Life got busy so I’m a little behind but @qveendiorsworld linked this picture for my gif post writing prompts and I promised an update AND it comes with music.
gif by @t-lostinworlds (full set here)
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Words: 500
Warnings: 18+ because of my blog but tame for the first part.
Summary | Making amends means going out of his comfort zone.
You’re just out of reach.
The bass is loud. Loud enough that it vibrates through his clenched teeth as his gaze follows your body through the crowd. There’s enough alcohol in your system that you’re loose limbed, lost to the music, your hands held above your head, hips swaying.
He shouldn’t be here. This much he knows. Not with how you’ve ignored his texts and phone calls, done with his other priorities. He knew he would find you here, lost in the music, your dress black and short, skimming your thighs as his vibranium hand clenches down on a fleshy shoulder and pulls them away from blocking his view.
There’s a protest before the guy realizes who it is - who he is - and he disappears from view, scoffing with embarrassment.
Not that he cares.
Because he doesn’t.
The female voice threads through the speakers as your head moves back and forth, eyes closed and so gone that you don’t see him coming.
But you feel him.
His hands settle on your hips, your eyes opening briefly before his mouth his against your ear.
“Before you say a word,” he starts. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Your eyes meet his, the music still swirling around you both when you bare your teeth at him, spinning away from him before you grab his hand.
He lets you lead him away from the dance floor and down a darkened hallway. It smells like stale beer and discarded cigarettes but it barely registers when you push him up against the wall, his back hitting it with a soft thud.
“You think you can just ignore me?” You snarl, your hands on his chest, pressing hard. “I came here without you and I can leave without you.”
He knows you could.
He says nothing, watching your chest rise and fall with adrenaline. You’re pissed and he hates that it’s his fault but he loves seeing you like this.
“I should go back out there and find the next guy I see and -”
He turns you so quickly that you’re breathless, your back hitting the wall as his hand cradles your head so it doesn’t hit the wall.
“Say it,” he warns. “Next guy you see and what?”
You tilt your head up defiantly.
”I’ll…”
You’re bluffing and he knows it. His free hand cradles your jaw, enough for you to look him right into his eyes.
”And then I’d come after you. That’s what you want, right? To be seen,” he says, his lips brushing against yours. “To be cherished.”
You swallow.
”Maybe,” you whisper. “I thought I had it once.”
He kisses you then, not gentle, not soft.
Possessive.
When he breaks the kiss, you look up at him, your fingers still holding onto his shirt.
“You wanna come home?” he asks. “Be mine again? For good this time?”
He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles.
Warnings: 18+ but it’s pretty tame. Angsty with a hinted ending.
Summary | Miscommunication makes for a good make up.
In retrospect, you shouldn’t have come, especially with the amount of questions that you’ve been asked since you stepped into the house. You’ve kept a low profile since the breakup, initiated by you and not him. Too many late nights and not enough communication and you decided to walk.
And he let you.
It was an immature move and you knew it, trying to see if he’d play the game and you knew he wouldn’t. He’d even let you walk right past him with a suitcase packed, opening the door for you without saying a word.
Not that he needed to. His eyes did all the talking, as if he knew you were throwing a tantrum and god help you, you were.
But two can play that game and tonight he’s at the same party, knocking back a beer and laughing with his friends, his biceps on display in that damn black t-shirt.
“Aren’t you going to say something to him?” Your friend says with a nudge. “I know you’re probably pissed off still but…”
You tilt your head up, defiant when he looks over at you.
”He could have called,” you counter.
“And you could have told him how it makes you feel when you get ignored. You know he hates when you shut down and how you don’t want to listen. If you ask me,” she says with a nod toward his direction. “It was a big lack of communication on both sides.”
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink, some concoction that makes you cough slightly.
“He can talk to me if he wants,” you tell her, turning on your heels to walk away.
You don’t get far.
You’re laughing at some joke with a few acquaintances. Something that isn’t funny but you’re committed to the bit, even going so far to add to it as the small group laughs harder.
“Something funny?” A voice says behind you.
All eyes lift to stare at him.
“Hey Sy,” one of them says, taking a step back as he crosses his arms while observing the group. “We were just making fun of Liam’s bad driving.”
He raises an eyebrow, looking right at you.
“Can we talk?” He asks.
You give a nod, following behind him as he walks down the steps, hearing the whispers of people as you try to remain composed. You know your mouth and your attitude is already going to get you into trouble and you might as well save up the fire you have for him when you’re alone.
His car comes into view - a matte black Challenger that starts when you take another step, making you nearly jump.
“We’re going to talk in your car?” You ask him. “We can talk out here.”
He leans against the car, arms crossed over his massive chest.
“Go on then,” he says. “I’m listening. Tell me why my girl decided to storm out like some spoiled brat when I’d told you I’d be working late.”
“You always work late.”
It was supposed to sound much more stern. People standing outside the house are watching and suddenly you don’t feel much like airing out your business to bystanders.
When you try for the passenger door, he unlocks it, letting you slide in as he goes toward the driver’s seat. Once you’re both buckled in, he leans his head back, his hand sliding down his jaw.
“Let’s go somewhere private,” he says, hand on the wheel as he accelerates, the car heading back down the main road. “Somewhere you can tell me exactly what’s on your mind and how I can fix it.”
His hand is on your thigh as you feel the heat in your belly.
“And I’ll even make sure we’re in the backseat so there are no interruptions and as much room as you need so I can apologize properly.”
Okay @grymrayven, thanks for the inspo pic! This was really hard and I hope I did it justice.
Jareth x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ but nothing explicit. Forced marriage.
Summary | You’re dreaming… aren’t you?
A fire snaps and pops, giving you some relief from the dark and cold room. You aren’t sure how you found yourself here, in this castle, let alone in a place that you swear is a fever dream. No amount of pinching yourself or blinking does any good.
You know he’ll be back.
For now, you pace your room, pausing by the fire to warm your skin and take the chill off. You aren’t sure who lit it. Maybe it was him or the grubby servants that seem to follow him everywhere, giving small grunts when you had tried to get their attention when you’d heard them outside the heavy door.
You try to forget how quickly he’d entered your room, giving you a curious look like you were something to be studied under glass, lifting your chin up to inspect your features.
”Pretty,” he had said, his thumb brushing against your lip before he raised an eyebrow. “You’ll do.”
Before you had even had a chance to ask what he meant, he had left the room in a flourish. Hurried footsteps had followed.
Whispers behind him.
Something about King something.
Not that it mattered.
You made a promise to yourself that you were going to get out of here.
Your bed is near the window and you stand on top of it, on your tiptoes on the lumpy mattress to look out the small window. All you can see is darkness and a small bit of light. Your fingers wrap around the small bars, giving them a hard tug. They don’t move, which only enrages you further as you pull at them harder.
You freeze when you feel someone behind you.
”Now, now,” the man says with a shake of his head. “Trying to leave when we haven’t even been properly introduced.”
You gasp, looking at the locked door.
”How…” you trail off. “How did you get in here?”
He gives you a slow grin.
”That, my dear,” he says, extending his hand to you. “Is my own little secret. Now, if you wouldn’t mind coming off that bed, I’d like to properly introduce myself.”
Your hand goes to his and you step down from the bed, giving him a look. The way he’s dressed, black boots, gray pants, white billowy shirt and a black vest makes you pause.
He gives you a dramatic bow.
”I am Jareth,” he says, his eyes flickering up to yours. “And you, my pretty thing, will be my Queen.”
Your eyes go wide at his words, your breath leaving your body.
”What?”
He kisses your hand, standing at his full height, looking down at you.
”It’s quite simple, really. You’ll be my bride.”
”And if I refuse?”
He gives you a cool smile.
“I don’t want to have to discuss such… discipline. You’ll be a good girl and do as I say.”
His hand tightens around yours and you know this isn’t a dream.
This is for @smittenbyvillains. Thanks for the inspo pic!
Tony Stark x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+, handjob, language, unprotected sex, a little light bondage.
Summary | Iron Man to some, Tony to you.
Candlelight flickers in the dark space, the cool breeze skating over his bruised chest, his fingers raw from the work he’d done on his tech toys.
You smirk to yourself.
Tech toys.
The very ones that keep you safe while he’s away. Sentries who know you by name and by heat signature. The ones that could neutralize a threat before it even got within twenty feet of you.
His fingers curl when you tie the silk ties to the headboard, your tongue pressing between your lips.
”Silk,” he hums. “Interesting choice. Is this from your Hermes stash?”
”These are from the trip in Milan,” you answer him, tying them as best you can.
They won’t last all night.
You know him well.
That smirk of his doesn’t leave when you tie the last one, straddling him to look at your handiwork. He looks impressive like this, silver at his temples and the laugh lines worn into his handsome face. The age of a man who has lived and battled the worst of the worst and still managed to come out the other side.
You lean down, kissing his forehead, your hands on his chest. He’s warm under your fingers, the puckered scars a map of the life he’s lived since he decided to be a hero.
“Each time you come back, you get a new one,” you murmur, kissing his nose and then his mouth. It’s soft, lingering enough for him to close his eyes and feel the distance slowly melting away. You’d been all fire while he was away, knowing he’s at war with something larger than you could ever describe but in here, this space - he’s yours and there is no official title, no trademarked man with the tech.
Here? He’s Tony.
“You see what happens when I’m gone for so long?” He asks, brown eyes full of mischief as he gives a slight tug of the ties. “You get into a little bondage. Who taught you?”
”A lot of research,” you say against his lips. “Impressed?”
You slide down his body, kissing his neck, down his chest as his breath slows slightly to almost a shudder.
”We’ll see.”
You don’t let him see your smile, kissing another scar near his hip before you settle on top of him, feeling how hard he is underneath you.
“Smart mouth for a man who’s tied up and at my mercy,” you say. “Especially since it’s been at least a month since you’ve had me.”
Your fingers pull at the drawstring of his pants, on a mission to make sure you make the most of the newfound boldness that you’ve found since he’s been gone.
The minute your hand wraps around him, his head falls back, his teeth on his bottom lip.
”Maybe not impressed yet,” you whisper, giving it a few strokes as you cup his cheek. “But I haven’t even started yet.”
You look at the clock. He’s got a meeting in less than five hours.
You rise up for a moment, lining him up before you lock eyes.
”I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping,” you tease, sinking down as his hands pull at the ties at the sensation, a low curse spilling from his lips. “Because I plan on making sure you don’t sleep at all tonight.”
Warnings: More world building, language, heavy angst.
If you want it to hurt, listen to Ariana Grande’s “we can’t be friends”.
Summary | Keeping busy is something you know how to do well, especially after the publicized break up with your ex. As his political fame rises, so does the need for you to focus on yourself and keeping your walls up for self-preservation. If only it was that simple.
Sam adjusts his tie, looking at the stylist who is examining his fingers tightening the knot, most likely making sure that it looks perfect.
That’s the way of press events. Followed around by cameras, publicists and officials, making sure they can spin an innocent offer of friendship into something they can use for later.
He’s all but banned the usual suspects, his own chief of staff rolling her eyes at the fuss over his choice of outfit. It’s a simple white shirt and black tie with black slacks, matching socks and shiny black shoes. He’s taken to rolling up the sleeves, especially since today of all days it’s hotter than usual.
”Wouldn’t you like to have the sleeves rolled down?” the stylist offers, taking a step closer as he puts his hand out.
“I like them the way they are, Hannah,” he quips, seeing her give a quick nod.
Inside the green room, he has two Secret Service agents at the door, a little overkill he thinks without verbally saying it. It’s stocked with everything he likes, a throwback to remembering how you had managed to slip his favorite case of beer into the fridge when you had told him to help himself at a barbecue once before. These little touches make him smile as he takes a handful of peanut M&Ms and tosses a few into his mouth while he studies his speech.
It’s a quieter affair but one near and dear to his heart. It’s a veteran’s brunch for them and their families, a simple yet touching thing you’ve decided on to raise awareness for veteran’s rights. Your non-profit, while still new, has received some heavy donations after your outreach work was highlighted by Joaquin Torres. The Vice President was nearly moved to tears when he saw your ribbon cutting ceremony after creating housing for homeless veterans. He’ll be in the audience, running late for another event but he wouldn’t miss this for the world.
“We’re almost ready for you,” Camille, his chief of staff reminds him. “Mic check went well, there are several vets out there who would like to thank you personally, Sir.”
He isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s a veteran, just like them, fighting for them and every other person in this country. It’s a quiet affair, no cameras allowed to cut down on the unnecessary noise and stress. A place for them to just be, without ravenous reporters begging for a soundbite or quick picture.
He’s pleased you put your foot down to keep it family and friends only.
“I should be thanking them.”
Camille gives him a smile, handing him a mirror as he balks at it.
”You really want to give a speech out there with peanut and chocolate in your teeth?”
He smiles widely, inspecting his teeth before he’s satisfied, popping a mint in his mouth.
“You know those are my favorite,” he says with a wink, heading toward the door.
”We’ll make sure to pack them for the drive back,” she promises.
-
You picked the wrong time to break in your new heels. As cute as they are, you find yourself gritting your teeth with every step, cursing the fact that you forgot to bring the bandaids for the back of your ankles. Thankfully, you can play it off, surveying the scene in front of you, counting each table one more time to make sure you have a proper count.
Rea snaps a picture of a family with their camera, her smile wide with appreciation before another calls out to her to take another picture. There’s a shred of anxiety that you probably should have brought a professional photographer to take pictures but you’d surveyed the families and they wanted a chance to be in their element - alone and without distraction. What matters is that you’re close to funding another complex to be turned into housing and being so close to your goal is what continues to motivate you. Your track record with job pairings is double what you had originally estimated and it still feels like you aren’t doing enough.
”You’re up,” Rea whispers, watching you jump in surprise. “How’s the feet?”
“Miserable but I’ll make it,” you promise her. “I owe him so much, Rea.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, he could say the same about you,” Rea counters. “I remember those first speeches when he was running.”
You ignore her, heading up to the podium. Nerves ripple in your belly but you swallow them down. This isn’t about you and your fears of public speaking, this is about a proper opening speech. You’ve written them countless times.
“Good morning,” you begin, seeing hopeful faces looking up at you. “I am incredibly pleased and humbled to be here with you today. As you know, this non-profit started off with small but noble intentions. It was to ensure that those who have served shall be cherished and never forgotten. I am so thankful to have you all here to celebrate such a tremendous occasion. This afternoon is about you and your families, to provide a sense of calm in an uncertain world. It is important to me that I express my adoration and utmost respect for your service and for you as individuals.”
Heavy handed clapping breaks through as you nod in response.
“As you know, our efforts have been recognized by none other than Vice President Torres and also, President Sam Wilson, who is here today to share a message with you all. Please join me in welcoming him to the stage.”
Applause breaks out, people standing as he appears, waving to the crowd as Camille looks on, giving you a thumbs up. Sam embraces you warmly, heading up to the podium as you head back toward Rea.
“Couldn’t tell if you were in pain,” Rea whispers, handing you a glass of water. “Can you believe the President is speaking at our brunch? How on earth did you pull this off?”
“Because she’s a genius,” a voice interrupts, both you and Rea turning around.
It’s Jules, who is decked out in a couture navy pants suit and red pumps. She always looks immaculate and you’d tell her so if your heart wasn’t suddenly beating out of your chest at the thought of where her boss may be.
“He’s not here,” Jules says quickly, almost as if reading your mind. “He doesn’t know I’m here. You think I would miss this?”
You’re unsure of what to say, Jules nodding toward the door as Rea stays put inside the hall. You follow her, Jules pushing the door open, giving you enough clearance before it closes.
“I’m proud of you,” Jules continues. “I wish it was under better circumstances but I couldn’t have him coming here if I didn’t know the status of where you were both at.”
“There is no status, Jules.”
“I figured as much. I hope you liked your flowers.”
You’re silent at her comment. The hardest feeling is wondering why he isn’t here and being thankful that you don’t have to face him.
“I did. Thank you.”
“Even his?”
You scoff at Jules’ question, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I gave them away, actually.”
Jules sighs, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You’d think you’d both be past this by now. I know it ended badly but it doesn’t have to be so… final. I came to tell you that I’m really fucking proud of you. Quitting your corporate job and starting a non-profit isn’t for the weak but you did it. I never had any doubts but… it just meant a lot to me to make sure I told you so.”
“I appreciate that.”
She blows out a breath at your comment, gripping her purse.
“Don’t go Ice Queen on me. It’s me, you’re talking to, remember? You don’t have to shut me out.”
You won’t let her get any further, checking your watch quickly.
“I appreciate the kind words, Jules. I appreciate the flowers from you as well. I need to head back inside.”
You don’t wait for her to say anything, opening the door with as much strength as you can muster, leaving her behind, right as Sam is finishing up his speech, Rea wiping her tears away.
-
Bucky notices the way Jules sits in her seat, shifting back and forth, shuffling through her papers to find the right one, muttering to herself as he downs a bottle of water. His workout lasted longer than he realized, missing two of her calls before she had politely demanded for the doorman to let her knock on his door.
He’d looked at her like she was crazy as he slung the towel around his broad shoulders, letting her inside as she muttered to herself, only to open her bag and start working.
“Everything okay?”
She doesn’t look up from her papers, his question not registering until he clears his throat.
“Huh?”
“You’re distracted,” he tells her, seeing her wrinkle her nose in response.
“I am not. I’m trying to find this itinerary that I swore I had but I bet you it fell…” she trails off, going silent as he raises an eyebrow.
“Fell where?”
“Somewhere. It’s not important. There wasn’t anything confidential on there anyway. I can start over.”
“Jules. I was trying to get a hold of you most of the afternoon and you were MIA and now you’re all over the place. What’s going on?”
Bucky’s tone gets her attention as her shoulders slump forward.
“Sam spoke at an event today. The VP was there too. A brunch honoring veterans and their families. That’s where I was.”
“Is that why you’re so secretive? I would have gone with you if you needed back up. I would have sent the security detail with you.”
She hesitates slightly at his words.
“No. You couldn’t have gone with me. I shouldn’t have even gone.”
“I don’t get it.”
Jules covers her face with her hands, letting them draw out her features as she drags them down.
“It was her non-profit.”
They exchange a long glance, Jules popping up from her chair as she points a finger at him.
“And she’s cold, Bucky. The Arctic is warmer than she was.”
His confusion only sends her into more of a tailspin, watching her pace back and forth.
“She dismissed me. Me! And what’s worse, I let her do it! Like I’d gone soft or something. I wanted to congratulate her. Her non-profit is thriving, Bucky. She’s doing some really good shit and helping people. The minute I approached her, it was like she had seen a ghost. Is that the way it is between you both? Just harboring some weird grudge that you both can’t get over?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?” Bucky asks, her eyes lowering at his question.
“Because you would have wanted to go.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“You would have had worse treatment, trust me.”
-
It’s late when you finally get home, your heels kicked across the floor haphazardly, a glass of cherry juice in your hand while you make your way to the couch. You’d drink if it could mean you wouldn’t have to face yourself and the impending thoughts that snake their way into your mind the next morning. For now, this sleepy girl mocktail will have to do, your phone somewhere on the table, far away from reach so that you can just be.
There’s a part of you that wallows in the idea of sitting in your apartment alone in the dark, even if it’s by choice. You’ve already shed tears for the way you treated Jules, aware that the interaction has reopened a wound that you had thought had been sutured shut months ago.
“They’re outside,” Jules said, sitting next to you amid the small mountain of used tissues. “You don’t need to go, you know. Say the word and I can have them gone and everything scrubbed from record.”
She didn’t do well with your silence, the tears running down your cheeks as you took everything in for the last time. It was weird to think you wouldn’t see the same black and white picture of his childhood home in the black frame near his bedroom anymore or the picture of him and Steve from so many years ago.
“I’ll go out the back,” you told her, your body unwilling to move as your brain leapt into action. It was the fight or flight, the latter overtaking you to move, to leave and never come back.
“He’ll be back soon,” Jules promised, her voice near pleading. “I think you can work this out. He loves you.”
“Loves me?” you questioned her words with a dark stare. “Is this how you treat someone you love? Ending it without even a second thought?”
You never used to question it, never had to worry if his career was ahead of you. Your worst fears were realized, seeing him shield you from the cameras, closing the blinds and skipping workouts so that he wouldn’t be hounded by the press.
You had become a liability.
“How does this all work?” you questioned her. “Do I have to sign something to say I won’t ever talk to him again?”
“There’s no NDA,” Jules replied sadly, seeing you pluck around tissue out of the box. “I know he thinks he’s doing the right thing but I disagree. You’re the best thing to ever happen to him.”
“God,” you drawled you, forcing yourself to stand, your knees nearly locking in place. “I’m going to be fine, Jules. I appreciate that you think he loved me but we both know his career was going to take a hit and I’ll be damned if I take the fall if his entire career is about our relationship. You have to hand it to him though. Bucky is a shrewd man when it comes to optics.”
“You know that isn’t true. He’s thinking of you and how you’re portrayed in all of this,” Jules defended, seeing you grab the tissues and toss them into the trash.
Anger replaced hurt, the emotion had soothed over you like an icy balm. It was easier to be angry than crushed, you could at least leave with what shreds of dignity you had left.
You’d ignored Jules’ call when you’d gone down the steps unceremoniously, your phone vibrating in your pocket that you’d tossed on the table on your way out.
You were done with all of it.
With shaky fingers, you bring the glass up to your lips, forcing the memory away as your eyes close, tilting your head back on the sofa.
-
He gets a reprieve for at least a week now, Jules cancelling his engagements to give him the space to breathe.
To rest.
Instead he looks up at his ceiling, pressing the button to hear his own apology on the phone you had left behind, going still as he can still remember the words he spoke. The memory is clear as day, right down to the gritty details of the sounds his shoes made on the wet pavement.
“I’m making the biggest mistake of my life,” he said, the rain pouring down as he left the umbrella to run to the car. “Don’t you fucking leave, okay? Stay there so that we can talk this through, so that I have a chance to explain. Jules should be there now. If there’s press, stay inside okay. Just… just don’t go.”
The phone call ends abruptly, right at the time he was ushered into the car, away from the threat that had made the news. He wasn’t supposed to be there, a quick detour to campaign for Torres until someone had decided to call in a threat. Credible or not, he was ushered off to a safe place, laying low until it was safe to do so.
Where he was didn’t matter. The lack of communication that he was going to stop to campaign was the issue, leaving two days prior after the breakup. He called it giving you space to guard his own shattered heart.
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, Bucky finding himself looking through old photos of you both, including the way he carried you over the threshold after he had asked you to move in with him. He swears he can still hear your laughter, right down to the way you held your head back as he spun you around.
Memories of the past, meant to be tucked away for later and not right now.
The phone still technically belongs to you, given to you by him in case of emergencies. It was the one you left behind that day, not looking back when Jules had simply said you had left. The finality in her voice had spurred him into action, searching for you until he got the hint that you simply didn’t want to be found.
So far removed from your life, he wonders what you’re doing right now, if you’re having trouble sleeping or if you’re curled up on your side with a pillow, lost in slumber. He hopes it’s the latter not the former, spending many nights watching you stare mindlessly at the television, your mind going a mile a minute at the ‘what ifs’ and what was to come once you stepped foot outside the door.
Still, you always found comfort in his arms. You soothed him as much as he did you and for a moment, he allows himself to remember what it felt like when you held him close, your words spoken softly against his skin like a spell that kept him enraptured with everything you said. He doesn’t want to admit how lonely it is without you. How mundane his world is without you in it.
Stating that fact seems like it would kill him if he spoke it out loud.
Instead he lets himself dream of what could have been, drifting off to sleep, still holding the phone in his hand.
A big thank you to the commenter who reblogged my little story and gave me the inspiration to write this piece again. I appreciate you so much!
We are at the end of this tale.
Please let me know if you like it and as always, if you were keeping up with this story throughout the years, I appreciate you reading and being apart of my little circle.
Word Count: 2.5K
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, angst, language, HEAVY violence mentions, mentions of pregnancy, murder, a lot of death, angst, mentions of breeding kink.
Mob Boss Bucky Barnes x Right Hand Female Reader
Frank Adler x Right Hand Female Reader x Natasha Romanoff
Summary | Being Bucky’s right hand gets complicated when he decides to marry a girl from a questionable family that provides no answers to his decision, only more questions.
“It was you all along.”
The betrayal in his voice is strong, his hands up in the air as you follow behind him, hearing the muffled shouts of Dot who is tied up on the ground. You don’t spare her a second glance, the gun still trained on the back of his head as tears well in your eyes.
“What was I supposed to do, Barnes? Let you burn down your empire?”
He stops in his tracks to answer you.
“Yes.“
Gritting your teeth, you look over at Dot, her mascara caked and runny down her dirty cheeks. She’s been there long enough to know he plans on finishing the job, her hands and feet bound. True to his word, there’s not a scratch on her, just her terrified eyes on you, silently begging you to save her.
All you have for her is contempt, remembering how quickly things had fallen apart since she had arrived.
How much you and others have lost.
“Steve needs peace,” you continue. “You spill any more blood and he’ll have it.”
“Did he promise you that?” Bucky fires back, turning around to face you, both your hands gripping the gun as he takes a step closer.
“Don’t,” you demand.
“Steve said no more blood. Is this a bluff? You’ve killed for much less. And deep down, you know I’ll kill her if you don’t. Steve’s threat may be a promise but at least I’d see it through to the end.”
A tear slides down your cheek when you shake your head, trying to keep your cool. Still calm and collected on the surface, as Bucky tends to me, as if resigned to the fate that is in your hands.
“Why her?”
Your resolve is slipping, forcing yourself to focus on something other than his intense gaze.
”It was an expansion. Business,” Bucky says, looking over at Dot as she whimpers.
“Business,” you repeat. “Look where it got you.”
“That’ll happen when you let your guard down. But you didn’t, did you? You’d known all along, trying to warn me. You built your own expansion, turned yourself into a made woman,” he clarifies, looking back at you. “Frank’s proxy and Steve let it happen. That’s fucking poetic.”
He gives a sarcastic laugh, lowering his hands as he takes another step closer, the barrel pressing into his shirt.
“This is your final test, you know. Steve’s not dumb. You kill me and it’s all over. He gets his peace.”
“You could have left it alone. It’s too much loss.”
Cocking the hammer back, Bucky doesn’t move at your action.
“This could have gone another way,” you begin, another tear slipping down your cheek. “I hated it, every minute you were with her, knowing she was going to betray you and you pushed me aside because you knew best. Volstagg is dead, Pierce is going after Steve and it’s all because of your bad decisions. And it’s because I love you that I have to end this the way it should have ended.”
His eyes widen when the gun is turned toward Dot, the flash of the bullet in near slow motion as he calls out to you, anguish in his tone when another pull of the trigger drowns out the noise.
-
Steve looks out at the city skyline, his men in the background as he waits for a phone call. Loose ends should have been tied up already, his fingers gripping his glass in mild annoyance before the phone finally rings.
“Promise me you won’t hurt him,” your voice says on the other end, emotionless as Steve stills.
“He’s still alive?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”
”I did,” comes your reply. “Natasha will see to handling her body.”
Steve straightens at your words.
“I said no more blood on my doorstep. I’m sure you remember our little conversation, especially since it wasn’t that long ago. You spare him but finish the job,” Steve says, finishing the last of his drink as he rolls his shoulders. “It’s a pity, you know. I liked you. But as I said, I enjoy my peace.”
“I’ll be waiting,” you answer.
“You get no protection. Frank will stand down, Thor will stand down and if Bucky knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay out of this once and for all. I’ll give you a day to say your goodbyes. You can’t hide in this city, doll. I hope you know that.”
“Goodbye Steve.”
Steve smiles, leaning back into his chair as he checks his watch.
“See you soon.”
-
Sam watches Bucky button down his black jacket, armed to the team before he pulls on black leather gloves.
While it’s quiet inside Bucky’s compound, the streets are loud - practically buzzing with the news that you’re on borrowed time.
“You can’t think this is a good idea,” Sam says after a moment. “It’s a suicide mission. You don’t even know where she is. She’s off the grid.”
“And yet, they’re still talking,” Bucky reminds him, adjusting his jacket. “Pierce is still out there.”
“Then he takes care of her and then Pierce. Or Pierce and then her. Steve’s lost his mind.”
Bucky shrugs. His friend hasn’t lost his mind - he’s protecting his assets, something Bucky can understand. He watched one of his own slip through his fingers, your gun carefully placed in one of his holsters after you’d kissed him goodbye, pushing him away before he could register what was happening.
“Dot is gone,” Sam counters slowly. “Steve gets his peace and quiet.”
“He’s a man of his word. More blood spilled, he’s going to keep his promise.”
Sam shakes his head in denial.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Bucky smiles brightly, smoothing back his hair for a moment. There’s a clarity he hasn’t felt in months, knowing his goal is clear.
“Then you take over,” Bucky says, turning on his heels to leave. “Like we talked about.”
“Bucky!” Sam says behind him. “You’re no better than her!”
-
The waves crash around your feet, the first stretches of dawn on the horizon, not a single soul in sight.
Yet.
You’d said your goodbyes, aware of how you’ve been tracked through the city. It’s laughable to think that Steve wouldn’t be invested in your every move - depressing to know that the mobster was a man of his word, sending you a countdown when you were down to twelve hours.
There’s something to be said about the way you’ve been treated. Where there was respect for Bucky’s name and influence, you have your own, doors opening for you and knowing looks where there used to be passing glances. You’ve stood your ground even in the face of impending death and you have no regrets.
If you don’t let yourself feel, it’s almost bearable, knowing your time is almost up. Frank, bucking tradition, has offered to get you out of the country, going against his cousin to keep you safe. Natasha, for her efforts, shed more than a few tears when you had said your goodbyes.
You don’t feel an ounce of remorse for pulling the trigger. Natasha had come quickly but Bucky had helped, something you found out later when the headlines mentioned Dot’s untimely death. A simply placed article, wrong time and wrong place meant that to the untrained eye, nothing was suspicious, no one was the wiser - poor Bucky Barnes who suffered so much loss would no doubt lick his wounds in private.
Nevermind that you had it set in your mind when the tears had come, months of anguish and angst, culminating in his literal confessions of wanting to expand.
You’d built her up, put her on a pedestal that she had never belonged on, Bucky behind the scenes dismantling everything he had done once the truth was exposed.
A truth you had brought to light.
A jogger catches the corner of your eye. An upscale neighborhood like this has no shortage of unsuspecting elite, wanting to get their first run of the day before the rest of the world.
You’ve banked on this.
Staked it out.
The silencer on your ghost gun fits smoothly, not another person in sight when you see him get closer, your back to him as he jogs past, mouthing the words to a song he’s listening to.
Within seconds, his body hits the pavement, your gaze on him only for a moment before the sun begins to rise, walking toward him as you put your gun away. You don’t stop when you walk, snapping a photo of the man before continuing on.
Six more hours left.
-
“You don’t make house calls,” Steve greets his longtime friend, coming down the stairs as he adjusts his cufflinks. “To what due do I owe this occasion?”
It has been too long, this much Bucky knows when he sees Steve. Marriage and impending fatherhood suits him, still armed to the teeth but his eyes show a kindness that makes him want to lower his guard.
“I can’t let you do this, Steve.”
“Are we negotiating?”
“Call it whatever you want. She did it for me.”
Steve finally smiles, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“Love does that to a person. Makes them empowered, makes them feel untouchable. Makes them come to my door to beg for forgiveness.”
Bucky laughs at Steve’s response.
“I’m not here to beg for forgiveness. I’m here to tell you that if you go after her, I’ll kill you.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at his threat. He seems slightly entertained at that fact, merely nodding.
“It’s a good strategy, posturing in my own home, Buck.”
“You said it yourself enough blood was spilled.”
Steve tilts his head to the side for a moment.
“And I wonder who started it? Couldn’t have been the loverboy himself? Drawing a line in the sand to make sure that the one who knew him best didn’t get close to the expansion that you were craving. How did that work out for you?”
“You don’t know how much I paid.”
“But I do,” Steve says, circling him slowly. “My own cousin installing her as his proxy, watching her wield her power over his men without a second thought. She took care of his business and for that, she’ll always have my respect. But this? This cat and mouse game over a goddamn family who came from nothing and back to the dust they came… a mild irritation lodged in the back of my mind. Until you wouldn’t let it go.”
Bucky swallows at the raw anger in Steve’s tone, his fingers rolling into tight fists in his black leather gloves.
“She did what she needed to do.”
“I’m sure she did. Got Thor riled up after Volstagg was killed and he threatened me. Not a good look for the Norseman,” Steve says with a sigh. “That’s still lingering somewhere up here in my head. What he’ll do when he’s back to his full strength. It’s bad enough his wife took charge and killed Helena right under his nose. He never saw it coming. More turf wars when all I asked for was peace. He thinks I had something to do with Helena, you know.”
Bucky knows Thor was pleasantly surprised his own wife could be as cold as he could be, knowing the backstory of everything Pierce had put her through.
But this isn’t about Thor.
It’s about you.
“So then the score was settled.”
“I’m a man of my word, Buck. I said no more blood spilled.”
Steve’s vibrates in his pocket, getting his attention as he pulls it out of his pocket to study it. He’s surprised, a look Bucky hasn’t seen in years. He stares at it for several moments until it rings, Steve answering it quickly.
”Thor.”
After a few moments of silence, Steve nods, smiling brightly as he turns to Bucky.
“Within the hour,” Steve says before hanging up.
-
Pierce hangs over the balcony of his seaside penthouse, blood pouring from his nose and running down his cheek to his eyes.
“Did you think… did you think you would see yourself like this?” Pierce asks with a strained laugh, the waves crashing below. “You call the shots now. Far cry from a… driver.”
“It ends with you and me,” you snarl.
“So we’re dead,” Pierce says with a sardonic laugh, looking at the water. “At least I won’t die alone.”
“I’ll give you a chance to repent,” you pause, Pierce quiet as he attempts to lift his head. You’ve injected him with a muscle relaxer, his body limp as he coughs.
“That’s all you’ll get from me,” he says, saliva dripping from his mouth. “Was it worth it? Knowing the truth and being ignored?”
You think for a moment, fingers gripping his belt.
“Yes.”
With a final pull, gravity takes over, Pierce plunging down onto the sea as you watch. A bullet to the brain was too merciful, watching the waves for a moment before turning back around.
Tears wet your cheeks, your fingers shakily wiping the evidence of your emotions away.
There’s no clean up. Not this time, Pierece’s home in disarray from the scuffle that had ensued. You don’t even check the time, knowing that the hour is drawing close.
You’ve said your goodbyes to Sam and Thor, despite Thor’s wife offering you protection that you had politely turned down.
It’s just you now, alone with your thoughts and the idea of how much blood you’ve spilled as Steve is on the way to make sure you’re finished.
It’s a fitting end, you think, knowing he’ll snuff out one life and welcome another in a few months. That’s the way of life, especially in the business you’ve found yourself in. It shouldn’t bother you but it does, wishing that you’d had more time to talk some sense into Bucky, to not let your emotions get the better of you.
Somewhere your phone vibrates, looking around at the broken frames and vases, finding it on the floor.
Resigning your fate, you answer, wondering how close he is.
“Oakley,” Steve says in a greeting. “I have questions but not at the moment. The more I ask for peace, the less you understand.”
“Loose ends,” you answer.
“Bad decisions get good outcomes. I’m not sorry, Steve.”
“I’ll send my men out later to retrieve Pierce’s body.”
You’re stunned at Steve’s words, silent until you find your voice.
”And me?”
“You have my respect and my protection. Can’t kill someone who did me a favor, can I?”
At your silence, he continues.
“He’s at his wits end, threatening me in my own house. The balls of him,” he chuckles. “But I have to wonder how that will work, seeing as I told him I would dispose of you and told him to wait for my call. Do you think he listened? I guess you’ll find out. Goodnight.’
He hangs up, leaving you speechless as you look around, relief flooding you as you realize you’re not going to die.
The door flies open, Bucky’s gun cocked and ready, calling out to you before you finally see him. A man deranged, his eyes red as he stops in his tracks. Looking around the fractured penthouse, he lowers his gun.
“Tell me you didn’t do it.”
“I did.”
Bucky looks away from you, muttering to himself.
“Did you want it to continue? To be saddled with the guilt? I finished it for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to. Do you realize he’s coming this way?”
“I did him a favor.”
Bucky shakes his head in denial.
“You did Thor a favor. You settled the score with Volstagg.”
“And Steve’s wife. Oakley was hired to infiltrate Steve’s territory and take out his wife. To finish the job he started when Steve’s wife was a teenager. He killed her father.”
Bucky is stunned into silence, seeing you sigh, your shoulders falling in defeat.
“Spared,” you tell him. “Is that why you were trying to warn me that he was coming?”
“To protect you.”
“Since when do I need protecting?”
When you try to walk away, he pulls you into his arms, his gun clattering to the ground as you look up at him.
“I saved your territory,” you remind him, your voice shaky. “Even when I had nothing, I still looked out for you. Put my life on the line for you.”
“That’s the last time you’ll ever do it,” he promises, smoothing back your hair. “We end this now.”
He gets down on one knee, removing the chain from his neck as you realize what he’s doing.
“No,” you answer softly, seeing him place it into your hand. “I can’t accept this.”
“You take it all. Take the fucking empire, I don’t give a shit. But don’t leave me again. I’ll be your right hand, guide you in any decision when you need the help. I won’t lose you again.”
Your fingers close over his chain as his head settles on your stomach.
“Don’t go,” he whispers against you. “I thought I was lost before. I’ll be done for if you go. Stay.”
Your fingers rest on his shoulders, Bucky looking up at you as tears stream down his face. The fierce mobster on his knees because of you.
“Yes,” you answer. “I’ll stay.”
-
In the middle of the night you wake, the moonlight shining through and luminating the bed you share with Bucky. Whatever dream you had is now forgotten, floating between sleep and awake.
“You have a meeting in the morning,” Bucky says against the top of your head. “The first of many.”
It’s too early to think about that, feeling him rolling over, his hands on either side of you. Your matching chains nearly shine in the moonlight, his lips on yours as you earthly return the kiss, feeling his rough but warm hands part your thighs.
“This empire isn’t going to build itself,” he says with a grin. “We’re behind schedule.”
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, world building, Alpha/Omega dynamics, intimidation. We get some Breakable and Fragile mixed in here as well. I know I said the last part was going to be tame and this is… sort of tame but we’ve lit a match for sure with this powder keg.
Summary | Your dream job provides prestige, security and a chance to shape your future. When one little mistake leads to Thor saving you in a time of crisis, his past promise comes back to haunt you.
As if on cue, the three warriors bow to you, Paloma’s eyes widening as her hand covers her heart. They place their fists on their chests, tapping twice. You’ve seen it once before, a long time ago in Asgard.
What she finds as a sweet gesture, you know the importance of what it means.
An unbroken promise.
“It’s been a long while,” Volstagg says with a heavy nod. “You’ve done well for yourself. A peacekeeper in a time of uncertainty. Much like our Thor. He’s taught you well.”
The trio laughs, Paloma joining in before your eyes narrow at his comment.
“He did not teach me to be a peacekeeper. I know my own way.”
Their laughter ceases at your censure, Paloma clearing her throat to try to ease the tension. It’s obvious that she’s enthralled with the men in front of her. They look massive standing next to her, their eyes still on you.
“They’ll make sure you’re safe,” Paloma reminds you, giving you a careful gaze of a reminder to not lose your temper. “That reminds me… there’s a dinner tomorrow, I believe the Ambassador to Sakaar has invited you to a dinner to discuss their opportunity to bring sanctions to the Scrappers.”
”Sakaar,” Hogun repeats, turning his head at the mention. “What do they want with you?”
Before you have a chance to answer, Paloma rushes in.
“The Sakaarians have a bit of a problem with people being stranded on their planet,” she says quickly. “With the creation of the IDD, the Intergalactic Diplomacy Division, they are looking at a possible goodwill tour of how they are perceived in the general universe.”
“Does Thor know about this?” Volstagg questions.
“No,” you answer. “And he doesn’t need to know because there will be a full security detail, including yourselves apparently, to make sure that the meeting does not go off the rails.”
”Sakaarians,” Fandral repeats to Volstagg. “They’re not to be trusted.”
”Well,” you say loudly, interrupting their side conversation. “Since you’re deemed to keep me safe, be on your guard then. But I’m going. This is my job, you’re here to keep me safe at my job and that is that.”
Their silence unnerves you when you continue down the hallway, hearing Paloma clap her hands together before speaking.
”Shall we order take out?”
⚡️
“The Intergalactic Diplomacy Division is kicking off the first of their initiatives, created by President Miriam Sharpe to attend to the universe’s complex societies after they were first discovered over ten years ago. Congress voted to create the division after much speculation surrounding trades with other planets,” a news reporter says, Steve looking up at the TV.
”I don’t like it,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since when does the government lean into diplomacy?”
“Since you decided to ignore everything about the Sokovia Accords,” Clint reminds him.
“Didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t now,” Steve counters. “What about her?”
He points to you, standing next to a senator and a person identified as a Zehoberi, a green skinned man wearing a formal suit as you smile for the camera as they sign a declaration of peace.
Thor doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, reading a message from Fandral before he hears his name being called again.
“Let her believe that she is creating peace in worlds that I know will never see it,” Thor says with a shrug. “What is the harm?”
”First the Zehoberi,” Clint chimes in. “Then what, the Sakaarians? They’re next on the list, aren’t they? They shake hands with the Kree and -”
”It won’t happen,” Thor snaps. “She wouldn’t betray us, meeting with the Kree.”
“Does she know the history? With Steve’s wife stepping down from her director spot, the job hasn’t been filled. Not for lack of Fury trying. All these threats,” Clint reminds him, slapping a hand on Thor’s back. “Makes sense this diplomacy division is suddenly created if we’re trying to scramble to make sure every society is on their best behavior.”
”That’s our job,” Steve replies, meeting Thor’s gaze. “She’d tell you if she met with any of them, wouldn’t she, Thor?”
”She has a security detail,” Thor answers with a simple shrug. “They’ll tell me before she does.”
Steve seems to relax for a moment, Thor showing him his phone as there is a picture of you sitting down and going over a stack of reports, Volstagg in the background. Your expression is tense, your eyes focused on the giant man sitting behind you.
”Warriors Three,” Steve says with a smile. “Why didn’t you say so?”
⚡️
At the knock of the door, you open it to find Hogun standing in front of you. He says nothing at first, giving you a once over before he finally speaks.
“For your event tonight, will the Sakaarians accompany you there or are they sending you transportation?” He asks.
“I have my own,” you reply, Hogun nodding at your response. He seems a little relieved but you know there is more under the surface of his calm demeanor.
“Do you think it’s wise to meet with them? Sakaarians do business with the Kree.”
“This isn’t about the Kree. This is about the Sakaarians trying to make amends for the people who have been stranded on their planet.”
“Stranded,” Hogun repeats. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know. Scrappers drop them off at a planet and the Sakaarians are forced to take care of them. It is a strain on their resources but they continue to do so out of goodwill.”
“Forced to take care of them? Is that what the ambassador told you? You are a smart woman. I would have expected you to do your own research.”
“Asgardians have an understandable grudge against the Kree that goes back centuries, maybe more. Sakaarians may do business with the Kree but I’m not sitting down with the Kree, am I?”
“Not yet,” Hogun counters. “Not that it would matter. I highly doubt you would kowtow to the Kree, even if you and Thor are no longer together.”
“Is that why you’re guarding me? To make sure I stay in line?”
Hogun stands at his full height, giving you a hard look.
“I have to tell him you’re meeting with the Sakaarians.”
“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “You do it and you’re no longer part of my security detail.”
“We don’t answer to you. We answer to Thor, who provided us to keep you safe. When he tells us that we can go, we’ll go. But he’ll want to know that you’re determined to meet with them.”
“Determined?” You echo. “It’s my job, Hogun. I’m sorry that you can’t understand that. I’ve worked for years to get to where I am and I’m not letting anyone, not even an Asgardian God, stop me from what I’ve worked for. Tell him that.”
“Does the Ambassador know about your designation? They are a sensitive sort, nearly primitive in a way. You might want to think about that as Paloma has blocked out your calendar for next week, hasn’t she? Thor has made it clear he wants to help you. I can’t see this boding well for you if you don’t take heed of what is happening biologically.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Hogun simply cants his head toward you before walking away.
Closing the door, you lean up against it, opening your shirt to inhale your scent. Gripping the collar, you close your eyes in defeat, knowing your upcoming heat cycle will be here soon. Hogun is right - Sakaarians could hold it against you, especially if you find yourself fending for your designation.
There’s only one way out of this and you know you won’t be able to get past the three of them by going out the front door.
Opening your bathroom medicine cabinet, you spy the suppressants in the bottle, only a month away from expiration, leaving two pills left. It had been for emergencies, you’d told yourself, popping the top off before you pause, looking in the mirror.
This was one of those times.
⚡️
Even though you don’t see them, you know they are hiding somewhere in this upscale restaurant, Paloma following you to the table. She’s been oddly quiet, so much so that you’re beginning to wonder why she’s changed in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it’s the fact she has to wrangle three burly men without much of a plan, navigating their directive to guard you and get you to your events in a timely manner.
“Ah, welcome,” the Ambassador to Sakaar greets you, shaking your hand as he motions to a woman in a tuxedo, her hair slicked back as she gives you a cold smile. “This is General Topaz. She is the direct head of the Sakaarian Guard and personal assistant to the Grandmaster.”
Paloma freezes at the statement, watching you extend your hand to General Topaz.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” you begin, General Topaz warming to you by placing her hand on top of yours.
“The Grandmaster is very sorry he could not be here today.”
“He was going to be here?” Paloma sputters, gaining a concerned look from the Ambassador and General Topaz. “I… I’m sorry, I just didn’t know that he was planning to come. Was the IDD notified? This is a big deal.”
“He was planning on making it a surprise but he was held up, as the Grandmaster seems to be more often than not,” General Topaz admits. “He extends his best wishes and hopes that you will visit him in Sakaar very soon.”
The Ambassador narrows his eyes at the invitation, shaking his head slightly.
“How very flattering,” he says, assisting you into your seat. “I’m sure there will be time for that, one day. Right now, we are here to discuss an on-going issue, one that General Topaz is extremely passionate about.”
General Topaz shifts in her seat, looking at the champagne being poured in the glass.
“You have shimmering water here,” she says in awe. “Very dangerous to drink on Sakaar when it flows from the mountains.”
“It’s champagne,” you correct, the General picking up the glass to sniff it, looking at you for a moment before she takes a small sip. She pauses for a moment, looking back at you and the Ambassador before she takes another.
“Not poison,” she grunts with a laugh. “Dry… but good.”
”General Topaz, please tell me about Sakaar and some of the issues you’ve been facing.” You want to get back to business, feeling eyes on you that you know won’t reveal themselves until they are ready.
“Most think of us as a scavenger planet. That all we do is pit the stranded ones against each other in a fight to the death. We are so much more than that,” General Topaz declares. “The system is designed for them to have dignity. Those who survive, continue on to be greatly well regarded in our society. Much like your… people on the… televisions, you call it?”
“You’re still allowing them to fight?” You question, giving the Ambassador a look. “Under Title 4, I believe Sakaar had promised they would not be pitting survivors against each other.”
General Topaz downs the champagne, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“We’re scaling back.”
“Scaling back?” You question the Ambassador. “Were you aware of this?”
“That’s why I asked you to come. We need your assistance, your counsel in this delicate manner,” he says in a near plea, Paloma shaking her head in disbelief.
“Delicate manner? You’re killing the stranded! I fail to see how I can assist you. You’re due to sign a treaty in three weeks, pledging peace.”
“Then you understand that time is of the essence,” General Topaz agrees. “I know that we have a lot of work to do but I assure you, we will cease fighting in the arena.”
“That’s not a promise that you will cease your fighting altogether, General,” you point out, General Topaz nodding.
“That would be for the Grandmaster to decide.”
”Then you need to go back and demand him to stop it.”
General Topaz lifts an eyebrow at your command.
“You want me to demand him to stop it,” she repeats. “He takes no orders from me. Only counsel.”
“Then counsel him to cease the fighting or there will be no treaty.”
General Topaz’s polite demeanor fades, her eyes narrowing at the Ambassador as she speaks rapidly in a foreign tongue. Whatever it is, you know she’s not pleased, the Ambassador nodding as he replies back in the same tongue, stopping the conversation to sigh, giving you his full attention.
Before he can speak, you look up to find a man standing there, placing his hand on the Ambassador’s shoulder.
”Ambassador De Wren, what a surprise running into you.”
The Ambassador looks up, pushing back his chair at the sight of Sergeant Bucky Barnes, shaking his hand as the two men greet each other.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Sergeant Barnes continues. “I heard some commotion and I wasn’t sure if I needed to assist.”
“A spirited conversation,” General Topaz interjects with an embarrassed laugh. “The sparkling water, it makes my tongue loose.”
”And you, advisor?” Sergeant Barnes asks, looking right at you. “You’ve been very popular in the political circuit. You’ve done well for yourself, all things considered.”
“Considered as what?” You ask.
“The Intergalactic Diplomacy Division is a fledging government branch and yet, you sit here with General Topaz herself. Outstanding work for someone who started out as a local journalist. Thor must be happy.”
You refuse to correct him, knowing that he is aware that you and Thor are not together. Paloma greets him, breaking your irritation for a small moment to slide in a small jab.
“Fury must be happy to find a new surveillance director, I’m sure. Seeing as you were up for the job, I’m sure it must be a relief to know that you’re being utilized for other positions.”
Becky’s smile fades as you take a sip of your champagne, Paloma nudging you under the table with her foot.
“I’ll let you all attend to your meeting. Good to see you all.”
When he leaves, you follow, seeing him look toward the right as you spy Fandral sitting with his back to you. The simple reminder that you’re being watched only sours the mood, leaving General Topaz to continue to the subject at hand.
“Let me get back to you on the Grandmaster’s agreement on ceasing the fighting. We can continue this at another time.”
Before you can stand, Paloma smiles brightly as a camera somewhere snaps.
“It has been a pleasure, Ambassador De Wren and General Topaz,” you bid in a farewell, a full smile on display. “I look forward to our next meeting.”
When you stand, Paloma follows suit, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun standing up nearly in unison as you walk out, feeling them following behind you.
“I want them gone, Paloma,” you instruct through bared teeth, smiling for the cameras snapping once you open the door.
“This is dangerous,” Paloma smiles back, waving to the photographers. “Once they find out what’s happening, the treaty is off the table.”
“Then it’s off the table,” you answer. “The IDD won’t have blood on their hands.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Paloma says, leaning close to you as the car door is opened, looking back at the three men behind you as they whisper to each other. “I’m worried about you.”
⚡️
Scrolling carefully, you stop at a picture of a woman, smiling cautiously while out in the field, her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on display as she stands with Nick Fury, celebrating a win over a takedown of communications that were in the hands of HYDRA.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Surveillance Director Goes Missing
Clicking another article, you find a picture of her again, a grainy photo of her at a grocery store.
Saved By Captain America, Former Surveillance Director Gives Up Job for True Love
Narrowing your eyes, you remember the whispers, the gossip of how quickly she had disappeared after rising in the ranks to be Fury’s right hand. There had even been talk to have her join the IDD to help with their translations and training.
Fury Still Looking For Top Spot Of Surveillance at S.H.I.E.L.D. - Still Mum On If Former Director Will Ever Return
She stays on your mind on nights like this, thinking back to when Thor had threatened you. Largely, it’s been out of mind, out of sight but seeing Sergeant Barnes sent you right back down the rabbit hole to find out what happened to her. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been rocked by illegal drugs dealt and sold within the ranks, Steve Rogers himself going after the suspects. While she had not been named as a suspect, the rumor had been that the rampant illegal suppressants and drugs had happened right under her nose. Fury had disputed this, fiercely until the rumors had stopped and she had been seen with Steve, renouncing her role as surveillance director and giving no interviews.
For the usual Omegas, it seemed like a romance novel come to life - the hardworking Omega falling for a strong Alpha who could take care of her. The parallels had seemed too good to be true, at least when you looked at yourself and Thor.
At least you knew the truth - Thor wanted you to fall in line and you were never that sort.
At the knock of the door, you close your laptop, padding to the door to open it to find Volstagg. He seems apologetic, finally looking you in the eyes before he speaks.
“I come with good news,” Volstagg says in a whisper. “Grandmaster is apparently going to cease all fighting. Not just in the arenas.”
“What?” You ask, Volstagg tapping his finger to his lips.
“They want the treaty,” he says.
Exhaling softly, you feel like you can finally breathe.
“That’s great news,” you finally say. “Thank you Volstagg. You made my night.”
“Get some rest. I’m sure tomorrow they’ll announce it and you’ll get to travel to Hala to see it in action.”
Nodding sleepily, you give him another smile of thanks, closing the door.
Hala. A name you’ve heard before but barely, mostly by political commentators.
You’ll research tomorrow, you tell yourself, climbing into bed and falling asleep.
warnings: 18+ ONLY. DNI if you are a minor. Language, more world building, toxic relationship, mentions of past sex, jealousy.
summary | if your marriage to ransom drysdale was a lit match, he’s the kerosene.
The wine kicks in thirty minutes later than expected, another voicemail on your phone that you let play out, Ransom’s threats no longer thinly veiled. It’s an all out command for you to return home, to stop being childish and come to your senses.
”Selfish son of a bitch,” you mutter, taking another sip of your Cabernet.
Being alone is a strange feeling, especially since you hadn’t planned this out in advance. It was a simple whim, a response to once again feeling like you weren’t enough. The flirting had gone on longer than you had expected, the burning jealousy propelling you to want to make a scene, to embarrass the both of you. Your self-control will never let you falter in such a way, to show that side of yourself that you only show to him when you’re alone.
Somehow, deep down, you know Ransom was betting on you to break and that unnerves you the most. He’s the balance when you’re finding yourself going too far, relegating you both to the car to argue in private, to have make up sex in private, to apologize in your own way in private.
Too close for comfort this time.
Still, you let your mind wander to the man who caught your attention. A slight boyish smile, a sense of unbridled freedom that you haven’t let yourself ever have.
”Colin,” you say out loud, testing his name on your tongue.
You’ve got to hand it to him. The small crowd of people waiting to check in and he gave you his undivided attention, even bringing up your dinner himself, something you didn’t overlook. It’s almost too easy to let your mind linger to what ifs: what if you flirted back to have a story to hang over Ransom’s head. Maybe you’d get caught up in the ego build up, bask in feeling like you’ve gotten someone’s gaze that isn’t Ransom’s.
It’s always only temporary. Ransom clouds your thoughts again, wondering if he’s pacing in the living room or upstairs, his number flashing across the screen once more.
For once, you got smart and turned off your location. Which is probably why he’s going off the rails - access to you was a given and taken for granted.
When his number lights up once more, you scoff.
Access to you is a privilege.
He’ll learn that lesson eventually.
”Bastard,” you hiss, turning your phone over and looking out at the view of the city.
-
After his fifth message, the tension in his shoulders makes him shudder, looking at his phone and knowing deep down that you won’t respond.
At least not right now.
The brunette had been fun to lead on but there was zero chance he’d ever entertain keeping her company outside of what little attention he’d paid her. It was enough for you to get riled up, Ransom’s eyes following your own the entire time you stared, sometimes forgetting to finish your own thought when you were in the middle of a conversation.
The sheets still smell like you - faint perfume that cost a small fortune that he got you for your birthday that you’ve been obsessed with. He inhales for a moment, remembering the night prior when you were under him, fingers scoring his back and eventually leaving puncture marks when he hit a spot that made you nearly feral. There’s a sense of entitlement he enjoys, knowing that you’re aware of how he can find every single spot in and on your body to bring you to your knees.
He’d like to see that juiced personal trainer of yours to even try.
Flopping onto his back, Ransom stares at the ceiling, phone still in hand as he secretly wishes that you’d return his phone call. As it stands, he’s dodging the brunette, who can’t take a hint that he’s not interested. These little games he likes to play usually don’t last long and they can take a hint - but not her. Blocking her number, he swipes through some pictures of you and him during your winter holiday in Switzerland the year prior, your happy smile lighting up the room under the backdrop of pristine, fresh white snow.
Turning off your location is new, the picture app swiped away as he focuses on looking at your pretty face on his screen.
For a moment, he wonders if he’s gone a little too far, only to remember Jake Jensen standing in his kitchen.
”Serves you right,” he grumbles, thinking back to how Walt had gleefully told him you left.
You should be home now, next to him, poking him in the chest to make sure you relay your opinions on how he treats you. It’s a preamble to how you want him to treat you in other ways, demanding tone turning into breathy sobs when he takes you into his arms.
Your jealousy is like a powder keg, something Linda had warned him from the get go when he’d proposed. She’d cautioned him on teasing you, giving him a road map of a woman’s emotions among a reformed playboy like him.
For a while, he had listened. But under the surface, he liked to coax out your wild side, the sharp tongued insults you’d hurl at the women who dared to get close. Unafraid of your own emotions, willing to show a passionate side of yourself that you had reserved for just him.
And he had wanted more of it.
Publically was even better because he reaped the rewards at home.
For the first time, he’s rendered speechless at your distance, almost wondering if he should make a few phone calls to track you down. Oddly enough, he’s not worried - yet. With a quick view of the credit card, he smirks at the charge.
”Stubborn,” he says to the ceiling, closing his eyes. “At least you have good taste.”
-
Normally Colin Shea isn’t interested in the clientele who patronize this boutique hotel, the exorbitant rates enough to keep normal travelers away. There’s something about you, the way you’d asked for a room, credit card in hand before he even had to ask, determined to take no for an answer as Colin had furrowed his brow to wonder if there were any rooms left. The big rock on your finger meant you were probably a trophy wife, something that filled him with disgust for even thinking so until you’d rambled off your last name.
Drysdale.
He’d known that name well. Joni Thrombey had done a few seminars at the hotel across the street, opting to stay here so that people wouldn’t follow her. If you asked him, he wasn’t even sure if she was able to garner any sort of recognition by her name only.
Knowing his luck, a simple phone call to the usual suspects that ask about the patrons who are lucky enough to get a reservation, a tip that a disgruntled wife of a rich man would be enough for someone to talk about it but Colin has never been the sort to even attempt to get involved in someone else’s business, let alone report out to the masses.
You were running from something, looking over your shoulder more than once while he processed your reservation, no bags for the bellhop to take up as you quickly muttered that you just needed to get away for a night, only to call down a few minutes later to order dinner.
He didn’t have to deliver it himself. There was that pesky sense of curiosity and the smooth talking to the server who was trying to get off a little early that he could do it himself. What Colin didn’t expect was you to answer the door, barefoot and nearly teary eyed, pulling the strap of your dress up over your shoulder.
For a short moment, he dreamed of punching Ransom Drysdale right in his smug face for making you upset.
He had to calm himself down to thinking such a thought, stepping inside of the hotel room to place your food down, even uncorking the wine and pouring you a glass to start.
The clock shows an ungodly time when he finally glances up from his computer, rubbing his eyes for a moment before deciding to take a break. The amount of call outs for a Celtic’s game had him pulling a double - not that he minds it, he needs to make rent this month, after all.
There’s a little space that he can retreat to, grabbing his backpack before heading toward the elevator.
-
By the time he takes the steps up to the top of the hotel, he’s aware that he’s not alone, the door slightly ajar. His suspicion is at high alert, moving through the next set of steps to the chairs that some of the servers have left out when they need a smoke break and a view.
The last person he expects to see is you, drinking straight from the bottle of wine, your dress hiked up to your thighs while you look out at the glittering lights from the city.
“I was wondering who found my hiding spot,” Colin says, breaking the silence when you look over your shoulder at the sound of his voice.
”I used to climb rooftops when I was a teenager. Felt a little freeing,” you say with a shrug. “And if this is your hiding spot, it’s not exactly a secret. I scared two people who tried to come up here.”
Colin takes a seat next to you, rummaging through his backpack while your stare follows him. He pulls out a sandwich from the deli down the street, opening it quickly before slowing down his movements.
”You want some?” He offers, seeing you shake your head.
”Thanks but I’m good. Probably should stop drinking but,” you pause, taking another long sip. “This wine was fucking expensive. It would be a waste if I stopped.”
He wants to ask why you’re up here, not to scare you into going back down but because you don’t seem like the sort to do something spontaneous like finding yourself at the top of a hotel, drinking from a wine bottle without a care in the world.
Or maybe it’s the wine talking, he isn’t sure.
He decides to be brave and ask anyway.
”What brings you up here?”
You look up at the blanket of stars in the sky and back to him.
”I needed to breathe.”
He nods, knowing that feeling all too well.
With another sip, you cradle the bottle to your chest.
”What about you?” You counter.
”Same. World gets a little suffocating sometimes.”
”Tell me about it,” you agree, looking down at your phone, eyes narrowing at the time. “Shit, I need to sleep. Check out is at what, ten?”
”Eleven. Unless you want a later check out. Not that I would say anything.”
You waver for a moment, unlocking your phone to take a picture of the skyline and then back at him, Colin giving you a thumbs up in the picture with a smile. You laugh at the action, carefully hoisting yourself up as you teeter for a second, taking a deep breath.
”You have a goodnight, Colin, wearer of many hats.”
He watches you carefully as you go down the steps, bottle in hand. You move with such grace that he’s not even sure if you’re as drunk as you seem, possibly an act for sympathy - or you’re just conditioned to draw back any authenticity before you reach the door.
“Leave the door open!” Colin calls out, seeing the door open slightly.
You’re gone in an instant, leaving him to wonder what you’re all about as he takes a bite of his sandwich.
-
Ransom sleeps past his alarm, the sun hitting him squarely in the eyes when he finally wakes, lulled into a false sense of security by a dream he had of you.
It comes crashing down when he realizes you still aren’t home, looking at his phone to find a picture you sent. It isn’t of you but a random man, giving a thumbs up to the camera under cover of darkness. He studies the picture for a long while, a cold smile coming over his features.
It’s not the personal trainer this time but a hotel employee, judging by the name tag. Ransom expands the picture to look closer.
”Colin,” he says to himself, saving the picture to his phone. “What were you doing with my wife, hmm?”
Pulling himself out of bed, he heads to the shower, thinking just how he’ll get all the answers to his questions.
A continuation of a little project I started here.
Dark! Ari Levinson x Female Reader / Dennis Baker x Female Reader
Word Count: 2K
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, world building, possibly a little murder right out of the gate?
Summary | After your boyfriend’s promotion, he means to make amends with his estranged parents, including his older brother. As family wounds come to light, so do the secrets that have been buried for decades.
Sweat dots her brow, the older woman scrubbing at a stubborn stain on her favorite skillet, ignoring her husband who opens the fridge to grab a beer, wordless before the crack of the top of the bottle gets her attention. It’s been a week of nonstop cleaning, painting and redecorating, the countdown on the calendar circled in blue pen.
”Did you take out the trash like I asked?” She questions, the man giving a slight sound of what appears to be a yes. “Elvin, I asked you a question.”
”I said yes, woman,” he speaks up, the woman stopping her scrubbing at the tone of his voice. “Why on earth are you so worried about making the place look good? It’s Dennis. The boy knows home.”
”It ain’t just about him knowing about home, he’s bringing her,” she reminds him, Elvin turning around at her mention of you.
”Is he?” Elvin emphasizes, seeing his wife’s head nod emphatically. With that, he snorts, thinking of his youngest son in disbelief at the news. “Thought you were pullin’ my chain. A girl. That changes everything, don’t it?”
She scrubs away at the stain, looking at her handiwork for a moment before slipping it into the hot, soapy water, leaning over the sink with a heavy sigh.
”Can’t have this place lookin’ like a pigsty. She’s a city girl, Elvin. Lord knows she’s gonna turn up her nose at everything we have and then some so the least I can do is make sure the house looks tidy.”
Elvin shakes his head in disgust at her worrying.
”Bernadette, since when do you care what a city girl thinks about our home?”
“I don’t. But I can keep up the appearance in the meantime.”
Elvin nods at her response, realizing that his wife is much smarter than he ever gives her credit for. Scratching behind his neck, he looks on at the pristine kitchen, redone with fancy wallpaper and some spackle and paint to cover the cracks. It does look good, he has to admit to himself, Bernadette finishing up the last of the dishes.
“Does Ari know?”
She pauses for a moment, looking over her shoulder as she gives him a wink.
”He will.”
-
The clack of billiard balls are overshadowed by the raucous music, heavy conversation and servers announcing the next round of drinks while they visit their tables. Another local watering hole, nothing special about it except for the cheap beer and the waitresses who try for extra tips by showing all the skin they can get away with. One in particular hangs around, her shorts slung over on her hips when she comes by again, placing another beer in front of him.
”Never seen you before,” she hints, batting her eyelash extensions at him. “I’m Donna.”
“First time,” he answers, reaching for the beer. “Ari.”
”Ari,” she repeats, nodding her head. “I like it.”
He simply nods, giving her nothing to work with as she leans over the table, her cleavage on full display.
”What do you say you and I get a little more acquainted? I’m off in thirty minutes.”
Ari’s blue eyes lock with hers as she smiles. He leans in closer, getting a waft of her cheap body spray. It’s overpowering but it doesn’t deter him, not in the slightest.
”That could be arranged,” he begins, his curled index finger gliding down her heavily blushed cheek. “Got a little fetish though, if you don’t mind indulging me..”
She leans in closer, her teeth dragging excitedly on her thin lower lip.
”Tell me.”
”Well… I like a little chase. Gets the heart rate up.”
With a loud laugh, she leans up with a snap, tucking the tray under her arm.
”Say less. Meet you out back. I even got my running shoes on.”
Ari settles back in his seat, his stomach growling. It’s been hours since he ate. The appetizer that sits in front of him is untouched, the cheese dip congealing into something that looks like mush.
Glancing over his text messages, he smirks at the message he’s left his younger brother, left on read when Ari had mentioned he had wanted to meet her. Poor Dennis, trying to keep her a secret, only to fail and succumb to the pressure of wanting to brag about finally having a girlfriend after being teased and bullied for so long. Not that he could fault him - he would have gloated too if he’d had decades of a dry spell.
After a little business, he downs his beer, stomach still growling as he feels the aching gnaw in the pit of his gut. It’ll subside eventually. It always does one he’s sated.
The moon hides behind the clouds and for a moment, Ari takes it in, looking at his brand new watch to note the time before he takes it off and slips it into his jean pocket.
Whistling to himself, he tosses a few dollar bills on the table, cracking his neck from side to side before heading out the exit and to the back of the bar like Donna had requested.
-
Bernadette sits out on the porch, wiping her brow before fanning herself with the ornate handmade handheld fan that Ari bought her during his business trip to Guangzhou. The ice in her iced tea is melting rapidly, floating on the surface like tiny glaciers. She’s finally alone with her thoughts, Elvin gone to bed to get up early to tend to the farm. Nights like these keep her awake, thinking of her boys who used to play on the front lawn until all hours of the night until she carried them back to their beds.
It’s been years since she’s had her sons in the house, thunder rumbling overhead as she sips her drink, thinking to the future. Annabelle Tatum thought she was the only one with something to talk about, her only daughter finally getting married. The dour faced girl with pock marked skin after several bouts of acne had been extremely shy but had grown into her looks, something that Bernadette had prayed to God to forgive her for once saying out loud when the girl had come back from college.
Like most, the ones who came back never left again, just as Annabelle’s daughter. Two kids in tow now, another on the way, Annabelle gushing at the eventual new arrival every chance she got.
It isn’t like Bernadette had a rebuttal. Everyone knew she had one son that grew up to be something. Ari was a star baseball player, a swagger in his gait and a smile that lit up a room. She’d raised him well, happy to see him stick to his roots and defy the agents who came with blank checks and big dreams to make him a star. An enlistment and three tours later, the once gawky teenager with long hair and a shuffle in his step had emerged to be a mountain of a man with that same husky drawl and even longer hair, albeit much richer than his parents had ever thought he’d be.
Then there was Dennis.
Secretly, he’d always been her favorite, as sinful as that could be to have a mother love one son over another by a small margin. How could he not be with his once clear framed glasses, bruises marked on his elbows and knees from the amount of times he would get knocked down. For as long as she could remember, she always wanted her little Dennis to win, even if Elvin didn’t think he would. There was grit in his spirit, even when he’d come home, teary eyed and unwilling to talk about the fights he had lost, he’d get back up and do it all over again.
But there was a need for him to put distance between what he always knew and the great unknown. She never approved - still doesn’t now, even after all these years. Once he was given a scholarship, including the others that he had secretly applied to, there was no looking back. No amount of convincing that staying here would be safer for his psyche worked.
Bernadette swallows hard at the lump that forms in her throat when she thinks about how long he’s been gone. Christmases still aren’t the same, even when Ari comes with his fully loaded truck packed to the gills with the newest household gadgets for her to try and new furniture for them, the loss of knowing her youngest wants nothing to do with their family traditions.
While she can understand to a point, Elvin in his older age has grown tired of pretending that he can live with Dennis’ decision. As the head of the household, Elvin looks to Ari to carry on the family name, to take care of her and the farm when he eventually passes away. It’s a way of life, especially with their kind, something that she knows he’s been talking about more than usual. She isn’t ready to discuss it.
She isn’t sure if she’s ever ready to have him bring up the topic again.
But as it’s written, the law handed down a century and then some ago, there’s a ceremonial meaning to Dennis coming home. She hopes it’s because of the call, intertwined in his DNA that makes him want to return home.
Placing her drink down, she closes her eyes, the fan in her hand moving rapidly.
Yes, she thinks.
He knows where home is.
-
Ari’s boots crunch on the gravel, the first strings of dawn beginning to form, his hand plunging into his pant pocket and pulling out his watch. He looks back at the discarded clothes and smiles, reaching for his keys in his back pocket.
Dennis finally replied to his text, a simple acknowledgment with a thumbs up emoji. Never a man of words, this is all the conversation Ari will get before they meet in person, something he knows Dennis won’t want to do. Ari doesn’t mind pulling rank, especially on his younger brother.
Shrugging on his flannel and buttoning it down, the chill of the air makes everything feel still, as if any slight noise will shatter this serene moment. Opening the door to his truck, he examines his teeth in the rear view, picking out a piece of bone before flicking it out of his window.
With a few simple presses of buttons, all the windows lower, rock music playing loudly as he reverses, gravel spraying upward before he throws it into drive, accelerating and leaving the mountains behind.
He’s not hungry anymore but tiredness hovers over his eyes.
There’s a small diner on the way to his parents’ house, where the coffee is fresh and people know to keep clear of him. A healthy fear, one that he uses to his advantage when the time calls for it. No doubt in a few hours, they’ll pretend that they didn’t see him, deny that he was there.
He snaps his fingers to the beat of the music, hitting his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums.
He’ll be home before dinner.
Just in time to size up Dennis’ new girl.
-
Elvin watches the truck pull up in the driveway, the music still thunderous before it abruptly shuts off, Ari flinging the door open. In the back of the truck are more gifts, Elvin finding himself shaking his head with the idea of where he will put the things he’d bought.
”Where’s Ma?” Ari questions, Elvin’s head tilting toward the house.
”Shower. Gotta get dolled up for the prodigal son and the city girl, ya know,” Elvin quips, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. “What’s in the back?”
“Figured that we can’t have Denny back in the house without a little celebration,” Ari says, adjusting his sunglasses before slamming the door shut. “Brought some meat for Ma to cook up for tonight. Figured we could have a right feast this time.”
Someone asked if I would ever write a Bucky spin off from Mr. July and after some thought (and a small window of time to myself) I was able to do it!
I'm calling it a teaser because I don't know how this will be received but if you like it, please let me know!
Alpha! Bucky Barnes x Omega! Female Reader
Word Count: 1.5K
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Language but pretty tame as it's world building.
Summary | Making fun of a friend for his new found fame is one thing, falling for a rule following librarian while balancing his own rise of attention is another.
Libraries have always been his little indulgence. He’ll never say it out loud – the stigma is enough for him to be laughed at and Bucky really doesn’t want to break any jaws. It was his comfort when his mother brought him and his sister to check out books, reading so many in a short time that his mother started to quiz him to make sure he wasn’t just flipping through the pages. He could get lost in books, transported to other worlds with a few sentences on a page, the long bookshelves going on for miles at a time, people around him engrossed in particular passages in the easy silence. Time seemed to slow in that space and when the world was moving too quickly, he found himself following the same path that he’d memorized as a child, opening the doors, the comfortable, soft hum of people just being settling around him.
Steve is off working his second job as the maintenance man in the building, a job that he finds helpful, because Steve has and always been a helper, even if it means he gets less sleep with always being on call. When he’s not working full time with his construction job and the other job on the side, he’s taking art classes, sketch books and pencils askew on the kitchen table – a welcome sight when Bucky gets home from work because it means that Steve finally has had some time to himself.
For now though, Bucky browses the fiction aisle, fingers running over the spines of books before he stops at a familiar author. It’s been years since he’s read this particular author, pulling the book out of its place. It’s a murder mystery, enough to pique his interest, flipping through a few pages to get the cadence and if it will hold his interest.
He’s five pages in when he closes it, tucking it under his arm, searching for another and then another before he’s got four books in his hands, maneuvering his way through the people who are doing the same, engrossed in a particular paragraph or flipping through the pages.
By the time he reaches the counter, he breathes a sigh of relief, almost embarrassed for the reprieve. A little calendar shoot for charity has been quietly building momentum, the radio station he regularly tunes into giving away five signed calendars, each one he remembers signing with Steve and the other ten that were featured. Being celebrated for just a designation is odd, something he knows is a privileged take seeing as he’s at the top of the hierarchy. Whatever it is, it’s enough to get him stopped in the grocery store, the local coffee shop that used to know his order by heart because the whispers became louder, the stares got bolder and while he’d be lying that he didn’t like the attention, the conversation of his physique got boring to talk about.
Besides, he got more fun out of seeing Steve turn bright red when people would recognize them. There’s something so innocent about a big, burly man blushing when he’s asked for his autograph.
“I can help you over here,” comes a voice to his right, breaking his thought of what Steve ordered for dinner.
He doesn’t have to get close to already nearly taste your scent – notes of caramel, peach and a hint of jasmine. But at the sight of you, he can’t help but blink twice at you, taking you all.
An Omega, unbothered by his presence, your stern expression and gaze at a loud teenage boy who is talking with his friend who instantly quiets down when he realizes you’re looking at him. It’s a commanding presence you have, something he doesn’t see too often with Omegas but there’s nothing wrong with being surprised.
Even in a place like this.
“Library card?” you ask, Bucky placing it in your hand.
With a quick swipe, he observes you reading the screen, a frown on your pretty mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bright red warning at the top.
“You have an overdue book, James,” you inform him, turning the monitor toward him. “It’s been out for over three years.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, knowing exactly where the book is. It’s still on his nightstand, a good read he’ll repeat at least one more time this year. He passed at least two more copies while he was looking for more books, so it isn’t like it’s the only one in the entire library.
“I can bring it back when I bring these back,” he counters, seeing you shake your head with authority.
“Library policy means we can’t let you check these out,” you answer, pulling the books toward you as he hears himself scoff loudly before he realizes what he’s done.
Still, he likes the candid reaction he gets from his audacity, your polished demeanor finally cracking. He knows it’s not the nicest thing to do, especially when you’re just doing your job but it’s refreshing to see an Omega sticking to her principles, even if he’s a little inconvenienced.
Or a lot, depending on if you’ll change your mind.
“You can’t be serious.”
Your frown tells him otherwise.
“Why can’t I? It’s policy,” you remind him.
“If it was such a big deal, why didn’t I get a notice? Three years have gone by for a twenty-year-old book that you clearly didn’t miss.”
Your mouth tightens at his response. It’s obvious you don’t agree with his reasoning.
“We sent notices and clearly they’ve been ignored. How you’ve been allowed to continue to check out books with this hold is beyond me.”
“Maybe I’ve been lucky with the other librarians.”
Your eyebrows furrow at his comment. It hits a nerve, your back straightening, his gaze on your sweater that gives him a perfect glance of your mating gland, unblemished and slightly covered when you shift to focus on him.
“Been,” you rush out, your hand on the stack of books. “As in past tense. I can’t let you check out any other books until you return that one.”
“So let me get this straight,” Bucky says with irritation laced in his tone, mostly surprised you haven’t cut him a break. “You want me to go home, search for a book that I’ve had for three years, bring it back so that I can borrow these.”
“As I’ve explained, yes.”
He wants to laugh, seeing your strained politeness as you swallow. It’s not nice to push your buttons, his mother taught him better than that but damn if he doesn’t like the way you’re struggling with losing your cool.
“Fine. Can you put a hold on those for me?”
It feels like a big imposition, the way you exhale slightly, your lips pursed as a few moments tick by. There’s still no one behind him so you have all the time in the world to make a decision. Quite honestly he would stand here for hours just with the back and forth. He’s never had someone match his energy and for the short amount of time he’s interacted with you, he realizes you must be new because he definitely would have noticed you before.
“I can hold them for a day. After that, they go back on the shelves.”
He shakes his head at your final offer, seeing your shoulders tense up, as if you’re waiting for an argument.
“You run a tight ship. Does Janet know you’re this strict?”
At the mention of Janet, the head librarian, you say nothing but he sees the quick glance behind your shoulder, Janet somewhere in the building. Not that he would tell Janet about this interaction.
It’ll be his little secret.
“Rules are rules, James. I don’t make them.”
Bucky straightens, running his tongue over his teeth, your mouth-watering scent enough of a consolation prize for him to return.
“I get it. You’re the enforcer. And it’s Bucky,” he says, holding his hand out for his library card.
For a moment, he can tell you’re frazzled, looking down at his palm in confusion. He can tell his scent has some sort of effect on you as he clears his throat.
“Did you need anything else?” you ask.
“My library card.”
Almost as if you’re shaken out of your stupor, his library card is slapped into his hand, turning your back on him as you place the books on the back counter with a note.
“I’ll be here tomorrow if you want to come to the counter,” you offer politely, Bucky placing the card in his wallet. “I hope you’re able to find the book.”
“It’s not lost,” he tells you casually, seeing your mouth part slightly in shock. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He gives you a nod, moving away from the counter, your scent still lingering when he makes his way outside and back outside.
You may have called him James, but the note says Mr. March.
It's almost fall and it's been a while since I did a one shot so here we are. I haven't written a monster fic in a while so where we are.
If you like it, please comment/reblog if you can.
Robert Pronge x Female Reader
Word Count: 3.4K
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, light stalking, mentions of murder, mentions of stalking, language, non-con (right at the end), chasing.
Working night shifts at the motel on the side of the road just out on the outskirts of town isn’t exactly your idea of climbing the corporate ladder.
It’s the only job that works with your schedule at the community college, your workload increased to try to graduate quicker. If you had been born into better circumstances, you wouldn’t have had your education take a backseat to take care of your ailing parents who didn’t have the money to shore up a retirement fund, let alone money for your education.
For now, working at this run-down motel with the flickering lights and all hours of the night customers who give you a leer and ask for the hourly rates are what you’re deigned yourself to deal with.
A means to an end.
The slap of a wet mop on the stained linoleum gets your attention, looking up from your ledger at the janitor.
You’ve specifically asked to not be scheduled when he is, a request you had thought was reasonable, watching the smoke billow from his mouth after he plucks the cigarette from his lips, the mop leaning on his weirdly muscular frame, brown hair hanging down, touching his shoulders, his blue eyes narrowing on you through clear framed glasses. His name always slips your mind, never getting close enough to read his name tag that is on his uniform.
He makes you uncomfortable, both in ways you’ve explained to your manager and ways you haven’t been able to describe.
Like now, how he fits the cigarette to the side of his mouth, mopping the floor but still managing to encroach on your space. The ways you’ve been able to describe your awkward encounters are the way he likes to scare you, mopping down dark hallways to then shout your name and laugh, the way you’ve seen him slip into hotel rooms with some of the newer front desk clerks.
They never last long once he’s been with them.
Your manager has told you that they’ve quit, sometimes over the phone or just abandoned the job. When you’ve pointed out the disappearance of one of them that made the local news, your manager made it a point to remind you that most of these girls want a quick job, not looking for any stability and that their first paycheck would mean they would split, just like she did.
He didn’t entertain the complaint you had raised when you’d seen her run out of the hotel room, grabbing her things and running to her car. By the time you’d run outside to try to ask if she needed help, she was gone.
By the time you were able to open the motel room door, the janitor was nowhere to be found, the room in shambles.
“Nothing to worry about,” your manager had said quickly. “I’ll talk to him. Probably a lover’s quarrel. I’ve told him about fraternization.”
It didn’t take long for you to realize your manager was afraid of him.
Raised voices that came from his office when he had followed up made you nervous, the janitor’s voice loud as he threatened him before storming out.
You couldn’t look at your boss the same way since then, seeing him come out as he reprimanded you, telling you that he wasn’t going to entertain anymore made-up stories. You should have been done that day, but he knew as well as you did that you needed the money, even offering you an additional two dollars per hour for your ‘trouble’.
Hush money had worked.
That’s why you’re still here, still working these late-night shifts.
The mop swishes back and forth, the man inching closer to the desk, biting back a cough from the smoke. ‘Home’ by Henry Hall plays on the tinny speakers in the corners, moving your ledger away from him when he turns around, looking at you again.
“Awfully skittish tonight,” he observes, the name Robert embroidered on his dark blue coveralls, his face grimacing at the music. “This your playlist?”
“No.”
You want to be polite, aware of how your tone comes off. You’ve never begged for customers to come but you are now, his forearms resting on the counter. He smiles at you, revealing yellowed teeth and almost too sharp canines that makes you reel back for a second as you blink.
“What?” he asks, grabbing the mop again. “Like I said, real skittish. We’ve worked together now, what? Almost a year. You think you’d be used to me, kitten.”
The mop drops unceremoniously in the water in the bucket, slapping wetly again on the ground, Robert humming the tune to himself as he heads behind the counter. You grit your teeth at the unwanted pet name, trying to stand up straight.
“I can get out of your way,” you offer, taking a step to the other side when he tsks at the motion.
“Stay right there. I like what I see.”
Closing the ledger, you try to make sure your voice sounds authoritative as possible, glaring at him. You want to be shocked at his words, but you know he’s probably said much worse.
“You can’t say things like that, you know.”
“Oh, did I offend your poor little sensibilities?” Robert scoffs, blowing out a rapid line of smoke from the side of his mouth as the song changes to Al Bowlly’s ‘Midnight, the Stars and You”. “Your playlist isn’t half bad, toots. Let’s dance.”
Before you have a chance to deny him, the mop clatters into a little corner or space and you’re pulled into his arms.
He’s strong.
Too strong.
“I don’t want to dance,” you protest angrily, trying to push away from him. He smells earthy, like wet dog. Wrinkling your nose, you look away from him, trying to keep your composure. His arms are anchored around you, so tight that you can barely move, and you can tell he’s waiting for you to look at him. “Let me go!”
“You need to calm down,” he says with a laugh when you finally look up at him, still feebly attempting to push him off.
“I said let me go!”
“We’re dancing,” he says in a low tone, almost like a growl that instantly quiets you, your heart racing at the near animalistic tenor. “You follow my lead.”
Not that you have a choice, your heels dragging against the slippery ground. Any chance you get, you try to look out the window for any sign of someone to come.
White lights brighten the dark space, a car parking as Robert lets you go, shaking as he picks up his mop.
It’s a cop car.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, you see them head inside, the bells jingling as Robert disappears down the hall, whistling to himself over the sound of the bucket rollers.
“Evening,” one of the officers says, looking at your face. “Something wrong?”
“Hey,” the other officer says quietly. “It’s alright. Did something happen?”
It will sound ridiculous if you say it.
The creepy janitor made me dance with him?
“Long night,” you murmur, seeing them look around before the first one clears his throat.
“Listen, we’re, uh, looking for a room.”
He stares at his partner and then back at you, sliding you a wad of folded twenties.
“I’d ask for your silence on this,” he hints. “We’ll be out of here soon.”
Grabbing the keys off the wall is easy, your spiel down to a science as you shudder at the thought of being alone with Robert again. This job isn’t worth it.
Especially since he has no concept of giving you anymore personal space.
“Room 14,” you answer. “I can show you to it.”
“We’ll be fine,” the other office replies. “Wouldn’t want to cause suspicion.”
“O-Okay,” you answer, sliding the key over as he produces more money on the counter.
“Thanks,” they say in unison.
When the door closes, you exhale, grabbing your purse as you listen for any sign of Robert.
The coast is clear, you head out the front, the door jingling as you search for your keys as you get closer to your car. Pawing through your bag, you swear you had dropped them in your purse once you had got inside, realizing too late that they are inside your small little cabinet where you usually put your things.
Inside looks quiet, still no sign of him but you know better. He’s probably lying in wait to scare you again.
Or worse.
Going back inside means doing it quickly, going around the counter to open the cabinet when you don’t see the keys, holding your breath as the jingle subsides.
“Fuck,” you mutter, checking one more time before you exhale in defeat, reaching back one more time until your fingers close in on your keyring, pulling them close to you when you hear a whistle down the hall. Standing still, you flatten yourself against the counter, hoping he won’t come closer.
The tinny music plays overhead, a loud trumpet solo that gives you a chance to move. The swish of the mop gets your attention, your steps slow, your car in sight. You don’t dare hit the key fob to unlock it, fingers pushing against the cool metal when the mop clatters to the ground loudly, the jingle louder than you recall when you rush toward the car, clicking the button to unlock your car. It responds with a dull sound, the car not responding when you hear the jingle of the door again.
“Funny thing about batteries,” Robert calls out to you, a shiver going down your spine. “They just pop right out.”
The batteries fall from his hand when you turn around, noticing that he seems taller.
Bigger.
Under the moonlight, he smiles, nodding back toward the office.
“Come on back,” he requests, looking at his watch. “By my calculation, you’ve got at least three hours left of your shift. Wouldn’t want me to snitch that you’re abandoning your job, would you?”
When he smiles, you gasp, his teeth sharper than ever that makes you take a step back in confusion.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he continues, looking up at the moon. “You don’t want to be out here on a night like this. I don’t want to have to drag you back inside.”
“Stay away from me, you freak!” you shout, Robert’s eyes narrowing as he nods at your response.
“Freak,” Robert growls, cracking his neck from side to side. “That’s not very nice.”
“Leave me alone or I’ll call the cops!”
“You mean the ones fuckin’ in room nine? I don’t think they’ll care. Get back inside.”
“Fuck you!”
Adrenaline makes you brave, running away from him as you hear him behind you, gravel crunching underneath his shoes as you dial 911, running down the empty highway with no cars in sight.
You’re cursing the fact that you work in such a godforsaken shithole, hearing eerie sounds of snapping of something – possibly bone – when you realize your call isn’t going through, the spotty service dropping your call before you try again, trying to keep your wits as you hear the sounds of bones cracking behind you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you seethe, your legs burning with effort to keep your distance when your phone clatters out of your hand.
Heavy steps continue, nails on pavement that spurs you forward, forgetting about the phone and hoping to leave with your life.
The howl that cuts through the night air makes you sob, fear sending shockwaves down your body as you keep running, tears rolling down your cheeks. Hoping and waiting for someone – anyone – to come down this stretch of road feels like it will never come.
Running so fast, it takes a minute to realize you don’t hear the thing behind you, not daring to look back when you see a flash of light, a car coming down the road. Waving your arms frantically, the car slams on its brakes when you stand in front of it.
“Are you fucking crazy?!” the driver shouts, his window down as the acrid smell of weed hits your nose.
“Please, I need, I need some help,” you beg, uncaring that you may look a mess, heart thumping wildly when you finally look back, seeing nothing but more open road. “I was… I was being chased and…”
The driver, an older man with graying hair and wrinkled skin, looks head and then back at you.
“I don’t pick up tweakers,” he mutters, pulling the joint from his thin lips. “I don’t see shit outside.”
“I swear I was,” you beg, seeing him look you up and down. “I’ll get off at the closest gas station. I just need to go. Please.”
The man nods his head over to the passenger side, your fingers reaching for the handle before he opens the door for you. It feels safe to be inside, a psychedelic song playing on the radio when he accelerates, the car moving forward with a low groan.
“You’re fine,” the man blurts out, eyes on the road. “I don’t see nothing.”
You’re silent, unsure if you want to argue with your reluctant rescuer. You know exactly what your eyes saw, how your heart had pounded in your chest at the idea that a man had turned into something.
“It’s late,” he continues, exhaling heavily before he coughs loudly. “You one of those prostitutes?”
“No,” you answer. “I work down the road.”
“Then why don’t I take you there instead of a gas station?”
“That’s where I was running from. I’m not going back there, I -”
“What the fuck is that thing?”
It looks like a dog in the road but much bigger, maybe a wolf size but the eyes shine eerily in light of the headlights, shaking its head as it seems to grow in size, the body growing bigger as it stands on its hind legs.
“Holy shit!” the man shouts, slamming the car in reverse as the animal runs toward the car at a breakneck speed.
It jumps on the hood of the car with a thud, it’s yellow eyed peering through the windshield. The limbs are long, the claws deep in the metal of the hood. When it growls, the sound vibrates through the car, rendering you both silent.
“What the fuck is that?” the man whispers, his voice shaking. “I’ve never seen a wolf like that before.”
He moves to lock the door, a grave mistake before the shatter of glass hits you, teeth sinking into flesh as he screams, blood splattering as you frantically reach for the door handle to open it, spilling out onto the cold pavement.
Flight as kicked in, your brain alerting you to run, your legs following suit when the once bloodcurdling screams finally stop, somewhere down the way when all you can hear is your hard breaths and your shoes hitting the ground with each step.
“You can’t run all night!” a voice yells behind you. A voice you know all too well. “You’re going to need to conserve all that energy!”
No cars for miles, no amount of looking back will bring you comfort if the man died peacefully – you know he didn’t, the blood still on your clothes.
You fall before you realize it – hit by a force so hard that you roll, your brain rolling around as you’re disoriented, pain seizing in your body as you cry out loudly. A heavy hand pulls you from your side and onto your back, looking up at Robert as he smiles, leaning down to inspect your wounds.
“Got a lot of blood on that pretty face,” he says with a sad shake of his head, his rough finger wiping the blood from your cheek, licking it from his finger. “Good thing it’s not yours.”
“HELP!” you shout, his hand going over your mouth as he crouches down over you. It’s painful, the pressure that seems otherworldly on your mouth, pressing your head so hard into the ground that tears come to your eyes.
He inhales loudly, peering down at you from his glasses that are shattered in one lens. He chucks them off to the side, leaning down to inspect you.
“Could have done this properly,” he mutters. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s not nice to call people names? What was that name you called me?”
His fingers seem to stretch over your mouth and down your cheek, the crack of bone making you shiver.
“Freak,” he growls, his eyes turning yellow. “All those girls, bored and wanting a quick fuck. You know why room ten isn’t ever available?”
He laughs, his teeth sharp as you whimper in fear.
“That’s where I’ve kept their bones,” he whispers against your ear, his voice low, nearly unrecognizable. “Now, the way I see it. You can come with me or you can run. I assure you that you won’t like the latter. I’m gonna let you up and you get to make a choice. Understand?”
You can’t nod, simply blinking before his lifts his hand. Adrenaline helps you sit up, your body aching from the fall.
“I just wanna go home, please. Robert, please let me go,” you plea, his head shaking as you spy his broken glasses. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Now, why would I do that? I like the chase,” he explains, circling you as his limbs hang at his sides. “I’m a loner out here. Don’t mind it much but then you came in at the perfect time, wrapped up in your little class struggle and I thought, well, this one will do.”
“Do what?”
He laughs, nearly a deep purr when you search for a way out.
“You’re gonna be my mate.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” you sob, hot tears sliding down your cheeks. “I promise. I’ll leave town.”
“That’s the plan, baby girl,” Robert agrees. “But you’ll be going with me.”
“No!” you hiss, grabbing a fistful of dirt to toss in his eyes.
It’s quick, just enough for him to howl in pain before you get to your feet, running as fast as you can, dizziness from the fall making you stumble. When your name is shouted, it echoes, nearly a roar before you hear him – feel him – close, his breath on your back before you’re knocked down again.
There is no human likeness to Robert. Not anymore.
He snarls, saliva dripping from his jaws as his razor sharp teeth rip and pull at your clothes, your fingers digging into the sand to try to hold onto something to pull yourself up. It’s no use, the cool air juxtaposed with his hot breath against your bare back means he’s nearly finished ripping apart your clothes, your knees moving up so that you can stand before you’re knocked down again.
Teeth sink into the back of your neck, rendering you immobile as you scream. It’s drowned out by the loud growl, keeping you silent as your blood runs down your neck. Dust and sand coat your lips, your sobs muffled by the ground.
A rough tongue laps at your wound, the pain keeping you compliant. It doesn’t feel real, as if you’re in a dream before it stops, human hands parting your legs as the strips of ripped fabric rustle.
“Is this better?” Robert says against the shell of your ear, brushing off the sand and dirt from your cheek. “Not a fan of my other form, are you?”
Fingers slide between your thighs, circling your clit roughly when your mouth opens to protest, only to be met with a disapproving hum.
“Ovulation makes you smell so sweet and makes you so,” Robert pauses, his fingers pushing inside you. “Wet.”
You don’t want to like it, not like this, not out in the open and definitely not with his half wolf form that terrifies you. But sparks of desire, the base instinct of your body betrays you, Robert inhaling the scent of your hair as his fingers work faster.
“Nice and tight,” he growls. “Smells good.”
The moon shines over you again, past the wispy clouds in the night sky as there is another click of bone on bone, clothes ripping as the smell of wet dog intensifies. The sewn on name tag with a piece of his coveralls falls into view, his teeth nipping at the backs of your thighs before you’re nudged to your knees to present.
“Good girl,” he chuffs against your hair, his voice now inhuman. “Good mate.”
Warnings: 18+ ONLY - language, PTSD, manipulation, mentions of stalking/tracking, mentions of past drugging, brief mention of a pregnancy test but that's about it. I've dropped quite a few Easter eggs in here to lead up to the next chapter.
Word Count: 3.2K
Soft Dark Nomad! Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary | Separating from your husband is harder than you realize, despite warnings from your therapist that you need to give yourself closure and keep your distance.
The paper cup filled with coffee warms your hands, hovering near the assortment of cookies, finger sandwiches and chips.
Your rain boots squeak lightly under the linoleum, watching others come in and embrace, some heading straight for the table as they load up their plates with food. You know that for some, this is the most food they’ll have today – maybe even this week – and you feel a twinge of guilt for even helping yourself to a cup of coffee.
“Hey.”
Sam Wilson stands behind you, cautiously looking at your face. It’s an embrace that you’ve needed, fighting back the tears as he holds you close. You’d had your line drawn in the sand once Steve had retired, no more Christmas cards mailed by Tony Stark or Rhodey. An invisible upheld law that you swore your allegiance to Steve, even if you had wanted to bring them back together to talk, to smooth over the past.
They’d done that for you.
Sam has been your only lifeline to that world that you barely saw, shielded from it much from Steve, who didn’t want to talk about work, especially when he would repeatedly tell you that you were the only place he would call home.
Home, he would tell you, meant that he didn’t want to scar you with the things he had seen and done. Shutting you out intentionally from that world meant that you had to talk with Sam to understand how to bridge that gap.
At your sigh of relief at his handsome face, he opens his arms to you, hugging you tight as he knew that was exactly what you needed.
“I know,” he affirms, so simple and yet poignant that it makes you squeeze your eyes shut to keep from crying.
When he pulls away, he looks around at the people milling behind you.
“This was a drive for you, right?”
He’s right.
Usually his VA meetings are in the city but you’ve been able to track down when he goes to the more rural areas, places where veterans are forgotten and assistance has faded away over time. Sam doesn’t speak about the Sokovia Accords, nor does he grant any interviews now that he’s firmly told reporters that he wants to be left alone. Rumors of Steve giving him the shield were true, one hanging up in his home that he sometime looked on with pride when you and Steve would visit.
For now, he seems at peace.
“A little bit of a drive,” you admit. “I guess I just… needed to see a friendly face.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Not for a week.”
Sam gives a low whistle, nodding his head. He had been the first person to approach Steve about his issues. For a time, Steve had been attending the meetings – sometime with you and sometimes without you – or so he told you.
“He stopped coming,” Sam informs you. “I guess I thought you’d been able to get him some more professional help.”
“He didn’t like the doctors,” you answer quickly, your brow furrowing at his first comment. “When did he stop coming?”
“About a month ago. He stuck around after a meeting, told me he felt like you and him were in a better place and that he felt that he could move on. I just assumed that you were both figuring things out.”
“I moved out.”
“I know. He told me. Last time I saw him, he mentioned that he was going to remodel the house. Something about keeping himself busy.”
You frown at the news.
“He didn’t mention that to me.”
Sam shoots you a careful look, eyebrow raising as he asks his next question.
“Are you okay?” he asks carefully.
“That’s a loaded question.”
“It may need a loaded answer. Steve isn’t okay. I know that,” Sam confides in you quietly. “He hasn’t been himself since all of this went down. I know he takes his hits and he moves on but this isn’t like anything I’ve seen. It’s obsessive behavior. That’s not healthy. Do you have people who are looking out for you?”
“My family. Friends.”
“You know you’re always welcome here. I mean that,” Sam emphasizes. “But I want you to be careful, okay?”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“He’s always been obsessed with you. He loves you. More than anything else in this world. But obsession is never a good thing.”
“That’s why we took a break,” you admit, looking down at your cup. “I… I can’t help him in the way he needs.”
“It’s like those airplane safety videos. Put your own mask on before you help others. I know you love him but right now, you need to love him at a safe distance. I’m not trying to scare you, I just know that you two have been together for a while and Steve can be a charming bastard. But I didn’t like what I saw that last month and I didn’t like the idea of him remodeling a house for both of you to live in. He didn’t even mention it to you.”
A chill takes over slightly, making you sip your coffee before you nod.
“I promise. I’ll take care of myself first.”
-
Mona turns up the volume on the TV, the news reporter standing in a wooded area.
“The man has zero recollection of how he found himself in the forest, let alone the last two days. Authorities are still investigating but it is believed the man had been drugged but he is expected to make a full recovery. More to come on this breaking story.”
Mona turns the TV off, making a face as she hands you a glass of wine.
“This world is shitty. I hope he’s turns out okay. Can’t even go have a drink anymore,” Mona sighs. “No more news for me, that shit was depressing. How about we order take out for dinner? What are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t know. My brain is all over the place.
“I can look. But I’m glad you’re here.”
Mona places her glass of wine down, her expression changing for a moment when she clears her throat.
“Look, I need to ask this and I know it’s going to sound crazy but I need you to hear me out, okay?” she warns gently. “It’s been bothering me for a while.”
“What?”
You’re confused, unsure of why this conversation has shifted so suddenly.
“The other night I tried to call you and it kept going to voicemail. I know you told me you were tired but you haven’t been sleeping lately.”
“When?”
“A week or so ago. You told me Steve had been trying to see you and then you didn’t answer your phone and I got worried. I know I saw your text that you were going to bed but…” Mona sighs, shaking her head. “I know it seems weird but the text didn’t even seem like you. You usually call me when you’re awake to let me know you’re alright.”
“I was just tired.”
You repeat the words mentally in your head, trying to remember the night that Steve had shown up at your apartment. You remember eating, Steve talking to you about trying to get back together. You don’t remember texting her, Mona’s hand reaching out to touch yours as your memories get fuzzy from that night.
“Was he with you that night?” Mona asks, a lump forming in your throat.
“For a little,” you confirm, Mona’s mouth tightening at your words.
“Do you remember anything from that night? Texting me back to say you were tired? You didn’t sound like yourself”
“I was tired, Mona, I -”
Mona grips your hand tight.
“I know your texting style. That wasn’t you. And the fact you can’t remember anything else about that night?”
“I told you, I was really tired.”
Mona doesn’t let go of your hand when you try to reach for your phone, to try to get some confirmation that you aren’t blacking out at your memory.
“I need you to listen to me. I think he drugged you.”
-
Your boss doesn’t bat an eye when she grants you a two-week personal leave. She’s been engrossed in the news, a recipient of a Stark grant and she’s been waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. The personal leave, she had told you with a sympathetic nod, is the first step in getting a divorce once you have a clear head.
You don’t have the strength to talk to Mona, to tell her that the test she had pressed you to take is negative.
You’ve cancelled your session with Doctor Maren, rescheduling for next week so that you don’t get a phone call. As it turns out, it isn’t just your friends who are worried about you. Court appointed therapy is a precaution, as you were told when you’d filed. Monitored to make sure you complied.
Dialing Sam’s number, you wait for him to pick up, which he does on the second ring.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” you respond, tears filling your eyes almost too quickly at his question. “I think… I don’t know… I -”
“Are you home? I can come to you or we can meet somewhere.”
“I’m not home,” you rush out. “I’m… I’m a hotel. I just… I can’t be there.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“I can meet you at the VA.”
“Sounds good, I’ll make sure you’re on the list.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
-
Steve pulls down his baseball cap, ignoring the woman standing next to him in the aisle, her overt bending making him look in the other direction. His cart is nearly full, stopping to look at the various colors of paint. The new room he is working on needs a lighter color of paint than he first thought, picking up two swatches as the woman clears her throat.
“That’s a pretty color.”
“It is,” Steve agrees, looking between both of them.
Your favorite colors have always been green or blue, various shades in between. The woman looks over, giving him a smile.
“I like the green,” she announces. “Very earthy.”
He notices her eyes settle on his wedding ring, her smile fading for a moment.
“Lucky woman,” she says with a nod in his direction. “Does she have a favorite color?”
“She does. It’s blue.”
“I’d go with blue then.”
He stops for a moment, grabbing the bucket of paint and placing it into his cart. The woman watches him carefully, as if trying to figure out where she’s seen him from before.
For a moment, he entertains the thought of her possibly being at the club that you had visited, wondering if she could place his face. Steve knows this is out of the question. He’d been the only one there to take him out.
He’s seen the news. It’s a pity that the man survived but Steve knows it was by pure luck.
Still, the idea makes him wonder what she’s thinking. He thought he would have gotten tired of the beard but it affords him the anonymity that he didn’t know he needed. It had taken some getting used to, especially the way you had first looked at him when you’d seen him when he’d landed from Wakanda. Clean shaven was now a thing of the past, gone with the hopes and dreams that he would be back to the man he used to be.
“Well, you have a nice day,” she calls out, admittedly defeated that he isn’t going to be baited.
“You too.”
He notices how short her skirt is, watching her turn toward another aisle. A woman on the prowl, looking for her next paramour. He knows you would never be like, stalking down the aisles of home improvement stores, batting your eyelashes at random men. Your loyalty is one of the reasons he was drawn to you, how trusting you were and devoted.
He looks down at the supplies in his cart, eyeing the various rolls of masking tape, zip ties and other things inside, including the thick pieces of lumber that he still has to pick up.
By the time he gets to the registers, he’s already mapped out his plans for the next few days. He’s been back on a cleaner routine, working out in the early hours of the morning and late at a night when he isn’t working tediously on the house.
He smiles to the cashier, paying in cash as she returns it.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Captain America?” she asks, handing him his receipt.
“You’re the first one. You have a good day.”
-
“What happened to Bucky?”
“Deprogramming in Wakanda. Steve took him there himself and when he came back… he was a different person. Made sense. You thought your best friend was dead for decades and he’s brainwashed. That would mess anyone up.”
“And Tony?”
“I wasn’t there,” Sam sighs, straightening up in his chair. “I just know the fight was brutal. I saw videos.”
“I know,” you respond quietly. “I saw them. He doesn’t know that.”
In Sam’s office, it’s a safe space, his degrees and certificates hanging on the walls, pictures in glass frames of his travels around the world.
Him, Bucky and Steve at your wedding.
“Do you ever reach out to Tony?”
“No,” you deny quickly. “Pepper sent me a letter once. Handwritten. She said she missed him. Missed us.”
“Did you ever answer?”
“No,” you swallow. “Steve found it. He wasn’t ready to respond.”
“But it was addressed to you,” Sam points out. “Did he tell you he didn’t want you to answer?”
“I called her. She didn’t answer and then texted me that Tony was around.”
Sam swears under his breath, a look of disgust on his face.
“You’re collateral damage.”
You try to shrug, the loneliness creeping up again. Chewing on a slice of pizza, your thoughts go to Mona and how you had promised that you would tell someone. You still haven’t told Sam why you’re there, the need to admit why you’re occupying a seat in his office rising like bile in your throat.
“When I saw Steve last week, I let him inside my apartment to talk.”
Sam’s head tilts at your admission.
“Go on.”
“He was still trying to get me to change my mind on the separation but.” Pausing, you aren’t sure if you can form the words. It doesn’t feel right, like you’re about to drown.
“What happened?”
“We were eating and I woke up the next morning. I don’t… I don’t remember what happened after we talked.”
Sam goes still, knowing he’s trying to process what you’ve just told him.
“He drugged you.”
“I don’t know,” you reply, Sam shaking his head. “Sam, I -”
“Did you report it?”
“No,” you answer quickly. “I can’t report him, are you kidding, he -”
“Drugged you. Did you get checked out?”
“Sam, nothing happened. I took a pregnancy test, it was negative. I was in the clothes I had gone to work in, no sign of a condom, no sign of anything. I just… slept.”
“As far as you know.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t what? Not get consent while you’re asleep? You’re right, that doesn’t sound like Steve. But the drugging doesn’t sound like him either and here we are, talking about it.”
Silence falls, Sam muttering to himself before he stands.
“Obsessive behavior,” he says to you. “Is that why you didn’t want to stay in your apartment? Does he come there often?”
“I haven’t seen him since I told you. Sam, I just need guidance. He’s hurt and he won’t listen to me. If he did… drug me… I can’t be alone with him.”
“He needs to be taken in.”
You shake your head sadly.
“He wouldn’t spend but a few hours there. And he doesn’t need to be thrown into a jail cell, he needs help.”
“That help can’t come from you.”
“I know.”
“Let me talk to him,” Sam offers. “I can get him into treatment, we can plan this out.”
“He won’t listen.”
“It’s that or jail,” Sam reminds you. “Do you understand the severity of what you just told me?”
“It was to help me sleep.”
“You can’t keep making excuses for his behavior. So, let’s say he was trying to help you out. Did you ask to be drugged? To be placed into bed?”
At your silence, Sam shakes his head.
“I’ll make sure you have an escort back to your hotel. But you have to promise me, and I mean promise me, that you won’t contact him or entertain the thought of contacting him until he gets help.”
You nod in response.
“I promise.”
-
It’s late when you get back, Sam’s right hand, Joaquin walking you to your hotel room, waiting for you to get inside.
Overly tired, you head into the bathroom to take a shower, stripping off your clothes and stepping inside, the hot water beating against your skin.
Stepping out and wrapping towel around your body and one around your hair, examining your face in the mirror gives you pause, noticing your sad expression. You force yourself to smile, touching the apples of your cheeks before you sigh, brushing your teeth in defeat. For that minuscule moment, you almost felt like yourself, finishing up your bedtime routine and slipping into a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt.
Stopping in your tracks, a bouquet catches your attention on the table. It’s red roses, beautifully tied together with a blue bow.
You hadn’t heard anyone come in, let alone the open and close of the door. Inching closer, you pick up the card, reading what it says in a typed font.
I miss you.
Swallowing hard, you’re unsure of what to say or do, taking a step back to look around the room. It’s comfortably quiet, even as you open the closets and look under the bed.
Calling the front desk, you hope that it was a mistake, getting ready to give them a piece of your mind about a flower delivery that was not authorized. For a moment, you relax. It’s probably for the wrong room and a mistake can still be fixed. You’ll double bolt your door tonight and check out and get another hotel.
“Hello?” you greet the front desk when a friendly voice comes on the line. “I’m in Room 476. I was in the shower when flowers were delivered and I had the do not disturb sign on.”
“Oh no,” the voice says, dismayed. “I am so sorry, let me look it up. I apologize, that is unacceptable.”
You can hear the sound of keys on the keyboard being punched, the line going quiet.
“I’m so sorry but it doesn’t appear that there were any flower deliveries in our system today. I’m going to send up our manager and security to address this with you if that is alright.”
“Yes. Please.”
When you hang up, you go back to the flowers, noticing the blue ribbon.
Since it's been a year... I give you my latest installment. A little self-conscious with this chapter but I hope I got it right. Let me know what you think. I’d like to thank Victoria Monet’s ‘Cadillac’ for the inspiration for this chapter.
Summary | A bad breakup lands you in the office of Dr. Curtis Everett, who seeks to help you further at the request of your local therapist, due to his renowned talent in his niche profession.
Cameras flash, voices carrying over each other to get your attention. Curtis’ fingers are intertwined with yours, leading you through the small path allotted by security from the restaurant to the waiting car. The act of your hand in his own shouldn’t elicit such a reaction but the understanding that you’ve been touch starved more than you are willing to admit makes you grip his hand tighter.
He wastes no time opening the door for you, closing it while more people shout his name, the lights from the cameras lighting up the car.
“Fuckin’ vultures,” Curtis mutters when he finally gets in, looking at your face. “You alright?”
“I thought they’d be gone by now,” you admit, pressing your hand to your heart to feel your heart beating rapidly. “Does that happen every time you go out?”
“Only when I have a date so, no,” Curtis allows with a wink. “You ready to go?”
At your nod, he accelerates, the car shooting forward as he takes a tight turn, the velocity making you laugh as he heads toward the freeway.
“We’ll be home soon.”
You don’t admit how that makes your stomach flutter at the sound, especially since you know that it isn’t your home he’s mentioning.
-
When he helps you out of the car, he gives you a spin, letting you go before he closes the door behind you. Holding out his hand, you take it, Curtis leading you up the steps of his house.
Every single house looks like it could have been taken out of a magazine, an architect’s dream as you slightly look back, careful of your steps as you go up the stairs slowly. More importantly, you’re aware of he holds your hand in his own, his fingers warm against your own.
When he opens the door, your mouth parts in surprise, the entry like a bridge to the living room, a pond underneath the bridge.
“A pond?” you ask, Curtis standing behind you as you take a step forward to look. “How…”
“It was a surprise to me too when I saw the plans.”
When you get closer, koi fish swim to the surface as you lean over to look.
“A little surprise from my architect at the time. I take good care of these guys,” Curtis says.
“Incredible.”
You can feel his eyes on you when you finally look at him as he nods for you to continue on. Going over the bridge, he’s behind you, your hands nearly touching when you glide your palms on the rails.
“It’s very fancy.”
“I’m more of a minimalist but they’re a nice touch,” he agrees, motioning to the right. “Kitchen is that way.”
Stainless steel appliances and black lacquered cabinets await you, everything carefully decorated when he turns on the light, taking off his shoes in a swift move, padding into the kitchen.
“Pick your poison,” he offers, heading to the built-in wet bar.
“I’ll have a scotch, please.”
“Scotch,” Curtis says with a raise of his eyebrow. “I would have taken you for a gin sort.”
“Gin?”
“Sophisticated. Architects have a way about them.”
“Like what?” you inquire, Curtis handing you your drink as he raises his to yours. The glasses clink slightly before he answers you.
“Complex without being overbearing.”
You take a sip, Curtis following suit.
“Complex,” you repeat. “That’s now how I would describe myself.”
“Then you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Complex doesn’t need to have a negative connotation. Everything about you is complex because you don’t outwardly offer your feelings.”
“I think I’ve been pretty open.”
He laughs at your comment, nodding in agreement.
“But the treatment that I offered, that was complex. Broke a few of my own set rules but it worked. You’re a complex woman and I find that insanely sexy.”
You swallow the last of your drink, seeing him take another sip.
“It’s a good thing that I was cured then. You won’t have to break any more of your rules,” you add, seeing him set down his glass.
“How would you know what other rules I’d be willing to break?”
Your mouth goes dry at his question, licking your lips as he cages you against the wall.
“I was guessing.”
“Hmm,” he replies, his eyes gazing at your body. “There’s only one way to find out. Can I touch you?”
You nod, almost too furiously for your good when he lowers himself down, his hands at your hips, his fingers sliding down the fabric of your dress and down to your bare skin. He doesn’t break eye contact with you, hands slipping under your dress as he pulls the fabric up.
He leans in, kissing your thighs, your own hands rolling into fists as he inches closer and closer to the juncture of your thighs. You can feel his breath, warm and dangerously close when he leans in, keeping you steady when his tongue finds your covered clit, applying just enough pressure for you to whimper.
“Satin is a nice touch,” he tells you, slipping thumbs under the band. “I wouldn’t want to ruin such a pretty pair but I need to see what I’ve been dreaming about.”
He pulls them down slowly, letting them pool at your feet, carefully lifting up each leg so that you’re finally free. The urge to hide from him, to hold your dress in place is overwhelming.
There is a hunger – a desire – in his eyes that you’ve never experienced with anyone else before.
You’re exposed to him, but it doesn’t matter, your eyes on his arms flexing when his thumb slowly swipes against your clit, back and forth until your hips move forward.
“Easy,” he warns gently, tasting you as you swallow hard. “Just like I thought. Amazing.”
You aren’t prepared for how his mouth feels, wet and hot as he’s gentle, learning you centimeter by centimeter, your fingernails scoring against his scalp. Your breath halts when his tongue laves over your clit, over and over until you forget to breathe again.
“You okay?”
Nodding, your head falls back against the wall when you feel his fingers ease up inside you.
Stretching, caressing keeping time with the tempo of his mouth on your clit.
“C…”
There’s no use in trying to finish saying his name, your hands holding him in place as he brings you to the brink, your legs buckling before you feel him hold you up as you shatter.
“One so far,” he says, looking up at you with a sly smile. “We’re barely getting started.”
He stands up fluidly, your boldness peaking when you pull on his shirt to bring him closer.
“One of how many?” you ask, seeing his devious smile.
“That depends,” he replies. “How many do you want to give me?”
There’s no set number in your mind, only the want – need – to have him that propels you forward, your lips on his, tasting yourself that only spurns you to kiss him deeper as he takes control, his hand at the side of your neck, breaking the kiss to turn your head slightly, drawing your skin into his mouth as he sucks it gently but deep enough that you can feel the sweet pressure and sends shockwaves down to your belly.
“I’ll give you a choice,” he says, breaking the kiss. “Dress on or off before you go upstairs.”
You’ve never been exposed like this before, especially knowing the only thing you’ll be wearing are your heels.
Whatever you choose, you’ll know he’ll accept without question. The freedom to decide how you’ll end up in his bed may be insignificant to him – though you hope not – it feels freeing to know that he’s letting you make the decision.
Turning around, you hear it: the slight suck in of his breath, looking over your shoulder as your eyes plead silently for him to help you.
“Bold move,” he praises, his fingers unzipping your dress.
As it slips down your shoulders, his lips brush against the tops of your shoulders and at the back of your neck when it pools at your feet.
“Absolutely unreal,” Curtis says, taking your hand as he turns you around in a circle, his appreciative gaze making you even wetter than you thought possible.
“Up the stairs and to the left,” Curtis directs. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Every step you take, your insecurities come racing back. Despite every body being a good body, you’re aware of your own shortcomings, the ones you see in the mirror when the confident façade slips. You’re aware of how your hips sway, certain imperfections that you can only imagine will be amplified with you only wearing your black stilettos.
“You look absolutely perfect,” he says behind you, as if he’s reading your mind.
“I’ve never been this… exposed,” you whisper in the darkness, Curtis right behind you as you can feel his arousal, cradled right between your ass.
“I guessed since tt’s taking you a while to get up the stairs. Not that I’m complaining in the slightest,” he assures you, kissing your cheek. “But you’re going to kill me with that perfect view.”
A slight tap of his hand against your ass makes you involuntarily moan, gripping the banister for a moment as you look back at him.
“You’re dripping,” he says, his eyes wandering between your thighs. “Making a nice mess if I do say so myself.”
You finally reach the top of the stairs, the cool air doing nothing to stop the ache between your legs when you make the left toward his room. You’ll marvel at the work of his upstairs when you’re not thinking about how you’re going to get wrecked, Curtis pushing the door open for you as you step into his room.
Black silk sheets.
“It’s not fair, you know,” you finally say, turning your body to face him. “I’m the only one underdressed.”
“I don’t think I’d look as good as you do,” Curtis answers you, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “But I can oblige if you want.”
“I want to help.”
His hands lower to his sides, letting you take over to finish unbuttoning his shirt, your hands resting on his chest. Tattoos are etched on his chest, your fingers outlining them as you trail down, unbuckling his belt as you see his Adam’s apple bob, perspiration on his forehead.
“Am I going too slow?”
“You take all the time you need.”
His voice pulls at your core, hands deftly ridding him of his belt and then buttoning his slacks. He’s hard as a rock when you accidently brush against him, his composure strong as steel when you pull down his boxers and pants. His cock springs free, long and thick, your eyes dropping down to look at it appreciatively. Gone are the thoughts of finishing getting him undressed, your hand reaching out to touch him gently, fingers wrapping around the length of him, his eyes closing in response.
“How can you be so calm,” you whisper against him. “I can’t believe I’m…”
Pre-cum makes your grip slicker, his head tilting up as you kiss his throat, his hands going to your face as he kisses you, kicking off his pants. He walks you toward the bed, stopping right when you can feel the bed behind you.
When you reach to take the heels off, he shakes his head.
“I meant what I said. Heels on until I say so.”
-
He prides himself on self-control. He’s lasted this long with his wits about him, to know that patience is always much sweeter but he knows he can’t wait much longer when your sweet voice pitches as your thighs try to close together, his hands gripping them so you don’t use them as his earmuffs.
All he can think about is how gorgeous you look when you come apart - three times now - just by where he touches, learning your body as you react to his touch. Your lips are parted, chest rising and falling as your hands cover your breasts. It’s laughable for a moment if it wasn’t so excruciatingly painful how badly he wants to be inside you. Your legs are still over his shoulders, Curtis caressing your calves before he looks back at your swollen cunt.
“I’m not going to get enough of how good you taste.”
Your eyes are half lidded, mouth moving but no sound coming out when he carefully eases you off of him, gently removing your heels as they fall to the ground. He kisses your brow, your hands going to his neck to keep him in place.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he admits, his cock nestled between your legs.
“I need you,” you mouth, kissing him deeply and he swears your legs are opening wider when he reaches for the drawer. “I want to just feel you. I’m clean.”
You’re bartering, his smile against your lips as you kiss him again. You’re uninhibited, vulnerable and the progress you’ve made makes him greedy, a flash of possessive that he shuts out when he kisses down your neck.
“Me too but it’s still dangerous,” he warns gently, seeing you shake your head slowly, nodding to your arm.
“Implant. You can’t leave a legacy,” you tease, your eyes closing in bliss when he’s cradled against your entrance. “I want you, I’ve tried to ignore it but -”
That’s all he needs, inching slowly inside you as your fingernails score his back. You’re tight, wet and hot, gritting his teeth as he tries to maintain what shreds of composure he has left, reaching the hilt of you when you left out a soft whimper.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” you murmur. “Just…”
“Big?”
He can tell you want to laugh at his joke but he knows the truth, seeing you finally relax before you urge him to move. You’re like a vise, his control slipping with every single thrust, your soft little noises urging him on.
He needs to see ore of you, rolling you onto your side, your thigh on his hip as the new angle makes your mouth drop open, exposing you in a way that makes your fingers give him better access.
You’re close, he can feel the way your silky walls squeeze him tighter, your incessant pleas for him not to stop only urging him on. He commits the way your pretty face looks to memory, knowing that you’ve fundamentally changed how he sees you – how your body reacts to him – and how freely you’ve given yourself to him.
“Fuck,” he grits out, keeping you in place as he cums, filling you as you cling to him.
“Oh god, I… oh, I…” you pant, not letting him go. “I can’t see straight.”
“We’re not done,” he promises, smoothing back your hair as he holds you close. “Not by a long shot, four.”
“Five,” you whisper against his lips, closing your eyes.
-
Your eyes are barely open when you feel the slight dip in the bed, a glass of water in front of you.
“You need to drink something,” Curtis reminds you softly, rubbing your back in soothing circles. “I ran you a nice bath. Just waiting for you.”
“What time is it?”
“Two or three,” he answers, kissing your cheek.
“Mmm,” you mumble, eyes closing again. “I’ll get up if you come with me.”
rock star! carol danvers x rock star! female reader
producer! steve rogers x rock star! female reader
word count: 1.5K
warnings: 18+, language, world building, mentions of alcoholism.
summary | unceremoniously kicked out of your band, a chance meeting with a producer could turn your luck around or have you even worse than where you ended up.
Calloused fingers strum your guitar aimlessly, holed up in your paid-up hotel room in the city for the rest of the week. It’s an affront to your senses to have a garden view but on such short notice, there’s not much Katia can do with the short notice of you leaving the band.
Leaving.
Unceremoniously thrown out was still leaving, you think, gritting your teeth at the thought. Your phone buzzes below your bare feet, hands shaking from the alcohol withdrawal. The hard knock on the door is ignored, blowing out a hard breath before the door opens, Katia looking around the room. She’s barely a blip on your radar, hearing her mutter to herself, the tinny sound of bottles and cans clinking together as she makes a path.
“You can’t wallow forever,” she orders.
You strum another note, Katia huffing in reply.
“Apologize. It’s not too late, you know.”
“Apologize? For what?” you snap, lifting your head up quickly, the room spinning slightly, squeezing your eyes shut. “For Carol to sneer and tell me to go fuck myself? Answer me this, Is she still holed up in a room with Maria?”
Silence makes you angrier, pushing your guitar away, getting to your feet, your balance wobbly under the amount of clothes beneath your feet.
“It’s just a blow up. All bands deal with it.”
You’d show them. A million lyrics in your brain that were just waiting to come out and you didn’t need Carol – or the others for that matter – getting in your way again.
A wave of nausea hits, bolting toward the bathroom before you slam it in Katia’s face. Everything spills over: the overconsumption from the day and night prior, your tears of anger and hurt and whatever is left that burns a hole in your gut.
“I got kicked out, remember?!” you shout behind the door. “I’m done!”
“We can fix this.” Katia’s voice is soft, soothing as you slump down on the ground. “Let’s get you some help. Professional help who can deal with this. Let them see that you’re making a change and they’ll come around.”
Katia’s pounding on the door fades as you close your eyes and surrender to the darkness.
-
“Another packed show, you guys,” Katia informs the group. “Sold out crowd again.”
Carol finishes her drink, an assistant coming to take it away as a makeup artist hovers to check her heavy eyeshadow. It’s the final touch ups, the band clad in black leather and t-shirts, Carol’s sky high stilettos waiting to be placed on her feet.
“We’re not doing Alone, Wrecked or Fearless tonight,” Carol announces, Natasha groaning in irritation as she lounges on the couch.
“Again?”
“Do you have the range for Fearless?” Carol shoots back, Maria rolling her eyes at her question. “Didn’t think so. None of us do.”
“So, we’re staying away from the songs that she wrote for us. Why not just say that?” Wanda counters, pointing her drumsticks in Carol’s direction. “We’ve done four shows since she’s been out, and we dance around this topic every time. Just say it.”
“Fine,” Carol snaps. “We’re not doing those songs. Happy?”
“No,” Natasha replies, sitting up quickly. “You wanted her out so bad and now you’re still acting like she’s here, dancing around whatever feelings you think she would have. Newsflash, she’s out of the Marvels, we’ve been making it without her just fine. I say we play the fucking songs.”
“She can’t do much from rehab, anyway,” Maria mutters, Carol looking at her in surprise.
“She’s in rehab?”
Katia clears her throat, tapping her watch.
“You’re out in less than five,” she reminds them, looking at the four of them. “And to answer your question, yes, she’s in rehab. You wanted her out of the band, she’s out. Why there is any more arguments after you all got what you wanted is beyond me. Now go out there and be a band.”
They sit quietly, Maria nodding before she walks out, Natasha following suit as Wanda and Carol stay behind.
“Didn’t think she’d go to rehab,” Carol says quietly, slipping on her shoes.
“It was her final strike,” Wanda says quietly, looking at her phone. “The article just popped up.”
Carol goes silent, the crowd getting louder.
“You said it yourself she was getting out of control,” Wanda says, placing a hand on Carol’s shoulder. “It was a vote, remember? Don’t feel bad for wanting better for this band. Don’t feel bad for wanting to have some peace.”
-
“Hey.”
You hold the phone against your ear, playing with the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to say in response. You aren’t even sure how she got the number. You’d been clear with Katia you wanted to be left alone and she had agreed.
“You there?”
“What do you want, Carol?” you ask, refusing to hide your irritation.
“I was checking on you.”
“Three meals a day, talking about my feelings with the same like-minded people. We’re having a grand old time.”
“I think it’s admirable that you’re getting help.”
“Oh?” you ask sarcastically, looking at your socked feet. “How’s the tour?”
“It’s going good, yeah. One last stop before we head out on the European leg so…”
“Great.”
“I’m trying,” Carol sighs, her voice fading out for a moment. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“Oh okay,” you scoff. “I didn’t give you much choice but to have the band block my dressing room? To have security walk me out? That’s trying, Carol? I’d hate to see your half assed effort.”
“I was upset! You were being uncontrollable. The mood swings, the pointing fingers and -”
“Okay, Carol. You win. Is that what you want to hear? Did you fuck Maria after I had left? I’m sure you did.”
“It was a one-night thing.”
You laugh before slamming the phone back down.
“One night,” you mutter, looking over at your counselor whose eyes are wide in surprise. “I don’t want to take anymore phone calls and I don’t want to talk about it.”
When you storm off, the phone rings again, the counselor quietly unplugging it from the wall.
-
“Someone to see you,” one of the orderlies tells you.
You ignore it, looking over at your guitar case in the corner.
More shows added, more shows sold out and your name mentioned as a joke on late night TV. It’s gotten old and it’s barely been two weeks.
Substance abuse side, there isn’t many people looking for you, save for a few podcasters and fans who want to get a soundbite or autograph and you haven’t been in the mood for either.
At the sound of your name, you still don’t move, the door closing that makes you look over your shoulder.
Who it is makes you sit up.
Slicked back dirty blond hair, a fresh cut beard and a pair of slacks and shirt that hugs every slope of his figure, Steve Rogers doesn’t make house calls.
“Heard you were here,” he says, sitting down in a chair as he looks around your room. “Couldn’t you get you a better room?”
“I took what was offered. The alternate wasn’t great.”
“Yeah, you’re shit with money,” Steve agrees with a grin. “How’s the voice?”
“Fine.”
“The guitar in the corner. Does it get much play?”
“Sometimes.”
He leans forward, his hands steepled as he nods.
“Listen. I know all about the fall from grace. Talk about kicking you while you’re down.”
“Is that why you’re here?” you ask.
You’ve never been good with small talk and you aren’t going to try now, even if a big time producer like Steve is in front of you.
“Well, I have a proposition for you.”
You wait for him to finish, Steve pulling out his phone, tapping in some numbers.
“You record an EP for me, five songs, max and I’ll give you this.”
He hands you the phone, the numbers on the screen making you swallow hard.
“That’s with me taking out the debts you owe, the attorney fees for getting your name out of the contracts you’re currently in, hair and make-up, this rehab stay and a place to live.”
“What’s the catch?”
He laughs, winking at you.
“Nothing gets past you. I can understand. You’re looking out for yourself. The catch is that if the EP sells well, you sign with me. That’s it. A few records and we go from there. Sound good?”
“Feels a little weird with you asking me when I’m trying to get better, don’t you think?”
“Weird or opportunistic? Ask yourself this,” Steve says, standing up as he looks around the small room. “Do you have a plan when this is over?”
He walks toward the door, reaching for the handle.
“I’ll let you know.”
He holds onto the handle for a moment.
“I’m a commitment sort. I’ll need a little more assurance.”
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, world building, Alpha/Omega dynamics, intimidation. This is probably the last tame part for a while.
Summary | Your dream job provides prestige, security and a chance to shape your future. When one little mistake leads to Thor saving you in a time of crisis, his past promise comes back to haunt you.
“It was a star-studded night as two of the Avengers attended a charity gala for the Omega designation. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes made their red-carpet debut with Captain Rogers’ ever elusive wife attending. Though she was not pictured alongside her husband, eyewitnesses report that Captain Rogers may just have a new role on the horizon: becoming a dad,” the reporter says with a cheerful smile.
Your slingback heel falls to the ground from your hand when you see Steve Rogers, posing with Bucky Barnes, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen before another clip of the gala is shown, Steve giving a speech.
“It is my duty, my one guiding principle in life, to stick up for those who can’t. I hope that I have done so thus far,” Captain Rogers says, charismatic smile on display.
“Do they know how you find your wife?” you mutter, picking up your shoe and slipping it on your foot, reaching for the remote and turning it off, Steve’s smug face disappearing.
You could never prove it, of course. Little whispers that the most advanced surveillance specialist had just given away her career was unheard of, even in your circles. No one questioning why, to this day, the position had never been filled.
Too many unspoken rules, too many hushed conversations that hid the truth.
Forcing yourself to file it away for later, the notification that the car has arrived pops on your cell, grabbing your purse and coat to head outside, locking the door and verifying that its closed. The half-run, half-walk to the waiting car is purposeful and with good reason.
Your first opening comments as a National Advisory Council Member of Intergalactic Diplomacy. Despite your sweaty palms, you’re prepared, going over your remarks at least five times since you had opened your eyes this morning.
“As a reminder,” your assistant Paloma interjects over the phone. “There will be Asgardians in attendance. I know you probably won’t mind but with the Intergalactic Alliance, there is a chance that he -”
“Thank you, Paloma.” Your hand grips your phone tighter. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, since that fateful afternoon when you had ordered him out.
He had obliged, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces, rumors swirling that he and Jane had found their way back together. The nuisances of their relationship did not concern you, throwing yourself headfirst into work, learning all you could for it to lead up to this moment.
Asgardians or not, it doesn’t matter. You’ve worked hard to find a seat at the table and no one, not even an Asgardian God, is going to take that away from you.
“T-minus forty minutes until we go live,” Paloma reminds you. “You’re going to do great.”
⚡️
Paloma was right.
Asgardians clamor to be in attendance in the hall, their eyes on you when you walk past them.
They whisper your name, hushed voices fading once you reach the podium. You’d visited Asgard once in your life, when you were deep into wanting to know everything about Thor and his people. It was a world so much alike and unlike Earth that it unnerved you to think that one day he was planning to come back and rule as king.
You’d never be a queen.
You aren’t even sure if you ever wanted to be one as a child.
The audience quiets, multiple cameras on you, not a hair out of place when you finally lift your head to speak after being announced, applause quieting after a few moments.
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary General, your Excellencies, and ladies and gentlemen in attendance and beyond. I am here today to discuss our worlds and our role in creating an open dialogue of trust,” you begin, taking another breath. “With the newly formed Intergalactic Diplomacy Division, I am pleased to be a part of such an important agency as we recognize that our world is unique. It presents many challenges as we all work toward an understanding of what intergalactic diplomacy looks like in an ever-changing universe. It is crucial that we listen to understand, to listen for solutions and not to listen to react.”
The door opens, Thor strolling in his Asgardian garb, his red cape flowing out behind him, cameras panning to him as you swallow, ignoring him and the delectable scent that reaches your nose.
He keeps his attention on you, the cameras panning back to you.
“It is my hope that we share our strengths, our challenges and our opportunities for a bright future ahead. For us to be strong together, we must first be vulnerable with what we do not know, be willing to be educated and to open our minds and hearts to others that we may not readily understand. Our future is bright and will only become a reality when we work together. Thank you for your time.”
Thunderous applause erupts, with Thor standing up, Asgardians following suit as the
Paloma’s voice is in your ear, telling you that you did a fantastic job, multiple people surging forward to shake your hand, the room slightly spinning with how often you have to greet well-wishers.
You try to block Thor’s never fading smile out of your head and his direct eye contact that seemingly burned into your soul when you’re ushered into a conference room for a talk through.
⚡️
“I didn’t expect the future King of Asgard to be in attendance,” Robert chuckles, looking up from his notes. “It’ll do wonders for media. You know Thor can’t be bothered to show up to these events.”
“I think I know why,” Susan says with a wink in your direction. “Did you tell him you were speaking?”
“No,” you reply through gritted teeth. “I did not.”
“Well, it worked out for us. Great job with the pace. I could really feel your passion in the message,” Robert praises, sitting back in his chair. “You aren’t with him anymore, are you? I think he was dating that physicist, Dr. Jane something, I believe? Whatever happened with you and him?”
“I’m sure she doesn’t want us in her business,” Susan answers for you, noting your discomfort. As Omegas go, she’s astute. “You did a great job today. You should be proud.”
“Now that it’s over, I can relax.”
Robert laughs at your comment, shaking his head.
“Not by a longshot. You embody our cause. Your journey is just beginning. I hope you’ve dusted off that passport.”
⚡️
Paloma meets you outside the conference room, beaming with pride as you walk out together.
“The Asgardians being present? That was wild!” she exclaims. “How did you pull that off?”
“I didn’t,” you respond, seeing her confusion.
“So then… Thor…”
“That was all him.”
“Romantic,” she sighs, clutching her clipboard.
“Romantic that he broke up with me months ago to stare me down during my first media spot? I think we differ on what romantic means.”
“Oh, I just, I didn’t,” Paloma mumbles, her cheeks going red. “I didn’t realize how that sounded. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be better when I’m in the car.”
“Then let’s get you there.”
By the time the door opens, Paloma’s steps halt at the sight of Thor, surrounded by throngs of his people.
“Ah,” he says with a wave of his hand. “There she is.”
The Asgardians begin to applaud, Paloma looking over as you force a polite smile,
“I wanted to extend my appreciation for your comments today. It is my hope that we come to a strong understanding of interstellar people and Midgardians as well,” Thor continues, cameras flashing as he smiles, giving you a sly up and down gaze. “We are in your ever capable hands.”
“Thank you,” you respond quickly, Paloma ushering you into the car, seeing Thor watch you as Paloma waves for the driver to take off.
Looking out from the backseat, Paloma picks up her phone, dialing a number.
“I think it might be helpful if you have some security, don’t you?” she asks nervously.
You don’t have the heart to tell her that it’s pointless to fight against a god.
⚡️
Your phone rings twice, enough for you to answer it, a towel wrapped around you when you answer.
“Hi.”
“Thor,” you respond, unable to hide the irritation from your voice.
“I wanted to ask for a truce.”
“We weren’t fighting.”
“Is that the wrong word? Bruce told me to ask for a… branch?”
“Olive branch,” you respond tersely. “You already showed up to my media spot.”
“You needed support. Asgardians are excited for the news. They were happy to come.”
You feel a ripple of guilt for being irritated when he frames it that way, remembering the little children in attendance.
“Well… thank you. I appreciate it.”
“And I wanted to ask about the olive branch. Have dinner with me.”
“Dinner?” you repeat, chewing on your lower lip.
Dinner means a chance to relive the memories – good and bad – and make small talk about things you know either of you won’t care about. He’s moved on and you have too, in your own way. Dating hasn’t been an option, neither has even thinking about uploading a picture of a dating site, let alone signing up for one.
It seems harmless, this ask, to have one dinner and have it be done. Your confidence from the media event makes you wonder if you’re allowed to ask him questions about things you’ve only wondered about.
Maybe you shouldn’t wonder anymore.
Maybe you should demand.
“Okay,” you reply.
“Perfect. I’ll meet you around seven? I’ll give the details to your assistant.”
“Seven sounds fine.”
“See you then.”
⚡️
Gone is the red cape, replaced with a black sweater and black pants, his blond hair tied in a loose bun as he listens intently on what you’ve been working on.
You’ve tried to keep it light, ignoring the ways he sneaks in comments of how he misses you.
“I saw Steve on TV,” you continue, trying to change the subject. “The news says his wife is pregnant.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” you press gently, Thor taking a bite of his dinner.
“Hmm as in… hmm. Interesting.”
“So you will not confirm or deny.”
“It is not my business to share. That is Steve’s.”
He has a point. You try another angle, hoping to get some traction from it.
“I’m sure you’ve seen her. Does she ever miss her old job?”
Thor sighs, looking at you as he swallows.
“Why does she interest you so much all of a sudden?”
“All of a sudden? She was on TV, they mentioned her.”
“She’s Steve’s wife, why wouldn’t they?”
“She allegedly gave up her job for him? She was the surveillance director! That’s a big deal.”
“Is it?” he asks. “Or was it that she rearranged her priorities? Maybe Steve came first and then work fell to wayside.”
Frowning at his assumption, you shake your head.
“Didn’t seem like the sort.”
“Well, she was.”
You both eat in silence for a moment, background conversations taking over while you seemingly retreat from asking any additional questions about her. There’s no point if Thor is going to be so tight lipped, which only makes you more suspicious.
After a moment, he sighs, placing his knife and fork down.
“I want to talk about us.”
You sit still, waiting for him to continue.
“I don’t like being apart. I know I hurt you and I hurt myself in the process. I think we need a fresh start.”
“A fresh start,” you repeat, nodding at his words. “A fresh start before or after you were seeing Jane?”
“I wasn’t seeing Jane until we were completely done.”
“And what changed?”
“She’s a Beta, for Gods’ sakes. We were incompatible, you know that.”
“Didn’t exactly stop you from dumping me.”
You can see the flash of anger in his eyes, quick but palatable. He doesn’t like your tone – you can tell that by the tick in his jaw – but that doesn’t stop you from feeling free enough to speak your mind. You aren’t his anymore and there are no boundaries you need to be mindful of.
“I didn’t dump you, you left me no choice but to leave a once fulfilling relationship because you wanted to chase a dream. A dream that has come true and while I am happy for you, you know that you and I belong together.”
“You could have thought about that before you cleared out your things.”
“I need you to listen and understand me clearly,” Thor counters, his tone low. “Listen to me very carefully.”
At your silence and the set of your jaw, he lifts his head with a smile.
“You have made your point. I hear you loud and clear. I want a reconciliation. You and I make sense. You need me, especially with this job you’ve decided to take on.”
“I did need you, once,” you agree meekly. “I appreciate the dinner, Thor, I really do. I’m glad we had a chance to catch up and I wish it was under a better circumstance. But I can’t go through that again. I’m sorry.”
You can see his eyes darken when you stand, placing your napkin on the table.
“Goodnight,” he bids tersely, seeing you walk away.
Smiling to himself, he cuts into his steak, popping a piece of meat into his mouth.
“As if you have a choice in the matter,” he muses to himself.
⚡️
Paloma seems pleased with herself when she enters your hotel room with a paper drink tray filled with coffees.
“You’ll never guess what I managed to do,” she greets you excitedly, plopping down on a chair.
Packing the last of your things, you stop for a moment.
“What?”
“I got you twenty-four seven, around the clock security.”
“From where?”
“After you left, I was able to talk with some security agencies and before I knew it, they were able to offer three names. I have them on retainer but we can move onto a contract since it’s covered. They’re on their way up to be interviewed. I figured you’d want to have the final say.”
The knock at the door sends Paloma running, looking through the peephole before she flings the door open.
Your phone rings at the same time, Thor’s number popping up as something tells you to answer it.
“I was hoping to catch you before they arrived,” Thor says, your eyes going to the opened door. “But I forgot to tell you. Inked a security detail for you. Robert and Susan were overjoyed to know you would be in such great hands.”
You recognize them, the burly and massive men standing in a straight line.
Fandral, Volgstagg and Hogun.
“I trust you won’t be looking for any additional security since they know how important their job is to protect you by any means necessary.”
Paloma turns around, nodding her head excitedly as you swallow hard.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Language, Alpha/Omega dynamics, angst, violence (assault), mentions of pregnancy, a special surprise.
Life in the Fast Lane Series Masterlist
Word Count: 2K
CEO! Alpha Ari Levinson x Mechanic! Female Omega Reader
gif by @lilacevans | divider by @firefly-graphics
Summary | The last thing you need is a distraction while trying to run a small auto shop. Ari Levinson is just that and more.
Todd hears the sound of a rumbling motorcycle, stilling his movements for a moment, hear the sound clearer, more distinct before the engine cuts off. It could be anyone, a lone biker needing someone to look at his bike or, as Todd scents, someone who has come back to check on a familiar stomping ground.
His pace quickens to get to the door, meeting none other than Tyler Rake at the entrance. It feels silly to get emotional, seeing the tatted Alpha, one that has been his found family since he can remember, giving him a hug as Tyler grips him tight. He lets the tears flow, knowing that it’s because the sense of his grounding is back. He’d never had an older brother but Tyler came damn close, if not going above and beyond. He’d given him a job, given him a sense of his own agency, especially as an Omega.
When he pulls away, Tyler doesn’t make any mention of the tears, merely squeezing his shoulder as he looks around the shop. He seems proud, nodding with approval at the amount of awards that are placed above on the walls.
“You’ve all turned this place into something else,” Tyler praises, pushing open a door. “Is she here?”
“Uh, no,” Todd answers him quickly, knowing you’re away for a little. He wants to text you, let you know that Tyler is back but he doesn’t know if Ari is there or if you’re doing some important pregnant Omega thing. “She’s out at the moment.”
“She didn’t answer my call so I figured as much. Wanted to surprise you all.”
“It is a surprise,” Todd insists, pushing open the door of the back of the shop.
“Well, look at this shit,” Tyler murmurs, his eyes widening at the amount of tools. “How much through put?”
“On average, twenty cars?”
“You need another shop,” Tyler notes, Todd nodding in agreement. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We didn’t want to bother you, you know? You were out seeing the world and honestly,” Todd says with a wave of his hand. “We can manage it. We stay late, the work gets done. No unhappy customers.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Tyler turns around, facing Todd. “You hungry? Let’s get some lunch.”
You’re supposed to meet him at his office for lunch, the security guard letting you up with a polite wave, taking the elevator up as you try to text him again to let him know you’re almost there.
When the elevator doors open, you inhale, immediately knowing that someone else is close.
And it isn’t Ari.
Delilah is slowly putting things in a box, hidden away from Ari’s office. You see her clear as day, muttering to herself when you step out of the elevator, her eyes snapping up at you. Immediately, her gaze goes to your swollen belly in your coveralls, a slight sneer on her glossed lips.
“Do you have an appointment?” Delilah sniffs, reaching for her phone.
“Do you have a job?” you fire back, trying to temper your irritation at seeing her. Ari had told you it was done and now, seeing her as she looks at her phone as if you’re bothering her, only lends to your anger that is rising.
“Why is that any of your business?” Delilah shoots back, glaring at you while you take a step forward.
“I have an appointment, it’s always on the top of his calendar,” you reply, Delilah swallowing hard at your words when she moves away from the desk and toward you.
"Do you know who Ari Levinson truly is? He could have anyone he wants,” Delilah says quietly, looking you up and down with disgust. “You’re not mated. Do you think he’ll ever truly bond you? You’re a fling who just so happens to be having his bastard child. That’s not a win, you -”
Teeth bared, you throw her down onto the carpeted floor, her whimper of surprise falling on deaf ears as you grab the labels of her shirt.
“What did you just call my baby?” you ask, your voice low.
“A bastard,” Delilah hisses. “He’ll leave it and you behind. It’s probably not even his.”
The blow hits her squarely in the jaw and then another, your hands in her hair, her screams not registering despite her mouth opening and you’re pulled off of her by a pair of strong arms, Delilah in hysterics as she wails, laying on her side, covering her face. Pure rage roils inside you, your heart beating rapidly when you scent Ari, his own heart thumping against your back.
“Ari!” Delilah cries, your hard pants mixing with her shouts of pain. “She hit me!”
“Let me go!” you demand, Ari’s hands cradling your belly, trying to settle you down as you lunge for her again.
“No,” Ari says firmly. “Not here.”
His voice is low in your ear, his scent calming you as tears spring to your eyes. You won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry, blinking them away when Delilah stumbles to get up.
“Shit,” Ari mutters, still holding onto you. “What happened?”
“She attacked me! She’s unhinged! She jumped at me out of nowhere!” Delilah sobs.
“Bastard,” you say calmly, noticing blood on your knuckles. “She called our baby a bastard.”
Ari’s hold on you tightens as he glares at Delilah, her mouth opening and closing, struggling with what she wants to say.
“A bastard,” he repeats, Delilah wiping blood away from her mouth.
He lets you go gently, crouching down to see Delilah’s face. You managed to get in a good hit, mascara melded with her tears as she holds her jaw.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks calmly, looking at the boxes. “As I recall, your access was revoked when I fired you. How did you get in?”
“Wilson let me in,” she sniffles. “I wanted to pack, to say goodbye.”
“You trespassed,” Ari says, standing up as he looks down at her. “Which, if I’m remembering correctly, is a crime.”
“She assaulted me!”
Ari nods in agreement, following with your own nod of approval.
“I can call the police if you like,” he offers, Delilah glancing between you both. “But I think we both know what the penalty is for threatening an unborn baby.”
“I didn’t threaten it!”
“That,” he says through clenched teeth. “Is my child you’re talking about.”
A flash of remembrance of what she said prior propels you take a step further, Delilah cowering as Ari puts his hand up to stop you.
“Delilah, you have less than five minutes to get out of my sight,” he orders, his tone short, nearly an Alpha command before he looks at you.
Delilah scrambles to get her purse, wiping her mouth again before running full speed out the door. Ari breathes heavily at the spots of blood on the carpet, trying to maintain his composure when you hear the elevator doors close.
“If she calls the cops,” you begin, a smirk playing on your lips. “It will have been worth it.”
“You aren’t going to jail,” Ari says, pulling you close, holding you tight as he lets out a shuddered breath. “You fucking scared me. I heard the scream and I -”
“You think she hit me?” you ask incredulously, looking up at him in disbelief. “There’s no way she would even get close.”
“Are you and the baby okay?” he asks, his hands running down the sides of your belly. “You can’t just go off and knock the ever-loving daylights out of people.”
“She deserved it,” you mutter, feeling your temper spike. “She called our baby a bastard. A bastard, Ari! Like I’d let her get away with that.”
He kisses your forehead, the fight immediately dissipating as you frown.
“You could have been hurt,” he reminds you, shaking his head when you roll your eyes. “I mean it. She could have fought dirty.”
“She would have had to know how to fight to fight dirty.”
Ari says your name as a warning, his hand raking his hair back.
“Do you think she’ll call the cops?” you ask, wondering how orange would look on you.
“She’s not calling the cops. Not with all the things I know she’s done.”
“Like what?”
“One crazy day at a time,” he reminds you, turning you back toward his office. “I’m starving.”
You smile, knowing exactly where you’re going.
“Food is that way,” you remind him, pointing toward the elevator.
“I know what I want,” Ari says, closing the door behind you both before he kisses you. “And I want it now.”
“Vision Automotive,” you answer, cleaning a tool as your hold the phone to your ear. You’re in a good mood, Todd giving you a strange look when he first saw your bandaged hand.
“Don’t we have a receptionist?” Tyler teases.
The tool clatters to the floor before you clear your throat.
“They get days off too, you know,” you reply. “Am I not doing a good job, Rake? Getting worried that you haven’t heard anything?”
“Just the opposite. I’m actually in town for a little bit. Maybe longer depending on what I have going on. Wanted to see all the great work you’ve been doing. Todd says it’s been packed with cars non-stop.”
“I wouldn’t say non-stop,” you counter, looking at the three waiting cars to be worked on. “We do close at seven.”
“Always a smartass,” Tyler muses. “Would my best mechanic want to join me for a bar hop since I’m back in town?”
“Bar hop?” you repeat, looking at the jumpsuit that is snug around your waist. “Too busy for that.”
“At least let me take you and Todd out for a nice dinner. Consider it a thank you for everything you’ve both been doing.”
“Sounds good to me. See you tomorrow.”
Todd’s back is to you and you already know that he’s aware that Tyler is back in town, tossing a rag at the middle of his back.
“When were you going to tell me he was back?” you ask Todd.
“When you realized you missed two of his phone calls,” Todd replies, your hand diving into your pocket to look at your missed calls. You smile sheepishly, putting your phone back into your pocket.
“Way to warn a girl that her boss was already here.”
Tyler finishes off a beer, flicking the bottle into the bin as it falls perfectly inside. Looking over at his ’67 Chevelle, he pops the hood to look at the shiny engine that he’s just replaced, tightening a bolt before he steps back.
He knows you’ll roll your eyes at the sight of it. It’s been his pride and joy since he bought it two years ago, finally finishing up the repairs and final touches. He’s impressed with how you’ve handled the shop, though truthfully he’s always known that you were going to do a great job, even as he’d traveled the world, randomly getting updates from Todd on how busy the shop was getting, checking on you to make sure you weren’t getting too burned out.
As it turned out, Todd’s check-ins had been vague after a while, sharing that you had been out of the office for a weekend, then a few extra days. Unlike you to take so much time off but it had been well deserved.
Tyler looks at the picture he took of you at the shop before he left, the wallpaper on his phone as you’re juggling a wrench and screwdriver in the air, a bright smile on your face with a smudge of motor oil on your cheek. It’s something that cheers him up when he needs a break, placing his phone back down as he stretches, a thought running across his mind.
Dialing Todd’s number, he picks up after the first ring.
Sweat rolls down your back in rivets, the jeep bouncing wildly along the dirt road, the engine revving up a steep hill. The steam from the jungle gives you no relief, hot air whizzing past your face, your gun at the ready.
The safe house isn’t far away but you’re paranoid, as your team knows, your best sniper at your side.
“No sign of Pope,” she says, your eyes still looking through the lush trees and bushes.
It doesn’t matter if there’s no sign. You know him well enough that he’ll appear out of nowhere. The money you’ve stolen is in an unmarked jeep, speeding toward the safe house with the three other vehicles.
Gunfire slices through the air, your second in command forcing you down as she returns fire, the jeep veering right and then left, bullets peppering the steel molding.
“Go! Go! Go!” you shout, pushing her arm away, aiming your gun carefully for any indication that he’s here.
Holding on tight as the jeep swerves to the left, you spy a dark vehicle, accelerating wildly, the tires spinning in the mud when you open fire.
“Is that him?!” she shouts, making a motion for the vehicles to spread out.
“It is,” you answer, focusing on the driver who breaks through the jeeps, ready to ram the back of the car when you see him through the windshield.
Before you have a chance to shoot, the car slams into yours, flipping it over with the force, sending you flying until everything goes black.
-
“There you are,” his voice breaking through, your eyes opening amid the pool of blood under your eye. “I thought you were dead.”
You force a smile, looking up at your captor, who has his gun steadied on you.
“You would shoot me?” you ask, through a heaving painful breath. “Where is she?”
“She didn’t make it,” he replies, a tingling sensation going down your arms when you try to move, releasing your wrists are bound together. “It’s just you and I for a while. The rest will come soon.”
You cough, blood dripping down your chest from a cut. Everything hurts but you can push through it, Pope looking at you with concern.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to find you?”
“Maybe,” you respond, seeing him light a cigarette, placing it between your lips. Your fingers flex, pain settling in as your head throbs, the taste of nicotine giving you a small reprieve.
“You stole from me,” he informs you. “That’s never good.”
“It was mine in the first place.”
“Finder’s keepers? That’s now how it works, baby.”
He plucks the cigarette from your mouth, letting a line of smoke filter through your lips.
“You take me down, I take you with me,” you remind him, looking up with a defiant stare. “After all, you’re the one who released me in the first place, husband.”
He crouches down, cupping your cheek as he smiles.
“Then ‘til death do us part,” he answers you. “Your choice.”
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