood at the edge of the building and remembered the scarred man’s orders. Press the button on the inside of the collar. 

The cold press of your fingers slipped against your neck and your felt for the impossibly small notch in your suit. You pressed it as you were commanded and suddenly fire lit through your veins and electricity spasmed through every muscle. 

You fell to the ground. Darkness caved in. 

The Destroyer, it seemed, would have to wait her turn. 

—–

Just a small drabble but this is roughly what I imagined! 

just gonna tag my guiding light fam in case yall wanna see this too

@sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13 / @thefandomplace / @wxstedhexrt /  @jennmurawski13 / @galaxkay / @moonlessnight14/ @kittybritty7 / @pancakefancake / @vitamingrant / @justendlesssummerfeels / @animegirlgeeky

#walkingchemicalfire #guiding light #guiding light drabbles #idk if im doing more drabbles or not bc im struggling real hard with writing anything honestly right now but eh here you go #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 16

Master List

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Angst, and fluff, and feels oh my!

A/N:  So yeah I swear I wroth an authors note for this... but idfk what happened. 

ANYWAY! Thank you all for being so patient while I got my life together. This one is also short and sweet (guess that’s the mood I’m in). However, y’all should know me by now. This is just the calm before the storm. 

Hope you enjoy this one my pumpkins! 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree  @breezy1415  @peachthatdrinkslemonade  @5aftermidnight@jeromethepsycho  @marvel-randomness  @daniellajocelyn  @katecolleen  @yanginginthere@wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2

March 2007

At some point in the last five months, you’d stopped recognizing yourself. The woman in the mirror wasn’t Y/N. Her hair was different, down to even the eyebrows. Her accent distinctly that of a life long Londoner. She worked for an independent UK couture fashion magazine, chose wine over whiskey, and was distinctly heterosexual.

When the chance to work this job requiring deep cover came up in December you jumped on it. You didn’t want to be you anymore. The you that couldn’t be with the woman you loved. The you that was heartbroken. The you who was beginning to doubt that you’d ever be happy. Fuck her.

Being Charlie Daniels was far better. She was, of course, a real person. Just one who was now living comfortably in the Bahamas courtesy of MI6. Even legit agencies had use of freelance talent every now and then.

Settling into her life had been easy. Not setting her boss on fire or blowing his brains out daily was a different task altogether. Turned out that a magazine was a great front for a crime empire. Lots of international travel, young and beautiful and desperate men and women, money exchanged in countless untraceable ways, on and on. And this fucker was happy to take advantage of every single disgusting avenue it opened up.

You almost had everything you needed to hand to MI6, get your obscenely large payout, and get on to another gig while they threw all of these bastards into cells to rot for the rest of their miserable lives. Just one more trip. After whatever horrible things they lay out in Tokyo you’ll be set.

Tokyo is one of those cities you can lose yourself in. Like New York but better for its interesting balance of vibrancy and grounded reserve. You absolutely love it.

The whole point of the trip, at least on the surface, was to focus on Fashion Week Tokyo. Honestly, there was a part of you that wished this was your world. Nothing but runway shows and after parties. Writing about the latest trends rather than delving into the inner workings of the worlds miscreants

Oh well. It was nice enough to pretend. You had to admit that you’d miss Charlie Daniels once you shed this skin in a couple of weeks.

You’re sitting two people down from your boss at an underground show. The level of security here screams that there are other things going on behind the scenes but it’s still a room filled with a who’s who of the Japanese and international fashion communities.

This was your third show of the day, and you knew there would be a party after where you’d have to schmooze all while plucking information from your unsuspecting fellow guests. You’re exhausted. So rather than pay much attention to the show you let your mind wander.

When she walks out you feel her rather than see her.  Slowly you turn your head to stare dumbstruck at the model walking onto the catwalk. Your heart begins beating against your ribs, your mouth goes dry, your hands shake.

It takes every ounce of control you have to keep your emotions in. To not scream “Natasha!” at the top of your lungs. To not grab her and run for the hills. Charlie Daniels and her easy life be damned. It’s hard but you manage.

As she turns and comes back down, passing now closer to you, her eyes don’t graze  the crowd at all. Head up, shoulders back, she walks the runway like she’d been doing it for years.

The rest of the show is maybe ten minutes but it feels like years. You know the models are all attending the party. Eye candy for the high end guests.

It’s fairly easy to ditch your coworkers in the crowd as you try to find the best vantage point in the room without being too obvious. After a solid twenty minutes, you find yourself planning an escape route. Most of the models are milling about but she’s no where to be seen. You will find her.

But you know you can’t skip out just yet. At the bar, you order a red wine and make yourself seen. Charlie would never miss the whole party after all. You spend a bit chatting with designers and a few models, feigning interest in the whole thing until you hear your boss call out to you.

“Oy, Charlie!” Carl’s voice alone makes you want to put him down. When you turn he’s waving you over to the bar. Sighing heavily you head over.

You’re about ten feet away when you see her, head back laughing at something Carl or his friend had said. Both men are far to close to her for your liking and the hungry look on Carl’s face sets your blood boiling.

He slings an arm around your shoulders and you carefully coach your face to not show disgust. “Charlie here is my best writer. Doin’ some pieces for us on this whole thing,” he waves his other hand around wildly.

“Good to meet ya, Charlie, I’m Dan,” the other man, clearly American says.

“Likewise,” Natasha doesn’t react to the accent at all.

“This here is-”

“Natalie,” Natasha cuts him off, extending a hand to you. Holding her eyes with yours you take it. It’s like touching a live wire.

“Natalie is an American model working here in Japan. May be a good topic for a piece.” He ribs you leaning closer, “And a good piece for the office eh?” Suddenly that MI6 money seems far less appealing.

“I’d love that,” Natasha beams. “Why don’t you guys go mingle and Charlie and I can chat!” The men exchange a glance, but there’s plenty of fresh meat around to sink their teeth into.

Carl flashes you a greasy smile and a wink as he walks away. Thinking clearly that you’re going to snare this woman for him. You, unfortunately, had a few others. Not something you were proud of. Demands of the job you told yourself.

“She’ll take a vodka neat,” you tell the bartender.

“Yes,” Natasha smiles at him, “Whiskey for her. Makers if you have it.” He thinks nothing of it and makes your drinks.

“So, how’s modeling in Japan?”

“Probably about as good as writing for a sleazy jackal.”

You laugh, “That bad? What’s the goal.”

“Getting a cover,” you commend the clever word play.

“That’s a good goal. Long term?”

“Something like that.” She takes a sip of her vodka, “How long are you here?”

“End of the week.” Your skin itches to touch her. The men are rounding back. You hold her gaze and shift your eyes back to them. She catches on.

“Perfect! It’s so hard to have a good interview here, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you come by my hotel?” You whip out your spare key card. “I’d love to get your story for the mag, maybe do a full feature.”

“A feature would be excellent exposure!”

“Wouldn’t it?” Carl slides up next to her. “We can get you all the exposure you could want Ms. Natalie.”

“Charlie was telling me all about it.” She flashes him a coy smile. “Thank you so much Charlie! I forgot I have a late fitting tonight for another show so I’ve got to run. But we’ll chat soon yeah?”

“Absolutely! It was so good to meet you Natalie.”

“Same! Bye!” She hurries through the crowded room and disappears.

“Busy girl.” Carl quips. “Whiskey?” You look down at the glass by your hand.

“Some guy sent them over,” you gesture to Natasha’s lipstick stained glass. “Seemed rude to refuse. Can’t stand the stuff though.”

“That’s a mans drink,” Carl laughs at his own perceived joke and you force a smile.

Somehow you make it through the rest of the evening. You’d refused to allow yourself to hope that she’d be here, too obvious to come the same night, better to wait. Kicking off your shoes you head straight to the mini bar and crack open a whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

“You really need to be more careful,” Natasha’s voice comes from the bathroom. “I mean not even checking around. Sloppy.”

“Charlie Daniels doesn’t have to check for Russian assassins in her bathroom,” a smile pulls your face so tight it hurts.

“Well, Natalie Rushman isn’t a Russian spy. So…”

You let your real accent resurface as you pull her into your arms, “Natalie Rushman, I don’t know if that’s clever or lazy.” She kisses you hard, tongue sliding over your lips hands gripping your ass.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Kinda like the accent.”

“Oh?” You revert to the clipped posh Londoner sound. “Would you rather be with Charlie? I hate to break it to you, she’s strictly into dick so you may need to get a bit creative.”

Natasha’s head falls back with laughter, “I’m always into a challenge but,” she cups your face in her hands, “I’d much rather Y/N, she’s got a cute accent too.” Your kiss is soft this time, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey.” Gently you push a strand of hair out of her face. “Is this smart? Are you gonna get-”

“I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was risk.” She pulls away and tugs you toward the bed. “There’s no surveillance on me here, I check in every week, that’s it. This is strictly to build a cover.”

“Cover for what?” She gives you a sideways glance. “Right. National security.”

“Do you really want to talk about work?”

Smirking at her you push her back on the bed. “Maybe later.”

You lean down to her but she stops you by planting a strappy heel in the center of your chest. Trailing your fingers down her leg you snag a knife from her thigh holster. Carefully you slide the blade under the straps, the incredibly sharp edge cuts through the thin suede like it’s nothing.

“Those were very expensive you know,” eyes sparkling with desire.

You slip the shoe off and toss it aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” Your lips press against her ankle.  

Everything in your life until her was so fleeting. Even your own name, the sound of your own voice, who you were… But with her, you were grounded. You weren’t anything but her’s, you were Y/N.

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed. Caressing her muscular calf you just stare at her eyes. Emerald green, dark liner, lids heavy with lust and exhaustion.

“Natasha…” Your voice cracks and you fight for composure.

“Y/N? What is it?” She shoots up, cradling your face in her hands.

You shake your head, unable to really find the words and unwilling to send this storm of emotions to her. “I just…” You cover her hands with your own. It’s not that you don’t want her, you do. But…

“Can we just… I just wanna hold you…” Her expression immediately softens, eyes sparkling a touch with tears. “Sorry… I… I just…”

“I’d love that, baby.” Tenderly her lips brush yours, then your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids as they flutter closed.

You shed your clothes and crawl into the plush bed. Holding tight to one another you spend hours drifting in and out of sleep, covering the other with soft kisses. Before the sun rises your hands wander southward.

This time you don’t fuck one another senseless. It feels like you’re trying to memorize every curve, every sound, every subtle thing that marks being together. You both know you many not get to do this for some time. The knowledge aches but it doesn’t make having her any less sweet.

Post Snap

You lean your head back on the wall behind the booth. The crying man from last night is gone, you find yourself hoping that he’s resting peacefully somewhere… even though you know it’s pointless to hope for such things.

There are more people filling the bar than there was before. The TVs are off, radios turned up, reporters frantically trying to determine what happened. It was global, that was clear. All planes grounded, trains stopped, communications spotty due to damaged cell towers.

A man speaks frantically to someone who seems to be a friend that he was heading to Nuremberg from Budapest, how the roads are almost not navigable. He doesn’t know if his family is even still there but he has to find out.

Despite his distress, your lips curl a bit at the mention of Budapest.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #black widow #queer fic #wlw

[scarlettkat86]

Counting Sheep

**don't read if you don't want fluff/smut, recreational drug use/alcohol**

@naromoreau and @youre-my-boshaw-baby I finally finished this thing.

Liz opened the door to the Spread Eagle, immediately ambushed and bear hugged by Nick. "Goddamn, you beautiful son of a bitch. I ain't never seen anything like that before. Good to have you back in one piece kiddo, I was beginning to worry."

"Glad to be back too Nick, I could really use a stiff drink or 5." Liz groans as she takes a set at the bar.

"Hey, nice to have you back. Anything you want, on the house tonight." says Mary May.

"No need to do that, I'll have a double shot of whiskey, neat."

"I insist, after all you gave us something we never thought we'd never have again, hope."

Amber liquid filled her glass, the rich, smoky undertones working to sooth her aches and pains away. It seemed like everyone had shown up to celebrate taking down the youngest Seed brother.

Looking around, all of her friends looked so happy, and that made her smile. _Like it or not, this was the right thing to do. _

There was only one person she was hoping to see, and would be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed that he wasn't the first one to welcome her back. Loud voices carried from the back corner of the bar.

"Now i'm a gamblin man and I'll bet you a twenty and some uh, some woods porn, that you can't even hit the board Hurkie."

"When the hell did you find woods porn man!? You're on amigo. Hey everybody, watch this!" Liz watched as Hurk chugged an entire bottle of vodka, then started spinning around in circles. A small crowd had formed, rooting him on. This looked like a disaster waiting to happen. Taking another moment to watch Sharky, she smiled sadly. _I should just go drag him back to my place, let him know he's what keeps me going. Probably not gonna get any time with him tonight anyway, too many people, too much noise. _

A huff from her side brought her attention back. "Gross, are you over here eyefuckin Sharky?"

Liz nearly choked on her drink, "What?! I-I, no, the fuck Jess?"

"Hey you're the one too distracted to hear me. Still can't believe yall haven't- never mind, I'd rather not think about it."

"Not my fault your mind is in the gutter."

"Whatever. I'm shit at small talk, but I wanted to say i'm glad you're back. Those Seed fuckers have a way with gettin in your head, be glad you haven't caught Jacob's attention yet."

Liz shook her head and smiled.

Yeah I'd rather not catch any attention, yet here I am...

"Bless your heart. Careful now Jess, that almost sounded like you care. Listen, you're my best friend, but I can see you're itchin to get out of here, so go on, before I change my mind."

That makes Jess snort.

"Asshole. I ain't gotta be told twice, 'sides, I got better shit to do then watch you watch that idiot. Take care Liz, I'll see ya in the Whitetails."

She stared at the empty glass sat on the counter before her. Walking behind the bar, Liz grabs a bottle of North Fork whiskey and heads for the door.

*Sharky's POV

He'd seen her walk through the door. Damn if she wasn't the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Not cuz she was beautiful, she is, but cuz he'd been worried sick the last few days of radio silence. He'd been pissed that she didn't take him with her, but it was her call, Nick deserved to help her take down that fuckface more than any one of her friends. Still didn't stop his stomach from twisting in knots every night that passed without a word from them. He wants to go kiss her, hold her, tell her how much he realizes now that he's in love with her. She's got a crowd though, and it's only been a couple months since she'd shown up in his life, unsure of how she'd react to a declaration of love, so he stays rooted in place. He's drinking, placing a bet he's seriously gonna regret if he loses. Glancing over again he sees her heading out the front door. *

Standing at the river's edge just outside of Falls End, Liz felt like she could breathe again. She barely escaped the Spread Eagle, so many thank yous she lost count.

Rummaging through her bag, she was relieved to find the baggie she was searching for. "Deal with the devil ain't so bad when he leaves a little lettuce to get by on." Liz laughs at her dumbass joke.

_Really have jumped from upholding the law to breaking it, guess a little weed is nothing when you think about it. _

Lost in her own thoughts she didn't notice someone had followed her.

Walking up from behind, Sharky grabs Liz by her waist. Startled Liz grabs her knife and yelps in surprise when she realizes who it is. "Fuck, Sharky, don't sneak up on me like that! I could've killed you!!" Taken aback by the knife to his throat Sharky swallows. "Shit, not like you to not notice someone tailing you chicka. You mind uh, putting the knife away because i'm not really into that sorta thing." Putting the knife back in its holster Liz laughs and tries to slow her racing heart. Sharky looks down and presses his lips to hers, soft and sweet. She slowly breaks the kiss and sits down.

"Hell yeah, some grass and party liquor, you tryin to impress me shorty, cuz it's workin."

He laughs and rolls the joint neat, tight as he can and seals it with his tongue.

Once they've smoked the whole thing, Sharky takes her hand in his. "Ya know, i'm glad you're back in one piece, things wouldn't be the same without ya." He wants to say that's an understatement, that he don't think he would be able to go forward without her, but he just stands up and pulls her to her feet, "Now allow me to be the gentleman that I am, and escort you back to the party inside."

"You think you can just, drive me back to my place? I'd rather just have you with me for the night."

"That sounds a million times better than finding out if I still own the only woods porn in all of Hope county. "

Opening the door to her house, Liz heads for the kitchen, she pulls out a metal tin with a few blunts already packed. "Damn johnny law, you been holding out on me!" While Sharky lights one up, she mixing a couple drinks. "I've had a couple bad influences. Now pass it over."

The smoke filled her lungs, slowly turning her limbs to jelly and clearing her mind. Sharky slowly walks to her phone, picking out some music. "Boshaw, I swear I am in no mood for disco music."

"Relax Izzy, I've got something a little different picked out."

A slow sensual beat fills the room, and Sharky looks at her with a hunger in his eyes. He grabs her by the waist and starts to rock her side to side to the beat. The lyrics start and he's singing in her ear, "tonight, I've got nothing on my mind but you..." kissing her lips then down her neck,

"don't you take a bow at the last curtain call.. thinking you're nobody's nothing after all..."

Biting her lip and suppressing a moan, she slides her hands under his hoodie, slowly pulling it off. "Fuck Izzy, i'm tryin to be a gentleman here, but you're makin me hard." He says, voice hoarse and shaky.

"I know. I need you Sharks." she says with a smile, as she turns her back to his chest and grinds into him, slowly moving side to side with the music, discarding her own shirt along the way.

He takes a hold of her full hips, pressing himself against her. With one hand he follows the curve from her hips, over the softness of her stomach and the swell of her breast, finally putting a hand on her throat fingers brushing the side of her jawline. His other hands fingers sliding between her thighs. All she could feel was the heat that spread through her, a half sob of pleasure escaping her lips. It had been a year since she felt a touch not her own.

"Bedroom, now" she whispered to him, discarding her pants along the way.

Sharky pushes her to the bed suddenly and pulls her panties off. The sight of her made his mouth water. Soft dark curls in a neat strip. He blew a hot breath and she gasped. Then his tongue replaced his breath, precise swipes parting her folds and latching onto her clit. She looked down into his eyes, a silent plea to make her cum. He held eye contact and alternated between quick flicks of his tongue and circular motions, sliding a finger inside her core.

"Damn Izzy you taste so good, wanna make you cum."

She was teetering on edge already, each nerve on fire, legs tingling, and just when she thought she would finally find sweet release, he'd pull back and lick up her juices. Sliding two fingers inside easily now, he curled upwards to find her bundle of nerves, and closed his mouth around her clit and sucked. He could feel her beginning to pulse around his fingers, back arching, head flung back, "Look at me Iz, I wanna see you."

That sent her over the edge, locking eyes with him again, she felt pure bliss as she came around his fingers. Lapping up the rest of her juices he moved up her body, stopping to tease each nipple on the way, finally kissing her lips. The taste of herself on his lips sent another wave of pleasure through her body and mind. "I need to feel you Sharky, please.."

The neediness in her voice making him even harder. He unfastened his pants, pulling them off. She felt him spring free, sliding the head of his cock up and down her folds, then lines himself up with her entrance, filling her excruciatingly slow. She's already clenching around him, a perfect fit, slightly thicker than she's used to, but he feels like heaven. He can't hold back and slams in to the hilt, causing them both to moan in sync. Pulling out to thrust back in lazily again and again, Sharky is running his hands down her body, one taking place on her clit.

“I'm not gonna last long babe, fuck. You're so tight and wet." Biting her bottom lip she nods her head, "Me either, just fuck me." She wraps her legs around him, pulling him in closer as he picks up pace. They're both panting, moaning curses, as their bodies match rhythm. She can feel him twitch and knows he's close, so she slides her hand down between their bodies and takes over her clit. He pulls her leg over his shoulder changing angles, hitting that perfect bundle over and over. White hot pleasure tingles every inch of her body, and she's crying out his name like the most beautiful melody ever heard. He's not far behind, pulling out at the last possible second. He growls an almost animalistic sound, hot spurts of his cum coat her inner thigh and stomach. Sharky rolls off her, grabbing a shirt to clean up the mess, then pulls her into his arms, kissing the nape of her neck. "I love you Lizbeth." She's quiet for a minute and he's praying to whatever god, monkey jesus, whatever, that he hasn't fucked this up. Then she's looking up at him, smiling the most brilliant smile, "I love you too Sharks. Always."

#fc5 fanfic #sharky boshaw #my oc lizbeth atsila searles #nsftumblr

[rosalynbair]

As Always | AO3 | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | 

Words: 1824

Warnings: angst (oops?), a loving marriage, honestly a bit painful, injuries, death, I haven’t written in literal months so sorry ya’ll - i’m rusty. Don’t read past the ~ if you want this to end happily

Coffee filtered through the machine, the rough hiss of the coffee pouring into the pot joining the repetitive clunk from deep within the old coffee maker. The sizzle of the eggs as they meet the hot pan echoes in your ears.

The soft light of the street lamps glowed through the front window above the sink, the sky only barely beginning to lighten up from the deep black of night to the milky grey of the cold Colorado winter mornings. A figure walks down the sidewalk, passing the fading yellow bungalow on Washington street that housed a detective and his girlfriend.

The bundled up person pauses by the white fence surrounding the front yard, the shadow of their dog moving along to sniff at each piece of wood before moving along to the next house. A smile tugs at your lips, the wooden spatula in your hand sliding carefully under the egg and flipping it over so not to break the yolk.

Rhiannon plays through the old radio by the fridge, mixing with the static of the fading effort of the speakers. The gravelly voice of Stevie Nicks keeping you company in the quiet kitchen. Your hands were cold on the handle of the spatula, the cool air seeping in the edges of the window that really should have been replaced in the summer.

You set the utensil down, reaching up to turn the stove dial off as you lift the pan up off of the glowing red burner. You pick it back up again, sliding it under the egg and setting it onto a plate that already held two pieces of toast and fried potatoes that were left over from dinner the night before.

The sound of running water cuts off from the bathroom down the hall, replaced instead with the scrape of the rings holding the shower curtain across the metal bar it hung from. Small thumps and a slight curse told you that Flip would be out in a few minutes.

Your movements are almost fluid with the routine that was followed almost on a daily, the bend to grab the two dishes beside the door leading to the living room, setting one on the counter as you dumped and filled the other with fresh water before setting that one down and taking the other and filling it with the dry kibble from the bag under the sink. You grab the other once more and return them to their places by the door.

The bathroom door groans in protest as it’s opened, the top of the door catching on the frame. The light is flicked off, the elongated shadow of the man you shared a home with disappearing from the hardwood floors of the hallway.

“Go get your mom.” Flip grumbles out, his voice still a few octaves deeper than his usual baritone.

With the small command, you hear the gentle clicks of nails along the floor. Moments later, the large dog that had pushed his way into the family padded into the small kitchen. His shiny brown and black coat stood out against the soft green of the walls, his deep eyes meeting yours as he approached you.

You sink down, letting him push his head into your hand. Your thumb rubs the front of his ear where the grey was beginning to come in and show Gryphon’s true age. The seven years of service in the Colorado Springs Police Department had taken a toll on his joints, his movements slowing down to a slow jog on his good days.

You stand once more, your pants releasing slightly around your thighs. Gryphon turns as Flip joins the two of you, his hair still damp and shining under the yellow glow of the light. You smile at the tall man that claimed ownership to so much space in your life, tilting your face upwards as he comes closer to you.

His lips settle on yours in a comfortable yet gentle greeting. His hand rests on your hip while yours reaches up to settle on the flannel covered bicep.

“Good morning.” You breathe, separating your lips from his.

“Morning.” He mumbles, dark brown eyes searching your face with an expression and emotion reserved only for you.

“I made breakfast.” You tell him, stepping away and turning to grab the two plates from the counter. You pass by him, setting them down onto the the table.

“As always.” Flip comments.

“As always.” You repeat, turning away and returning to the counter where two matching mugs of coffee sat waiting to be had. The steam rose from the mug and danced into nothingness through the still air of the morning. They were hot in your hand, the heat radiating from the ceramic dampening your hand with sweat.

You push one of them towards Flip, a loud groan of the unglazed bottom of the mug against the wood table echoing through the distance between you.

The moment you were both seated, Gryphon buries his muzzle into his food bowl.

It’s quiet between the two of you, very few words were spoken in the morning. It was always quiet before Flip left for work in the early shifts. It was an unarranged agreement that nothing serious was to be said, only gentle love exchanged as the sun rose over the horizon. An arrangement that kept emotions safe in case of the worst possible outcome of Flip’s profession. No arguments or harsh words before he leaves, no regrets if he didn’t come home that night.

As breakfast was finished and the last drop of coffee was gone from the mugs, Flip stood and collected the dishes, setting them in the sink.

With a quick glance to the clock, he releases a sigh and turns towards you. “I’ll do the dishes tonight when I get back.”

“It’s alright.” You respond, tucking your chair in under the table before leaving the kitchen to the front door where Flip’s holster hung from a hook beside his keys.

The leather was soft and worn in your hands, a perfect fit to Flip’s muscles as you helped it onto his shoulders and back. Your fingers worked the buckles easily, another small routine that had come about in the years you had been together.

Your fingertips trace over the leather once more as Flip reached and grabbed his keys, tucking them into his pocket before pulling on his old but well loved jacket. His lips met yours in another gentle kiss, his head tilted ever so slightly so his nose wasn’t shoved against yours.

“I love you.” He says, the sleep fading from his voice.

“I love you.” You respond with the sweetest of smiles. “Come home safe.”

“Always do.” Flip chuckles.

He straightens up, pressing his lips between your brows. His figure fades into the gentle glow of the morning, the sun barely peeking through the milky clouds.

The truck is loud as it goes down the street, fading ever so slightly as you shut the door and turn back to where Gryphon was now laying in the hall.

“C’mon old boy.” You say, grabbing the faded red leash from the hook.

~

There was nothing different throughout the day. No indication that anything was out of the ordinary. No breaking news over the radio, no distant sirens through the city.

Everything was calm, still. A reflection later on the day would give you an uneasy feeling low in your stomach. The pain doesn’t hit at first.

There’s a shock that radiates through your body at the news, words you had never prepared yourself to hear. You should have prepared yourself, even if you hoped that it would never happened, you hadn’t had the thought that Flip would lose his life on the job since the first year he became a detective. He was too good at his job to ever actually get hurt.

The team was at your door to escort you to the hospital, the captain already there to fill out paperwork for you.

There were no dry eyes, no cheeks that weren’t stained with tears.

Every stage of grief was shown as you stepped into the waiting room that was filled with dark blue uniforms. Denial, anger, acceptance. It all radiated around you. You were numb, though anxiety flew through your lungs with each breath, each step towards where Phillip Zimmerman was resting on a heart monitor.

It was already agreed, he had made the arrangements long before meeting you that he didn’t want to stay if the only thing keeping him there was a machine. There was silence as the doctor began to shut everything down, the loud beeps falling into nothing.

No words were spoken until his casket was lowered.

Teary eyed goodbyes and condolences given to you by the other wives that weren’t picturing Flip in the box, but rather their husbands instead. Gratefulness shown in their eyes when they held hands with their partners. At least it didn’t happen to them.

Gryphon wouldn’t leave your side. The dirt now covering him, his mother holding your hand as the workers left the site. Their jobs done for the day. They wouldn’t be back until spring came and they could lay sod and new grass.

He lay beside his father, long gone from age and a bad heart after years in the force. Both leaving the women who loved them more than anything else.

“It will take a long time to adjust.” His mother says softly, her voice hoarse with loss. “You’ll forget that he’s gone sometimes, you’ll set out a plate on accident, you’ll call him for dinner. You’ll cry every time. You’ll lose touch with the team. But it’s all a part of it. I love you sweet girl.”

She kisses your cheek, her tears mix with yours until she pulls away. “I’ll see you at the house.” she tells you. “Stay as long as you need, I’ll make sure everything is fine at the reception.”

“Thank you.” You whisper, squeezing her hand before letting it go.

You don’t notice her leave, or the chill that came to the air as the sun lowered in the sky. The sky darkened and your hands shook. Though you looked almost like a statue with how long and still you stood there at the base of the mound of dirt.

The stone with his name etched into it seemed too nice, too clean. Too perfect. Under his name were the dates you would now remember and dread every passing year. His photo sketched into the tan marble, his smile permanently shown for all who would pass him.

Your muscles protested as you turned away, tears gathering on your lashes as you tugged Gryphon slightly to get him to come along to the truck. Your guests were waiting for you, to share stories with you, to try to help you grieve while also coming to terms with their own pain.

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman imagine #flip imagine #angst #ros writes #rosalynbair

[ursapharoh05]

First Kill (Erik Killmonger)

Part three of my Erik fic. I rewrote this a couple times, it was harder than the others were but I like it all the same. Hit me up with some comments and fics, all yall are entirely too quiet. I’m an open book so ask anything. Thanks for reading!!

It wasn’t a shock anymore, to hear the thunderous sound of pounding on the door, the way it interrupts the obvious creaking and moaning coming through the paper thin walls as her cousins, deep in sleep, lay on her chest and legs. She’s grown again, all arms and legs, is what auntie says. The five little bodies pinning her to the mattress on the floor turn the tiny shared room,into a sweltering prison. Sweat beads on her forehead as she breathes in everyone's warm air, Auntie’s place was more fun when she knew she could leave.

The moaning stopped shortly, long enough for a hushed argument to begin before being interrupted by more man made thunder against the front door. She stares at the ceiling while some one, either her auntie or her new man, answered the door. One breath, there’s a yelp from the front door. Two breaths, Heavy boots on the creaky floor echo down the hall. Three— the dingy white door is flung open, beating against the wall with a crash. Light rushes in to blind her squinted eyes as all the little bodies around her jerk awake.

Eyes slowly adjusting, she soaks in the form. Tall, broad,and a wild biting smile. Her heart thunders while she sits up and forces a reverent whisper,“Daddy?”

The smile grows, “‘C’mere Lil girl, I’m breakin you out” it’s not an invitation, it never is when it’s daddy.  She wishes she could roll over and stay hidden in the dark, forget flashy Jaguars with spots. She wish she was darker, could melt into the shadow and wait him out. Instead she slides from the pile of limbs and stands in her MIT hoodie turned pajamas and her too short borrowed pajama pants. She doesn’t move,maybe he’ll come to her, truly come and get her. Instead, he offers his hand, and she pads across the old crushed carpet until he reels her in.

She doesn’t reach to be picked up,she’s taller now, older but, he scoops her up anyways. He does this on occasion, when he comes back from somewhere far far away. He’s more loving, cuddly, dad-like. She hates it, but a Jaguar doesn’t change it’s spots so why would it change its hunting tactics either?

She wraps her arms around his neck and tucks her head in the hollow of his neck. Aunties screaming is always loud when Daddy comes to get her, and it’s best to hide. Now isn’t any different, she screeches the whole way Daddy walks them out “Erik! You put her down! She isn’t yours anymore! You don’t get to take her! Erik! I’ll call the cops! Baby! Baby girl take my hand!”

Manicured fingers claw at little arms before suddenly auntie is pinned against the hallway wall gasping for breath while Erik holds her in place with a hand on her throat. “If you aren’t careful, you’re finna get on my nerves. Sweet thang here” He heft’s me higher with his free arm and moves in close to Aunties gasping face as the woman claws at his arm, his voice drops to a growl “Is just as much mine as she was her mama’s, so you, and that pussy ass scrub you got hiding in ya bedroom are gonna go finish ya fun and leave baby girl and me alone. Aight?”

The choking nod he receives is enough as he pulls away with a smile and continues on his way her throat looks bruised. He’s humming, or rumbling, she can feel it against her own stomach as he kicks the door open and skips picking up her shoes. He bounces them down the stairs and over one railing just to hear her squeak and hold tighter before he’s setting her down on a motorcycle and placing a too big helmet over her head “Chin up, lil soldier” He chuckles as he does up the strap under her chin and swings on behind her.

Speeding down the street and onto the highway, the wind seeps passed the worn edges of the visor covering her face, it dries her eyes out, that’s what she’ll tell her dad if he asks about the tear trails. Weaving in between cars, she doesn’t have anything to hold onto, she pushes back against the broad chest and tries to lean with him on his turns with her eyes closed.

She doesn’t remember them stopping but suddenly she's being lifted off the bike and her bare feet are being set onto the wet cement of the sidewalk, the helmet is undone and pulled off roughly. Daddy wasn’t soft, he was scarier when he was soft. Instead of being held close she’s thrown over his shoulder and lugged like a kill all the way up the many flight of stairs and through the door.

New apartment, same set up. He tosses her onto the couch and looks her over, assessing, reading. She stares back, not a challenge, never a challenge but, it’s always best to keep an eye on the biggest threat in the room. Her fingers itch to rub at the scratches on her arm.

The silence stretches before a soft click echoes in the dimly lit room, both bodies, big and small stiffen as a third member walks into the living room. It’s a female, shorter,  black, and dressed in bright red lingerie. The threat shifts.

“There you are babe, where’d you go? You left me waiting all alone,” The Woman has chosen to drape herself over Erik kissing under his jaw before light brown eyes slide to meet tired deep Brown “Whose this?” The purr leaves her voice.

She chooses to stay silent, keeps her eyes on the woman. If he has her, and they’re meeting...something isn’t right. She never gets to meet daddy’s passes. The woman straightens up but tightens her hold “Don’t tell me you want to mess around where the kid can hear us.”

“No.” Said too strongly, too aggressively, he’s quick to untangle himself from her and move to open the door again “ Time for you to go, Linda. Plans changed”

The woman snorts and glares, between the father and daughter “I come out here to welcome you back and get you relaxed, you have me waiting out here, you come back with a kid, and now you want me to leave? Aight, I hope you don’t go changing plans when things go down tomorrow.” Still she starts gathering her things, wraps a long coat over herself and walks to the held open door. Turning back for only a second she throws over her shoulder “The other two were cuter.”

Erik slams the door once she’s turned to leave, he’s raging for a long moment, stalking the length of the living room and snarling to himself words she’d never dare to say even as a whisper and then his eyes are back on her “You hungry? Let me cook for you”

It’s late,very late, she isn’t hungry, and she has school tomorrow. She follows him into the small kitchen anyways, head down but eyes soaking everything in. True to his word, daddy is digging in the fridge and pulling out what looks like actual fresh produce and groceries. He’s been talking, she was dumb enough to zone out she creeps to the stools at the counter and sits down after shifting a gun holster to the side.

“....My papa—your granddaddy, used to make this for me to help calm my nerves. We don’t have all the spices that wakanda had and he hated it but this always tasted like heaven to me” he’s chopping vegetables as he talks “He woulda got a kick out of you, woulda said you ain’t nuthin but skin and bones he’d feed you till you popped”

She wonders if that would be a good way to die, full of good food with a grandpa shoveling more on her plate. She decides there probably isn’t a good way to go into the dark place. She jumps when his voice rises above the sizzling of the sautéing veggies “You been practicing your reading?”

He’s moved onto cutting and seasoning  chicken but she knows it’s another test. He doesn’t care that she’s reading way above her grade level in English, or that her neighbor is teaching her a little Spanish when she helps with chores. She licks her lips and nods “Yessir, I read wakandan, I read all your notes”

The notes are usually hidden in places only she’d be looking and when translated were from what she could tell were nursery rhymes. They were written in women’s hand writing and very obviously worn. She made a point of keeping every single one hidden among her Pokémon cards.

He nods and moves the chicken thighs to the sizzling pan “kunye nolwimi lwakho lwezakhono?” He asks cooly.

“Ndiyayithanda ulwimi lobawo” She says back quickly sounding out each part of the words carefully. Learning a language was hard when you were talking to yourself in the mirror in the early mornings. She lifts her chin ready for anymore challenges he has to offer, if you posture enough maybe the barrage will stop.

The challenge is met with him sliding a bowl under her nose. “Stir this up till it’s all mixed, and tell me whatcha been doin’. “ She stirs and stirs and talks wearily, waiting for his verdicts. Every once in a while she’ll let her voice get lost in the sounds of meat browning and vegetables cooking and he’ll prod her to speak up. It goes on well after the food is done, and while they eat at the small table after scooting maps and ammo out of the way, and the conversation continues while they scrub the dishes and lay them out to dry.

Both of them are laughing breathlessly on the couch after a story of Erik’s first time cooking with his father for his mother, when they finally lull into silence. She can’t keep herself from leaning into the heaving chest of her daddy and cuddling closer and letting the words slip out as her eyes give up the fight to stay open, “I love you, daddy.”

She misses the stiffening of the body underneath her and the smile sliding from his face like water as he side eye glances at the curled up child on him. She misses when he lays her down on the couch in the early streams of light in the morning, and she misses the quiet gathering of the artillery, the shower and the final once over in the mirror as he ties up his dreads and puts on the gold rim glasses. She misses the click of the door as it closes.

She waits six days for him to come back, makes her own dinner until the little food runs out. She bathes and practices reading the thick journal left on the coffee table she imagines is a gift for her. But mostly she waits. And on the seventh day she grabs a knife and makes a quick and deep incision, the size of her thumb on the back of her wrist. She robotically adds the clay and the balm and wraps it tight. After, she grabs a stool, calls her auntie, is picked up and promptly dropped off with a child protective service agent.

She wishes she felt something other than resigned. It’s a shame, she thinks, that the first thing she kills is her chances to be with her father.

kunye nolwimi lwakho lwezakhono?= And your language skills?

Ndiyayithanda ulwimi lobawo=I love my father tongue

#dadmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger #black panther killmonger #black panther