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badassbuchanan · 3 years

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Making Amends

Plot: Bucky walks back into your life, and with it, your past, along with all the feelings that were there.

Warnings: smut; tfatws!bucky, i never know how to end fics, heartbreak, tension, love making, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 5908

A/N: It’s 12am and I definitely did not proof read this - I take responsibility for any and all mistakes

Okay so with Bucky they used to be together when he was the winter soldier but then he just up and left without a trace so she married into riches but her husband died?! So now she lives alone in a big ol house

“Excuse me, Y/N.” The soft voice caught the woman’s attention as it echoed through the room. Y/N looked up, noticing the petite, older maid standing in the dimly lit wooden frame of the doorway.

“What is it Mary?” Y/N gave her a welcoming smile, looking up at the maid expectantly as she sat up a little straighter in the grand armchair. She delicately folded in the corner of the page of the mystery novel she was reading before neatly placing it down on the side table next to her.

“I do apologise for bothering you at this hour, but you have a visitor.” Y/N noticed the way Mary played nervously with her apron, her unusual jitteriness aroused suspicion in Y/N. Y/N listened intently as she took her reading glasses from her face, placing them on top of her book. “I told him to come back another time, but he’s quite persistent.” She noticed Mary look down the hall to her left as she spoke, as if being intimidated by a figure that was unseen to Y/N. Something definitely wasn’t right.

“He?” Y/N’s ears perked up as a warm flush of both anxiety and excitement washed over her body. She quickly moved to wrap the silk dressing gown tighter around her body, hiding the lace trimmed nightgown she wore underneath. No. It couldn’t be him.

“Yes, he…he said you’d want to-“ The figure of a man emerged in front of Mary, cutting her sentence off. Y/N froze from where she sat, her heart stopping momentarily as she watched a secret part of her past walk into the room. James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Her first lover. Her partner in crime. Her everything. Here. After all this time. After all the heartbreak. She hadn’t seen Bucky since he’d abandoned her late one night while she slept, disappearing without a trace. She searched for him, terrified that one of his enemies had caught up to him. She spent night after night awake hoping that he’d walk back through the door, but he didn’t. He never came back for her.

She had to stop her heart from leaping out of her chest as she sat there, speechless. All of their memories flooded through her mind. Their first kiss. Their first mission. Their first time having sex. The adventures. The soft touches. The sweet nothings. The plans they made. The heartache. The pain. The agonising months spent trying to forget him.

“Bucky.” Her voice cracked as she took in his changed appearance, looking him up and down. He’d cut his hair. His once clean shaven face now covered in stubble. His eyes seemed softer. He looked older.

Bucky’s chest heaved beneath his leather jacket, noticing the pain in Y/N’s eyes. He glanced down at his hands as he slipped off his gloves, a sigh leaving his lips as he second guessed his decision to come here. Damn his therapist and her stupid idea to make peace with his past.

“Thank you.” Bucky nodded towards Mary, signalling for her to leave. Poor Mary looked like she would burst into tears at any moment, terrified of both being told off by Y/N for letting this happen and of being killed by the intimidating visitor. She looked over at Y/N for guidance, not wanting to leave her alone without her consent. Y/N nodded reassuringly with a soft smile at Mary, who’s eyes softened with worry as she quickly moved out of the doorframe, obeying Y/N’s wishes as she shut the door behind her.

Bucky turned his head back towards Y/N, his gorgeous blue eyes making her heart skip a beat. She dropped her head from his gaze, her cheeks heating up as she forced herself to ignore the way he made her stomach flutter with butterflies. “Y/N.” He smiled softly, sensing the trepidation extruding from her as he stepped further into the room, placing his gloves down on the coffee table.

Bucky grumbled to himself as she ignored him, the reality of facing her was a lot harder than he ever imagined it would be. His eye caught view of the teapot sitting on the silver tray, leaning down to pour himself a cup silently to buy himself some time.

Y/N scoffed with a roll of her eyes at his confidence to make himself at home, shaking her head as she felt her eyes getting slightly teary. “Help yourself.” She spat sarcastically as she avoided his gaze, resting her body back against the chair.

Bucky chanced a quick look up at her before lifting the teacup to his lips, sipping the half cold liquid. He chose to ignore her comment, he deserved it, and so much more. “You been keeping well?”

She bit the inside of her cheeks as she kept quiet, keeping up the heartless facade for as long as she could. She refused to let him know how much it pained her to see him, how much she still longed for the kind of love that they’d once shared.

“I think about you a lot, Y/N.” Bucky broke the silence as he placed the teacup onto the table, slumping down onto the couch opposite her, spreading his legs as he adjusted the leather jacket to make himself more comfortable. “My therapist says it actually seems to help with my nightmares.” He continued, a pout on his lips as he cupped his hands together, relaxing into the chair.

“You have a therapist?” She raised her eyebrows accusingly, crossing her arms over her body as she felt her heart beat quicken with anger. Her blood boiled as she watched him sitting there as if he hadn’t broken her heart.

Bucky raised his eyebrow as a response, a subtle nod of his head as he clenched his jaw. “It’s a condition of my pardon.” He spoke matter-of-factly as he shrugged his shoulders. He hated this. He hated how shut off she’d made herself. He hated having to play the part of an asshole, knowing her well enough to know it was the only way to keep her talking.

“She’s got me going through this amends list,” He mumbled with a sigh of exasperation, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. “she’s even given me three rules to to obey in the process.” He let out a chuckle of amusement as he mocked the Doctor’s orders.

Y/N let out a sigh of aggravation, rubbing her fingers against her temple as she closed her eyes. it was too late in the night for her to handle this kind of emotional turmoil. “Bucky, why are you-”

“The first rule is that I can’t do anything illegal.” He cut her off, he didn’t want to have to answer her questions. Questions he didn’t know the answers to. He shifted quickly to sit forward in his seat, picking up the teacup to take another sip of his tea. He noticed her make no effort to cut him off, his plan was working. “The second is that nobody gets hurt.” He smirked as he looked down at the cold liquid, swirling it around in the cup.

Y/N crossed her legs as she sat forward, leaning in to listen to his speech as she kept her eyes focused on her fingers. She noticed the slight tan line on her ring finger, where her wedding band once sat, a million thoughts filling her mind. Bucky wasn’t the only one that had to make amends with his past. He wasn’t the only one that had tried to move on.

Bucky sensed her walls crumbling as she got used to his presence again. He lifted his eyes as he placed his teacup on the table once more, his eyes lifting to her body, admiring her as he always had done. He’d left to protect her. To save her from the inevitable doom they faced as assassins. He was terrified of not being in control of his own mind. He was terrified of hurting her. Something he’d ended up doing anyway.

He never stopped thinking about her. Ever. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he always thought about her. Like everything else that was going on around him was just noise, a distraction keeping him from her. With everyday that passed the longing to be with her seemed to grow. Without her, all he had was war, assassination, fights, destruction, death. Without her, that’s the only thing he had to focus on.

“Do you remember the first time we went on a mission together?” Bucky smiled softly, feeling his heart thud against his chest as the memories flooded through his mind, bringing back all the emotion.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears as she swallowed the lump in her throat, the tension in the room rising so high she found it hard to breathe. “I told you I’d die for you.” She relived the memory in her mind, her head spinning as she smiled so subtly that it was unnoticeable to Bucky. After that first mission, she’d seen the worst of Bucky. She’d seen him as the heartless Hydra assassin. She’d seen that he was just as broken as her, and she fell in love with him in that moment.

Bucky’s stomach fluttered with butterflies, a fire of hope igniting inside of him as she slowly started opening up to him. “and I told you that you’d never have to.” He added with a shaky breath, his metal fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh. One wrong move and he’d be shoved from the room and out of her life for good. “Because I’d kill anyone that even looked at you the wrong way.” He chuckled softly at the memory, remembering so vividly how bright she’d made his dark world in that moment.

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in the memory of each other. In a time where they’d had little control of their minds, with what Hydra was forcing the super soldier’s to do, they found refuge in each other. They found love in the darkest place, a love so rare and beautiful. A love that was impossible to get over.

“And you did,” Y/N’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, clenching her jaw to fight back the tears as she sat there, hurt and angry. How dare he come back into her life without warning, bringing up all of their precious memories that it had taken her a lifetime to forget. “Until you left.”

Bucky closed his eyes as he fought off the reminder. He’d woken up from a nightmare, his body glistening with sweat, his metal hand tightly wrapped around her throat. She was sleeping peacefully next to him, as she always did. It wasn’t the first time he’d choked her in her sleep. But there was a fear in his eyes, born from the lack of control that caused him to never want to hurt her again. He couldn’t help his nightmares, he couldn’t stop the lack of control he had over his mind. The only thing he could do was leave. To let her carry on with her life, without him.

“Do you miss me?” Bucky asked suddenly, his eyes opening to watch her intently. He had spent the last few years fighting to find a way to get back control of his mind, a small glimmer of hope alive in his heart that they’d find their way back to each other somehow, and he’d be fixed when they did.

She shook her head, a small ironic chuckle passed her lips as his words cut through her like a knife. “Don’t.” She whispered sadly, the loneliness of the last few years engulfing her body. He’d been on her mind everyday. She’d always hoped he’d somehow find her, that he’d bring back the love he ripped from her. “Don’t do that.” She sighed softly, blinking rapidly to stop her tears from flowing down her face. Even when she’d tried to move on, live a normal life, marry a wealthy man who adored her, she felt nothing. When her husband passed away suddenly, leaving to her his whole estate, she felt nothing. She’d never been able to feel anything, apart from when she was with Bucky. “Don’t come here, after all these years, acting like nothing hap-”

“Answer the question.” He demanded with a tone of frustration as his metal fist slammed against the coffee table, desperate to hear her say it. He’d lived without her for long enough, the fear of losing her again was too much to bare. He could tell she was losing control by the way her lips pursed together, trying to maintain her strong appearance.

“What do you want from me?” She sighed in defeat, hesitant to opening herself back up to being hurt again. She felt his warmth from across the table, the familiarity of him was something that brought her comfort, and something she desperately craved more of.

“Yes or no, Y/N, do you miss me?” He kept his eyes focused on her intensely, his jaw clenching as he watched her break. Bucky knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he was her weakness. He knew that she couldn’t say no to him. “Because if it’s a no, I will walk out that door and never come back.”

“Yes.” She whispered shakily, the fear of him leaving proved too much as the room fell completely silent. “I miss you, okay. I’ve always missed you. It took me a lifetime try and get over you leaving, to forget you and to be honest Buck, I’m still not sure it worked. I miss you every single day and it kills me inside. Are you happy now?”

“No,” Bucky spoke back instantly, his face as straight as an arrow as he rested his back against the chair. He watched single a tear slowly roll down her cheek, her eyes closing as her head dropped in defeat. “Come and whisper it to me.”

If there was one thing she knew about Bucky, it was that he wouldn’t stop until he got his way. She sighed as a sign of surrender, standing to her feet as she self consciously adjusted her dressing gown to cover her body.

She slowly padded over to stand in front of him, her heart racing as she chanced a glance up at his face. His features looked even more beautiful up close, her hands itching to reach out and touch him. She fiddled with her fingers nervously, cautiously leaning towards him, breathing in his intoxicating scent as her lips gently brushed against his ear lobe. “I still miss you, James.” I whispered.

She let her lips linger close to his skin for longer than necessary. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but yet she still made no effort to move. Bucky’s hot breath tickled her neck as she closed her eyes, her head spinning in a euphoria of his presence. It was something she could never tire of, something that made her drunk, something that left her addicted.

She riskily turned her head to face his, their breathing the only sound breaking the silence as her hand slid up to hold onto the metal of his shoulder outside of his leather jacket. Bucky tested the boundaries, following her movements as he turned his head to face her, their lips almost brushing.

Y/N gulped as her tongue brushed over her lips, her eyebrows arching in anticipation as her eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes. She needed him. All of him.

“Don’t take it away from me now.” Y/N begged in a whisper against his lips, her fingers digging into his shoulder as she felt him shuffle to the edge of the seat. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he moved, his metal hand lifting cautiously to rest gently on her hip. Bucky’s heart fluttered with happiness, her longing for his love and affection making him feel euphoric. He’d longed for the day to have her wrapped up in his arms again, to have her soft skin on his.

“I miss you, doll.” Bucky whispered against her lips, causing her heart and tummy to flutter as she admired him with doe eyes, like he was the only thing in the world. His words marked the tipping point, her self control demolished as she nudged her face against his, connecting their lips for what felt like the first time.

Bucky wasted no time in kissing her back gently, both of them lost in the desperation of making the most of every second. He naturally took control, his flesh hand lifting to cup her cheek as she let her hand drift to the back of his neck. All of their memories came flooding like a tidal wave through their minds, their passion just as intense as when they were together, almost as though nothing had changed, as if he’d never left.

Bucky pulled her down into his lap as he sat back against the couch, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as he wrapped his arms around her body, feeling as much of her body as he could get his hands on. She adjusted her thighs to straddle his lap, ignoring the way her nightie rode up her thighs, revealing more of her silky flesh to the super soldier. The sudden intimacy didn’t scare her, it didn’t make her feel vulnerable or exposed. With Bucky, she felt safe. She felt loved. She felt like nothing could ever bring her harm.

Bucky’s breathing hitched as she bravely rocked her hips down to meet his, feeling his bulge rub against her thinly clothed pussy. Y/N let out a soft moan, feeling herself already coming apart for him, only ever getting so aroused for Bucky.

Bucky reacted to every slight movement of her body, using his grip on her hips to pull her even closer to him. Their chests pressed together as her hands cupped the sides of his neck, a hum of satisfaction erupted from her lips as they continued to softly kiss.

Y/N felt her arousal drench onto her panties from the familiar feeling of his big cock pressing achingly against her core. Their tongues played as they desperately grabbed at each other’s bodies, both craving the raw love they could only get from each other.

Y/N slid her hands down his chest as she pulled back from the kiss, her pupils glazed over with lust as they both caught their breaths. Bucky stared her down, his lips parted, his chest heaving as he panted. He was slightly nervous that she’d changed her mind until he watched her tug on the rope of her dressing gown, letting it slip off of her body and onto the floor. Bucky groaned softly, feeling his cock twitch, desperate the feel her wet walls clenching around him. He used the opportunity to admire her body, running his hands over her thighs and up under her nightie. His flesh fingertips burned into her bare skin, his metal digits like ice as she rocked her hips back and forth slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his.

Bucky breathed out shakily, leaning up to reconnect their lips as he ran his hands over the round of her ass, pulling her harder against him as he grew needier with every second. She arched her back into his touch, pressing her chest back against his as she felt the strap of her nightie drops to her shoulder, revealing a little more of her chest.

She sucked sensually on Bucky’s tongue as he let her hands roam over his sides teasingly, feeling him smile at the loving gesture. His fingers hooked into her panties, her hips jolting in response as she assisted him in making quick work to tug them down her legs.

“Not here.” She quickly moved to grab hold of his wrist, her breath shaky against his lips as her eyelids fluttered in weakness. Bucky watched curiously as she leaned back, shuffling off of his lap to stand up, holding her hand out for Bucky to take. Drunk in each other’s presence, they felt complete in a broken world, Bucky took her hand as stood up, admiring the innocent look in her eyes. Y/N used his hand to balance as she stepped out of her panties, licking her lips to conceal a cheeky smile as a thought crossed her mind. She bent down to pick up her discarded underwear, stepping closer to him as she kept her eyes on his. Bucky smirked deviously in amusement as she shoved the panties into the pocket of his leather jacket, rolling his eyes as he tried to contain how desperate he was for her.

His smile didn’t fade as he watched her turn around, following close behind her as she lead them out of the room and down the hallway.

Bucky’s hands wrapped around her waist as they reached the bottom of the stairs, forcing her to turn around and face him. “I miss you.” He whispered softly as she noticed the way his chest rose and fell rapidly, the long lost feeling of love proved overwhelming for the metal armed soldier as he pressed his lips desperately against hers, his strength making it easy for him to lift her up.

She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, whimpering into the kiss as he walked them up the grand staircase on the house. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers massaging the back of his head as she sucked on his lip seductively.

She gasped as her back hit the door, Bucky’s strength momentarily faltering as his head spun with pleasure. His hand fiddled with the handle, twisting it to open the door as he kept her wrapped around his body.

Bucky walked them over to the neatly made bed in the middle of the room, throwing her down onto the mattress as he moved to stand between her open legs.

Y/N watched as he took off his coat, his eyes focused on her body as he threw the leather jacket carelessly onto the floor. She bit her lip, her pussy clenching in need as she slowly lifted her legs to press her heels flat against the mattress. Bucky’s eyes glanced between her legs, his pupils displaying as he caught an unobstructed view of her silky, wet pussy.

“You got a new arm.” She whispered softly as her eyes ran over his metal arm, it wasn’t the same as the one she remembered. This one was black, with gold detailing, much more subtle than the red starred, silver arm she knew. She licked her lips with anticipation, mesmerised with the sleek style of his upgraded metal appendage.

Bucky’s eyes stayed glued between her legs, pressing his lips together in a hard line as he watched her mound move with every clench of her needy cunt. He hummed in response to her comment, too turned on to focus on her words as he tugged his t-shirt over his head.

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he watched her sit up, her legs staying in place as she snaked her nightie up her body at a teasingly slow pace. Bucky dropped his hands to his belt buckle, their eyes glued to each other as they removed the last of their clothing, leaving them both naked.

She reached forward, her fingers delicately tracing the part of his shoulder where his flesh fused with the metal of his arm. Bucky’s chest heaved at the delicate nature of her touch, his emotions overwhelming him as he cupped her wrist in his hand. His eyes caught her gaze as she used his grip on her arm to tug him towards her, leaning in to press her lips against his abs with delicate kisses. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, his breath hitching in his throat as her lips travelled lower.

Y/N hummed against his skin, her clit throbbing for attention as Bucky took the hint, pushing her back down onto the mattress as he climbed on top of her. He cupped her jaw as he pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss, his hard cock pressing against her slick.

Her nails dug into his skin as her hands explored his bare flesh, whimpering into the kiss as she lifted her hips to meet his. The movement of their hips rubbing together caused a friction that caused both of them to gasp out in pleasure, hungry for more.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, bucking her hips desperately to meet his as Bucky let out a weak moan. He leaned up to press his metal hand into the mattress next to her head, his flesh hand sliding up her waist to cup her boobs, squeezing them gently.

“Bucky,” Her eyes fluttered closed as she let herself sink back into the mattress, overwhelmed with pleasure and need as she squeezed her thighs around his hips. “I need you inside of me.”

“You’ve got me.” Bucky reassured her sweetly as he restrained himself from completely letting go and fucking her hard into the mattress. There would be time for that later, but right now, they both needed to take their time, to feel each other’s love.

He let his thick cock slide up and down her folds, drenching his length in her wetness. He dropped his head to her neck, kissing her soft skin delicately as his tip nudged between her folds.

Bucky’s eyebrows arched as he tried to stay in control of his primal instincts, his hand fisting into the mattress as he let out a guttural moan. He slowly moved his hips forward, pressing his thick length into her as she gasped under him.

Her hand flew up to grip his bicep, her lips parting as her back arched from the mattress, her walls pulsing around his length. “Bucky.” She moaned out his name breathlessly as he slid deeper inside of her, his lips sloppily kissing her shoulder as he moved to thrust his cock in and out of her slowly.

His tongue swiped along her collarbone before his lips moved lower, leaving gentle kisses over her chest. “I’m no longer the winter soldier.” Bucky mumbled against her chest, licking over her nipples which sent an overwhelming wave of pleasure through her body. He lifted his head back to hers, their lips colliding as she traced every detail of his chest with her delicate fingers.

She remembered every detail of his body. Every muscle, every scar, ever definition of his perfect skin. She felt his cock buried deep inside of her, filling her up as Bucky let out a groan, his hand moving up to cup her chin as he forced her to look up at him.

Bucky stopped his movements, gazing deep into her eyes as their souls connected, an intense feeling of satisfaction filling their bodies as his lips came crashing down onto hers again. She whimpered as she pulled him closer, their chests pressing against each other as Bucky let out a desperate groan, moving his hips to fuck her.

Y/N let out a shaky cry as her fingers dug into his skin, she’d forgotten just how big his cock was. He filled her up with every thrust, breathing heavily against her lips as little moans erupted from within his throat.

Her legs wrapped around his hips as her pussy clenched around his length, trying to accommodate his size. Y/N pecked his lips over and over soothingly as he fucked into her, the sounds of their bodies slapping together with every thrust. She poured out her love for him, the love that never went away, and he felt it, with every kiss.

Bucky’s stomach clenched as his tip nudged against her cervix, his cock throbbing as he felt how her body reacted to every one of his movements. Her tits bounced with every hard thrust of his hips, her clit rubbing against his skin as she hugged his body tight against hers.

He growled between kisses, thrusting into her so deep that the bed hit the wall with a bang every time he fucked into her. She tried to roll her hips, her body weakening under his as she chased her release that was already building in her stomach.

Bucky’s balls tightened as he slid easily in and out of her drenched pussy, in awe of the way her body was clinging to him as though she’d never let him go. He was already close to his climax, he hadn’t been with anyone since her, his cock marvelling in the feeling of being back inside of her.

“My name is James Bucky Barnes.” His balls slapped against her as he grunted the words through gritted teeth, the sound filling the room as Y/N’s mouth dropped open with a gasp of pleasure. Their breaths mixed together as Bucky’s hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut at the overwhelming amount of pleasure coursing through his veins.

Bucky groaned weakly as he brought his knees up to rest under hers, keeping her impaled on his cock as he dropped his mouth to her chest. Y/N bit down on her lip as her eyes mirrored the weakness of her body, watching him fuck up into her at a slower pace.

She moaned at the feeling of his lips sucking at her sensitive nubs, her eyes almost rolling back in pleasure as his tongue swirled around her hardened nipples.

“And you’re part of my efforts to make amends.” Bucky moaned at the feeling of the deeper angle, cuddling her against his chest as he fucked into her. The pair were blinded by the sheer feeling of ecstasy, nothing on earth had ever felt as good as making love to each other.

Bucky moaned as he felt his orgasm approaching, his hips jolting automatically as his metal hand flew forward to grip the wooden headboard. Y/N’s back fell against the mattress again as Bucky held her down by her hip, giving him more leverage to thrust into her with such depth she thought her legs would split in two.

“Bucky.” She breathed out shakily, arching her body into his as her head flew back to press into the pillow. Bucky’s head fell softly into the crook of her neck, his little grunts intensified by his lips on the shell of her ear.

Her hand pressed against his tummy as he pounded into her, a shiver shooting down her spine as she tried to control her impending orgasm, not wanting the night with him to end. She tugged on his hair roughly, desperately trying to feel every part of him.

Her eyes were forced open as Bucky suddenly stopped all of his movements, a look of panic washing over her face as Bucky looked down at her breathlessly. He slid his hand between her body at the mattress, supporting her back as he moved to sit back on his knees, lifting her up to keep her against his chest, his cock still deeply buried inside of her.

Y/N let out a moan at the pleasure of the new angle, clinging tightly to his body as her wetness dripped down onto his balls. Bucky pressed his lips against hers, slowly thrusting up into her as he fucked her deeper in the new position. Soft grunts left Bucky’s lips as he felt her pussy twitching around him, her clit overstimulated from the way it was rubbing against his skin.

“Bucky,” Y/N whimpered his name as a warning, her fingers digging into his skin as she looks up at him helplessly, feeling her orgasm taking over. “Hold me,” She begged softly, her eyes glazing over as wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her body. “I’m gunna cum.” She cried loudly as her head flew back, her lips parted as her moans flowed freely for him.

Her pussy fluttered around his cock as her tits bounced with each of his thrusts, his hands holding her hips tightly to fuck her down onto him.

Waves of pleasure hit her one after the other, his eyes glued to watching her face come undone as he guided her to ride him. She felt herself tighten around him, moments away from her peak as Bucky lost control, jolting his hips erratically inside of her.

Y/N cried out in pleasure as her orgasm took over her body, her tight pussy pulsating on him as she rode out her mind blowing high. She kissed him deeply, their tongues fighting for dominance as Bucky held her in place as he fucked her through her orgasm. Bucky’s face fell into her neck with a loud moan, the feeling of her pussy throbbing around his cock proving too good as he felt his warm cum spurting deep inside of her. She sighed in relief as Bucky grunted, satisfied with the loaded waves of his cum that was filling her hole.

He dropped her back onto the bed, collapsing on top of her, both of them an exhausted, fucked out mess. Bucky moaned at the euphoric feeling, keeping her close as he spun them over so that his back was lying on the mattress with her on his chest.

She turned her head to face him as they both tried to catch their breaths, smiling sweetly as she kissed his swollen lips. She cupped his sharp jaw, pecking his lips over and over, his dick still buried deep inside of her sensitive pussy.

“Was that all this was?” She whispered after a moment of silence, her fingers tracing the metal infused skin of his shoulder as she pressed her lips to his once more. “Just part of your therapeutic methods of making amends?”

Bucky’s heart ached at the thought of her thinking he’d just used her like that, he hated himself for ever making her think he was capable of such a thing. “No. That’s not all it was.” Bucky mumbled against her lips as he sighed sadly, his eyes softening as he cupped her jaw. “I love you, Y/N.” Bucky whispered shakily with a hopeful smile, his words causing her to freeze. She’d never expected to hear him say that, not even after what they just did. “I always have and I always will.” His thumb rubbed soothingly over her cheek, taking the time to admire her beauty.

“I love you too.” She admitted vulnerably, swallowing the lump in her throat she hadn’t even known was there. She didn’t know why he’d left her, she didn’t know why he’d been so hard to forget. She didn’t know why he’d waited all this time to come back, she didn’t know if he was telling the truth or feeding her lies. In a world of disaster and uncertainty all she did know was that she loved him.

“I just have one question, Bucky.” She spoke with a curious tone, shuffling to rest her head on his chest as her fingers traced over his metal shoulder, admiring the intricate beauty. “How did you know which room was my bedroom?”

Bucky’s heart sunk into his stomach, a shy blush of pink hitting his cheeks as he gave her a guilty smile. Y/N couldn’t help but watch with amusement, his shy side was rare to see, and something that she never took for granted. “I may have stopped by your house once or twice before, just to make sure you were safe.”

taglist:

@harrysthiccthighss @annestine @bestofbucky @velvetcardiganbucky @sexwithhiddlesbatch @be-patient-be-good @codyl-angdon @marveljunkieee @melchills-j @krislhurt @patzammit

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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pwarkluv · 3 years

Text

❝ idk you yet ❞ - p.js

park jisung x reader | angsty, fluff | 1.6k words

WARNINGS | TW: mentions blood, abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, smoking, lowercase au, non-idol au, high school au, badboy!jisung, mature language/cursing, reader is like an angel sent from heaven for him, jisungie just in need of love :(

SUMMARY | being an outcast has him wondering if he’ll ever be happy. cue you, the new girl, stumbling into his life (literally).

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “idk you yet” by alexander23! also AHHH this is my 100 followers special fic :) THANK U LOVES FOR 100 IM SO SHOCKED CJSBFKEJD <33 the writing is a little crappy because i’m currently on my period and my patience for sitting down and writing this went down halfway through lol but I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ENJOY THIS JISUNG FIC BC JISUNG MY BABIE AND SO ARE YOU GUYS!

whenever anybody thinks of park jisung, they think of the chains and dark clothing he wears. they think about the faint smell of smoke and men’s cologne that follows him wherever he goes.

they think of the boy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.

but what they don’t think about are bruises on his face he fails to hide whenever he walks into school, the dejected look on his face whenever random people give him disapproving looks, the way his smile slowly faded into a permanent frown wherever he went.

jisung quickly accepted his reputation at school and in their little town, not having enough energy to feel insecure about it like before.

the only group of people that even remotely cared about the boy were his best friends in the whole entire world, nct dream.

they were outcasts just like him, the most “fucked up group of boys” in their town (the people’s words, not theirs).

see, they were your typical bad boy group straight out of your typical fanfic. bad grades, smoking in their free time, getting into fights, always being late to class; not a single person had hope in them.

but behind their scary and intimidating facade, all seven boys were big softies with misunderstood hearts and difficult backgrounds.

people were just too dense to look into it, only judging them based on their looks and personality on the outside.

❝ how can you miss someone you’ve never met ❞

love was a foreign thing to jisung, the only form of love he’s ever felt being from his friends. his parents were… interesting to say the least.

jisung’s father was a hard-core alcoholic, his mother being a major druggie. with no siblings in the house, jisung was usually their main target to push around and beat up.

and so because of this at a young age jisung learned to distance himself from other people and found different ways to release stress.

he started smoking when he was 14, the warm and hazy feeling of the smoke entering his lungs comforting him.

if jisung humored himself enough, maybe smoking could count as his first love. it was always there for him, never leaving him alone even if he wanted to quit.

he relied on it knowing it was the only constant in his life.

now of course the boy has heard of proper love, love like in the movies or shitty romance songs he hears on the radio.

and he won’t lie, there were moments he thought about what it felt like to be in love. but he knew that would never happen, at least not in their small town anyways.

he just wanted to be loved.

jisung would never admit it but sometimes he’d be jealous of the old couples walking down the street in their own world like it was just them two against the universe. he was jealous of the happy kids running around, their mother’s and father’s fondly smiling at their child. he was jealous of all the “normal” kids in his neighborhood.

jisung wanted that, craved that.

but most importantly, the boy wanted love.

❝ cause i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

everything hurt.

his head, his body, his mind, his heart; everything was in pain.

jisung walked down the empty streets of their city, a trail of blood following behind him as he accepted his fate. the boy was 99% sure he had a concussion and at the very least had a few broken ribs.

he felt like this was the end, and he was ready.

wandering aimlessly around town, you decided to take a late night walk to familiarize yourself around the area. you had just moved into the city a week ago, spending all seven days trying to help your family unpack and rearrange your cozy new home.

now that you were finally free of the smell of tape and the dust of the boxes, you decided it was best to get to know the place you were living in.

the autumn air seemed to settle at night as you shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket of some sort. the sight of a convenience store up ahead of you brought you relief as you rummaged through your pockets wondering if you had enough money for ramen.

your steps became excited as you found a couple dollars, fondly thinking about what type of ramen you should buy. you became so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice the poor boy who was staggering in front of you, or the trail of blood he left behind.

jisung pushed himself to reach the convenience store a couple feet away from him, in desperate need of supplies to at least try and fix himself.

if it didn’t help in any way then oh well, maybe death was indeed an option.

grinding his teeth though the pain, he did not expect to feel a small body bump into him. had he been at his regular health, jisung would’ve easily been able to keep still but because of how much blood he was losing the boy was knocked down like a bowling pin.

“holy fuck.” jisung cursed the feeling of the concrete floor colliding with his ribs. he didn’t even notice the girl who had bumped into him sitting on the floor dumbfounded, freaking out over his state.

“oh my fucking god.” the girl said, capturing his attention. jisung glared at the stranger, mentally acknowledging the fact she was pretty.

but her being pretty won’t get you anywhere, he scolded himself. she’ll leave you just like everyone else.

“a-are you okay?” she said, eyes glancing at his black eye. jisung rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “does it look like i’m okay?” he replied, his deep voice catching the girl off guard.

“just, fuck off.” jisung said closing his eyes as he laid back down on the floor, knowing he couldn’t force himself to get up anymore. he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know she left, hearing the sound of her footsteps walk away.

the boy sighed as he laid idly on the floor, wondering what sin he committed to lead him to where he is now. not even she wanted to stay, the tears threatening to fall as his thoughts buried him alive.

“why can’t i just die?” jisung said out loud, asking no one but himself.

“because i won’t let you.” a voice replied as jisung forced himself to sit up in confusion. it was the same girl he had bumped into, but this time she had a first aid kit with her. he gave her a lost look despite knowing what she was here to do.

jisung’s mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that a total stranger would even bother to help him.

“now sit up.” she said softly as she bent down to open the box, the boy slowly followed her instructions. “i’m sorry this might sting.” she said though jisung didn’t mind because she was much prettier up close.

the next ten minutes were you trying to fix his wounds against the shitty chairs outside the convenience store.

jisung didn’t even bother mentioning his broken ribs, not wanting you to freak out. you cleaned up what you could and the boy was beyond grateful for that.

you subconsciously rubbed his back in a comforting way whenever you’d apply alcohol to his open wounds, trying to ease the sting. you held his hand for him to hold and though he was a big boy and had a high pain tolerance, he still gave it a squeeze just to keep your hand there. what the actual fuck is this feeling, jisung asked himself as he watched your determined figure work on him.

it was cold and in order to better work on his wounds, the boy offered to give you his hoodie which strangely had no traces of blood on it. you gladly accepted, the faint smell of blood and his cologne engulfing you up.

the sight of you in something so big and so him made his chest swell in pride.

jisung couldn’t even formulate a sentence as you cursed at the time once you finished patching him up, fleeing the scene before he could say anything with a small smile, his hoodie still on.

❝ and can you find me soon because i’m in my head ❞

the thought of your soft hands on his, your voice, your whole presence; everything about you couldn’t seem to leave the poor boy’s mind. it was now monday, and waiting for his class to start already made him want to go home.

if only i got her name, jisung daydreamed with his head resting on the palm of his hand. the classroom was loud and bright, people occasionally giving him looks but the boy didn’t mind.

“jisungie~ did you hear we have a new kid?” jaemin asked, poking the boy’s cheeks. the boy only gave him a pointed look before sighing.

“hyung i don’t really care.” jisung replied, looking back out the window.

jaemin only gave him an offended look before grumbling a bit. “i don’t know maybe you will.” he muttered under his breath as their teacher walked into the room.

❝ yeah i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

their homeroom teacher stood in front of the class, jisung tuning out his voice. the boy once again sighed as his teacher called for their attention, explaining they had a new girl in their class. “now make her feel welcomed,” he said before turning towards the door.

“y/n, please come in.” the teacher said and jisung almost fell out of his seat when he saw you walking through the door with the same smile you gave him a couple days ago.

“hi i’m y/n and i hope we can get along.” you bowed to the class, a familiar hoodie you were wearing catching his attention.

isn’t that mine, jisung thought to himself as he bit back a smile knowing you kept it all along.

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heauxplesslydevoted · 3 years

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Coming Down (Ethan x MC)

Summary: They break up. Dassit

A/N: I’ve been tired of this imposter Ethan, and the back of forth nature of his romance route for the entirety of book 3, so I wrote this.

Warnings: None

Title Inspo

~v~

Naomi’s fingernails tap impatiently against her leg as the shrill ring of her cell phone rings at her ear. It rings 5 long times before she’s sent to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Dr. Ethan Ramsey. I’m sorry for not answering your phone call, but leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you.”

“Ethan, it’s me...again. I haven’t heard from you in,” lifting her wrist, Naomi checks the time on her watch, “wow, in over 24 hours. I’ve been calling and calling, to no avail, and you just aren’t responding.”

The news of Ethan getting hit with a malpractice lawsuit hit her like a freight train. As soon as things started to feel good again, as soon as the diagnostics team started to find its rhythm with two new physicians, this torpedoes any chance of normalcy she could ever experience.

“If you could give me a call back and let me hear the sound of your voice, that’d be great. Bye.”

There’s a lot more that she wants to say, but she’s been given a limited window of time so Naomi hangs up.

Switching tactics, Naomi opens up her messages, and scrolls to her thread with Ethan.

Naomi: Hi

Naomi: Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while.

Naomi: Can you at least reply, telling me to leave you alone?

Naomi: At this point, I’d settle for at least knowing if you’re alive.

She waits a few minutes, and when she gets no response, she shoves her phone into the pocket of her white coat. Anxiousness and worry pools in the pit of her stomach, and the only thing she can think about is Ethan’s well being. And this situation doesn’t bode well because Naomi is still in the middle of her shift.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of quiet chatter as the door to the diagnostics team’s office opens and in walks Tobias and Harper. Their conversation is cut short once they notice the youngest member of the team.

“Hi, Naomi,” Tobias greets, an easygoing smile adorning his face. “What’s up?”

She wishes she could feel as casual as he looks, because every part of her body is twisted inside out and turned upside down.

“Have either of you talked to Ethan today?” Naomi asks, skipping the pleasantries.

“I spoke to him yesterday just to gauge how he was handling the malpractice suit,” Tobias answers. “Obviously, the conversation didn’t last long because he and I rarely interact outside of these four walls, but he seems…” he trails off when he notices Naomi’s face fall. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

Any other time, Naomi would be ecstatic to hear about Tobias extending an olive branch, and Ethan actually accepting the support, but today isn’t that day. She’s been trying to get in touch with him all day with no success, but he answers a phone call from his sworn enemy?

“I haven’t heard from Ethan today, so I’m at least glad to know he’s breathing,” Naomi says, her voice tight.

Too caught up in her own pity party, Naomi misses the way Tobias and Harper exchange worried glances. The team has been through enough the past few months, the last thing they need is romantic friction between Ethan and Naomi seeping into the office.

“Maybe he’s turned his phone off since then?” Tobias suggests. “Times like this can force you into an introspective mood, and he’s probably going technology free.”

Naomi chuckles humorlessly. She appreciates Tobias’s effort to satiate her foul mood, but she can’t think of a single excuse short of death that could justify Ethan’s behavior.

She stands, dusting off her coat and straightening it out. “Thanks. I’m going to get some lab work done on our patient, page me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Without another word, Naomi exits the office.

Working helps slightly. For an hour or so, Naomi is successful in turning off her brain and focusing diligently on work. She manages to not think about Ethan at all.

Until she hears his name brought up in conversation. She’s strolling towards the nurse's station when she sees Sarah and another nurse, Ronnie huddled in a corner.

“Sounds like Dr. Ramsey’s not as perfect as everyone thinks, huh?”

“Screwing up a standard tracheotomy that way? Frankly, I’m just surprised it took the patient this long to sue!”

Naomi slows her steps before she stops walking all together. The nurses are so engrossed in their conversation, they don’t even notice her.

“I heard from Marlene that the patient wouldn’t have even needed a trach if they hadn’t dosed her wrong in the first place,” Sarah adds in an excited whisper.

“Seriously? That’s next level…”

Her first instinct is to stop this, to tell them to stop talking, the urge to protect Ethan still as strong as it’s always been.

But she stops herself from doing that. Because why should she? Why should she put forth the effort to defend the honor and reputation of a man that doesn’t even have the decency to answer her phone calls?

And just like that, she’s plunged back into her flurry of conflicting emotions: worry, fear, annoyance, and most of all, anger. The emotions war inside her, all fighting for dominance, and she hasn’t felt like this since her intern year when he left to go to South America without any sort of goodbye or correspondence.

That wasn’t a good period in her life. Naomi can still feel the cold grip of anxiety that plagued her chest when she came into work one day and he was nowhere to be seen. She heard through a LVN that he left before confirming it with Naveen. She can still taste the saltiness of the tears she shed after leaving her 5th unanswered voicemail. Experiencing such a high of beating her ethics trial and getting picked for the diagnostic team, and the low of him leaving in that short amount of time left her spiraling and isolated, and it took entirely too much time clawing herself out of that dark place.

Turning on her heel, Naomi speed walks in the other direction, her original plan long forgotten. The hospital passes her by in a blur as her legs move, the rest of her body and brain moving on autopilot.

She doesn’t stop moving until she’s in front of the residents’ lounge. She spots Aurora, Bryce, and Sienna sitting at a table.

“Naomi, come join us!” Sienna exclaims. “We’re going to make cappuccinos with this fancy machine.”

“I’ll have to take a raincheck on that,” Naomi says. She turns to Bryce. “Can I borrow your car keys please?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just have a couple errands to run and I don’t feel like taking the train. I’ll bring it back with a full tank of gas and everything.”

“I’m not gonna nitpick you about gas, Omi.” Bryce’s warm gaze sweeps across Naomi’s face, studying her. If he notices anything wrong with her, which he probably does because Bryce is a lot more perceptive than he gives himself credit for, he thankfully doesn’t mention it. He reaches into the pocket of his mint green scrub pants and pulls out his keys. He tosses the keys to Naomi with a wink, and she catches them mid air.

“I keep a shovel in the trunk in case you need to bury a body.”

Whether he realizes what is going on with her, or if he just cracked a joke to lighten the mood, Naomi is grateful either way.

~v~

Naomi spends an hour driving around Boston, people watching and attempting to collect her thoughts before she ends up in Back Bay at Ethan’s apartment complex. She didn’t want to go to his house in her previous state, guns blazing and emotions all over her place.

Even on the ride on the elevator up to his unit, her stomach is in knots and her heart beats faster than normal. She hasn’t been this nervous about seeing Ethan in a long time, and it dawns on her just how fucked this entire situation is. Why should she be nervous to talk to the man who claims to want to be with her?

Steeling her nerves, Naomi issues three sharp knocks to Ethan’s front door. Approximately 45 seconds pass before the door opens.

“Naomi!” Ethan’s eyes widen when he sees her standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to let me in, or should we have this conversation in the hallway?” Naomi asks. Ethan steps aside, widening the door so Naomi can enter. “Thank you.”

The apartment is stale, like Ethan hasn’t opened the windows in a few days. He looks disheveled, the bags under his eyes are extremely pronounced like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

For lack of a better word, Ethan is a mess. And she wants nothing more than to just...wrap her arms around him and make everything better. But she doesn’t. She keeps her distance.

Ethan shuts the door before turning back to her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No.”

“Well let’s sit down.”

“No, I think I’d rather stand because I don’t plan on being here long.”

The coldness stuns Ethan. Naomi almost seems indifferent towards him, something he’s never experienced before. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she didn’t bother greeting him warmly, no hug or kiss, no excitement in her voice, nothing.

“I needed to see with my own two eyes that you were alive and well,” Naomi starts. “Because you’ve gone radio silent on me. I know you’ve seen me calling and texting. Your phone works just fine because you picked up a call from Tobias of all people.”

He averts his gaze, ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, I–”

She holds up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. Naomi doesn’t believe for one second that he’s apologizing due to actual remorse. “I have spent the entire day wracked with intense worry. I feel like I’ve been turned upside down, and I could barely focus on work. Every time I thought I could be productive, something or someone was there to remind me of you. And then I’d spend more time ruminating over you and your situation, and the fact that you’re ignoring me, and then I’d feel like absolute shit. And earlier today, as I listened to the nurses gossip about you, I realized that this feels so much like your two month sabbatical to the Amazon, and our relationship hasn’t changed at all since then.”

“That’s not true,” Ethan argues.

“It is,” Naomi insists. “One step forward doesn’t mean anything if we end up taking two steps back immediately afterwards. A year and a half later, you’re still holding me at arms length, keeping yourself closed off, ignoring my calls.”

“I don’t mean to do this, to be this way.”

“But you continue to do it, so at this point you have to see it’s a pattern. You won’t even open up and talk to me about this lawsuit that’s being waged against you.”

“I just don’t want you getting needlessly involved.”

“While it’s a noble excuse, it’s complete and utter bullshit. If you think you’re doing something to save my reputation, remember nothing you do will ever top me almost losing my medical license my intern year, and then having a resident face a malpractice lawsuit a few months later. So come on, give me another excuse.”

“I’m doing this for you!”

“How? How could this possibly be for me?”

“Everything I touch becomes tainted!” Ethan snaps. “Because there is something wrong, in which everyone arounds me leaves or dies, or everything falls apart. I don’t have control or autonomy over anything, so yes, the one precious thing in my life, I’m too scared to touch.”

“But I have been right here with you! I was right here in this exact same spot when we worked on Naveen’s case. I sat by your side while we watched over Dolores’s son. I was there when they wheeled your mother into the hospital, and when you took her to rehab. Time and time again, I’ve proven to you that my loyalty is steadfast, and not once have I ever wavered, so you don’t get to stand here and punish me for some unrealized fear. You don’t get to treat me like I’m a passenger in this relationship, if you can even call it that.”

That’s what gives him pause. “Of course this is a relationship.”

“This isn’t a relationship, I am just a woman you sleep with. Occasionally you open up to me, we share a cute moment and promises, and then you clam up and up goes the barriers, and it starts all over again. And every single time, we’re a little bit deeper into this thing we’re in. I’ve shared more, I’ve let myself be more vulnerable with you, emotionally and physically, I’ve deluded myself into thinking ‘This time it’s the real thing,’. And I’m afraid that this is going to be our reality. One day I wake up, 3 years in, tentatively living with you, trying to settle into the pieces of a life I’ve scrounged up with you, and you do this again.”

“I don’t speak on it, and I don’t like to because I try to keep it all together, but you don’t understand the toll it takes on me every time we do this back and forth. I was a train wreck when you quit. I had the trial looming over my head, Landry, a guy I considered one of my closest friends betrayed me in the worst possible way, you weren’t the only person scared of losing Naveen, and I couldn’t even verbalize any of it to you because you slammed a door in my face when I tried to bring it up, and then you left me. And then you did it again, and I spent two months worried that you might not even come home because you could contract the deadly disease you were off fighting. And then you go on national television declaring your relationship status, and you made promises to me on my deathbed that led nowhere, and then finally we make some headway in Hawaii and establish what we have going on, and then I come home to this. So while you say one thing to me, time and time again, your actions say otherwise. It’s clear I’m not a priority.”

This conversation triggers Ethan’s fight or flight response. He doesn’t know where this conversation is headed, but he’s smart enough to know it’s nowhere good.

“Naomi, what are you saying? Spell it out to me like I’m a preschooler.”

“I think we need a break,” Naomi says in one breath, afraid she’ll break if she prolongs this any further. The six words leave a sour taste in her mouth that she has to choke back.

“No,” Ethan’s tone is gruff, and the seriousness almost startled Naomi. “No, we’re not breaking up.”

“From where I’m standing, we already have,” Naomi retorts. “I’m just confirming it.”

Ethan takes one long stride towards Naomi, but she takes a step back. “Look, I am a daft asshole to put it mildly, and I know I have a lot of work to do, but this is by no means a reason for us to break up.” He takes another step forward, and now Naomi is backed up against the door. He tugs her forward, wrapping his arms around her. “I am sorry. I know the words probably sound hollow, but trust me when I say I mean it. I’ll fix this, I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re the only person I want, the only one I’ll ever want, and I’m not losing you. Not now, not ever.”

Through this right embrace, Naomi can feel just how rapidly his heart is beating. He’s scared.

A tear slips from the corner of her eye, and she’s too drained to even wipe it away. “This is reactionary. You’re saying all of this because you’re panicked, but if you meant any of what you just said, it wouldn’t take the threat of a breakup in order to want to change things.”

“It shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize what a fool I’ve been,” Ethan says. He refuses to let go of her, his arms still wrapped so tightly around her petite frame, he almost worries about crushing her.

“I agree.” What does that even mean? She gives him nothing more than that, and Ethan is left to stew in his own doubt and worry. Naomi breaks free of his embrace and presses a palm to his chest, signaling him to give her some space. “But I still think we need some space.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

It becomes hard to breathe. When Ethan woke up this morning, the last thing he expected was Naomi to dump him. “What can I do? Tell me how to fix this. Do you want consistency? Done, I’ll talk to you every single day, multiple times a day. Transparency? Sit down right now, and I’ll explain this entire lawsuit top to bottom. You want proof that I’m never going to up and leave again, you can take my fucking passport. Naomi, I don’t care what I have to do, I will do it, but I will not accept you walking out of that door.”

Naomi inhales deeply, trying to stop a full son from bursting out of her chest. He’s saying all the right things, but at the wrong time. It’s too late now. “I’ve warred with myself all day about this decision. You’re clearly not in the right space to sustain a healthy relationship, and that’s fine. I just need to remove myself from the situation, for my own health and well-being. And I think you need to do the same.”

“So...what? This is it? It’s over?”

“Let’s be honest Ethan, you never gave us the opportunity to begin.” She wants to touch him so badly, reach out a run her hand through his hair or stroke his beard one more time. It takes everything in her to not. “You’re a great doctor, one of the best ones I know, so I really hope you beat this entire lawsuit and I get to see you back at Edenbrook. Take care of yourself, Ethan.

Ethan shakes his head in denial. He refuses to let things end like this, and for her to give him the same cool professionalism she extends to every other coworker.

“Naomi, wait–”

She’s out of his apartment before he can convince her to stay. It doesn’t register until he hears the soft click of her door shutting that she’s actually gone. And another minute passes before the gravity of the situation finally dawns on him.

For the first time in a long time, he’s truly alone.

~v~

Tags: @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest @schnitzelbutterfingers @missmiimiie @stateofgracious @mooons-isabelle @doilooklikeiknow

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #dr. ethan ramsey

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

childhood secrets ~ hannibal lecter;hannibal

word count: 1711

request?: yes!

shady80smusicsingercolor “Hey! Can i request something

Hannibal l x reader

The reader kept her childhood a secret from everyone,until she was watching news about a teen getting bullied,she remembers her childhood and just cries.Hannibal notices and goes run up to her,ask what's wrong.She explain what happen,that her childhood friends used make fun of her,or calling her weirdo.Hannibal comforts her

Hope is okay❤”

description: after hearing the story of a teenager’s tragic passing, unwanted memories are brought back to her

pairing: hannibal lecter x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts, mentions of bullying

masterlist

“Did you hear about the Thompson girl?” Zeller asked as we examined some DNA for a case.

“Who’s the Thompson girl, first and foremost?” I asked.

“She was friends with Abigail Hobbs when she was sent to that psychiatric facility,” Price explained. “They were room neighbors I think.”

“Oh! That Hannah girl! What happened to her?”

“Her parents found her dead in her room. Suicide.”

I was so shocked at the response that I dropped the tool in my hand. Both of them looked at me for a moment as I just looked down at my hands. I was trying to calm the growing PTSD rising in me.

“The poor thing,” I finally managed to say.

“Yeah,” Price said. “I think she was in the facility because of mental illness. Her parents put her in there after her first attempt.”

Zeller shook his head. “Poor thing. They shouldn’t have let her check out so soon. (Y/N), are you okay?”

I was still staring down at my hands. They were shaking and it was getting hard to breathe. I could barley register the fact that Zeller had asked me something. They were both looking at me, expectantly.

“What? Yes, I’m fine,” I responded. “I gotta get some fresh air.”

I threw my coat and gloves on a nearby table and quickly raced for the exit. I had to wait for the elevator to take me to the ground floor, but the wait was antagonizing. My chest and throat felt tight, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

When the elevator door opened, I was faced with Jack Crawford, Will Graham, and Hannibal Lecter.

“(Y/N),” Crawford said. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t respond this time. I had to get out, I had to be away from there.

The breathe of fresh air in my lungs was just what I needed, but I was still feeling panicked. Flashbacks were running through my head, things I had repressed for all those years coming back all at once, hitting me like a freight train. I sat down on the sidewalk, trying to calm my breathing enough to go back inside.

“Miss. (Y/L/N)?”

I looked up to see Hannibal stood behind me.

“I’m fine, Dr. Lecter,” I told him. “You don’t have to check on me.”

“You’re very obviously not okay. You’re breathing is abnormal and you look as though you’ve been crying.”

I felt my cheek and was shocked to find that Hannibal was right, I had been crying. I hadn’t even realized it before.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, but the crack in my voice gave me away.

Hannibal sat next to me. I tried not to let him see my face, but I knew there was no turning back now. He had seen me in the elevator, he saw how unhappy I was at that moment. Any other person would just think I was overwhelmed from work, or maybe one of our discoveries had upset me, but Hannibal was a talented psychiatrist. He probably already knew what was wrong with me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

I chuckled. “How often does that one work?”

“Enough times to keep me employed.”

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Zeller and Price were telling me about a girl that used to be friends with Abigail, Hannah Thompson. She...she...”

“I know,” Hannibal finished for me, luckily. Just thinking about having to finish that sentence made my throat tight again. “I wasn’t aware you knew her so well.”

“I didn’t, but I know...the feeling. Like you’re trapped in your own mind and there’s only one way out of it.”

Hannibal was looking at me, waiting for me to continue but not pushing me to go any further than I felt comfortable with. I wouldn’t have to go any further with my explanation if I didn’t want to, I knew he wouldn’t force me. We could’ve dropped it right then and there.

But my mouth moved before my mind could comprehend what I was sating, “I was the weird girl in school. While other girls wanted to be princesses or astronauts, I wanted to be a forensic scientist. I always had a fascination with crime and forensics and such. At first, I was just an outcast with no friends, until a group of girls took me in and added me to their group in high school. They weren’t super popular girls, but they also weren’t my level of outcast or anything, so, understandably, I was excited.”

“I’d assume it wasn’t as ideal of a situation as you were led to believe.”

I shook my head, tears forming in my eyes again. “They only befriended me so I could be their verbal punching bag. It started mild at first, just some friendly jokes that I could throw back at them. Then they started calling me the weird girl, the freak who liked death and murder. They’d make fun of me for reading stuff about unsolved murders, or even just murder mystery novels. They told me I’d probably grow up to be one of the unfound murderers in those stories. They put me down at every chance they got, but they were the only friends I had so I just...I dealt with it. I even gave up the opportunity to shadow at a police department during my senior year because I was afraid of them making fun of me more.”

“What was the tipping point?” Hannibal asked. “Obviously they are no longer around. I assume either you got rid of them or...they left themselves.”

“A bit of both really,” I responded. “One day, their bullying just got too much for me. My parents never liked the group, so I felt like I couldn’t go to them because they’d just tell me ‘I told you so’ - not because that’s how my parents are but because that was my irrational fear - and the teachers and guidance councilors and principals at school were garbage. They did nothing unless they actually witnessed the bullying first hand, and even then it was always a slap on the wrist punishment. So, I thought...I thought I only had one way out.”

I was still half conscious when my parents found me. My mother’s screams were permanently etched in my head, her sobs breaking through the otherwise muffled sounds I was hearing. Even when I blacked out, all I could hear in my head was my mother.

“They sent me to the same hospital Abigail was in,” I continued, skipping over the nasty parts that I couldn’t bare to relive. “My parents said I needed actual, medical help, that they couldn’t ignore my mental health issues anymore. I was there for months. I met people just like me, people who understood what I was going through. I made friends with a lot of them, and they’re all still in my life right now. My high school friend group came to visit me at one point. They seemed genuine enough with their apologies, saying they didn’t realize how much I took their words to heart and how they didn’t know how dark of a place I was in mentally. I don’t know how true any of that was, but they put on a good act. When they finished their groveling, I told them to go fuck themselves and to never contact me again. They were...offended, to say the least. Apparently they spread rumors about me at school, but I finished my senior year at a different school so it didn’t really matter to me. Went off to do forensic science in college and...here I am.”

For a moment, a look of pride passed over Hannibal’s face, as if the end of my story made him feel proud for me. I guess it made me feel proud, too, but sometimes I kicked myself for sticking around with that toxic friend group for far too long.

“I’ve never told anyone that,” I admitted. “Not anyone who didn’t know me at the time, anyways. I tried to keep it repressed, but hearing about Hannah Thompson...it brought all those memories back for me. Maybe I’m not over it like I think I am.”

“Mental trauma when your brain is still developing is not something one can easily get over,” Hannibal said. “It takes years, and even then those painful memories could follow you to your grave.”

I winced at the thought of having to battle with those memories until the day I died. Part of me was still worried that they would be the reason I would eventually die.

“But it is important to know that your old friend group was wrong,” he continued. “There is nothing wrong with being interested in something that the masses aren’t interested in. I’d argue that being interested in murder and police work is much better than wanting to grow up and be a princess or an astronaut. Your job helps the police to find serial killers and to save innocent people from being their victims. There’s nothing weird about that, not in my eyes.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I think I just needed to hear that when I was younger and...no one really said it to me before.”

“I’m saying it now,” he said. “If you ever feel overcome with those memories again, please do not hesitate to call me. A beautiful and brilliant mind such as yourself should not be worrying over what irrelevant people have to say about you.”

I felt myself blush, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the reassurance Hannibal was giving me, or if it was from the compliment.

“I want to sit out here for a little while longer,” I told him. “I still need some air, and to come down from what happened back there. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“I don’t have to, but I will,” he decided. “I want to make sure you’re okay before I join my collegues again.”

I smiled at him again. I definitely wasn’t about to fight him on staying there with me. Quite the opposite, actually. If there was anyone I wanted with me in that moment, it was Hannibal.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal #hannibal imagine #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen imagine #mads mikkelsen x reader #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

Text

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested; the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles.

"You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.

"I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. "

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times.

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.

Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

"My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction.

"My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg.

When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm."

***

After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una."

Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening.

Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?"

Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes.

"Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted.

This is new.

Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead.

He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

"Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first."

When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths.

"Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming.

Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips.

"Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass.

As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you.

You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately.

You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @coco2315 @mlchael-guerin

#ivar #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar fic #smut ivar #ivar vikings #vikings ivar

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robinofinashiro · 3 years

Text

prompt/note: i wanted to a break between the AoT posts so i wanted to post a prompt about the BNHA bois forgetting about your birthday and them attempting to make it up to you. / the req status should be opened soon if any of you want to start of thinking of reqs you want to send me. fandoms and rules are pinned to the top of my blog. also, for any other blog writers, isn’t the beta testing their doing super fucking annoying.

request status: CLOSED

pairing: bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto, iida tenya

you were bit more dressed up more than usual today and bakugou noticed. he didn't say anything as he thought you were just getting more dolled up for the hell of it. he gave you a quick compliment and went on his way, stating that he had a few things to do with Kiri before the day ended

you got a bit down, feeling that maybe he had forgotten. you quickly dismissed that thought, realizing that maybe he was planning a birthday party for you and didn't want you finding out.

the rest of the day flew by, an excited feeling bubbling up inside you as you inched closer to the end of the day. you wondered by Bakugou was planning on doing for your birthday. you knew Bakugou wasn't good with planning such lovey dovey things but since it was your birthday, you figured he must've done something.

you went to Bakugou's room, knocking on the door softly as you heard a rough come in. you were about to say hello when you realized he was in training close, ready to go workout with Kiri.

"where are you going?" you asked, twiddling with your fingers. he didn't bother to even look back at you, "training with Kirishma," he murmured.

you sighed, "oh, I just thought you would be able to come out with me tonight," you tried to say. he shook his head no. "no, I already told you I was going to train with weird hair so stop asking!" he screamed, making you jump a bit.

Kirishima gave you a sympathetic look as you gave Bakugou one last look and walked out of his dorm.

you walked into the hallway, seeing Uraraka and Momo walking out of Momo's dorm with a small cake. they immediately saw your tear stained face and put the cake down.

"hey, what's wrong?" Momo asked. you sighed, trying to get out what you were saying but the sobs that racked your body wouldn't let you, "wait, are you trying to say that Bakugou forgot your birthday?" Uraraka asked.

you nodded, "I thought he was trying to throw me a surprise party but I walked in there, asking him if he wanted to do anything and he kicked me out saying that he was going to workout with Kirishima," upon you finishing your sentence, Bakugou and Kirishima walked out.

Uraraka gave Bakugou a death glare as Momo pulled you into her arms and walked you into your dorm. Bakugou paid no mind to them as Kirishima looked to him and sighed. "pretty crappy day for her, huh?" Kirishima asked, looking at your dorm room door. Bakugou shrugged, "she'll be fine later. she's probably mad about earlier," he said, not putting much mind on it.

Kiri gave him a look, making Bakugou confused, "I guess. just sucks she spent her birthday trapped in her room but whatever you said bro," Bakugou stood in place, wide eyed realizing that today was in fact your birthday. "

don't tell me you forgot." "FUCK."

Kirishima slammed his hands against his face, not wanting to see Bakugou's face. Bakugou felt his heart drop, feeling a huge sensation of guilt and sadness washing over him. "that's why everyone was surrounding her desk this morning," Kirishima nodded, shaking his head in disappointment, "I don't know dude, you better figure it out before it gets worse," he mentioned before walking away.

Bakugou walked into his room, slamming the door and laying his bed. he had no idea how he was going to even start to apologize to you but he knew he had to do it tonight.

he knew Kirishima had a point.

he hadn't been the most diligent in trying to be with you recently and he kept shoving and cancelling your dates last minute to train or get work done. Bakugou was the one who asked you out first and promised you he would try his hardest to make it work out and now you were crying on your birthday.

the night was coming in and he walked over to your door, quietly knocking on it. you didn't bother to open it, knowing it was Bakugou who was more than likely to be the one who was knocking.

you flipped to the other side of the bed and ignored the knock, figuring he would leave you alone if you didn't answer. Bakugou knew that you kept the spare key for your dorm room in the small pot by your door. he dug for it, panicking that maybe you had moved it but as he finally found it, he grabbed it and unlocked it.

“hey,” his rough voice said. you shut your eyes, pretending to be asleep so he could leave quicker. he went by your side of the bed, realizing that you had fallen asleep, “damn, I didn’t think you’d be in bed this early.”

he sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“listen, I know you probably don’t care for what I have to say but you mean a lot to me, idiot. I know I fucked up, big time actually but I want to make it up to you. please? I thought maybe we could get dinner, let me treat you right and like I’m supposed too.”

Bakugou moved a piece of your hair out of the way and kissed your hair softly. a part of you wanted to continue to be upset at him but hearing his apology and what he wanted to do to make it up to you, you wanted to wake up.

“I guess I’ll be leaving before Aizawa kills us.”

you shuffled in place, pretending to wake up, making Bakugou turn his head around to look at you. “Suki?” you whispered, rubbing your eyes.

he made his way back to you, sitting on the edge of bed, “I’m sorry for what I did today,” he murmured, not even wanting to look at you in the eye, “I’ve been a dick, more than usual recently and none of it has been your fault. can I make it up to you?” he asked.

you stayed silent for a moment, “Suki, I understand that you’ve been a lot more busier than usual but that isn’t my fault. it really hurt that you forgot my birthday and it hurts even more that you’ve been putting me in second place,” you murmured, trying not to sound hurt.

Katsuki nodded.

“I know. I promise I’ll do better.”

he gave you a kiss on the cheek before getting up from the bed and getting ready to leave, “love you Suki’,” you said, finding a comfortable spot in bed again, “you better,” he laughed before leaving.

you were beyond livid. todoroki had been anticipating your birthday for weeks now. the two of you were planning on going out to dinner if Aizawa had given you both permission, which he gladly allowed but two days before the outing came and he wasn’t having a good day. insults were being said and now the two of you were angry to say the least.

you figured that maybe by Saturday, he would have forgotten about the argument and the date would still have happened but what you hoped for fell through and now it was noon on Saturday and you were in your room crying to Kaminari of all people.

he rubbed your back, trying to get you to calm down as he told you to try and forget about the argument. he knew the two of you liked each other a lot but he couldn’t help but side with you on this one so he suggested a plan!

he took Todoroki’s spot for the day and the two of you went out for your birthday. since no one else had gotten permission to leave for the day, only Kaminari was able to do this but in the backside of your mind, you knew Todoroki was going to be upset to say the least.

both you and Kaminari walked to the nearest train station and took the ride to the outskirts of the city and went to a small ramen shop to catch a late lunch/early dinner.

the only one who knew about you and Kaminari leaving was ironically enough, Bakugou. he had saw the two of you leaving the building, unenthusiastically asking where the two of you were going since you were leaving school premises.

“so, we still have a few hours before we’re due back to school,” Kaminari reminded you. you gave him the signal to give you a minute and pulled up the nearest arcade, which happened only to be a few blocks from the ramen shop and a bit closer the train station, “you in the mood to play arcade games?”

Todoroki walked down stairs to the kitchen, hoping that you were to see what kind of mood you were in. he wanted to apologize for getting angry at you and prepare himself for you dinner date in a few days.

“hey Todoroki!” Midoriya greeted, as happily as ever. he waved at the green haired boy as he sat down next to him and watched him scroll through his Snapchat story, “oh, ( your name ) isn’t on campus?” Midoriya asked him.

Todoroki gave him a confused look, “what do mean?” he asked back, a small bit of panic settling in the pit of his stomach. “oh, well, since it’s birthday, it looks like she went out with Kaminari,” he replied, showing Todoroki his snapchat.

you and Kaminari both had posted a few photos and videos from the day. the ramen the two of you had eaten and then a few videos from the arcade. you were playing Mario Kart, singing some really REALLY shitty karaoke, and eating some really bad junk food.

“is something wrong?” Midoriya asked. Todoroki ran his fingers through his hair, panic finally fully setting into his stomach, “I didn’t remember that today was her birthday,” he murmured, playing with his lip as Midoriya’s eyes widened, hearing what his friend was saying.

the two of you remained quiet, trying not to freak out.

“what do you mean forgot? I thought the two of you were both planning something out!” Midoriya exclaimed, “we were but then the two of us got into a pretty bad argument and haven’t talked since. I forgot that we were supposed to go out together today and I think she took Kaminari instead,” he explained.

Bakugou chuckled, shaking his head, “she sure did. I’m on Kaminari’s private Snapchat story and they seem to be getting really close,” he tossed his phone to Todoroki who watched the two of you dancing and singing together.

Kaminari was sitting pretty close to you, his arm was around your waist, a little too firm for Todoroki’s liking. Bakugou couldn’t help but laugh at his ‘friends’ reaction as he tried to keep his anger to a minimum as he continued to watch his story.

you were damn near cuddled up to his chest, laughing and giggling at whatever Denki was telling you and he HATED it. you never acted like that around him. you never laughed or giggled that way with him. never have you ever held yourself like that with him.

“well, did you get her anything at least? that should save your ass, at least a little bit,” Bakugou said. Todoroki stared at the floor, too scared to look at them when he replied no, “well then....don’t act surprised if she doesn’t take you back after this,” he added on.

“Kacchan!” “it’s true! you’re just mad I’m right. Kaminari might be an idiot but he can actually hold a conversation with a girl and be civil around them when he puts his one brain cell to use.”

Todoroki growled, remaining silent for the rest of the night as he stayed downstairs to wait for you. now that he was realizing it, the way you were being with Kaminari did correlate to what Bakugou was saying and although he didn’t want to admit to it, he knew Bakugou had a point.

the night crawled in as Todoroki was now alone in the living room. you were getting to the front of the building, Kaminari telling you some stupid joke that made you hysterically laugh as you walked into the living space. upon entering it, you saw Todoroki sitting there with shame and anger on his face.

you waved Kaminari good, telling him you’d text him later to thank him for hanging out with you. you stared at half-n-half, not saying a word, your face saying everything it needed too.

“where were you today?” “out with Kaminari.”

your short sentences made him realize you were still as angry as you were the day you argued with him. “I saw you getting pretty close with him,” Todoroki stated. you chuckled, not believing what he was telling you. “yup, that’s kind of what happens when your boyfriend was being a dick on your birthday,” and there it is, Todoroki thought.

“you could have reminded me about today.”

“REMINDED YOU ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY?”

your voice was at an all time high, not caring who heard. “you know what? this is useless. your playing the victim when in reality I should be! it’s my fucking birthday and you know what I got as a birthday gift? another argument from my fucking boyfriend and not even a measly happy birthday text.” you continued to yell.

“you know what?” Todoroki was suddenly nervous about you quick attiude change, “maybe what Kami said was true. maybe you need to weed out the dicks in your life until you get to the good people.” you said before walking away and not sparing Todoroki another glance.

this argument happened the day of your birthday, actually. he had forgotten your birthday and although you had told him a few days in advanced, you weren’t making a big deal of the day itself.

you just wanted to make a small cake, enough to feed you and Iida so when you asked him if he wanted to come to your dorm after dinner so you could eat the cake together and he outrightly denied, claiming he had a ton of training and homework to get done.

“seriously? it’ll just be thirty minutes!” “no! I told you, I have to train for exactly an hour and a half before I take a shower and do homework! you should have known that. I wonder why we’re even together with that dismissive attitude of yours.” “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY YOU DICK!”

he stared at you, your birthday had completely passed his mind and he felt so shitty as you dropped the cake on the floor, letting it splatter everywhere.

everyone who heard the conversation stared at each other, not wanting to say anything as they saw Iida process what he had told you. he never meant to insinuate that he wanted to break up with you but it came out like word vomit and you were gone.

he grabbed a mop and broom, slowly picking it up as he saw the disappointed faces of his friends. Iida knew he fucked up, way too badly this time and now you were crying on your birthday, practically broken hearted and angry at him.

Iida sighed, sitting at his desk and mourning silently. the time read 7:30 and he wanted to do nothing more than bang on your door and apologize like there was no tomorrow but he knew that idea could be thrown out the window as you weren’t even texting him back.

he saw the small gift you had given him on his birthday and felt a small wave tears hit his eyes. you did so much for him, going out of your way to bring him lunch on some days and other days, you offered to patch him up if you saw that he had gotten busted up during training.

Iida stood up, going to the door and running to the kitchen. he knew this could be the only thing he could do to even start making it up to you again. you loved the cookies that Tensei had made for him a few weeks ago when he dropped by to visit.

he called his brother, explaining the situation to him as he immediately got a mini lecture as a response. Tensei basically yelling at him for not treating you right and how guilty he should be feeling for not only forgetting your birthday but also making you cry today.

Iida got work as Tensei explained everything to make the cookies. he was lucky enough to have everything he needed to make the cookies, even going out of his way to remind himself to put small written notes on the cookies themselves when he finished.

within that time, you were laying in bed, thinking about everything that Iida told you. you tried not to think about it, putting it on the fact that maybe he was stressed and forgot and everything just came tumbling out of his mouth. regardless, you tried to sleep, only to be awoken by a frantic knock.

you growled, slipping on one of Iida’s sweaters and going to the door. to your surprise, it was Iida himself, holding a plate of cookies and words coming out of his mouth like vomit.

“I am so sorry. I meant nothing I said earlier and I apologize for acting extremely out of line. I never meant to insinuate that I wanted to break up with you and I never wanted to in the first place. please forgive me.”

you stared at him, lifting an eyebrow before rolling your eyes playfully, “the next time you decide to say something like that, we’re over and you’re not getting another chance after that,” you stated, taking a bite of the cookie and instantly letting out a moan of pleasure, “holy shit, are these Tensei’s cookies?” he nodded as you snatched the plate out of his hand.

“that sucks that you made me cry tonight because we could have shared them but since you are on thin ice, these are mine! see you tomorrow, Iida!” you giggled, shutting the door on his face. “see you tomorrow, love.” he replied, a smile on his face as he made his way back to his dorm room to finish up some homework.

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

“Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power.

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid.

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained.

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand.

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce.

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered.

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild.

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight.

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were.

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha.

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough.

“Open it,” you said.

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing.

On the count of three, you both opened your presents.

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal.

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes.

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful.

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading.

‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement.

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you.

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story.

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s.

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said.

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face.

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box.

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle.

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect.

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face.

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built.

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back.

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth.

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly.

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for.

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was.

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own.

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified.

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked.

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea.

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose.

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace.

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen.

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming.

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns.

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked.

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static.

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex.

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist.

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep.

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing.

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look.

And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one.

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?”

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.”

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

“You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat.

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall.

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief.

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever.

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it.

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged.

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression.

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws.

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face.

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed.

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared.

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake.

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it.

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

“When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer.

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission.

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure.

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told-

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there.

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road.

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’.

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred.

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again.

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors. “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s.

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again.

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded.

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering.

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could.

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal.

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot.

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you.

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room.

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take.

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for.

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look.

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.”

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?”

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice.

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited.

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this.

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this.

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath.

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand.

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile.

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered.

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer.

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back.

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no.

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly.

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills.

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you.

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions.

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.”

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt.

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.”

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion.

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face.

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand.

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his.

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt.

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded.

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door.

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday. “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead.

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded.

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted.

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position.

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist.

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead.

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told.

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own.

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern.

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear.

The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy.

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it.

“You’re one damn good actor.”

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.”

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.”

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?”

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?”

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.”

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out.

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much.

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?”

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup.

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife.

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times.

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses.

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now.

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard.

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now.

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke.

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different.

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in.

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.”

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?”

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.”

The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place.

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was.

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?”

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.”

“Did you need-“

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified.

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn.

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully.

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally.

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you.

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back.

The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner.

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams.

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.”

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter.

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could.

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it.

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief.

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision.

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!”

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point.

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners.

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist.

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs.

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own.

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind.

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again.

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least. “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost.

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him.

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred.

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently.

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open.

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful.

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you.

His therapist would just listen.

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open.

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report.

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

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inlustrissss · 3 years

Text

Puzzle to solve

Death Note: L Lawliet x fem!Reader

Warnings: “spoilers”? If you haven’t watched DN, mentioning of death, some slight angst but a bittersweet ending... maybe?

summary: When the greatest detective L was feeling that his life is coming to an end, he recognized his last seconds were like a cheesy book would describe it: his life flashed before his inner eye and recalled his first meeting with his lover, as she was the last thing he had seen

My requests are open!! submit here .

“Making money off of your niece with her intelligence?”

The moment she had decided to help her beloved, (Y/N) knew what she was getting herself into. It was the first topic every night when the investigators parted ways and only her stayed behind to enjoy a little bit of privacy in their lately secluded relationship. It hasn’t been this dangerous since the Los Angeles BB murder case.

“Yet she isn’t intelligent enough so you plan on combining our abilities?”

While Watari was on the line with the investigators who had gathered in front of Ryuzaki, the main head of the Kira case. “Wait Ryzaki!”, said Aizawa, one of the members of the Japanese Task Force, the very organization to catch Kira. “It does sound a little bit off and dangerous Ryzaki.. another humans life is at stake.”, said (Y/N) calmly as the delicate hand got a grip on her chin, thinking about what plan the detective just proposed. “What does it even accomplish?!”, yelled the same male at the pale man who sat in front of the computer screens.

“Obviously, to see if the notebook works.”, he answered. His plan was to pick one criminal who was scheduled for an execution and write their name into the Death Note. “Watari, I want you to contact a leader of a country who would agree to this.”, Ryuzaki stated calmly into the microphone, awaiting his butlers response, although nothing came. The only sound that came through the speaks flying into the ears of the investigators was a loud crash- “Watari?”, asked (Y/N) with concern lacing her voice, eyebrows furrowed she takes a step forward.

“Would you still like to meet her, L?”

“Watari what’s wrong, answer us.”, stated Ryuzaki in a low tone, although he as well was concerned for the man he knew almost his whole life. One thing led to the other and- “Data deleted?”

“What’s going on!”, asked Matsuda as he stepped forward too, to get a better look at the situation unfolding before everyone. All of the screens in front of the Task Force read “All data deleted.”, were the computers perhaps corrupted? No, this can’t be.

Ryuzakis head lowered, his long and soft dark bangs falling into his face. “No, this can’t be-!”, almost dropping the act, (Y/N) stopped herself. Even in situations like these, she cannot afford to risk her life and give away her true identity, even if something had happened to her beloved uncle.

Luckily, (Y/N) lover and partner in crime beat her to it, cutting her off by an explanation and confirming her dangerous train of thought: “I told Watari to delete all the possible files he can delete if something would have ever happened to him.”, his eyes growing as colder and fixated as a rock on the screen reading the letters, “If something would’ve happened to him.. you don’t mean that he could’ve died, do you..?”, asked the usual cheerful Matsuda carefully.

“H-hey, wait a second-”, stuttered Aizawa as he was glancing around the room, (Y/N)s ears perked up, “where is the Shinigami?!”

Taking a spoon, ready to dive into the plate full of sweet chocolate cake, Ryuzaki spoke up, “Everyone, the Shinigami--”, but before he could continue his sentence, he stopped in his tracks, sucking in the air sharply, making (Y/N) turn around quickly, as if a lightning had forced itself through her veins.

It was silent, “Ryuzaki..?”, asked Matsuda quietly.

L’s grip loosened as the cold spoon softly made its way out of the grasp of the males slender, pale fingers before meeting the ground harshly. A few seconds in and soon L’s body had followed the spoon, right about to hit the linoleum floor.

(E/C) orbs widening, seeing her lovers figure fall, she acted quickly, catching up to L’s body and falling with it, only to land in Lights- “L, what’s wrong- hey!!”, she started, softly yet harshly at the same time touching L’s cheek. Her heartbeat quickening, “Answer me, damnit!”, she said as she tried to shake the man back into consciousness, yet he wouldn’t come back.

All that his onyx eyes caught on to were the ones of the most beautiful woman in his life.

“Yes.”

“Would it be alright if I’d bring her around tomorrow by 8?”

“Yes, mister Wammy. I will make sure to be free of any cases.”

“L don’t you dare to joke around, wake the hell up!”, switching back and forth to japanese and english, (Y/N) called out to L. He on the other hand hadn’t found the strength to respond in any form- he didn’t feel pain, strangely enough, he couldn’t feel anything. Thoughts clouding his mind he couldn’t decipher which was real and which were memories of his life. He heard the voices of the Task Force, Light, Watari, (Y/N)- it was all a mix, echoing in his head. Feeling a certain wetness on his face, like a gentle and warm rainfall a piercing scream was heard.

“Uncle Quillsh, will we go meet the boy you were telling me about?”, setting down her teacup, the little girl smiled as Quillsh Wammy answered with a ‘Yes Miss (Y/N)’. “We will leave today?”, another yes and another excited giggle: “So this is why you made me dress up this fancy.” Letting her short legs dangle down the seat, she let her uncle Quillsh finish up tying her hair neatly into two cute ponytails, before jumping down and taking his hand into hers.

“Why do you think am I suited as his partner, uncle Quillsh?”, asked the smart seven years old. The old man only chuckled at his niece curiosity, “I am almost certain you will get along quite well with L.”

Opening the door to the mansion he left the orphan to solve ‘puzzles’, as he’d like to call it, he lead his little niece inside. “With your outstanding knowledge about human emotions, I’m sure it will be easy for you to keep the little guy in check.”

“In check you say...”, pouting at Quills choice of words, too lazy to attend to more work than the investigations the little girl had to go through under her alas. Waiting for a response after they had knocked on to a door leading to the detectives room, the little girl wondered: would he be another puzzle to solve? Not that she didn’t mind, just like the mastermind himself, she loved the difficulty. But humans are sure far more difficult to deal with.

Stepping inside the room, she noticed a boy sitting in the middle of it, in front of a seemingly uncountable number of computers. “Good morning, L.”, said Quillsh, “This is my niece, (Y/N)”, gently pushing her into his direction, the boy didn’t mind to turn around. He didn’t say anything, but that never necessarily meant that he wasn’t interested into something.

One simple look at the little boy was enough for the girl to determine, that he actually wasn’t as hard to solve as she thought he would be. She wouldn’t even have to keep up with his intelligence, for some reason, that she can not explain, had an easier time than anybody else to read the mononymous person L. He seemed emotionless (that’s how Quillsh would describe him as) but he was still human after all.

As the silence grew, L slowly turned around, wondering why she hasn’t spoken up- that’s how girls usually are right? Not like he would know though, he never had a friend.

Th darkest sets of eyes, circled by an unhealthy dark tone met up with beautiful (E/C) globes.

Yet it wasn’t for her beauty that sparked his interest, it was her unique nature.

He secretly cursed himself in those 40 seconds that he was not able, in his whole life, to ask this very girl- this woman- to be his wife.

“Please, (Y/N), calm down..!”, one of the investigators tried, yet Light only dismissed them. Maybe for his amusement to continue watching his enemy squirm, but something stirred inside of him.

Gently gazing intently into her visage, it was like L was just laying there, untouched by the deaths kiss. But now he was gone, and yet here she was, her puzzle left unsolved.

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Twenty-One ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4032

Warnings: None

A/n Hello! Sorry I’ve been absent! Life got a little crazy with family visiting and school starting again, but I’m happy to be back! I’ll see you again Wednesday with the regularly-scheduled update :)

I wake with my face buried in the crook of someone’s neck. Pushing against the solid mattress, I raise myself up and try to remember where I am. But the solidness beneath me isn’t the mattress at all. It’s Haldir’s chest. I sit up straighter, realizing that, in the night, I’d pulled myself almost completely on top of him.

He moves as he chuckles, bringing a hand up to tuck my surely wild hair behind my ear. I look down to find him smiling up at me, looking much more awake than I feel. “Good morning.”

I purse my lips, trying not to show how much I enjoy the sight of him in my bed, the feeling of waking up with him. I lower myself back down, settling against his side. His arm wraps around me automatically, securing me in place.

“Good morning,” I reply, tucking my chin against his sternum. “How did you sleep?”

He chuckles, lazily running his fingers up and down my arm. “Better than you can imagine. Though I did have an elbow digging into my stomach, there were, amazingly, no snores. And your bed is so much more comfortable than mine.”

I grin, twisting so I can better see his face. “Well, if you can suffer through being stabbed in the stomach all night, you are welcome to share my comfy bed any time you like.” I furrow my eyebrows, considering. “For the next two nights, I guess. After that, you’re welcome to share the grass beside my bedroll.”

He throws his head back in laughter, the sight so beautiful that my own giggles dies as I take the time to stare at him. How can he be so carefree and joyful when he knows his death is only a few decades ahead of him?

Our conversations last night pretty much disintegrated my resolve to end things with him, not that I had much resolve from the moment we actually allowed ourselves to be together. So weak, I chide myself. But, as Haldir has reminded me time and time again, he is an adult and can make his own choices. I have to respect that, just as he has respected that for me on numerous occasions.

But part of me worries I’m just using that as an excuse to justify my selfishness.

Because no matter how well I love him, how much joy I bring him, how happy I make his life, I will always be the one causing his death. He’s not doing the same for me. I’m the one who will kill him.

Haldir moves his fingers from my arm to my hair, tangling his fingers in the waves. I love it when he does that.

He smiles at me, distracting me from my gloomy thoughts. “I am excited for you to see Lothlórien. What do you have left to do before we leave?”

I sigh, shrugging and leaning against him. “Not much. I’ve got to tell Alex about us, hopefully he’ll take it well, but you know how he can be. I imagine Lavandil already knows, but I would still like to talk with her. After that, just packing, but I can probably put that off until tomorrow night. Packing will be easy — oh, that reminds me — do you have an extra bag I could use? That’s actually what I went up to your room to get the other night, but you confessed your love for me which was really inconvenient, because I never did get that bag.”

He laughs again, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Please accept my most sincere apologies. Before any future proclamations of love, I shall ask if there is something you need to cross off your to-do list, first.”

“Thank you,” I huff, feigning relief. “That’s all I ask.” Once our laughter dies down, I turn the question back to him. “What about you?”

I feel him shift under me as he stretches to look toward the curtains pulled over the window s, likely trying to gauge the time by the rays of sun peeking through. “I have a few meetings lined up, as well as continued training with the guard. They’re in quite good shape, but you can never be too prepared. And, as much as I hate to say it, I must get up.” He rolls so I am under him and places a sweet kiss to my forehead. “I have stayed in bed far too long.”

I grin up at him, catching his lips in a proper kiss before following him from the warmth of the blankets. “If you must.” I eye my closed door, now fully aware that we are well into the morning hours. I cross my arms, shifting my weight between my feet. “People will see you leaving my room.”

He looks up at me, back leaned against the wall as he pulls on his boots and laces them up. “Yes?”

I shrug, taking a few steps closer to him. “Well, they’ll talk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the beginnings of a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. “Would you like me to exit via window?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No.”

“Then let them talk.” He places his foot on the ground and meets me in the center of the room. “I’ve no intention of hiding you.”

I grin broadly, surprised by how much that sentence pleases me, and pull him down for a final kiss. “See you after dinner for training?”

“Yes,” he nods, letting his hand trail over my waves as he backs towards the door. “Your armor should be done by then. I’ll bring it with me.”

“I’m not wearing it,” I shout through the open door as he passes through.

“Yes, you are,” he calls back in a confident, almost lilting voice.

I grumble.

“Ah, good morning Ríneth.”

I freeze. Guess the cat’s out of the bag.

“G-good morning, Marchwarden,” comes the stunned response. As the attendant passes my open door, she sneaks a look, her eyes widening when she sees me standing in the center of the room. I raise a hand and wave.

She scurries off.

Stifling a chuckle, I close the door and head to the bathroom to get ready for one of my last days in Imladris.

{***}

I decide to tell Alex first. Between him, Lavandil, and Baranor, Alex is the most likely to have a sour reaction, so I’d prefer to just get that over with.

He welcomes me in after one knock and I try to contain my surprise, immediately noticing the explosion of books, scrolls, and papers scattered across his room.

I step over a large pile of volumes to make it through the entryway. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” He grins sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Elrond said I could take some books with me, but they’re too bulky to travel with, so I’m trying to copy down as much as I can before we go.”

I nod, trying to find an area clear of stuff large enough for me to place my feet. “I bet Lothlórien has a good library.”

“I hope,” he agrees, bending to move some books so I have space. “But what’s up?”

“Um,” I press my lips together, suddenly feeling very, very nervous. My hands twist themselves in and out of each other as I look for anything to distract myself from the way my heart races. “I wanted to tell you…” Just get it over with. “Haldir and I are — together.” I wince. That doesn’t even begin to encompass how I feel about him, but how the heck do I describe our relationship?

Alex raises an eyebrow, setting the books in his hands down on the chest of drawers. “Yeah, for a while, right?”

I blink. Of all the reactions, I hadn’t expected that. “What?”

He tilts his head. “Wait, this happened recently?”

“Uh, yeah,” I huff, a little put out that he’s been thinking I’ve been secretly with Haldir and just hadn’t said anything about it. “What made you think it happened earlier?”

Alex shrugs, throwing his hands in his pockets. “Well, I don’t know, it was just kinda obvious something was there. I assumed the two of you acted on it around the time we got to Imladris and have just been trying to keep it a secret or something.”

“Wha—um,” I sputter, completely floored. “We’ve been avoiding each other for three months,” I defend, suddenly self-conscious of my apparently obvious feelings.

“Yeah,” Alex shrugs again, hauling a bag filled with books onto his bed. “I thought that was part of it — pretend to avoid each other to quiet the rumors, but then meet up when no one was paying attention.”

“Rumors,” I squeak, not liking the sound of that.

“Well, I didn’t hear any,” he corrects, noticing my panic. “I just, you know — the two of you seemed to click. I figured other people noticed it, too.”

He’s not wrong about that, I think, remembering Lavandil’s excitement and, before he changed his mind due to my mortality, Rumil’s.

Alex speaks again, the slightest shift in his tone. “I also figured that, well, your attachment to him is what was making you want to stay here and not work so hard to get home. Because, honestly Cosima, I can’t wrap my head around any other reason that would be strong enough to keep you away from your own world.”

“Oh. Right.” I look down at my hands, guilt buzzing in my stomach.

“But now that it’s official, I’m guessing you’ve decided?” Alex comes to stand in front of me, arms crossed in front of his chest. He doesn’t look angry, like I thought he would, just resigned.

I sigh, hating the disappointment I know I’m causing him. “Yes. I will help you figure out how to get home if you still want that, but I—I’m staying here.”

He nods, his jaw tightening. “And when I get home, what should I tell your family?”

I suck in a sharp breath. Ouch. I drop my hands to my sides, pleading with him. “Can we just—not? Please? I don’t remember them, Alex, I don’t even know if they exist, aside from nonna, who passed away five years ago. And here…well…” I sigh, mind drifting to Haldir and Lavandil and Rumil and Orophin and Baranor, and even Glorfindel. “My family—the family I chose—they’re all in Arda.”

Alex nods slowly, regarding me thoughtfully. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

I try to ease the hurt. I don’t want him to be sad. “But I’ll keep helping you, I promise. If there’s a way home, we’ll find it.”

He sighs and then smiles, though it looks tired. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Thanks, Cosi.” He steps forward and pulls me into a hug, the action surprising me. Blinking against the shock, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding him tight. “I suck at showing it, but I am happy for you, you know,” he whispers, squeezing my shoulders.

He releases me then, and I smile up at him. “Thank you.”

{***}

After my unexpected conversation with Alex, it’s time to find Lavandil.

It’s not difficult.

Her high-pitched giggle catches me on the way to lunch, her hands whirling me around into a wall of curls. She surprises me by grabbing me in the briefest of hugs, then pulls away, gripping me tightly by the shoulders.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Orophin told me last night — he’s upset of course, but he does acknowledge that he’s never seen Haldir as happy as he is when he’s with you! And I honestly think Orophin just needs time. Bottom line, he wants Haldir to be happy and loved, and you’re doing just that. But okay, now that that’s out of the way, you must tell me everything.”

I laugh, trying to catch up with her enthusiasm and rapid-fire words. I pull her to the side of the hallway, closer to the stone wall. People are, of course, bound to find out as the week goes on, but I’d rather not shout the details of what I consider to be my most cherished moment. In a hushed voice, I recount the night Haldir and I decided to go for it, Lavandil squealing and grinning through the whole thing.

“That is so sweet,” she gushes, eyes bright. “Who knew Haldir had such a way with words!”

“I know, right,” I agree, pleased to finally be able to talk about this with one of my best friends. “And kissing him?” I place a hand over my heart in a mock swoon, earning me a delighted laugh. “I could do that forever.” But then I bite my lip, not sure how she’ll react to what I’m going to tell her next. “He uh—spent the night last night.”

Lavandil’s eyes blow wide. “Did you—”

“No.” I hurry to clear that up. “But, I mean…it’s difficult not to want to…” I sigh, feeling much better upon seeing her understanding nod. She gets it. “How do you and Orophin manage? For eight years?”

She grins somewhat bashfully. “Well, it does help that we don’t see each other very often. And a lot of times, we have to stop ourself before we end up getting married without a second thought. But it all just comes down to us acknowledging the reality of our situation — we don’t want to get married and live apart, but neither of us was ready to give up our homes, families, or careers, not until recently, so we had to wait to take that step. It was a decision we were both okay with for a while. But now…” She shrugs, her smile softens and a faraway look enters her eye. “That time is over. He’s staying here with me, and it’s the best feeling in the world.”

I smile at her, happy for my friend. “Do you…” I tread carefully, not sure how much more I can ask without intruding, “think you’ll get married then?”

“Oh, for sure,” she grins, crossing her arms over her chest. “And soon. All our reasons not to have conveniently been taken care of.”

I take her hand in mine and give it a quick squeeze. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me, too, she jokes, winking cheekily. We laugh, and then she dissolves back into her interrogation of me. Dutifully, I answer each and every one.

{***}

When it’s dark outside, Haldir knocks on my door. In his hand, he carries a dark brown bag that makes a suspicious clanging sound with every step he takes. I eye it warily. He smiles, bringing the palm of my hand to his mouth for a kiss. “I’m sorry it’s so late. The drills ran long.”

I shrug, pulling him farther into my room and shutting the door behind him. “Don’t worry about it. I was with Lavandil until about an hour ago, anyway.”

He looks at me, a note of hesitation in his eyes. “And how did that go?”

“Better than expected,” I laugh in relief. “She’s very happy for us and says Orophin shows signs of feeling better. I talked to Alex too — can you believe it, he thought we’ve been together for months!”

At this, Haldir raises his eyebrows, shaking his head. “What would give him that impression? We avoided each other for almost the entire time we’ve been in Imladris.”

“That’s what I said!” I hold up a hand to stop him. “But I’m actually not going to talk to you any more until you open that bag. I need to decide if I’m going to be mad at you or not.”

He grins broadly, setting the bag gently on the ground. “I don’t know why you would be mad when all I’ve done is bring you a present.” Haldir reaches inside and draws out silver chainmail.

“Well, take it back,” I grumble, having correctly guessed the contents of the bag. I cross my arms over my chest.

“See?” Haldir smiles, straightening with the chainmail in hand. “It’s not as bad as you thought. It can even be worn under your clothes if you like.”

I grimace, taking a step forward and running a hand over the cool metal. Experimentally, I gather the bottom of the piece and hold it in both of my hands. It’s heavy. I look up at Haldir, unimpressed. “There’s no way this is comfortable.”

He shrugs. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, I’d rather have you uncomfortable and alive than comfortable and dead.” He steps forward, presses a kiss to my temple, then walks past me to lay the chainmail over my table.

I sigh. He’s just trying to keep me safe. “Alright, fine,” I acquiesce, following him further into my room. I step in front of him, trying to will my annoyance away. “Thank you for doing that.”

He smiles softly, though there’s a hint of humor in his eyes as he knows the effort I’m putting into making my tone polite. “You are very welcome. Now — go stand in the center of the room. I want to go over a few more techniques before we pause training to travel. And tomorrow, we’ll practice with the chainmail.”

I groan.

{***}

Haldir stays with me for the remaining two nights in Imladris. It’s very convenient — not only do I love having him with me, but it gives him and Rumil some much-needed space.

Over the course of our remaining days, we only had a few things on our to-do list: Inform Baranor of the development in our relationship — he didn’t seem surprised, just like he was making a very conscious effort to appear happy for us—prepare the horses, and pack our belongings and adequate provisions for the journey. On the morning of our departure, we’re set to meet at the bridge that marks the entrance to the city. Haldir leaves me while it’s still dark, kissing me while I’m half asleep and telling me goodbye. He went to ensure the horses were ready and ‘tie up a couple of loose ends,’ as he put it.

Despite the desire to sleep in, I rise with the sun, knowing we don’t have long before we leave. When I spot the chainmail laid over my table, I begrudgingly pull it on under my clothes, knowing Haldir will just send me back to get it if I don’t. It’s heavier than I want it to be, but he’s right — if we were attacked, it would provide an additional measure of protection. I don’t have to tell him that, though. Once I’m dressed, all that’s left to do is say my goodbyes and get on the horse.

I don’t want to say goodbye.

Lavandil meets me at my door. Wordlessly, she shoulders one of my bags and walks with me to the front of the estate. We step onto the lush grass, which still glints with the morning dew. Soon, autumn will creep in and the green of Imladris will turn into brilliant reds, golds, and oranges—or so my friends tell me. I hope that I will get to see it one day.

At the start of the bridge waits the rest of my company. I notice Haldir off to the side with both Orophin and Rumil. Unlike his brothers, Rumil doesn’t look up or wish us good morning. That stings—bad—but at least he’s talking to his brothers.

I search for Alex and, with a note of surprise, find him behind the horses, speaking with Elrond. I raise an eyebrow, but don’t investigate. If Alex wants to tell me about their conversation, he can.

Lavandil and I approach Faervel, who whinnies in recognition. Since Orophin is staying in Imladris, his horse is as well. Horses are apparently quite fond of their owners, so we agreed not to hurt any of them by pulling them away from their home and taking them back to Lothlórien. That means Alex still rides with Baranor and I will ride with Haldir — for now. Maybe if Rumil ends up forgiving me, I can ride Roch at some point.

I loop my bag into the straps on the edge of the saddle, securing it in place. Lavandil does the same with my other bag, tying it on Faervel’s back.

Someone behind me clears their throat, and both Lavandil and I turn around.

Elrond smiles in greeting, inclining his head. “Lavandil, would you mind if I had a moment alone with Cosima?”

“Of course,” she smiles, waving at me as she hurries off to join Orophin. This isn’t goodbye, I remind myself. I’ll catch her again before I leave.

Elrond pats Faervel on the head. “Cosima, I wish you safe travels.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“Promise me,” he continues, voice turning serious, “that when you arrive in Lothlórien, you will speak to Lady Galadriel without delay. I believe she can help you and Alexander.”

I agree readily. Elrond has been so kind and helpful, of course I’ll do as he asks.

“Good.” He nods. “And, well…” he sighs, sadness entering his ageless eyes. “I pray to the Valar that you will have a happy, fulfilling life.”

Despite the well-wish, grief collects in his features and I suck in a breath, remembering exactly who his daughter is and who she loves.

I open my mouth to say — what? That I’m sorry? That I wish it were someone else? What can I say to an ellon whose daughter will die for the same reason Haldir will?

I close my mouth.

Because no, there is nothing to say.

Elrond inclines his head in understanding and steps back, bidding a final farewell to us all before returning to his estate.

Rumil, Baranor, and Alex mount their horses.

It seems there is no more time to waste. Lavandil comes to stand in front of me, sniffling. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Tears enter my own eyes and I bite my lip, desperately not wanting them to escape and betray how sad I feel.

“The shop won’t be the same without you,” she whispers. Then, in a movement so fast I barely register the change, she flings her arms around my shoulders, drawing me in for a brief, tight hug. “Be happy.”

I pull back, smiling despite my sadness. “You too. Write to me?”

“Of course.” She gives me a watery laugh and tosses her curls over her shoulder. “Who else can we complain about them to?” She jerks a thumb in the direction of Haldir and Orophin, who put on identical expressions of affronted disbelief, and I break into actual laughter.

But when our laughter fades, Lavandil falls back, stepping out of the way of the horses and into Orophin’s outstretched arms.

Haldir walks up next to me. He crouches, ready to help me on the horse and, before I can look at the sadness on Lavandil’s face and burst into tears of my own, I put my boot in his hand, allowing myself to swing onto Faervel’s back. In the next moment, Haldir lands in front of me, taking the reins in his hands.

“Now what are all these tears about?”

I jump, startled by the loud, unexpected voice.

None other than Glorfindel, followed by four armored members of Imaldris’s guard, gallop down the path.

My golden friend sidles his horse next to Faervel, winking at me. “Good news, my dear lady, we shall not be parted so soon! Your commander—or should I say lover, now—” both Haldir and I make a face at the term, “asked for an escort through the mountain pass. My troops and I are happy to oblige.”

Haldir nods to him, serious despite Glorfindel’s exuberance. “Thank you for coming.”

Glorfindel smiles, returning Haldir’s nod. “Of course, mellon nîn.” He calls out a command and our company, much larger now, moves forward. I allow myself one final wave to Orophin and Lavandil, as well as a last glance at this shining city that had just begun to feel like home.

Before I know it, we have crossed the terrifying bridge and left the safety of Imladris behind.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day <3 And to everyone who responded to the last chapter: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, THANK YOU!!!!!

|next chapter - to be posted|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist @that-cute-stranger

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff @sleepyamygdala @thranduilseyebrows

#haldir #haldir x ofc #haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction #double heart

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