#offering you some soft hawkeye

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 2

I just could not stop thinking about this. Have some more. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Warnings!: Still none! Inexperienced reader! I guess?

Dracule huffed, nose scrunching at the taste of the shoddy peppermint tea that he'd chosen for the cabin boy to fetch him. Across the table, Sengoku raised a brow at the pirate.

“What? Not to your liking, Hawkeye?” He mocked lowly and is swiftly delivered a scathing glare from the yellow-eyed man.

Mihawk sniffs and sets the tea away, done with it, “Not my taste at all, Fleet Admiral,” he drawled. No. The only peppermint tea he wanted was yours, and it had been far too long since Dracule had laid eyes on you. Several weeks too long, in fact.

Sengoku scoffs and sits back in his chair. The warlord meeting had gone about as well as he had thought, with only Mihawk and Doflamingo showing. The pink idiot had shown his ass for half an hour before bugging out, stating he had more important matters to attend to.

“Whatever. Get the hell out of here, Mihawk,” The Fleet Admiral grouched, and the warlord happily rose and left without a word. Hawkeye went straight to his ship and hoisted the sail before turning east. It would take several days for him to reach your island.

To say that Mihawk is in a shit mond when he finally arrives at your island would be an understatement. The seas had not been kind to him, and it had left him soaked to the bone and desperate for a hot cup of tea.

The warlord doesn't waste any time, tossing his anchor and flashing to the shore. A permanent scowl is etched across his face as he stomps through the underbrush until he arrives at your quaint cottage. He shakes himself off any water once he stands under your stoop and then raises his hand to knock.

Dracule listens, sharp ears picking up the sound of Hank's nails on the hardwood and then the soft steps of your feet. The door is yanked open, and the furious scowl on your face disappears the moment you lay eyes on the soaked bird in front of you.

“Mihawk? Shit, come in here. You're soaked!” You grab his jacket without thinking and tug the warlord inside quickly. You flutter away and come back with a couple of fluffy towels that you hand over to him, “Gimme your hat and jacket. I'll hang it by the fireplace.”

Dracule huffed and found himself doing as you ordered. He strips off his hat and shrugs out of his coat to hand it over. His lips curl when he sees your eyes flick over his body and your face pink up. You turn and leave before he can decide to do something about it. He huffs and then takes advantage of the towels that you gave him.

You come back to see him stoking the embers of the fireplace, towel hanging around his shoulders, “Thank you, Darling,” he murmurs and hands you the one that he'd used to dry his hair.

You clear your throat, “Ah. You're welcome. Is everything okay?” You ask and take the towel back to the bathroom before you begin to clear away the seating, tucking away the gardening books you have spread out. You had not expected to see Mihawk so soon, not that you were complaining.

Hawkeye dips his head in a nod, “Fine. The weather was not kind during my trip here.” Dracule assures you and sits when you've cleared up a spot. He examines the books you've got scattered around, sharp brow ticking up in interest, “Botany?”

You nod, smile crossing your face as you nod, “Yep. I know enough, but there isn't anything wrong with wanting to know more. I had to teach myself a lot of this,” You gesture around your cluttered home and shrug. You weren't embarrassed about your life

“Admirable,” Mihawk rumbles. He grimaces when his boots squelch and raises a brow when you snicker at his scrunched face.

“I'm sure I've got some socks that will fit you. Let me go get some and then I'll make us some tea?” You offer, and Mihawk gives you what might call a pitiful look if the elegant mad made those. You snicker again and then walk off, “Make yourself at home.”

Dracule huffs at your retreating back and then reaches down to tug off his boots and then his socks. He feels exposed like this, but not unsafe or in any kind of danger. it's not a common feeling unless he was home, secluded away inside his room in his empty castle. He kicks back in his chair, warming his chilled toes by the fire.

You come back to your living room to see your guest lean back in his chair with his eyes closed. You take in his relaxed form, tiny smile playing on your lips as you watch him. He looks peaceful like this, the monstrous scowl gone from earlier. You jump when he speaks up.

“I can feel you staring, Darling,” he rumbles and cracks a yellow eye open to peer at the young woman he came all this way to see. He wonders if she understands how important such a notion was.

“Sorry! you just looked comfortable,” you tell him and then step into the kitchen to start the kettle. You slap your cheeks while hidden away from him, cursing yourself for being so rude to your guest.

Dracule rolls his eyes and stands to follow you to the kitchen. He comes to a stop behind you, reaching out one hand to place it on your hip. He feels you tense, and then the room drops in temperature as your devil fruit comes to life in response to the sudden touch. He ignores the cold and takes a half step closer, and you shiver at the heat radiating from his front.

“Don't be scared, Darling. You're safe with me,” Mihawk says quietly and then reaches past you with his free arm to gather the two mugs that the two of you used last time. He set them on the counter and then stepped back like he hadn't just rocked your entire foundation.

You swallow and turn around quickly, heart in your throat as you stare up at Darcule. He watches you, eyes intent, waiting for your next words.

“Which tea do you want?” You croak, and the tension in the air shatters when Mihawk snorts a laugh and runs a hand through his hair, fixing the black strands back in place.

“I'll take the peppermint, dear,” Dracule decides and watches the way you nod and quickly turns back to the counter. He leans in the doorframe, and by the time the kettle begins to whistle, the chill of the room has faded, and you face him with a relaxed grin on your face.

“One for you, one for me,” You intone and the two of you settle back by the fireplace in the living room. He takes his seat and you surprise him by settling on the floor by the open fire. You hand him his tea, and Mihawk sips from the chipped mug.

“Cold?” Dracule questions, and you nod, lips twisting in a weary smile. He finds that he does not like the distant look in your eye, as if recalling bad memories.

“Mhm, yeah. I ate the Yuki Yuki fruit when I was really young. You've seen it already. I'm always cold, so being warm is nice,” you admit casually, but Mihawk can still hear the strain on your voice. He frowns, curious for more, but unwilling to press for more if you did not want to speak on it.

“It is a formidable power,” Dracule murmurs and stands to set another log into the fire. His concern and curiosity for you grows, and he does not fight it. So, he settles back in his chair and parts his legs, “Come here, Darling.”

“What?” You demand, eyes wide and mouth growing dry. You can't have heard how correctly.

Hawkeye sighs, yellow eyes narrowing in on your befuddled form. The warlord knows that you aren't this dense. You're a smart girl, “Don't make me repeat myself, Darling,” he quips and pats his lap, “Come here. I'll warm you up.”

You find yourself standing on wobbly legs. In three short steps you stand between his legs, and Dracule finishes the job by grasping your hips and leading you firmly to sit in his lap. He sits you sideways, legs hanging over the side of his and pressing you into his chest. It's intimate, daring, and Mihawk has to look up to hide his smile when he feels you begin to relax against him.

You grin to yourself, warm and comfortable tucked up against your friend's? chest. You don't really know what's going on, but you like it. You like the squirmy feeling that blooms in your chest when this man who invited himself into your life looks at you.

“See?” Dracule speaks up, and you can feel the way his chest flexes below you when he curls one of his arms around you, “I told you I ran hot, Darling.”

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #op mihawk #opla mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #fluff #the tension #reader is a devil fruit user #reader is inexperienced

[yelenasdiary]

Kate Bishop x Reader. Taking place during Episode 2. Reader is a young surgeon and Kate's girlfriend. Kate returns injured with Clint. Reader may be Clint's daughter and doesn't know his daughter is dating Kate.

Secrets Out

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Surgeon! Barton! Reader

Summary: Treating your girlfriend wasn’t how you thought you’d be spending your Sunday afternoon at work.

Tiny Angst | Fluff | Mentions of Blood | Medical Talk | Slight Language Warning | 1.2K | 

AC: Thank you for sending this!! Although I have only seen Hawkeye once, I loved the idea and there needs to be so much more Kate fics! I hope you enjoy this x 

As part of your studies to become a surgeon, you had to do some volunteer work at the local hospital to help put what you've learned so far into practice. Of course, given you're only half-way through your second year of med school, you weren't expected to do any major operations like a heart transplant. You would scrub in on operations like that and watch as the surgeon did their magic and other times you'd help out in emergency. 

Tonight, was exactly that, a few hours in the emergency room helping out the nurses. You never knew what injury would walk through those big sliding doors. "Alright, Mrs Anderson, take it easy for the rest of the week, okay?" you smiled softly at the elderly woman who had slipped in her kitchen while making dinner. She required a few small stitches. 

"Thank you, doc!" the woman smiled before you showed her out. With her cart, you placed it in the filing system at the front desk before taking a much needed mouthful of your soon to be cold coffee when your eyes locked onto the next patient who walked into the ER.

"Dad?" you questioned as you wandered over to him, "are you okay?!" you asked in a worry. Your eyes scanning every part of him for any injuries or signs of blood.

"It's not me honey" he assured you, "it's Kate" he added. Your heart sunk as you saw your girlfriend standing behind your father with a soft smile and a large gash on her forehead as she mouthed "I'm sorry" when you raised a concerned brow at her. 

"What happened?" you asked. 

"I slipped" Kate lied which only made you tilt your heard at the dark-haired woman.

"Take a seat on bed four, I'll be with you in a moment" you replied, giving your girlfriend a non-impressed look. Your dad, Clint, followed Kate to the bed where they both waited for you to return with fresh instruments to stitch Kate's forehead up. It was hard for you to keep your worries to a minimum when your father was yet to know about your relationship with his crime fighting partner. 

You returned with everything you needed and began to clean up the blood that made a river down the side of Kate's face. She would see the worry in your eyes and knew she'd be getting a talk when she was home alone with you. Clint offered to get some fresh coffee as it would take a while for you to make sure Kate could leave in be better condition she arrived in. 

"What happened?" you asked as you jabbed her with some lidocaine to numb the area before giving the woman stitches. 

"It was just a little fight; you should see the others! I think they'll need a lot more than stitches" she replied with a chuckle. You didn't find it funny though. 

"Baby, I already worry about my dad out there fighting aliens and whatever else, now I have to worry about you as well and somehow, I'm more worried about you than my dad" you explained as you prepared the stitches. Kate gently placed her hand over your blue gloved hand, making you look at her once more. 

"I promise you, I'm okay" she assured you. 

"Honey, I'm about to give you 4 stitches, I wouldn't exactly say that's okay" 

Kate didn't want to make you worry any more than you already were, "what can I do to make this up to you?" she asked. 

"You could be more careful? Maybe not throw yourself into fights?" You raised a brow at her once more. Kate raised your hand to her lips and kissed your covered knuckles as she looked up at you, "your wish is my command" she smiled softly. Her cuteness was more than enough for you to forgive her and make you blush, you chuckled, "now I have to change my gloves again" you playfully rolled your eyes before taking off the now contaminated gloves. 

As you turned around to get more gloves, you were met with the very protective look of your father who had just seen everything. He moved slightly to the left and made eye contact with Kate while instantly gulping and sloughing in hopes it would hide her from the glaring look from your father. 

"So, which one of you is going to explain this?" he asked, placing the two take away coffee cups in the bin before crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Dad, not here, not now" you tried to keep professional as you grabbed a fresh set of gloves. 

----

You would've had Kate stitched up and out the door by now if it wasn't for the glaring stare your father was giving the two of you. Not a word was spoken as you stitched up your girlfriend's gash while your mind tried its best to not think about the talk you're going to have to have with your father. 

It was safe to say that your dad has always been extremely protective of you, you're his eldest child and nobody would ever be good enough for his little girl. Even through high school, anybody you dated not only got a talking too from your father but also his friends, the avengers. 

"How long have you two been dating?" Clint asked, breaking the silence. Kate looked at you as she chewed the inside of her cheek, it was clear she was slightly scared of what your father and her mentor might think of her dating you. 

"A few months" you replied as you began to finish up Kate's stitches. Your father's eyes looked direct at Kate as you backed away from her and removed your gloves once again. "Remind me again my number one rule, Bishop" he spoke sternly. 

"Not to flirt with your daughter" Kate confessed. 

"Lucky you because it was me to who flirted with Kate" you turned to your dad who wasn't impressed. "Why? I mean, you can ha-"

"Dad!" you interrupted him, "I know you love me, and you care about me but, so does Kate. She's amazing, she's respectful, she's funny, she's smart and beyond beautiful, she makes me happy and for once, please, just give this one a chance. No talks from your or the others, if I didn't think Kate would be good for me, I wouldn't have asked her out myself" you explained, slightly unloading some built up feelings. 

Clint took a moment to think about what you were saying, his eyes drifted back to Kate before he sighed in defeat. "Can I just say one thing?" Your father asked, you nodded. 

"You hurt her in anyway a-"

"I know, you'll kill me and then most likely the Avengers will kill me and for some reason I feel like you'd kill me again" Kate interrupted, chuckling nervously at her own words. You couldn't help but shoot your dad and unimpressed look before he opened his mouth again. 

"You best come to dinner Friday night then, Laura is going to want to know about this" he replied. Your dad won't admit it but he couldn't have picked anybody better for you to date. He knew Kate would never hurt you and that she would treat you with nothing but love and respect, it just meant now he had to really make sure that she wouldn't get hurt on the job.

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#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #hawkeye #marvel #fanfiction

[remyfire]

For the kinkfic thing. power imbalance and breeding for uh. Charbeej plz. :-D

(prompts now closed) (Okay so this is a lot of breeding kink, a little power imbalance, and though it is charbeej on the page, both beejhawk and charbeejhawk wiggled their way into it, and I really hope that's okay!! It's also 6.4k I'm very sorry—)

"Aaaaaaall right, Winchester," BJ trills as he sweeps into the Swamp and sets the lock behind him. Now that necessary arrangements have been made for privacy, he's got a certain spring in his step, a song in both his heart and his dick. "Here we go. You ready?"

Charles looks up suspiciously from his desk where he's cross-referencing something in a book to the notes he's taking. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

BJ drops the tent flaps in one quick rush, then strides over to slap his hands on Charles's shoulders. "That's never stopped you from offering your opinion before, so why start now?" When Charles tries to look back at his work, BJ cradles his cheek and steers him right back around. "You can do that later."

"For heaven's sake." Along with a particularly overexaggerated roll of his eyes, Charles's lips rise up in a snarl that does nothing more than bring tingles of anticipation down BJ's spine. "Hunnicutt, are you sure you haven't taken a tumble recently? Banged your forehead on something? It's quite a large target." He makes a show of shrewdly considering it, all the while ignoring how BJ's beginning to smirk. "Can't imagine any other reason why you appear to be mistaking me with Pierce."

"I'm not making a mistake," BJ murmurs in a low, sweetly rotten tone.

"He's the one you, ah, sully around with, you know." Charles goes on as though he didn't hear BJ say a word. "Little whimsical pet practically slobbering for the chance to do your bidding."

As BJ tightens his grip around Charles's soft jaw until he feels the bones stabbing into his fingertips, Charles finally goes silent and flicks his gaze back up. "Charles," BJ breathes. "Put your pen down. And take your pants off."

Clack. The pen's rolling across the desk before BJ even realizes that Charles opened his hand. They share a long, silent stare where he gets to watch how Charles's brow furrows, the quick analyses occurring behind his eyes.

Honestly, BJ gets it. He wasn't wrong, bringing up Hawkeye like that. Usually BJ and Hawk are rolling around together in a cot, trying to get a rise out of Charles across the room, and in the few circumstances where they've actually seen a response—the heat on the back of his neck or the faint wiggling of his restless leg—they've slipped off the mattress like sirens, finding their way to him, meeting his sharp-edged banter with teasing words of their own. It's just an extension of the rhythm they've all ended up in, the games they like to play. Inevitably they all end with Hawkeye as a ruined mess of some kind while BJ and Charles study each other, still panting as they recover from their own release.

This is the way of things nowadays. Since BJ and Hawk are finally over the first nervous hurdles of trying not to fuck things up, BJ gets to take what he wants from an extremely enthusiastic Hawkeye practically whenever he chooses to do so. Charles, meanwhile, has to be all but forcibly dragged in on a casual basis regardless of the fact that he so clearly desires their time. There are times when BJ doesn't think it's even the sex that Charles craves, though the man's certainly never complained about an orgasm. Maybe it's the easy possession. Hawk will drop into BJ's lap, or BJ will pet through Hawk's hair and scratch his scalp during a normal conversation, or Hawk will mold himself around BJ's back and grope him with a hungry groan without so much as a hello. They're open to each other. They're always around to offer support, love, comfort, and passion. Charles seems to need to wait until he's about to burst before he so much as asks if one of them will have a serious conversation with him.

BJ doesn't know if he'd call it jealousy. Just a longing that appears to humiliate Charles. No wonder he needs to be surrounded and caught before he'll let all of his muscles unclench.

Charles finally takes a deep breath. "Should I presume Pierce will be arriving shortly?"

"No," BJ murmurs. "I don't see you going for your pants."

"I don't see a reason why I should," Charles counters.

"How about because I'm gonna fuck you?" BJ leans close and bumps their noses together. "Or how about because I said so?"

No matter what Charles tries to hide from them, he can't conceal that flush of his. His clean, pure, pretty blue blood does so love to betray him in moments like this.

Despite himself, BJ feels heat rush straight into his cock.

"Y'know, I've noticed something about you," BJ murmurs. He shrugs on a warmer tone like a robe, watches how Charles instantly goes for his belt. "You're really not a joiner, huh?"

"Difficult to find one's way into anything when there's not an inch of room," Charles counters. He doesn't sound hurt, exactly, or even sullen, but there's an edge in his voice all the same, and BJ files it away.

BJ shrugs, pursing his lips. "I mean, you could ask for somebody to move over, couldn't you?"

Charles finally breaks free from his grasp. He pushes his chair back with a loud scrape as he takes care of his trousers, then folds them perfectly with not a wrinkle to be seen. With his attention so focused on the task, he either doesn't think to or chooses not to reply.

"I don't know. It's just interesting. Sometimes I'll look over and you're holding yourself back by a thread." BJ chuckles like this is a meaningless conversation. Charles doesn't have to see the keen, smug expression he wants to wear. Not yet. "Like last week, y'know? Hawk and I are in my bunk. I've practically got his ankles behind his ears. He's ready to cry, he wants it so bad. Begging for it. Begging to be bred." Just like that, BJ flicks his gaze up, watches how Charles freezes. Yeah. There you are. BJ finds Charles's hip with one broad hand. As he slips his fingertips under the hem of his shirt, Charles drapes his trousers over the back of his desk chair, then grabs on tightly. "You don't have to be shy about it. I know you've got your thing. You need a son and all that, don't you?"

"I don't see why that's any of your business," Charles mutters, but unfortunately for him, he's starting to tap his foot rapidly on the ground.

"Aw, simmer down, Chuck." BJ moves into him, rests his chin on his shoulder, and lets his fingers continue to wander around to his front. "It's just some fun, yeah? Not that serious."

"Maybe not t—" Charles cuts off in a shiver as BJ shapes his palm right over his round belly. This is where it gets interesting. Hawkeye's easy by his own admission. He'll drop to his knees with little more than a look. But Charles turns his head, face so close that it's blurry, and speaks quite softly, one even tone. "Are you making a mockery of my duty?"

BJ chews on his bottom lip and considers the game here. "No," he finally says with a spreading smile. "C'mon, I wouldn't do that. I'm fetishizing it."

"Y— Excuse me?" Charles's brows shoot toward the sky. He gapes for a few moments before he scoffs. "Only you would take such a noble act as continuing one's bloodline and turn it into nothing but fodder for your perverse entertainment," he snaps.

Uh-huh. BJ takes in how red the apples of his cheeks are. "Not only me. Hawkeye too."

"Of course," he drawls, flicking his gaze away.

"So here's what I figure. You and me both know what kind of guy Hawkeye is." BJ considers further still. He could demean their bunkie, call him a slut—nine times out of ten, that gets Hawk dripping, so it's not like he'd be insulting him—but Hawkeye's not at the middle of this. The only thing he's doing is making sure nobody's gonna come bother the Swamp. No, right now he's just a segue, and one that BJ's happy to deploy. "So if there's a quiet little sector of your brain that gets turned on thinking about getting somebody in the family way, you already understand that all you've gotta do is walk across the tent and tell me to scooch, and I'll be happy to let you breed him. Joining of forces, right? With two of us at it, it's gotta take."

Charles inhales deeply, only just barely audible. He hasn't tried to move away. And when BJ begins thumbing a slow circle through the coarse hairs on his belly, all he does is breathe a touch faster.

"But yeah, no, you're right, you wouldn't do that. Not since the mumps. It stresses you out too much to think you might not be able to get the job done anymore."

"Hunnicutt, I'm warning you," Charles mutters.

When BJ rocks his hips forward, Charles freezes, fingers kneading the back of the chair. BJ grinds just the once more, simply making absolutely sure that Charles can feel how hard he is. That he knows this isn't a dig. Only a game. One that he's very enthusiastic about participating in.

He likes doing things like this, shifting into almost a variant of himself. BJ Hunnicutt—intensely devoted father, holding himself together by braided strings of hope that he'll make it home before Erin's childhood has passed him by—everyone knows who that is. But this is like shrugging on a coat, or perhaps shrugging it off instead. He can feel his voice getting a little more musical, a touch sharper, can find the sincere ache inside of himself and coax out its shadow. For him, it's a harmless perversion that lets him take a step backward when the walls are closing in. But he rather wonders if there's subversion that's about to rise from under his fingertips.

"Then I realized that it doesn't relax that stress at all, playing at getting Hawk pregnant." As he touches his lips to Charles's ear, he pulls him back so there's not a millimeter between them. "You'd rather somebody else do all the work of making sure the Winchester heir takes."

BJ can practically hear Charles's brain explode into a million simultaneous thoughts. He gets it. He knows a little something about shoving shit down so it can't even bleed through the cracks. There's something massive under all that noise that's aching to get out. BJ's just enough of a curious bastard to wonder what might happen if it does.

"Get these off too." BJ drags his hand down and tugs at the waistband of Charles's underwear. "Then lie in the bed."

He doesn't wait to see if Charles is going to argue or obey, just walks back to his side of the Swamp to unlock his truck and shove it open. He finds the tub of lubricant right away; as long as the trunk's locked, it's not as though he needs to hide it any more than that. In fact, he needs it easily accessible for those nights when Hawkeye has him ripping his own clothes off to have him as soon as possible. But BJ takes his time, moving items here and there, making noise, then stalling further still by unlacing his boots, acting as though his own blood's not boiling with a certain hunger of his own. It's tender with Hawk, playing this game. Charles is different.

Behind him, a cot creaks, and BJ takes a long, deep breath to steady himself. He snatches up the tub and impulsively snags a condom packet, practically slams the trunk shut, and stands before he kicks his boots off. When he turns back around, he drinks in the sight of Charles in his cot, under his blanket, up on his elbows so the impersonal fabric is at rest around his waist. His trousers may be neatly draped over the back of his chair, but both his boxers and, unrequested, his shirt are in a pile on the floor right where BJ had left him. He's waiting. Waiting for BJ. Wanting him to call the shots.

It's enough to make a man want to tip away from his logical mind, find himself somewhere feral instead.

BJ's made the particulars of how he inhabits his body into an art form. He shot up too tall too fast, filled out his shoulders before any of the other kids in his class. It was vital that he learn to move like water, fluid and flowing, never threatening. It softens him. But right now he thinks about some of the other jocks in his fraternity house, how they would cut through a room in such a way to have people scrambling to give them space. The tough guys. He centers his mind on it, and only then does he saunter toward Charles's cot. He doesn't have to look at Charles's face to know he's suddenly rougher at the edges, maybe even a little intimidating, but it's gratifying all the same, watching him takes in BJ from head to toe while the slight lift beneath the blanket becomes more and more prominent with each passing second.

BJ comes to a stop right by him, and as much as he wants to dive in headfirst, Hawkeye has goaded and begged for just enough things that BJ had never even conceptualized could arouse a person to a point where he speaks quietly all the same. "Is there anything you wanna talk about?"

Charles opens his mouth, closes it, then shifts his gaze to the back corner. "Hunnicutt, I-I realize this might strain you to the point of throwing out your back, but I would prefer..." He digs up fistfuls of his blanket. "You may say whatever it is that you'd like—as long as you don't laugh at me."

BJ notes it. He's not sure what exactly compels him to reach for one of Charles's hands, coax it to open, then lift it to his lips, but as BJ leaves a kiss on his knuckles, goosebumps lift all the way down his bunkie's bare arm. "Anything at all, huh?"

After one brief moment of thought, Charles nods.

He smiles. "Well. Lucky for you, I have a lot to say."

"Ahaha," Charles drawls out. "Will wonders never cease?" Unfortunately for him, his mockery nowadays is as sweet as a caress.

BJ's far better at reading the things Hawkeye craves without a lot of explanation, but though he has a good line of clues to follow here, he still takes his steps more carefully than he would through a minefield. He backs away, holds up the condom between two fingers, waits for Charles's eyes to focus on it, then tosses it carelessly behind his desk. Charles's punched-out, ragged huff shifts to a groan at the last possible moment and leaves a checkmark by the next item on BJ's mental list. He turns to hide his smirk as he snags the pillow from the spare cot. It's lumpy, which is why none of them have replaced their own pillow with it, but it'll serve a decent enough purpose tonight.

For a man who craves silence, Charles seems antsy now that BJ isn't talking. He shifts and wiggles, adjusting his weight, while BJ crosses back to his side, then glances along the blanket. He considers. Decides to pull it away himself rather than make a request. Charles's thick cock is slick at the tip, flushed all over, and it gently curves toward his belly while BJ shoves the rough cover into a pile at the foot of the cot.

"Lift your hips." Though BJ says the words as quietly as he can, they still sound as loud as a gunshot to him. They even make Charles flinch. But all the same, Charles obeys, and BJ tucks the pillow under them, then rests his hand on one of his thick thighs with a low hum. At first, he simply rubs as though to soothe him. But then he rises higher and higher with each pass until he's feeling the breadth of Charles's ample hips. It seems to settle in what he's doing just then, given how the cock near his hand twitches.

He can't make either of them wait anymore.

He leaves the tub on Charles's end table as he comes to his feet, then strips down as quickly as he can. Though he half-expects Charles to tease him for this too, he doesn't. Maybe he's just as relieved to see BJ overwhelmed by the need to fuck him. BJ keeps his eyes on Charles's face, catches how he stares at his arms, his stomach, and finally resting on his long, hard cock. Fascinated, BJ reaches high overhead, coming up on his tiptoes in a full-body stretch, and Charles whips his head around so quickly that he's shocked it doesn't fall off.

Somehow that kind of response is just as gratifying, flustering him like that. Usually it's Hawk who ends up in Charles's lap or on his knees for him while BJ sits behind, murmurs filth in his ear or coaxes Hawk to take him faster, deeper. He rarely gets his hands on Charles and he's never on display. Not unless Charles is watching them from his side of the room while they lose themselves in one another.

He needs to get started. It's not bragging to say that he's a lot to take. BJ pops open the tub so he can slather his fingers in lubricant, then gets to work.

For a couple of minutes, he's silent, studying how Charles's body responds—if he's moving too slowly, too quickly. There's a moment where Charles digs his nails into his own thighs and BJ thinks it might be time to start distracting him. "You're tight," he observes. "Don't usually do it this way around?"

"Don't usually do it," Charles corrects him in a rough voice. "Before you two, at least. You make it...rather difficult to resist."

"Mm. Any particular reason why not?" BJ thumbs over the back of one of his hands, silently coaxing him to loosen up.

"Well, it certainly wouldn't be appropriate to risk..."

As he trails off, BJ slowly smirks, focusing simply on how his fingers stretch him out little by little. It really does all come back to this, huh? The pressure to produce an heir, the pressure to make sure he doesn't produce the wrong one, the forced isolation such a thing causes. "But there were always other boys, right? C'mon, Charles, I went to an Ivy League too. I know how you prep school fellas are."

Charles's muscles flutter around his fingers, one moment clenching almost painfully tight, the next relaxing so suddenly that he sinks in to the next knuckle before he planned to. "Hunnicutt, this is yet another piece of information that I don't owe you." The however hovers in the air. BJ skims his gaze up and locks eyes with him while he pulls back, works in another finger. "Fo-ooooo-or the record..." The word warbles when BJ scissors his digits open, but he admirably avoids laughing at him, if he does say so himself. "...Mother and Father were...concerned about Honoria and me from the beginning. I should say we did not in-spiiire confidence—do you know how thick your fingers are?" Charles demands.

BJ tips his head to the side, not blinking. "Are you complaining?"

Charles wrinkles his nose, then flops back on his pillow and stares at the ceiling as he speaks in a rush. "I cannot say for sure regarding Honoria's own schooling, but I had reason to believe that my parents asked for the administration to keep a close watch on my relationships with my fellow students."

After a thoughtful moment, BJ nods. There are two paths he could take with this. One would coax Charles into a deeper vulnerability, maybe even open up an extremely strange heart-to-heart between two of the most unlikely men to experience such a thing. The other, though... BJ licks his lips. "Not much chance to experiment, then."

"Decidedly not," Charles murmurs.

The moment BJ rests his other hand on Charles's belly, he feels him stop breathing. "Dodged a bullet there too, then. Or a bun."

Charles doesn't reply. But he relaxes a little more, and BJ is confident that he's ready for him, experienced or not. He slips his fingers out slowly, and when Charles clenches around the emptiness, he fights not to push his cock inside of him right that instant.

BJ turns his attention to gathering just a touch more lube on his clean fingers so he can slick himself up, moving at a glacial pace, silently inviting Charles to watch. "Well. It's a good thing I'm here now, huh?" He drops his voice to that melodic tone with sharper edges. As he puts one knee between Charles's thighs, it lets him be far, far above him, casting a shadow from the nearest light. "Clever of you, really. You got all the way to the other side of the ocean where they don't have a clue what you're getting up to. Who you're getting up to it with. No one's watching, not tonight. There's just Hawkeye somewhere out there, keeping people entertained, making sure they won't come anywhere near the Swamp."

Charles clears his throat. "I suppose that is rather fortuitous, isn't it?" he asks unsteadily, still not looking away from how BJ's teasing himself.

"It really is. That's the beauty of it, huh?" BJ asks. "You don't have to worry about if these work anymore." He palms Charles's balls, gently massaging them just to watch how he shudders and fights to hold back his sounds. "'Cuz you're not gonna be the one knocking somebody up. At the end of the day, you're still a Winchester. And that means you're fucking great breeding stock."

There it is. Charles's eyes widen so far, they've gotta hurt. It's rare that he lets himself be this visibly stunned, especially in front of BJ, of all people, and it tastes sweet and spiced on his tongue, fuels him to push onward.

"Not what your parents planned for, I figure." BJ shrugs and pulls a caricature of sympathy on like a mask, dripping just the edge of condescension into his tone. "I mean, they've got you in line to play husband for, what, a Vanderbilt? A Rockefeller? And here you are with your legs spread for a Hunnicutt from California. But they've got it all wrong." As BJ looms over him, he takes Charles by the jaw again and watches with a thrill as his mouth falls open. "You rich types, you're lucky to get an heir at all. You never mix it up, you know? Never bring in any new blood. It's just the same tired gene pool, the same old story, and it's gonna make all your fancy names die out one day.

"See..." BJ leans closer, thumbs over his bottom lip, watches a rare sheen begin to form on Charles's distinguished brow. "...it's guys like me who make it happen. Filthy little rats with names nobody'll ever remember." And as he carefully shifts his hips, he aligns their cocks—lets his own obscure Charles's more modest length—but he makes very sure to let the weight of his sack drag along Charles's sensitive base, and when the man beneath him sucks in a shaky breath, BJ knows he has him, hook, line, and sinker. "I'm not even gonna have to try to breed you. The second I'm filling you up, it's a done deal, darling. Yeah, you'll get your baby. But there's not a ballroom in all of Boston that'll let her debut. So the way I see it, you're about to be the luckiest girl around." BJ can feel his smirk go toothy, his eyes sparking, as he settles the full weight of his broad body over Charles's soft and round figure. "I'm about to give you your ticket out of there."

It must hit like a truck with the way that Charles suddenly groans and writhes under him, his mouth closing around BJ's thumb so he can press his teeth into it just at the edge of pain. Yeah, no, that's exactly what BJ thought. Maybe he likes the money, the staff, all those perks, but they both know that high society's got more rules tacked on than the whole goddamn Army. From what BJ's heard, one Winchester has already found her a few doorways out of the hellscape. Maybe Charles needs a little more time to make his own—but maybe helping him burn off a little of that tension won't hurt either.

"Shh, shh, it's all right." He pushes his thumb in further and doesn't try to hide his deep moan when Charles gives it the tiniest suck. It seems like it might've been instinctive—Charles freezes and blinks—but as BJ gives another quick thrust, he flushes and sucks harder. "I'll take care of everything. You've got one job: just lay back and take my cock." As Charles thrashes again with a small, pitiful sound, BJ sits back so he can align himself with his target. "No, c'mon, sweetheart, spread them like I know you want to." He's a little rougher than he means to be when he sinks his fingers into Charles's thighs and pushes them open, but the sight of Charles dripping arousal onto his stomach only kicks up his excitement another notch. "You don't need to play cute with me. You've been waiting for some no-good fella to knock you up for years now."

"H-Hunnicutt, y-you..." Though he tries his best, Charles only stammers wordlessly after that, the reverberations alternating between pinched and trembling.

He tracks it, then, how Charles is stabbing his nails back into his body. That won't do at all. This is a game, not a punishment. Before he can second guess the urge, BJ redirects Charles's legs toward his chest instead. "Here, gimme your hands. Need you to hold your legs out of the way for me, all right?" Though he's not sure Charles is even tracking specifically what he's saying, those soft and lovely fingers are offered to him all the same, and BJ leans down, kisses both palms, then guides him to pull his knees back as far as they can comfortably go. It's the doctor in BJ that makes him skim down his hamstrings, just a quick feel to make sure he isn't straining his biceps femoris or semitendinosus on either side. Only when he's satisfied does he cup the base of his own cock.

"That's it," he coos. Honestly, he expects Charles to clamp down when he feels BJ's tip rubbing against his hole—rejecting his body one last time before giving in—but he doesn't. No, he relaxes further, like he's trying to suck him inside. "God..." Charles wants him. Really wants him.

He has to take a breath and shake the shock out of his head before he's too overwhelmed by the fresh surge of desire.

With a groan, BJ begins to ease carefully in. "C'mon, let me in... Juuuust like that... Fuck, Winchester." The surname comes first, tastes filthy on his tongue. There isn't a universe in existence where this should be happening, yet here they are, Charles gasping and staring up at him with wild eyes, BJ fighting not to bite a hole through his lip as he represses the urge to sheath himself with one thrust. "Oh, you needed this, didn't you? You just need somebody...to take it all away."

Confusion drifts across Charles's face like a cloud. BJ watches it carefully, prepared to pull back. But miraculously it passes by, and in its wake, Charles furrows his brow and arches experimentally, taking him in deeper. He groans and squeezes around BJ's length for the first time, a fiery pulse of ecstasy that has BJ doubling over and catching himself on Charles's shoulders. "Hunnicutt, I-I want..." They lock eyes, searing blue on blue. "Don't... Don't take it easy on me. Do you understand?"

He's hit with such a spike of arousal that he curls tighter with a long, shivering groan. "You don't wanna be a delicate flower, Winchester?" BJ teases breathily.

"Not on your life," Charles grits out.

BJ grins as he catches his gaze one more time. "You're right. I haven't forgotten. You're good..." He bucks a little deeper. "...hardy..." Another thrust, further still. "...breeding stock." One last push crushes his pelvis against Charles's ass, and BJ hums in appreciation as he cups his cheeks in both hands and gives them a squeeze. He's stretched obscenely around BJ's cock, but all the same, he fits him just right. No straining, no swelling that's suggesting any kind of damage from rough treatment.

He makes a mental note to check him over again once he's finished fucking the hell out of him.

Since he needs to make sure they both have a moment to really adjust, BJ looks over the rest of his body, the gorgeous shape of him, soft folds here, a more solid swell there. When he gets caught on Charles's pectorals, he figures why not, then grabs one none too gently. "Mm, these are gonna be so fucking pretty. Nice and big. They get more sensitive as they start filling up, you know that?" As he thumbs over his nipple, an almost startled whine come out of Charles as it hardens, and BJ grins. "Maybe I'll come by and check on them every day. See how they're growing. And don't worry if they start feeling sore." It's curiosity that has BJ pinching and rolling it between his fingers, but the way Charles white-knuckles the edge of his cot while he gasps tells a beautifully evocative story all the same. "A nice, hot mouth'll take care of that. And I'll make plenty of time for you."

"If you don't...fuck me..." The words sound as though Charles is fighting against God himself to find them. "Hunnicutt, I-I will not appreciate it if you draw this out much longer."

For the first time, BJ's taken aback. Has he misread all of this? Sure, the man underneath him is hard enough that he's dripping yet another bead onto the slick pool on his stomach, but that doesn't mean a damn thing, does it? Just physiological. BJ plants a hand right by Charles's head and leans down. "You done playing, Charles?" he asks softly as though there's an audience to hear and make Charles feel humiliated.

Charles wrinkles his brow one more time. "Not on your life, Beej." But try as he might, the way he murmurs that nickname only makes BJ want to kiss him. "If you—" He cuts off abruptly as he glances over the shape of BJ. There's a clear appreciative gleam in his eyes as he skims over his shoulders, his arms, and BJ bites his bottom lip with a smile and fights not to flex for him. He fought hard to find a little humility while he was in medical school, but his jock side never lost it. "I am merely suggesting...that I'd rather you have me while I am still able to enjoy it."

BJ blinks a few times. Glances between them. Charles's cock is curved far enough that it is, in fact, sticking to his own stomach now.

"You did need it," BJ murmurs with a certain degree of stunned delight. When he meets his gaze now, he feels like a scamp, like he's getting away with breaking all the rules somehow, having everything he was never supposed to. "Okay. Okay, yeah, Winchester. You want me to make it good for you before I knock you up?" He sits tall on his knees to the sound of Charles's first murmuring moan, pulls out and pushes back inside with experimental force to charm out the second one. "I guess I can do that."

It doesn't take long for BJ to realize that Charles, whether he's taken it in the ass before or not, is in fact not kidding when he said that he doesn't want to be treated gently. Only a few thrusts later, Charles is reaching for BJ's hips and yanking at him. It's enthralling. He can't remember the last time someone this unexpected needed BJ to ruin them.

"Mmm..." BJ lets his eyes fall shut and his lips part as he gets a little lost in the rawness of this kind of sex. With Hawk, sure, they get a little primal sometimes, but it's always tinged with a startling amount of intimacy as though they're trading souls for a short while, trusting the other to put them back where they started rather than letting them be lost at sea. But this is different. It's not casual, exactly—Charles is far more than a colleague, most certainly a friend, and ultimately is someone who BJ can't really imagine a future away from forever. But it's less overwhelming than it ever has been with Peggy, with Hawkeye. Somehow there's less to worry about here.

It's a vital moment of connection. He wouldn't want to play like this with anyone in camp but the two people who live in this very tent. But it's also just...oddly reaffirming of their friendship. A little fun that's a lot closer to the chest than it would be if it didn't mean anything.

As BJ brings himself back into the present, out of the lush waves of physical pleasure and the sparking playfulness that overlays it, he puts his hands on Charles's thighs and lets his bunkie's fall away. "You feel so fucking good, you know that?" BJ purrs. "You were made for this. Made to take cock and be bred. No wonder you're such a pampered thing."

"Ohh..." Charles's flush has spread all the way down his neck and into his chest, a lovely bloom to match the heat right under BJ's skin.

He gets lost just then in watching how Charles's body moves under him. "Gorgeous," he breathes. He's so—

"For God's sake, Hunnicutt," Charles gasps out, stabilizing himself with a hand on the bar above his pillow, rolling his hips down to meet him in the middle with a sense of desperation. "Harder, harder, don't let up now."

The commands are the closest thing he thinks he'll ever get to begging from Charles, and that fact undoes him, practically blisters his brain. "Fuck, Winchester..." He quickly renegotiates the space, shoving the pillow a little further up with his knee, then opening him up as wide as he can with that firm grip on his thighs. His jaw clenches. As he rises to the call with a punishing pace, his muscles begin to burn in a pain that's sweeter than any sprint has ever given him. "You're taking me so deep." When he flicks his eyes up, he zeroes in on how Charles is bouncing with the force of his thrusts, the way that his mouth's gone slack. "You feel it, doncha?" BJ bites his bottom lip, pounds him so his balls are slapping against his skin. "Feel how much I've got, mmnh, to pump you full of? Think you've got room inside you for every fucking drop?"

Charles lets out an almost frantic whine, his hand snapping between them to find his cock and strip it, matching BJ's rhythm.

"Yeah, that's it, that's it," BJ coos. "Oh, you can't wait for it, huh? No, you've gotta milk me dry when you come, is that it?"

Charles's noises border on overwhelm, and if this was any other person, any other situation, BJ would pull back and check in, but this is what he needs, it's what both of them need, practically ripping the skin off their bones with how hard they take this.

BJ stares unblinkingly, painfully, right at Charles's hand, finding growls breaking free from his own chest as a visceral way to stay focused, not slow down. It pays off. The moment he thinks his body's about to cramp up, Charles gasps, throws his head back, and comes with a shocked cry.

"Fuck, that's it. Fuck, Charles." It's intoxicating somehow, watching this man make himself absolutely filthy, jet after jet streaking his body. He's not even sure where the words that bubble up are coming from. "That's right, waste it, you don't need it, I'll take care of everything, darling, you just... Nnh, fuck!" He didn't plan it, not even for the illusion of what they're playing at, but as he explodes inside of him, BJ buries his cock as deep as he can go, even grabs his hips in a bruising hold so he can push him into the tightest ball possible. He's absolutely shameless, grunting out raw, animalistic sounds as he ruts against his ass.

And then he does feel the twinge in his leg, and just like that, down he collapses.

"Hunnicutt!" Charles bellows at the top of his lungs. "You—" He tries to push BJ away, then trembles from head to toe and goes limp instead.

"Just gimme a sec." BJ fights to catch his breath. While he fumbles behind himself to find the back of his thigh and massage his hamstrings, it takes him a moment to realize Charles is still shivering. He's buried his face in BJ's neck and, what's more, he's the one rutting right there against BJ's abdomen. He chuckles. But when Charles stiffens, BJ's quick to murmur. "Y'know, that's a hell of a compliment, what you're doing right now. That was really something, wasn't it?"

Little by little, the tension in Charles's body melts away one last time. "It was...quite educational."

BJ rolls his eyes. A ringing endorsement.

"Perhaps we might..."

It feels like he might've gotten away with not cramping up. BJ hums contently as he comes up on his elbows and looks down at Charles with a sated smile. "Might what?"

Charles clears his throat. He tentatively meets BJ's eyes, then looks away immediately. "You did say that Pierce is...nearby, did you not?"

Realization comes in like a fresh, spring breeze. BJ's eyebrows raise as he reaches between them and rests his palm on Charles's sticky belly. "Y'know, I haven't fucked him yet today. He hasn't come in at least twenty-four hours." When Charles trembles once more, BJ's grin spreads wide enough to hurt. "Mmm, Winchester...you're right. It really would be a shame to leave a job half-done."

#yes i wrote this in one day and did nothing else #i'm not upset about it #bj hunnicutt #charles winchester #charles emerson winchester iii #beejchester #charbeej #swamp rats #charbeejhawk #beejhawkchester #my writing #ask meme replies

[st33le]

What are some of your favorite Charles and Hawkeye moments?

OH HOHOHO!

You treat me, letting me talk about my otp like this.

Originally I would say, any time their on screen together. But that’s too broad and also not a fun answer.

I would have to say my favorite scenes of them are the scene of them caring for each other. More specifically the scenes after they get punched.

Not only are they physically caring for each other in these scenes but they’re caring emotionally. Each of them in their respective scenes has something personal and important to them damaged. In Hawkeye’s it’s his relationship with BJ. I could get into the parts about Bj in this scene but I’m going to focus on Charles. Charles (I’m his own kind of pompous way) helps out hawk in this scene and they way he did it I feel is a little intentional. Like BJ kinda shook hawkeye, so Charles acting, well you know like Charles, kind of helps to ground hawkeye again. It’s probably not what Hawkeye wanted to hear, but it’s what he needed. Grounding and normalcy. 

Same kinda goes for this scene. After Charles gets punched and his pride is damaged and we all know Charles pride means a lot to him lmao. Hawkeye knows not to pity Charles cause it would only hurt him more. But in the scene his tone is soft, more sensitive to what just happened. Charles doesn’t want to be coddled and hawk knows that but at the same time hawk cracks jokes to lighten the mood and also offers a solution.

These two scenes really kinda of show why I think they work together so well. They care for one another, they’re sensitive to each others emotions, and they know what that other needs to feel better. They would never admit it but they know each other very well. Not that I don’t think that would ever be cuddly mind you, but in those specific situations I just think that they did very well to comfort the other person in the way they needed.

Plus you know, caring physically for one another screams romance to me and I want to see more of it.

#otp #otp: and their sons #mash 4077 #mash #talk post #hawkeye pierce #charles emerson winchester iii #hawkeye mash #charles emerson winchester #charhawk #hawkchester #i apologize for any spelling mistakes #thank you so genuinely for the ask I really like talking about them #this ask made my day #my boys

[outshinethestars]

It’s Pink! (Daredevil fic)

“It’s pink,” Captain America said.  Again.  As though color was the only attribute you could ascribe to alien creatures.

“I got that,” Matt said, “Are there any other characteristics you can think of?”

“What else do you need?”  Ironman said, “The thing is pink.  Pink like nothing on earth is pink, eyesearingly, blindingly pink.”

“I’ll be sure not to look at it too hard then,” Matt said flatly, “Anything else?”

“The pink is very overwhelming, kind of makes it hard to notice anything else,” Captain America said, slightly apologetically, “But you’ll definitely know it when you see it.”

Wow, so helpful.

The Avengers had, as usual, fucked up.  And as was unusual, they had come to the devil for help.  Their explanation was long and not very coherent: something, something, lost alien pet, something, something potential intergalactic diplomatic incident.  Point was, they’d lost something in Hell’s Kitchen, and they’d heard that Daredevil was very, very good at finding lost things in his territory.

Which Matt was!  So long as he had more to go on than it’s pink.

“Um, it has three legs?”  Hawkeye offered.

Finally some actual information.  Seems at least one of the avengers could use those eyes in his head for genuine observational purposes, way to go Hawkeye for living up to his hero name.

“As in it’s missing one, or it’s meant to be that way?”  Matt asked.

“Pretty sure it’s a tripodal animal.  Tripedal? Whatever the word for that would be,” Hawkeye said.

“Why the fuck didn’t you lead with that?” Matt asked.

He didn’t listen to the answer.  The sound of a three-legged creature, a gait entirely unlike that of any earth animal, caught his attention now that he was listening for it, and he was off.

“The thing had three legs, a soft pelt of something that was neither fur nor feathers, somehow smelled strongly of a cross between cotton candy and whisky, and ran a full ten degrees hotter than any mammal on earth, and all they could think to tell me about it was that it was pink,”  Matt complained to Foggy the next morning.

“But at least you got to meet a weird alien lapdog,” Foggy said, “Was it cute?”

“I mean, it was small and very soft and warm,” Matt said, “But it understandably hated my guts.  And another thing the Avengers didn’t bother to tell me was whether or not it was venomous, so that was an interesting few minutes of my life.”

“Did you ask the Avengers if it was venomous, or dangerous at all?  Or did you just run after it without thinking things through like usual?” Foggy asked, ruthlessly sensible.

“Um,”  Matt said.

“Well, you’re not dead,” Foggy said “So I guess it turned out alright in the end.  And you got to hold an actual, genuine alien life form!”

“It was a little bit cool,” Matt admitted, “And so soft, and it purred when I finally gave it back to Captain America, who it apparently likes.  I can understand being a little obsessed with it, though not nearly enough to start a war over.  Here, I took pictures.”

“Oh, wow,” Foggy said, looking at the pictures on Matt’s phone.  “That’s.  I don’t know how to describe what that looks like.  It’s really pink.”

Matt made a strangled sound.

#Daredevil (TV) #MCU #Matt Murdock #foggy nelson #fic and fic-like things #my stuff

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine going present shopping for the Avengers…

A/n: Happy Holidays you beautiful humans!! I wish you so much love and safe festivities x

Tinsel shone in its glory as workers climbed their tall ladders to fix decorations to a large tree on the street. Snow fall had started early this year and the city was alive once again. Despite the turbulence of heroes and villains, people flocked to their closest stores and exited with wrapped boxes and bags - it really was starting to feel like Christmas.

Clint had called you an hour ago requesting some assistance for an undisclosed emergency. Thankful that you were at the tower at the time, the journey to the shopping square was easy on foot but when there was no Hawkeye present, you guessed that he was stuck in traffic.

Buzz! You lifted your phone and saw a text message.

Running late. Start without me. Will keep you updated. - H

As you read the text, you made a note to ask him why he kept signing off as Hawkeye instead of his real name. 

With him out of the picture for a while, a head start with gift buying for the team was a good idea. Everyone was off on their own adventures this year, some on missions, some off-world. You didn’t know their exact locations but you figured that you could get some help from a certain Sorcerer Supreme on Bleeker Street.

Forty minutes or so had passed with Clint sending regular updates of his location while also offering gift advice and you shopped around.

Found an amazing green scarf. Banner or Hulk? You typed out.

Definitely the big guy. Apparently he told Bruce that he liked how soft they were. Clint replied.

Funnily enough, you could imagine the Hulk making the argument about scarves. Easily, you proceeded to make the purchase. As you stepped outside, the wind was far colder than before so you decided to walk towards a coffee shop for a warm drink and to rest your arms. 

Adjusting the bags around your wrists as they become uncomfortable, you tried to put the receipt into your pocket. You glanced up every so often to make sure that you didn’t bump into people when a voice approached from the side.

“I’m so sorry.” Clint apologised as he caught up. You paused your steps with a smile, happy that he had finally made it. “I was on my way when I saw a mugging take place. After I dealt with that I thought a cab would be quicker.”

Classic hero move. You lifted your arms to display the marvellous holiday themed bags. “My spirit cannot be crushed, Barton. I’m invincible.”

“I actually forgot how much you love this time of year.” Clint chuckled as took a few bags away to help lighten the load which you greatly appreciated.

“So what’s the emergency?” You wondered.

The man huffed as his shoulders slackened. “Christmas gifts for Laura and the kids - I’ve been so caught up in spending time with them that I didn’t get a chance to buy anything.” He looked at your blank expression and rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and judge.”

You sent him a small shrug. “I would but I was going to bribe Stephen with my homemade eggnog to use his magic portals as a personal present delivery system so…”

Clint raised his free hand, “No judgement here.” He gave a small laugh that finished on a sigh when he looked around at the people. “Navigating the busy crowds is going to be a challenge.”

“You’ve got me, what could go wrong?”

Clint smirked. “I can think of at least ten things.”

You took his arm and merrily pulled your friend onto the snowy streets. “Alright, Grinch. Let’s get some hot cocoa to warm that heart.”

While walking to the coffee house, Clint took a sneak peek through the bags and you were glad that his gift was safely hidden in your cupboard. You had created a new bow after he complained that his current one wasn’t the best for stealth.

“What’s this?” Clint pulled out a black box that looked very expensive. “An extra special something for a special someone?” He teased.

You lunged forward to take it from his palm, forgetting to hide it. You knew who he was referring to but you chose not to confirm the suspicions and tucked the item away into your pocket.

“That’s meant to be a secret. You only found out accidentally.” You reminded. “Besides I’m not sure if I’ll even it give to…”

“Y/n, if you don’t give it to the one person who actually makes you happy, I will. Got it? Christmas is the time for confessions of love or pining or whatever it is that you both have going.”

As much fun as Clint could be, you knew that his words were serious after all, even he was tired of seeing people dance around feelings. So you promised to deliver the special present as well. 

The quest for gifts for his kids wasn’t a large task because Clint knew the perfect items. In under an hour, you both had everything wrapped or boxed or bagged and then loaded into your car for a quick trip to the Sanctum Sanctorum. 

Upon arriving at Bleeker Street, you parked in a concealed area that was reserved for the Avengers. You and Clint pulled out the presents for the team before stepping onto the porch and knocking thrice. On the third knock, you both were transported inside the Sanctum suddenly. 

Clint exhaled. “I remember why I don’t like coming here.” 

You heard him but was more preoccupied with finding the wizard donning the red cloak. “Happy Holidays, Stephen!” You called out holding up the neatly bowed bottle. “I brought you some of my special eggnog.” 

Clint looked around at the empty space when silence began to fill the room. “This isn’t going to work. He’s too busy with the universe to-”

There was the sound of footsteps before Stephen appeared from a hidden doorway. He approached and saw the drink in your hands. 

“I am not the postal system, Y/n.” He told you slightly annoyed. 

You nodded and handed him the bottle nonethless. “Be that as it may, you do still owe me from the time you accidentally turned the whole team into hermit crabs and then you erased their memory because it was so traumatic.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, what?”

Stephen’s jaw clenched when he remembered how that ordeal only ended with your help and discretion (that is, up until this very moment). He sighed and raised his hands, summoning several portals. “Where are the presents?”

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #the avengers imagine #the avengers x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #mcu x reader #mcu imagine

[wlw-stanbot]

Kate awoke with the soft gray light of an obscured sun flooding the multi windowed living room where she had slept. Alone. By herself. And less than a dozen feet (as the hawk flies) from the person she wanted there.

It was closer than Yelena’s first suggestion - to return to her own room - made after finishing up her bath the previous evening. Her claim had been that she didn’t want to get anymore blood in Kate’s bed but they both knew it was a flimsy offer, coming from a place of proprietary or deep seeded self-preservation. Like, maybe, if she returned to a space with no traces of Kate, she could pretend for a moment that the relentlessly positive and disarmingly kind woman hadn't started to destroy every tenant of her guarded and solitary existence.

But Kate's insistence that the bed wasn't really hers so she had no right to keep Yelena out of it introduced a necessary technicality to cling to in order to refute  the arguement.

Of course, during deliberations Yelena neglected to mention that the scent of Kate somehow still lingering on the pillows was a great comfort to her pain wracked body or that the potential of being able to interact with the dark haired woman when she would come in to get things she needed was another reason for wanting to be there. 

Kept out of the discussions entirely was the prospect of sleeping in the bed together. For Kate’s part, she felt too scared of accidentally touching Yelena in a way that would startle or injure her and Yelena’s secret hesitation was related to the impulsive, but loathsome thoughts of forcing herself on Kate against her will that she still felt guilty about. 

So, Kate was sent back, no, willingly went to the couch with no argument from either party. 

The irony of being able to openly talk about having sex but not sleeping together wasn’t lost on Kate as she had settled into the couch for a third uncomfortable night of sleep. Her mind had drifted into a wonderland of what it would feel like to search in the night for Yelena’s body, pull that warmth in and wake up to gentle snores or sleepy emerald eyes. The conflict of emotions from this reverie had sifted through Kate’s disquiet mind even as her body longed for sleep.

Sex was an easy thing to contemplate because it usually had some kind of end point, and yes, she missed it and wanted it nearly to the point of need, but the promise of I’ll be there, in the night when you search, in the morning when you wake was something Kate knew she would immediately becoming addicted to, and the thing about being addicted to a storm was that you never really knew how dangerous it was until you were in it, and, by then it was too late. Like the parable of the frog in the pot of slowly boiling water. 

Yelena was the pot, the water, the hot burner. Kate was just the frog. And she had hopped into this situation willingly, somewhat stupidity, but, in retrospect, more than willingly. And Yelena’s storm was proving to be potentially lethal, likely devastating, certainly ground shaking, but, also, maybe…just maybe an endeavor they could survive together, if many things changed.

Up to 9 chapters now. Oh man I have so much more planned for this one and I'm really enjoying writing it. I wish I didn't have a stupid job.

#fanfic #bishlova #kate x yelena #kate bishop #yelena belova #ao3 fanfic #wlw #bishova #hawkeye series

[goodgirlofglory]

Silver fox and the Captain - Chapter 7 (finale)

Chapter 6 - /Masterpost/

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4,3k

Warnings: Explicit content, explicit language, explicit sexual content, SMUT, ANGST, FLUFF (the whole shabang), angsty feelings of being unworthy and undeserving, oral (m receiving).

Summary: Standing at a cross-roads, will you dare reach out and accept the love and security you do not think yourself worthy off, but is offered to you either way?

Note: This is kinda weird, this last chapter has just been sitting finished in my google docs for MONTHS while I stupidly thought it was just a first draft still. So, I could have finished this series a long time ago, but ey, better late than never, right?

This series is such a fun, little darling for me. Thank you so much for reading🦋

They were offering you a job. With S.H.I.E.L.D. With the Avengers! Not as a team member, per se, God knew you were no superhero. But as a member of the accompanying S.H.I.E.L.D units that worked around the Avengers on smaller and larger missions. 

“I could use someone with your skills of stealth and theft out in the field, to gather intel while the flashy guys do their thing,” Fury had said, that proud smirk back on his lips. 

Black Widow had snorted at Fury’s last comment, and you had felt Hawkeye’s eye roll from across the table. 

Fury had laid the offer on the table - an honestly astounding salary, your own quarters in the compound and some standard access to tech and equipment, on level with a tier one S.H.I.E.L.D agent. Then, he had asked you to think about it before he left the room with a swivel of his leather coat and that had been that. The room had immediately cleared of everyone except you, Steve and a few of the Avengers. 

Black Widow had approached you where you sat shell shocked, your hand still in Steve’s grasp. 

“Silver Fox,” she had greeted you. 

“Black Widow,” you had answered, your voice a mere croak. 

“Call me Natasha,” she said, giving Steve a wink before departing the room. 

You now paced back and forth in Steve’s room, mind rambling. Steve sat patiently on the edge of his bed, eyes tracking your movement, brows drawn slightly down in that concerned expression you still struggled to believe was genuine.

“I just don’t get it,” you said for probably the fifteenth time, “why would he do this? Why offer me this job?” you said incredulously. 

“He told you; he could use someone with your skills,” Steve said patiently, like he’d said all the last times you’d asked. 

“Yeah, but how could he possibly trust me? How could any of you trust me?” you asked and you knew you were lashing out, your tone loud and accusing.

Steve remained calm where he sat, forever the perfect rock for you. Fury’s comment about stealing hearts rushed to the front of your mind, and you felt your cheeks heat. Steve raised himself off the bed and came up to you, warm, broad figure looming over you, cupping your face in his hand. 

“I trust you. Fury trusts my judgment. Do I have any reason to doubt my judgment?” he asked, soft like a lover’s murmur. 

You wanted to blindly protest. No, he had no reason to doubt his judgment, you wanted to believe that as much as him. But there was this incessant voice in your head needling you. Was it true? Could you really measure up to these people? Could you do the switch from morally gray mouse scampering about in the shaddows to a good, team playing member of fucking S.H.I.E.L.D? You wanted it, God did you want it. But… some part deep down whispered that you were delusional. This world, this shining, good and kind world, Steve’s world - it wasn’t for the likes of you. You didn’t belong here, and you didn’t deserve their regard - didn’t deserve Steve. 

“What would happen if I said no? To the job?” you asked instead of answering Steve’s question, looking up into his breath taking baby blue eyes, saw how the pupils expanded as you looked into them, how reverently he looked at you. Like you could ever deserve to be looked upon so lovingly. 

He sighed, pondering your question for a bit, his brows dipping down in the most adorable frown that had your heart clenching. You regretted the question only because it made him look anything other than happy, content or immensely pleasured. For the barest of moments your fingers itched to tear his clothes off and swallow his dick, just to put his mind on other things. 

“Honestly? I don’t know. It’s hard to erase the past. And while there is literally no public dirt on your name, hell, it doesn’t even show up in any database we have -”

“I’m really good,” you interrupted. 

He huffed, fondly exasperated by your cockiness as always.

“Yes - but S.H.I.E.L.D knows. Fury knows… I know,” he said. 

And there it was. Though you had been a ghost for most of your life, even ghosts have baggage from lives lived. No public government or organization had any claim to have you persecuted, but S.H.I.E.L.D had. They knew enough, knew all they had to to take you down - and rightfully so from their point of view. Steve knew it all. You’d spilled everything to him in between the sheets during the last month, a proverbial word vomit that had left you trembling with the relief and the foundation-rocking vulnerability of laying your life and soul bare like that. Steve, the literal angel, had taken it all, wrapped you in his protective warmth and murmured soothing words of comfort and forgiveness each time until you felt shaky for whole new reasons. 

You were shaking slightly now, hearing from his lips that your past might have unavoidable consequences no matter how much he personally forgave you. You knew this of course, had always known you would be toast the minute someone got their hands on you. Hell, you were supposed to be dead now, if Steve hadn't intervened…

He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to his broad chest, propping his chin on the top of your head, rocking from side to side. 

“I tried to convince Fury to let you into a victim protection program. Get you a nice home and job here in the states, let you live a normal life. But he wasn’t entirely convinced. Told me letting you out of your sight now would be stupid. Keep your friends close -”

“-But your enemies closer,” you finished around a lump in your throat. 

He pulled away so he could look into your eyes again. 

“I like to think you’re a friend in this scenario. Selfishly, I would also like to have you close, preferably only as far as down the hall,” he said, stroking a thumb over your jaw. 

“So?” you pressed, needing to know what Fury would do if you said no to the job. 

“So…maybe prison. Maybe some intel exchange with the US government, let them take you. Though that will be over my dead body, fox,” Steve said, and the fierceness with which he said that last part made you believe him. 

The guilt that followed was gut wrenching. The responsibility Steve felt over you left him careless for his own self preservation. Could you trust yourself not to drag him into your unforgivable messes? Could you escape your past and baggage, and not let it unfairly bleed over into Steve’s life?

Distracting yourself from that question, you lifted up on your toes and kissed him, opening your mouth to his tongue.

“Fury will want his answer pretty soon,” Steve murmured against your lips after another kiss that had your hands clinging to his shirt.

He saw your smirk and had already started to shake his head slightly before you spoke, though he was smiling. 

“Then let’s make him wait,” you murmured, your smile matching the one Steve reluctantly let spread on his own lips, though he tried to look reproachful. Adorable. 

You sucked him off on the couch that night. He looked powerful where he sat reclined, his bulged thighs spread wide - virile and strong, potent and capable. From your position on your knees between his legs, he loomed like a mountain, able to snap you like a twig with the barest of effort. All of that made the sounds you pulled from him that much sweeter. 

You suckled noisily on his heavy ballsack, lathering it lovingly with spit before sucking it into your mouth, and Steve’s cock bobbed where it lay on your face. Small “ah” - sounds escaped him, so soft compared to the commanding tones that usually came from him. It made your pussy throb. 

Pulling back, you took his cock in your hand. The tip shone with precum. You stuck your tongue out, flicked it on his frenulum and was rewarded with another glob of leakage oozing from his tip and into your mouth. He moaned above you, one of his hands making its way into your hair. 

“Fuck, f-fox, oh,” he gritted out as you sank your mouth on his length, working the part you couldn’t fit with your hand. 

Your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them on your fingers, letting your fingertips dip even lower. He moaned hoarsely, and you saw in your periphery that the couch cushion was dangerously close to ripping with the way he was fisting it. 

You slobbered on, basking in the sloppy, wet slide of saliva and precum, the hot weight of Steve’s cock on your tongue, the twitches of it as you hollowed your cheek on the upslide. He slid from your mouth with a small, wet pop. 

“I want your cum in my mouth,” you said as you mouthed down his shaft, looking up at his scrunched up face. 

“God,” Steve moaned, throwing his head back, his cock throbbing in your grasp. You were still rolling his balls in your hand. He was really sensitive there, you’d had the pleasure of discovering. 

“Will you give it to me?” you asked as you mouthed your way up to the head again, giving it an open-mouthed kiss. 

He looked back down at you, and you could feel him straining to keep in place, thigh muscles bulging trying to keep his hips from pistoning up, seeking the heat of your mouth again.

“A-anything,” he panted, his hand stroking through your hair as you gave him your undivided attention, savoring it. 

“Good,” you sighed with pleasure around his cock. Steve’s hair was a mess of tousled, blond tufts, there was sweat on his brows and his chest heaved under his unbuttoned shirt. His brows had that furrowed look, and color sat high on his cheeks. Your panties had to be ruined by now.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against the head of his cock, still kissing it wetly, and another spit of precum drooled from the tip, wetting your lips further. He put his other hand through his own hair and laughed a bit incredulously, helplessly, as you sank onto his cock again, working up a rhythm that would bring him to the brink.

The thrill of having him at your mercy like this was intoxicating. Pleasuring him was intoxicating. Being allowed to see him in these private moments of intimacy was intoxicating, addictive in a way you felt powerless to resist. You wanted to be on your knees for him forever. If only you could. 

The sound of the couch cushion being shred open under Steve’s grip alerted you a split second before your mouth was flooded with his essence, salty and sticky on your tongue. You eased him through his orgasm with your mouth, eagerly swallowing everything he gave you while his huge form trembled on the couch, his soft moans turning into even softer whimpers. You could feel your heartstrings going taut, your blood rushing to pool hot and tender in your chest. 

Later, when he had paid you back seven or eight times for the orgasm on the couch, you rose sticky and sweaty from the bed to wash off before going to sleep, already missing his warmth as you tiptoed to the en suite bathroom. 

Washing your hands after a quick rub down with a warm cloth, you found your own eyes in the mirror. You froze like a deer caught in the headlights. 

What the hell do you think you’re doing? 

Standing there, covered in your own and Steve’s dried and drying love fluids, plump from a month of leisure, hair clean but messy from an afternoon in bed, eyes filled with a childish amount of giddy hope. You suddenly felt foolish. 

This isn’t for you. 

…

You stepped quietly back into the room. Steve was facing away from you, his head a messy, blond mop on the pillow. You knew he would reach for you once you dipped under the covers - that, whether asleep or not, he would reach until he found you, pull you into him and curl around you like a cocoon. 

You dressed in utter silence, your instincts and stealth thankfully not discernibly dulled by a month of lazing about. You fished your readily packed bag from the air vent in the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom to slip out the window, going over the route in your head. Your bones itched to get it over with, though your heart was heavy like lead in your chest. You wondered when you’d get a full night’s sleep again…

“That’s it, then?” you heard behind you as you perched on the window sill, about to crack open the window to let in the chill, night air. 

Fuck

You steeled your expression and turned to find Steve, naked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His expression was so carefully neutral, it almost looked like a mask. 

You said nothing. Didn’t know what to say. Maybe saying nothing would help him let you go. Maybe it could hurt him enough to sever the bond between you. Something deep in your chest surged at that thought, clawing up your throat, screaming no, no, no…

“You don’t have to. It’s not too late,” Steve said then, and damn him for giving you a way out even now, when you so obviously were in the act of betraying him. Damn him and his forgiveness, his too good for his own good heart that you didn’t deserve. “I didn’t want to believe it, but you’ve been thinking about it all night, haven’t you?”

That surprised you. 

“How did you know?” you asked, going over every detail of that night, everything you said, any time you could have slipped. 

He huffed a laugh that wasn’t entirely not fond. 

“I can pretty much sense it by now. When you’re gearing up to bolt. Have experienced it enough times, that shift in the air, how your mind slips to the proverbial horizon,” he said. 

You felt your heart helplessly tug at that. Never had you felt guilty for how your actions affected others. It came with the job, that emotional numbness, the walls. But with Steve, your entire foundation threatened to crumble at his feet. You didn’t want to hurt him. Other than that, you were scared of the pain you yourself would feel at being separated from him. 

Steve sighed heavily, a slight tremor in the exhale of air. 

“I guess, if this is what you need to do, then I can’t force you to stay,” he said, and in that moment, it was as if everything but the two of you shrank away. He wasn’t talking about S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers, or the job offer, or your past, or the two completely different worlds you came from. In that moment, it was Steve, just a man, and you, just a woman, and you were leaving him. Abandoning him. 

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t him. It was you, and how much you didn’t deserve him, and how he needed to see that. You wanted to ask him how he meant to explain this fortune? How such a salvation as this could just present itself to you with no hindrance after everything that had come before it? You wanted to cry, but you had forfeited such weaknesses now. Just like you were forfeiting love.

You turned, cracked the window open, and smelled the crispy, night air ripe with summer. 

“I know who I fell in love with,” Steve murmured behind you. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed at all. You were suddenly glad you had your back turned to him, for you had no control over the way your eyes widened, nor how your heartbeat kicked into hard gear. In love. Another beat of silence. He was waiting for you to answer him. You didn’t, as unfair and cruel as it was to him. “You’re always welcome back to me, fox,” he said then, and you amazed even yourself with how you managed to slip out the window then, feet sure and silent as they padded across the roof. 

There was a cacophony of noise in your head. Voices screaming to go back, to tackle Steve and kiss him, to suck his soul out of his dick and never let him leave your bed. Voices that wailed in grief and told you to fling yourself from the roof before your heart fell out of your chest. Voices that screamed how unworthy you were of his love and if he wouldn’t see that, you would have to deny him. You scrambled your will to shut them all up, and channeled all your focus and determination to the task at hand; get out of the S.H.I.E.L.D compound undetected. You told yourself you could cry then, well knowing that the moment you crossed off the base and into the US wilderness, you would probably never know a moment’s peace for the rest of your life. No matter, you could carve your heart out and leave it in the ground later. Now you needed to move. 

Deftly, you slipped from shadow to shadow, making your way across the vast building that was the compound. Your feet grew heavier the longer away from your room and from Steve your feet took you. Your breath rattled in your chest, disturbed not from the running, but from how off you felt. Off kilter, off balance, it all felt wrong. But you had to do this. Had to prove to yourself you could escape, that you could do it. 

You swallowed painfully and climbed down the building in steady leaps, lowering yourself the last way with the rope from your bag, carefully moving within the blind spot of the security cameras on the north west corner of the office part of the building, where no one would be this time of night anyway. 

Trekking over the large, green area was the most risky part of the route, but with steady routes from bushes to larger groups of trees. No flood lights, no alarm, no guards with guns. You reached the fence lining the entire base, and got out the wire cutter you’d snagged from maintenance and began making a large enough hole to crawl out. 

In quite a bit of disbelief, you came out on the other side of the fence and started running immediately. With only a small flashlight and the moon in the sky in front of you, you stumbled through the thick forest surrounding the base, your breath the only sound in the night. 

At last, the trees opened to a clearing, and you halted, slowing, slowing, slowing until you stood completely still, staring ahead. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, though you were barely winded. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Your body was all wrong, seemed to squirm, your nerves moving this way and that, protesting where you were, what you were doing. 

I know, I know, you thought to yourself. I don’t want to leave, either. But…but…

But what… 

But what?!

You stared ahead, blindly. 

But. What?

What was the reason for leaving? 

In love. 

The world grinded to a halt for a long moment.

You turned on your heel and started walking. Your walk turned into a run. The moon at your back, back through the trees. You climbed back in through the fence and used the tongs to fit the piece you’d cut out haphazardly back in place. You made a mental note to come back and secure it better soon. Moving back through the shadows, you found your rope on the office side of the building and climbed it to the top. Packing the rope with you, your feet carried you across the roof of the compound, the same way you’d come. Your head was completely silent, your breath steady, your feet sure, your heart a sound beat. Only when you sidled down to the window of your bedroom, did your heart pick up. It was still open, the lights still on. 45 minutes had passed maybe. 

With the same sort of instincts that had always led you in unsure situations, you slipped back into the room. 

Steve looked up from where he sat with his head in his hands, still naked on the edge of the bed. His eyes, wide with surprise, met yours dead on. They were wet. His cheeks were shiny with tears. He was crying.

“Fox?” he said, his voice but a whisper. 

The sob escaped you before you could do anything to stop it. It flew across the dead silent room, an ugly, choking sound that had you so exposed your skin crawled. You threw a hand over your mouth as if you could trap the sound after it’d left. 

Steve rose to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” you exclaimed, forcing your hand away from your mouth. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, and now there were tears in your eyes. There was no point in trying to keep them in, you knew that. 

Steve took one moment to assess you before he stormed up to you and pulled you into his arms. You pressed your face to his chest as he wrapped his arms, his strong, warm, capable, safe arms around you. Your own arms went around his torso, clinging to his back, shaking. 

“I was scared, and stupid. I act so stupid when I’m scared, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I came right back when I understood how stupid I was acting, please, I’m -” you rambled in between wracking sobs, speaking into Steve’s sternum, your tears smudging on his skin. 

He shushed you quietly, rocking you back and forth softly. “It’s okay, little fox, I understand,” he said, kissing your hair as you sobbed on. He shuffled backwards, dragging you along a bit crookedly before the back of his knees hit the mattress. He toppled back with you clutched in his arms and you fell onto the mattress that still smelled faintly of your mingled scents from earlier that night. 

You lay there for a long while before your breathing evened out. When you at last had gathered the courage, you lifted your head from Steve’s chest and looked into his eyes. They were still a bit red rimmed, his cheeks and nose a bit splotchy red, but they shone now, with something you could only discern as happiness. The guilt flushed your system anew. 

“I made you cry,” you said softly, reaching up a hand to cup his face. 

He leaned into the touch and smiled just a little. 

“Yeah, but I knew you’d be back.”

That made you bristle a bit.

“What? No, you didn’t. I didn’t even know I was coming back,” you protested. 

He shrugged, jostling you a bit in the process. 

“Well, I didn’t know you’d come back so soon, but I knew I’d see you again,” he said, and he was utterly convinced. 

He’d play the long game, if he had to. Would find you and steal moments with you like before, maybe take you back to the compound to do it over again, if that would help. You saw it in his eyes, his determination. His devotion. 

“I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve any of this,” you mumbled, those dreaded words of truth like bile in your throat. 

Steve huffed, fondly exasperated. 

“Fox, if you don’t deserve a little bit of safety and comfort after everything you’ve lived through, who does?” he asked. 

“Yeah, but I’ve done things. Bad things. You’ve said it yourself,” you argued. 

“Y/N. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. The world isn’t black and white. There are no completely good people and no completely bad people. It took me a long time to realize that myself,” he said. 

You didn’t have an answer to that. Hadn’t really thought about it that way. You weren’t entirely convinced, but you knew one thing. This was where you wanted to be. If you looked away from deservedness and karma and social justice or even blind, stupid luck - this was where you wanted to be. And for the first time in your life, you could actually just reach out and take what you wanted. 

Steve kissed your forehead, squeezing you tighter in his arms, and you leaned into it completely helplessly. It felt like you needed his touch to breathe. 

“How far did you get?” he asked. 

“About two miles off base,” you said, closing your eyes, pressing your ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat. 

His breath caught for a moment. 

“Really?”

You snorted. 

“Yeah, you should work on the security in this place. Anyone could just walk in.”

He huffed, arms tightening around you again, and you could almost feel the smug pride rolling off him. 

Proud of me, you thought with that spark of giddy joy that spread molten within your chest.

“Maybe we won't tell Fury about that. I can work my way around upgrading the security,” he said and you giggled. 

There was a moment of silence, a content and peaceful silence that felt so good you wondered how you could be so stupid as to ever let this go. 

“Do you have your answer for Fury?” Steve prompted after another minute of content silence. 

You lifted your head and kissed him. Kissed him long and lingering and as sweetly as you could. 

“Well?” he prompted when you eventually broke away. 

“Nag,” you murmured against his lips. 

“Hey, I’m nothing if not persistent,” he said, smiling against your mouth before nibbling your bottom lip playfully. 

“I know,” you said, “I know who I fell in love with.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x y/n #silver fox and the captain #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader

[shmaptainwrites]

[CH.8] New Doctor on the Block

Chapter 8: Fear of the Unknown

Pairings: Hawkeye Pierce x fem!Reader

Characters: Hawkeye Pierce, Frank Burns, B.J. Hunnicutt

Summary: Reader and Hawkeye balance on the line between friendship and something more

Warnings: angst, they're idiots

Note: Again not gonna lie as much as this chapter is frustrating I LOVE it. also i know this is late BUT barely anyone reads this so does it really matter???

Series Masterlist - NDotB Masterlist

“If I see even one more eighteen-year-old in here I’m going to talk to MacArthur myself,” you groaned while taking off your mask and tossing it in the dirty laundry bin. “And what I’d give to get out of these scrubs.” 

“That can be arranged,” Hawkeye teased, but you were too tired to shoot him any kind of retort. 

“It is an honour to serve one’s country at the front, I don’t understand why all of you make such a fuss about it.” 

“Think of it this way Frank, if we kill all of our young men how are we going to have any more patriotic Americans to fight in World War Three?” you asked sarcastically. 

“Oh hardy-har-har,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re all a bunch of peace-loving pacifists.” 

“Yeah, pretty much hit the nail on the head,” B.J. nodded. 

Once you had washed up a bit Hawkeye offered you his arm, 

“Walk you to your tent, madame?” 

“Of course, kind sir,” you curtsied and used the hem of your scrubs as a makeshift skirt. 

You linked arms with your fellow surgeon and began the walk to your tent from the OR. 

“You did well in there,” you told Hawkeye. “With that back injury. There were a lot of tough calls, but I think you made the right ones.” 

“Thanks. It’s funny, sometimes after one like that I can barely remember what I did,” he admitted. 

“Call it operating fatigue,” you said as you came up to the front of your tent. “This is me,” you shrugged. 

Hawkeye was about to wave goodbye and turn away to head to the swamp, but you stopped him. 

“D-Do you want to come in for tea, maybe?” you asked. 

“Tea,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I could go for a cup.” 

You opened the door to your tent so he could enter and immediately went to boil some water in your kettle. 

“I get my parents to send me tea bags from back home. I can’t start my morning without drinking a cup.” 

“So not much of a coffee fan then?” 

“I’ll drink it on occasion, but I prefer a nice hot mug of earl grey any day. I developed a taste for it when I was serving as a nurse in England. There was always plenty of tea to go around,” you answered him while placing two tea bags in a couple of mugs you had in the room while you waited for the water to boil. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before,” he commented, browsing at the few things you had brought from home and put on display. “Magazine clipping?” he asked, pointing to a framed picture you had of a cozy little town tucked between a forest of maple trees. 

“No, that’s home,” you came to stand next to him, picking up the frame and examining it. “I took that picture before I left, just a little something to remember it by.” 

“Reminds me of my hometown,” he said. “Except maybe make it a little more coastal and add a dash of lobster theme here and there and you’ve got yourself Crabapple Cove.” 

“I guess that makes us neighbours then. You’re in Maine, I’m in New Hampshire.” 

“I really can’t say no to lunch with your family when we get back then,” he remarked and you chuckled just as the kettle began to whistle and you quickly rushed to take it off the heat so it wouldn’t wake anyone around you. 

You poured the boiling hot water into the two mugs while Hawkeye came and watched you work almost as intently as he would if you were performing surgery. 

“Here you go,” you passed him a mug. “Careful it’s boiling.” 

He took it from your hands and placed a curled knuckle under your chin, turning your face to his before you could pick up your own mug. 

“Your tip, madame,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and your arms found themselves wrapping around his neck while he put his tea off to the side on your table. 

“Your change, kind sir,” you mumbled between breaths and kissed him back, waiting for the other shoe to drop, something to go off in your head and tell you that you shouldn’t be doing this. It didn’t come as fast as you thought, your head was too busy swimming in feelings you hadn't felt in a while, but when it did, you were quick to pull away. 

“Wait, wait wait,” you pushed him gently off you, just at half an arm’s length. “Ben, what are we doing?” 

“Well, if I’m not mistaken I kissed you and then you were kissing me back. And I don’t know about you, but I quite enjoyed it.” 

“No, I-I don’t mean that. I mean us,” you let go of him fully now. “I have kids at home, I’m a mother. I-I think I’m past the stage in my life where I can just do a nighttime rendezvous.” 

“What if I told you that’s not what I want?” he asked. 

“I-How can I believe you?” you squeezed your eyes shut and walked to the other side of the tent. “There’s a new woman every other night, Ben.” 

“I-” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There hasn’t been one in a while.” 

“How long is a while?” you asked. 

He went silent for a moment.“Since the first night you came to the swamp.” 

You pursed your lips, “That doesn’t change the fact that I have a family to think about.” 

“And I’m starting to think this really has nothing to do with your lack of faith in me,” he pressed. “What is it really? Because unless I’ve been hallucinating, we’ve been tiptoeing around this line for some time and I’d like to think it wasn’t all one-sided.” 

“What do you mean what is it? I have responsibilities, Ben-,” 

“So do the rest of us. What’s the deal?”

“And why does it matter so much?” 

“Because I find these conversations go a lot better when both parties are telling the truth about how they feel!” he insisted.

You felt the lump in your throat begin to grow and you knew you couldn’t hold in what was in your heart any longer. He was right, he deserved the truth and you needed to say it. 

“You want the truth, Ben? I don’t want to fall in love with you because what if I lose you like I lost him?” you fought back the tears that were coming on. This was exactly what you needed right now, another thing to make you look like a helpless woman. “It’s just one thing after another, after another here, and I can't guarantee I’m going to get home safe to my kids let alone giving a piece of my heart to another person only for it never to be given back and buried six feet underground.” 

Hawkeye ran a hand through his hair and let out the breath he was holding in. 

“Look, I-I can’t guarantee anything, none of us can and I know that’s frightening. No-no it’s absolutely terrifying but isn’t that the whole point?” he asked. “Even if nothing happens you can’t guarantee you won’t still fall in love with me, and… I sure as hell can’t guarantee I won’t fall in love with you anyways,” he chuckled humourlessly. “I can’t even guarantee I already have.”

“I just…I can’t do this right now,” you shook your head. “I think you should leave.” 

Hawkeye said your name in a pleading tone, wanting to work this out with you, “I-I know I haven’t given you even the slightest reason to trust me, but I promise I’d move heaven and earth if it meant you’d be happy again. Just…let’s talk this out.”

 But it was late, you were tired and you couldn’t think straight. 

“Please…Ben. I-I just need some time,” you whispered. 

He sighed and nodded his head reluctantly before turning around and leaving you alone in your tent with your thoughts. 

Tags: @montyfandomlove

#hawkeye pierce #hawkeye pierce x reader #hawkeye pierce x you #mash #mash fanfiction #mash fanfic #mash 4077 #mashblr #hawkeye pierce fanfiction #hawkeye pierce fanfic

[youngpettyqueen]

Trick AND treat! 😁 You can do two separate ones or combine them. And let Hawkeye take care of and fuss over Charles.

I tried so hard to come up with something for trick but my brain is not braining today. to make up for it, I added 250 words to a very fluffy, very silly idea because this hit me IMMEDIATELY upon getting this ask and it took everything in me to not write this while I was at work. maybe at some point I can come back with an idea for trick?? but I didnt want this to sit in my inbox forgotten so I hope you can forgive me only doing treat, at least for now

The first snow of the year comes, perhaps luckily, when they have children visiting. 

Charles woke that morning to the delighted shrieks and giggles of children, unmistakable in pitch and volume. The sound was so sweet he couldn’t be irritated at being woken up early, not that he’d ever admit that. He made sure to grouse thoroughly about the hour to his tentmates, knowing they’d rib him to lighten up before moving on, but would never let him live a moment of softness down. 

He’s taking a moment, now, to watch. It’s after breakfast, he has a shift to get to, but he knows that post-OP is quiet and can afford for him to be a couple minutes late. The children are running around, bundled in their mismatched winter jackets and too-big boots, donated surplus hats rolled up extra to stay out of their eyes. Some of them are sporting distinctly fashionable scarves, while others form snowballs in distinctly homemade mittens. They make angels in the snow, they make snowballs and throw them at each other, a few of the older ones are demonstrating how to make snowmen. 

They play. They laugh. They smile with missing teeth and genuine joy in their eyes. For a moment, just a moment, they’re children the way children should be. Charles is happy to sacrifice a quiet morning if it means-

A snowball hits the back of his head with a freezing, wet splat. 

Charles goes entirely rigid, snow sliding down the back of his coat and melting in his hair. A roar of laughter goes up from behind him, and he immediately knows just who that laugh belongs to. He whips around to fix Hawkeye with a glare, only to falter as his eyes skip right over where Hawkeye is doubled over wheezing and land on the young boy falling backwards into the snow, laughing and pointing. 

And, well. Who can blame him, if his irritation is snuffed out faster than a candle? Who could possibly be angry at the sight of a child laughing so hard he can’t stay on his feet?

Hawkeye straightens up, hands over his stomach, still laughing that goose honk laugh of his. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep down Charles can’t stay annoyed when he sees Hawkeye laughing right from his belly. Because that’s a rare sight these days, and maybe it makes the snow soaking into his shirt a bit less cold.

Of course, he can’t admit to that. Ever. So, he finishes his turn, schools his expression to raise a judgmental brow. “Ah, Pierce,” He greets, “I see you’ve found yourself a playmate. If only they’d take you with them when they leave. You’d blend right in.” He barbs, all huff and no bite. 

Hawkeye snickers, wiping at his eyes, “Sorry, Charles, but I couldn’t resist,” He offers as a weak apology as he hunkers down to help the boy back up to his feet, “Somebody’s gotta teach the kids the sacred way of the snowball fight, and somebody’s gotta be the target! Thank you for your service.” He grins, straightening himself back up.

The boy points at him again. “Gotcha good!” He declares, with a big smile that barely has front teeth.

Charles nods good-naturedly. “That you did, my fine young fellow,” He tells the boy. Looking back at Hawkeye, he suggests, “Perhaps your teachings might benefit from a second demonstration? Say, some return fire?” He stoops down to scoop up some snow in both hands, clapping it all together and starting to form a compact ball.

Hawkeye laughs incredulously at the sight. “Oh, he has some fight in him!” He crows, “What, did you have snowball fighting lessons? A private tutor in snowball form?” He jeers. 

Charles keeps his face carefully neutral as he forms the snowball in his hands. “Your confidence will be your doom,” He warns, straightening himself up, “Any last words?” 

Hawkeye settle into a smug grin, raising a challenging brow at him. “Bring it.” He dares. 

Charles allows himself a smile. He supposes it is fair for Hawkeye to assume he’s never so much as made a snowball, never mind participated in a snowball fight. It would be an activity most would likely assume he views as beneath him. 

They would be forgetting, however, that Charles is an older brother. And wealth and status mattered not, in matters where Honoria Winchester and her insatiable need to peg him in the head with a snowball were concerned. 

Hawkeye doesn’t see the snowball coming until it hits him square between the eyes and takes him off his feet. 

#mash #fic bitching #shorts #charles winchester #hawkeye pierce #otp: and their sons #this came to me so easily and I was gonna do a connected one for trick #but ive been trying to do that for. 2 hours. and nothing is clicking #so I hope its ok that I added some more onto this one instead! #it was a lot of fun to write #love me some silly Charles #but maybe at some point ill come back and add a little epilogue of sorts with that trick prompt #who knows with my muse. certainly not me #thanks for the request! #I hope even if not everything you asked for its still good #sorry about my fickle muse im usually all over the hurt/comfort but its just not clicking rn :/

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 17 - Lavender 2

Okay. So this is part 2 of Shanks and his visit to your island. Mihawk's reaction will be out when I finish up with some editing! Peppermint Tea has become waayyyyy bigger than I ever thought it could be. Very proud honestly since this is definitely my biggest work so far.

Anyway! I hope you enjoy! Plot stuff happens and Shanks is a big flirt.

Warnings! Some drinking and Shanks is a flirt.

Masterlist

Shanks and his crew stay on your island for an entire week. You are properly introduced to his entire crew and find that while far more rowdy than what you are used to, the Red-Haired Pirates were good people. They welcomed you with open arms, telling you all sorts of stories as booze and food flowed freely around. You avoided any foul-smelling liquid and declined Shanks’ offer of his sweeter drink called sake. You just didn’t feel comfortable drinking without Dracule with you.

Thankfully, the crew and their captain accepted your rejection with ease and supplied you with sweet juices that stained your lips a dark red. Shanks couldn’t keep his eyes away from you, gaze stuck on the way you licked your overly red lips of any leftover pomegranate juice. He watches you across the large bonfire that sits in the center of the circle, admiring the way the flames make your eyes glow in the night.

The captain drinks from his shallow bowl, enjoying the way the warm sake burns his throat. Hank whines beside him, and Shanks smirks down at the shaggy dog. The mutt had not left his side for almost his entire stay here, and it made him wonder if Hawkeye had a soft spot for the pup, too.

He frowns when he thinks of Dracule, and a curl of guilt throbs in his chest for half a second before he shoves it away. Shanks already knew that you would tell the warlord about his sudden visitation the moment Mihawk stepped on your island. He wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to do, only enjoying the company of a lovely, lonely young woman, but he remembered the way that his old friend had spoken about you.

Shanks certainly agreed with everything Mihawk said, but mostly, he remembered how his friend's voice had turned soft and affectionate for this mysterious woman. And then the fierce anger when Shanks poked fun at him. Mihawk cared about you unlike anything else in this wretched world, but Shanks was a greedy man, and he could tell that you had more than enough room in your heart for the both of them.

The Emperor shifts in the sand, reaching for his bottle of sake and pouring himself another cupful. He would never do anything to take you away from Dracule. He wasn't that kind of man. Especially when he heard you speak of his old friend earlier, carefully omitting his name in worry of getting Dracule in trouble with someone, but the way your cheeks lit up, and your expression turned to one of wonder spoke of how much you adored the older man.

“Whatcha thinking about, Captain. I can see the gears turning from here,” Beckman questions from where he sits on an empty crate near the redhead. The sharpshooter has been watching his Captain make eyes at you all night, and he wondered when Shanks was going to make his move. It wasn't like the other man to lollygag on something he wanted.

Shanks huffs at his friend, raising his occupied hand guilty, though he breaks and snickers, “You caught me, Benn.”

He finishes his sake and shakes any remaining liquid from it before setting it on top of the bottle, done with it for now.

“Remember when we ran into Hawkeye? About a year ago now?” Shanks asks and waits for Benn to nod before he continues, “He told me about a woman he met, said that she was something special. That's her.”

Beckman huffs to himself and then rolls his eyes, “Of course we'd somehow run into her. Not planning anything dumb are you, Shanks?”

The redhead glares at his first mate, pouting at the condescending way his name is spoken, “Hey. I'm not that much of a jerk,” he grumbles and then softens, calculating gaze landing back on you.

“But this place. You can't deny that it isn't peaceful, Benn. Different, almost out of a story book its so far removed from the rest of the world. I want to come back, I want to get to know her.”

His first mate raises a brow and drinks deeply from his bottle of rum. His captain was certainly a menace, but he also had a good point. There was something about this place that relaxed even his old bones, “What about Hawkeye?”

Shanks shrugs, “He can get over it. I'm not trying to steal her away, but _ seems lonely. I want to be her friend.”

Benn scoffs. Yeah, right. He knew how his Captain was. He fell hard and fast, and you obviously had his attention, “Sure, Captain. Just don't do anything stupid.”

Shanks stands and shoves at Benn's shoulder good-natured, “Yee of little faith, my friend. Now excuse me, the crew is singing my favorite song, and I want to dance with our host.”

The Emperor doesn't wait for his friend to respond. Instead, he is already sliding his way across the beach to stop beside you. You look up at him when his shadow eclipsed the roaring fire, a big grin on your face as you sway back and forth to the pirate shanty the crew slurred.

“Dance with me?” Shanks offers, and you take his hand with ease, laughing when the redhead pulls you to your feet so quickly that you collide with his chest. He basks in the coolness of your body for half a second, and then Shanks is pulling you away from your spot to follow the rest of his crew in the manic dance they had going around the fire.

Gather up all of the crew

It's time to ship out Bink's brew

Sea wind blows, to where, who knows

The waves will be out guide

Shanks twirls you around, easily keeping pace with you and the rest of the men as the song continues. You look radiant as you dance around, loose shouldered and free in a way you hadn't been when Sanks had first shown up. You laugh when Shanks loses his footing in the sand, grabbing him by the wrist to keep him from falling.

He takes this as an opportunity to pull you close to him, pressing you under his arm as his hand settles along the curve of your waist. He watches your face explode in a blush, but you aren't fighting him away, so Shanks counts that as a win.

O'er across the the oceans tide

Rays of sunshine far and wide

Birds they sing, of cheerful things

In circles passing by

A guilty look flashes over your face when the song comes to an end, and you are quick to pull away from Shanks. You remind yourself that while this man is nice and has been cheerful his entire stay, you didn't know him. He is still a stranger to you, but you wouldn't mind seeing him again. You have caught the redhead watching you, and the look in his chocolate eyes reminded you of your warlord early on in your relationship with him. It makes you nervous.

Mihawk flashes through your mind, and the guilt intensifies. Was it wrong to want to get to know Shanks when you already had Mihawk? Or was wanting more too selfish? You didn't know, and it ate you up inside at the thought.

“Everything okay, Doll?” Shanks asks when he sees you draw into yourself. Frost has crusted over on your exposed shoulders, and he follows after you when you escape from the crew and start back up the path to your home.

“I'm fine! Just going to the bathroom,” your voice is too high pitched for it to be truthful, so Shanks steps up his pace and reaches out to carefully curl his hand around your arm, stopping you in place.

“Hey, no. We were just having fun. What's going on?” The Emperor presses and walks around so that he can face you. Your eyes are teary, and the sight sends a shock of panic through his body, “Woah, what's wrong, Babygirl? Why ya crying?”

His concern just makes you feel worse about it all, and snow begins to fall, making it hard for you to see the man in front of you. His hand is warm on your arm, though, and you reluctantly lean into the hold.

“I don't know if it's a good idea for you to be my friend,” you blurt suddenly, and then quickly bite your lip from embarrassing yourself further.

Shanks cocks a brow at you, confusion evident on his face, “What do you mean?”

You shuffle in place. You have kept quiet about Dracule. You weren't sure why. Maybe you wanted to try and keep your warlord safe, but you couldn't lie anymore.

“You are a very nice man, Shanks, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea. The man I keep talking about, his name is Dracule Mihawk, and we are…a thing. He's told me about you, warned me about you really, called you a menace, but I could still hear how fond he was of you.” You are ranting, but Shanks is patient and waits it out. He could tell that you weren't done yet.

“I don't know your past, but I know that the two of you know each other, and I can't risk the happiness I have with Dracule. I know that the two of you haven't seen eye to eye in a long time, and I don't want to be another reason for any more tension.”

Shanks is silent for half a second before he bursts out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach in his glee. Oh, you sweet thing! You were worried about ruining the friendship he and Hawkeye shared. How precious you were!

“You are adorable, Babygirl,” Shanks crows and draws your shocked form close to him, shivering when his exposed chest meets your frozen nose, “Mihawk will huff and puff like a rooster, but in the end? He'll forgive you. I'll even go track him down myself and tell him what happened if you want me to?”

“What? No, no, you don't need to do all that,” you quickly deny and shove away from his chest to look up at him in panic. You needed to be the one to tell Mihawk, for you can imagine the ensuing fight that would most likely happen, “And how would you know Dracule won't be mad at me?”

Shanks gives you a smug grin and sniffs pretentiously, “Trust me, Sweetheart. I've known Hawkeye for a long time and heard the way he spoke about you. I can promise that he won't be too upset with you. Me? I'm a different story, but it's going to take a lot more than just getting to know you for the respect we have for one another to go away.”

You find yourself somewhat appeased by that. It was true that the two men have known one another far longer than you have, so it makes sense to you to take Shanks' word. You sigh heavily and nod, conceding.

“Alright, ugh. If you are sure, Shanks,” you grumble, but you feel much better about this than you did just a moment ago, and give the redhead a grateful smile.

“See, that's the spirit, Doll!” Shanks matches your grin, “Stop worrying that pretty head of yours and come back to the party, yeah?”

You roll your eyes at the redhead, but nod anyway, “Okay, just a little longer, and then I'm going to bed. You and your crew party too much for me.”

Shanks snickers at you and tugs you back down the footpath and back to the beach and his crew. He sits back near his sake, and you sit with him, content to watch the others have fun for now.

It's hours later that Shanks feels a weight thunk into his side. He looks over and sees that you have passed out, and the sight makes his heart only grow even more fond of you. He stands and then bends to scoop you up, difficult with one arm, but not impossible. He balances the now empty sake bottle and cup on your sleeping form and shuffles back up the path.

Hank follows after him, leading the way up to the cottage, and shoves the door open with a heavy paw. Shanks snickers and steps inside your home, following the shaggy dog to your bedroom. He stops short when he meets a pair of glaring golden eyes.

A big fluffy orange cat sits in the middle of the bed, the only occupant of the house that Shanks had yet to meet. He is careful of any wayward claws as he lays you down in the bed, sitting his empty sake bottle on the end table, then sitting down with a huff and a small smile when you groan in your sleep and roll to your side.

Shanks gazes at you with soft eyes, reaching forward to tuck a fallen strand of hair from your face with a sigh. You look lovely even in sleep, and the redhead aches to stay here with you, but then he would be bad, and you probably wouldn't want him around anymore.

The captain stands with a sigh, and pulls the blankets up to your chin, “Sleep well, Babygirl,” he murmurs and then he is gone, shutting the door of your home with a soft click. Shanks would make sure to come see you in the morning before he and his crew left.

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #shanks x you #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #opla shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #opla shanks #opla shanks x you #cute #Peppermint Tea

[allys-corner]

These Thoughts in My Head - Part 2

These Thoughts in My Head

Summary: Reader is Tony Stark’s daughter who was involved in a bombing intended for Tony himself, because of this half her body is now completely mechanical. Years later, an enemy is able to hack her system and cause her to become aggressive towards everyone in the tower.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Some swearing

Although you never had formal training, other than some self-defense classes from the team, your AI had managed to take out Clint. All that was left was Nat. It knew that more reinforcements would be here soon, so it needed to act fast. That was a large feat considering your opponent.

The fight starts off evenly matched as Nat seems to be holding nothing back. Your AI is quick, but Nat is quicker. Each punch thrown is blocked as Nat bides her time waiting to go on the offence. Your AI is putting as much force into the attacks as possibly to try and knock Nat off her feet. You think it works as Nat’s body feigns to the left before landing a sharp blow to your ribs. You stumble back as Nat starts her assault. In no time she has you pinned to the ground with a hand on your head.

“I’m sorry about this, y/n ,but this is all I can think of.” Before you know it, Nat slams your head against the floor under you. You lose consciousness for about a minute, but your AI is a quick thinker. Natasha had the best hand-to-hand combat on the team and could easily take you out, but you were Nat’s niece, her племянница; she always has had a soft spot for you.

“Auntie Nat, is that you?” You spoke up softly.

“племянница? Is it really you?” Nat asks, hesitantly.

“Of course it’s me, what’s going on?” Your AI fakes confusion while looking around. Nat looks hopeful, but still stays firmly on top of you.

“What do you always call me when you are nervous?” Natasha questions. Your AI is taken back.

“What?”

“I don’t trust that it is you, so answer me correctly or I’ll take you to an even tougher cell to sit in,” she orders with a stoic expression. Your AI uses your groggy state to take a minute and look through your memories.

“Дорогой, that’s what I call you. Now what’s going on?” At this answer, Nat’s body seems to let up on you. She stands before offering you a hand. Your AI lays it on thick as your body wobbles on its way to a standing position. You have a massive headache, but it doesn’t seem to affect it as it surveys its surroundings. Nat still seems reproachful, but she places a hand to your shoulder.

“You were hacked by an unknown party which took over your AI system causing you to try and kill everyone in the tower.”

“No, that can’t be true. Did anyone get hurt because of me?” Your body shakes as your AI goes through the emotions needed to appear guilty and scared. Tears build up in your eyes as you look at Nat’s face.

“Well, the only one you hurt pretty bad is Clint” you both turn to his unconscious body on the floor. Nat moves over to check on him. At this moment, your AI spots the knife strapped to Nat’s right leg. Quicker than you thought you could ever move, the AI has the knife in its hands and is plunging it into Natasha’s left shoulder. Nat tries to swing at you, but her momentum is slower now. She gets up quickly and gets ready to attack. She pulls two more knives out from somewhere and crouches a bit.

“I don’t wanna do this, y/n. You need to fight this. Come on, I know you can!” At this moment, Nat is desperate. She doesn’t want to fight you, but she doesn’t see any other choice here. Right as she moves towards you, the elevator doors burst open and out of it comes Spiderman. You try to run, but Peter has always been faster. He sends your body rolling with a well-placed web shot to your ankles. Your body tumbles before landing near Barton’s unconscious form. Peter begins to walk towards as you desperately search around you. Your eyes land on Hawkeye’s pack of arrows and you grab for them. The wood is strong in your hands as you turn to face the approaching figure.

Peter hasn’t had time to see this unfold as he bends to grab your tied ankles. Your arrowed fist hits him directly in the right eye and you hear fabric rip as a hole blossoms in the mask. It’s just enough to see Peter’s scared look before you hit him again, this time in the chin. The blow knocks Peter back enough to wiggle loose, and you stand quickly. Before you can do more damage, Nat is rushing you from behind. You have just enough time to duck down as a knife wizzes past your head to imbed itself in the wall beside you. With it comes Nat’s angry form as she is determined to knock you down fast. Regrouping seems like the best option as your body tries to make a break for the staircase.

You only make it so far before Peter’s webs entangle your arms and trap them tightly against your body. You begin to struggle, but in seconds Peter is grasping your arms and holding you still. You want to embrace him so badly, but your body won’t respond to your thoughts.

“Baby, it’s me. Please stop.” Tears are pouring from the hole in Peter’s mask and panic is evident on his face. “I-I don’t know what-t to do. I don’t know h-how to help you!” Before Peter can utter another word, the floor crumbles beneath your feet. Your gaze is able to take in the look of surprise on Peter’s face before everything goes dark.

~~~

Looking around wasn’t really an option, considering how dark it was. The alcove around you reached out about arm’s length in each direction. You looked around but couldn’t see any of the team members nearby. Worry clouded your judgement as you began to slam your fists against the concrete in front of you, but all it did was create a dust cloud. Come on, think! What can I do? Well you were half robot so maybe that could do something. You tried hacking into the comms, but you got resistance; Your AI was stopping you, but why? That’s when your audio enhanced, and you began to hear the sound of muffled voices approaching. As the voices get closer you recognize the timbre of Steve and Bucky’s voices. Your body lets out a scream before you realize it.

 “Steve! Bucky! I’m over here, please help!” Your voice sounded desperate. The thudding gets louder, and you can hear Steve yelling for the rest of the team. As they get closer, you cry out again.

“P-Please, I think my legs are stuck. Hurry!”

Finally, you can hear the team banging around above you. They gather above you as more dust falls onto your body. After a while, a beam of light shines through before more and more begins to follow. Finally, you can look up and see your father’s metal face from above.

“Dad!” you reach out to his outstretched hand before Tony is stopped by Natasha.

“Stark, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. She’s fooled me before with it,” Nat shows them her shoulder. “This is what she did to me for showing her mercy.”

“Nat, she’s my kid. I think I would know if she was still crazy.” Tony puts his hand out towards you again before Nat pushes him back away from the hole. You can’t see them any longer, but you can still hear their voices up above you.

“I thought so to, but I was wrong, Tony. I’m not saying we can’t help her out of there, but we just need to be careful”

“How do you know she’s still messed up,” Peter pipes up “The fall could have reprogramed her, like how it did Clint.”

“Well I bashed her head against the floor, and she was still crazy so” Nat solemnly replies, “I’m not ready to take any more chances.”

“Alright everyone,” Steve orders “Sam, Bucky and I can help lift up all this concrete while Wanda can focus on keeping y/n in check.”

“What about us?” Tony and Peter question simultaneously. You can hear Steve sigh.

“I think you guys should stay back for now. It’s too personal for you two.” Steve shifts his feet “You as well Natasha”

You can hear muffled arguments, but they seem to be moving further from the crevice. You spot a flash of Sam’s metal wings as Steve and Buck begin to climb down towards you.

“Alright, y/n, is it really you or are you still being controlled?”

“It’s me I swear! Please, my legs are stuck and they’re starting to go numb.”

“Alright, just know if you do something there is a whole group of people up there to keep you in line.” You don’t reply. You’ve always been kind of intimidated by Steve, and this situation is no different. The two begin to lift the slabs off your lower half, and before long you have enough wiggle room to slip your legs out. You try to stand, but it seems that pressure must have injured your legs more than you thought. Steve helps you up before lifting you up and out of the hole. The first person you see is Peter. He looks like shit. His mask is ripped open, and both his gloves are gone on his suit. He also looks to have a wound on his right leg that has created a stained dark patch of blood against the vivid red. Your eyes begin to water as the emotions overwhelm you. Peter makes to step forward before Wanda slides into your vision.

“Who are you? Answer me honestly or I’ll be forced to do something I’ll regret.”

“It’s me, Wanda,” at this point you’re too desperate to care how weak you sound “Please help me. I don’t know what it’s doing, but I can’t hear its thoughts anymore.” You look right into her eyes “Go ahead and look Wanda. I won’t fight you.”

Wanda seems very hesitant to do as you ask, as she looks over at Steve for confirmation. Steve gives a slow nod. As Wanda moves closer to you, everyone is distracted by a loud banging from behind you. Out of the very damaged elevator steps out an older man. He seems to be in his late 40s with peppered short hair and a medium build. The strangest thing about him is the weird looking device clutched in his hand.

“I see you’ve met my creation,” he admonishes as he gestures towards you.

“You did this, and you thought showing up at my house was a good idea.” Tony makes to march toward him before a hand at your neck stops him.

“You forget that I’m in control right now, Stark. Someone should really put you in your place.”

“Oh, and that’s gonna be you, is it? Many have tried and all of them have failed. I don’t think your chances are very good, buddy.” Tony stalls. His brain is trying to come up with a solution to the situation at hand.

“That’s a real smart mouth considering your daughter is under my influence at the moment.” Tony withdraws a bit at the statement before his gaze hardens. His eyes catch on the shiny metal object in his hand. Let it be known that a Stark’s intellect is no joke. Tony takes a small step towards his worktable while silently activating the metal cuffs on his wrist.

“So, what is it you want? I can give you anything: money, tech, a nice tropical vacation, just let. her. go.” Tony asserts.

“This is not about material things, Stark.” The man argues. “This is about you and all your other hero friends thinking they can get involved in places they shouldn’t.” You are released as he backs towards the door pressing several buttons on the remote. “I think teaching you all a lesson about humility should be the way to go. That’s why the only way you will free her is to kill her before she kills you.” And with that he takes off out the door.

The look in your eyes is more primal than it had been this whole time. It’s almost as if he had caused you to be completely on autopilot. The team tries to take a moment to come up with some plan, but your body is already swinging at Sam.

“Tony, he must be headed to the roof. You need to get to him before he leaves.” Tony throws a hesitant look your way. “Tony,” Steve demands “you are the only one who can reach him in time. You need to go now!” With that, Tony activates the bracelets, and in minutes is consumed by the Iron Man suit. He shoots off past his daughter and out the door.

Your body almost sporadically, your legs are still hurting, but the AI seems to be ignoring it in favor of trying to rip Sam’s head off. Before you can injure him more, a metal arm slams into your side sending flying several feet backwards. A cry is heard, but it isn’t from you. Peter is near the wall being held back by Nat as he attempts to try and reach you. You quickly look forward as a figure rushes towards you. Bucky and you are locked in a heavy sparring session before you know it. It seems that the man was able to program your AI to have nicely honed combat skills as it’s a very even match. That is until Steve joins in. He tries to throw a punch from your left, but you duck just in time for it to swing and hit Bucky right in the sternum. He collapses as you turn towards your next enemy.

Steve is a hard fight, but you can tell he’s holding back. None of them want to kill you and that’s where your advantage lies. You slam your foot into the side of Steve’s knee, and he staggers to the floor. While on his knees, you grab his head and slam it as hard as you can against his face. Steve is out cold.

When you look back to the group, you see that everyone is gathered by the far corner except Wanda. She has a glowing red aura around her, and a force of energy is extruding off her. You sprint towards her trying to avoid the red bursts she throws at you. Before you can make it all the way, a red film surrounds you. You realize that Wanda has trapped you inside an energy bubble. You can still move your body, but you can’t seem to shove your hands outside the shell.

“Peter, come here,” Wanda orders while maintaining eye contact with you. Nat releases him and he sprints over to her. “I need you to talk to her and try to calm her down. Maybe there’s someway you can get through to her.”

Peter needs no more convincing as he rushes to your side. He places his hands on the casing before speaking.

“Hey, y/n, it’s me, Peter,” he tried to search for your eyes, but they were squeezed shut as you continued to thrash around. He turned towards Wanda.

“Are you sure she can even hear me through here.”

“Trust me she can, you just need to get through to her.”

Peter turns back towards your form and puts two hands onto the sphere. He begins to get misty eyed, and you can hear it in his voice as he speaks.

“Sweetheart, I know you can hear me right now and I need you to really listen to me. That thing inside you is not who you are. It may seem intense in your head, but I know my girl and she doesn’t take anything lying down.” Peter speaks with conviction before sighing “Please, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from all this. I just want you to know that you make me feel stronger and better when you’re around, and now I’m here to do that for you.” Peter pounds on the globe before you finally look up into his eyes. “Don’t you give up on me, angel. I know you can do this.”

This was the final straw. This bitch had been in your mind for long enough. Not only had it hurt your family, but it had almost killed Peter. I’m not gonna let you control me anymore. I’m through. With that you put all your energy into focusing on looking through your programming trying to find anything out of place. Some thing was trying to block your progress though. It seems it wasn’t giving up without a fight either. The intense search continued as you tried to find the corruption while your AI slowed you down. It wouldn’t be long before you begin to feel exhausted. With so much coding it was almost impossible without a computer scan, but just as you began to lose hope. You spot a unusual source code.

This is it! It has to be. Almost as if on cue your body is hit with a wave of exhaustion. You struggle through the mental fog as you begin to dismantle the coding. It takes longer than it should, but finally it’s done. You can’t celebrate too soon as your body slumps over into unconsciousness. As soon as Wanda sees your eyes clear before falling shut, she lowers your body down into Peter’s arms. Tears hit your face from the boy above you, but you’re too gone to feel them now.

Right then the sound of a beeping comm is heard through the room. Peter places his hand on the button to play the audio out loud.

“Underoos, how’s it going over there? I got the guy unconscious right now and I’m working on dismantling the controller as we speak.” Tony tired voice rings through the small speaker.

“We’re good, Mr. Stark,” he takes a moment to look down at your exhausted body before scanning the mess around him. Steve and the others have begun to come to and are talking with Nat and Wanda. He looks back down to you before replying, “I think everything is going to be okay. What’s the plan?”

You all will figure out all the details about everything tomorrow, but for right now a break sounded really nice.

#marvel #marvel fic #reader insert #peter parker x y/n #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Always Something to Learn

Word count: 3,350

Pairing: Kate Bishop x reader (platonic)

Reader pronouns: none used

Warnings: cursing, mentions of weaponry (though not used on anyone), Hawkeye spoilers

Another Prompt completed! This request was for Kate Bishop x reader (my first time writing for her), where both are vigilantes working together and Kate offers to train the reader in combat. This, of course, doesn't go over so well 😉

It took some time to write this one - I had some heavy writers block, and I also had to go back and watch the entire Hawkeye series again to refresh myself 😂 Hopefully I was able to capture Kate's character well enough!

"Alright. Coast is clear."

"No time to waste, then. Come on."

You waved for Kate to follow you across the vast, perfectly manicured lawn as you dashed silently toward the front of the mansion. Her footsteps were barely audible in the grass behind you. She'd learned well, you thought.

Once across, you ducked into the shadow of the massive home, pressing yourself against the chilled, stucco-sided wall. A faint breeze to your left told you Kate had already joined you in the darkness. You turned your head slightly, holding a finger to your lips to urge her to remain silent as your eyes expertly skimmed the doors, windows, and awnings for signs of a security system.

"Damn. There's infrared sensors across the entire entrance," you hissed.

"How did you-"

"See up there?" You pointed up to the nearly imperceptible black orbs lining the edges of the walls surrounding the door. "Too small to be cameras. Plus, if you look really closely, you can see a faint red light from that sensor straight ahead."

"Wow. Ok, how do we get in, then?" Kate whispered.

"Through the only opening they'd never expect someone to enter."

Kate cocked her head at you in confusion. In response, you pointed straight up toward the roof.

"Based on the most recent satellite photos of this mansion, there's a sky light built into the roof over what I suspect is the foyer based on the placement."

"Great! And... how are we gonna get up there?"

"Aren't you the one with the plunger arrows?" you whispered, a teasing grin spreading across your features.

"I-I knew that. I was... just testing you," she stammered, reaching over her shoulder to unsheathe an arrow. Swiftly, she docked the arrow in her bow and let it fly toward the roof awning. It struck and stuck with a soft thump, leaving a climbing rope hanging from the shaft and dangling in front of the pair of you.

This wasn't the first insufferable rich bastard's house you'd broken into, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Kate, you knew, had some experience with such endeavors herself. It was part of the reason the two of you had hit it off so well after Clint had introduced you. As a long-time family friend of the Bartons, Clint was well acquainted with your heroic (and, admittedly, sometimes illegal) ventures in the pursuit of justice. He had also been insisting for years you needed a partner - although you knew he just wanted to make sure you stayed safe.

Quite frankly, he knew Kate needed a partner even more than you did. After her own home caught fire, combined with her mother being hauled off to jail, she didn't really have a place to go. Who better to pair you up with than the young aspiring hero? You were rather similar, after all.

Kate had been your roommate now for a few months. While you'd developed a fast friendship, you also both loved to push each other's buttons. She was like the sister you never had.

The pair of you made quick work of scaling the building, hoisting yourselves up and onto the roof once you’d reached the top. As you’d anticipated, there sat the sky light embedded in the roof. You cautiously walked across the roof shingles toward the edge of the sky light, inspecting it quickly for signs of security surveillance before pulling out your pocket-sized glass cutter.

“I’m gonna cut an opening through this window - then you can lower me down inside so I can get the stolen necklace.”

“Woah-woah, wait. Why do you get to go inside?” Kate hissed indignantly.

“Because I’m the most experienced with covert break-ins,” you whispered in response. “Not to mention, I’m also the only one who hasn’t gotten caught by the police.”

“Wha- that was one time! And how did you even know about that??”

“Clint tells me everything,” you explained with a sly wink. “Bringing down an entire bell tower with one arrow? Now that’s talent.”

“Ok, well, I still think I should go in. How am I gonna learn if I don’t get to try?”

“I’m going. End of story.”

“Then I won’t lower you down,” she bartered, folding her arms defiantly.

“I’ll just lower myself, then,” you retorted, digging around in your backpack for your rappelling gear.

“W-well then, I won’t lift you back up! You’ll just be stuck in there.”

With a heaving sigh, you paused in your searching to glare exasperatedly at Kate. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.”

Kate whooped silently with excitement as you finally located your rappelling gear and handed it reluctantly to her. You spent the next few minutes instructing her on how to safely lower herself down, reminding her not to turn on any lights, giving her a rundown on how to identify surveillance equipment…

“Ok, ok! I’ve got this. I’ll be fine.” She shot you a confident grin.

“Just… be careful in there, ok?” you urged.

With that, you finished slicing a hole in the glass and began slowly lowering Kate down into the dark mansion. This certainly wasn’t the most dangerous mission you’d been on, but you couldn’t help but feel nervous for your friend’s wellbeing. The owners of the mansion - and dirty thieves, of course - were an older couple who were well past their spry years, mainly because they’d spent most of their lives schmoozing and drinking. The necklace they’d stolen was going to be sold at a charity auction to benefit the city - a cause which they decided they didn’t agree with. Why should they, when the money would only be going to lower income neighborhoods and homeless shelters?

Well, you weren’t going to let that stand.

You felt the rope slacken and jiggle slightly as Kate’s feet touched down on the floor below. She flipped her flashlight on, barely illuminating the area around her before waving up to you. Then, you watched her cautiously wander out of eyesight in search of the prize.

It was an agonizingly long ten minutes that you waited, breath bated in favor of remaining as silent as possible to listen for signs of distress. The room below remained still and quiet.

Until, suddenly, you heard Kate shout.

You nearly readied yourself to repel down after her when she suddenly came running into the foyer, her flashlight bouncing as she sprinted. Someone was chasing her, their shadow barely visible in the moving circle of light surrounding Kate. The pair of them were headed straight for the front door. You clambered to your feet and sprinted to the the edge of the roof, scooping up the climbing rope in your gloved hand as you leapt fearlessly into the darkness. The tight grip on the rope broke your fall, and you made quick work of descending the remaining distance to the ground just as the doors to the mansion burst open.

"Over here!" you hollered, waving for Kate to follow. Her gaze whipped up to meet yours, never once breaking stride as she dashed in your direction. Her pursuant was hot on her heels - a man, you could see now in the dim light of the moon. He couldn't possibly have gotten a good look at either of your faces in the darkness. If the pair of you could escape, it would be nearly impossible for this man to track you down without your names.

As Kate reached your location, you matched her stride, sprinting for the motorbike you had hidden behind the topiaries in the side yard. You risked a brief glance over your shoulder to see your pursuer only about thirty feet behind. He looked to be in his early 40s or so.

"Who the hell is that guy??" Kate hissed.

"I don't know - their son or something?"

"Do they even have a son?"

"No idea! Just keep going, we're nearly there."

You practically dove through the narrow space between bushes, swinging yourself onto the motorcycle and tugging Kate down behind you. The moment you felt her arms tighten around your waist, you threw the bike into drive and peeled out across the lawn, cringing as the bushes scraped the sides of the vehicle. No matter. The scratches would buff out eventually.

Clearly, the man had no idea you had a bike hidden in the side yard. He threw his arms up in frustration as the pair of you faded into the distance, skidding onto the street and zooming down the road with a roar of the engine.

And just like that, you had escaped.

"That was a goddamn close call, Kate - what the hell did you do in there??" you scolded loudly over the rumble of the bike beneath you.

"I don't know! I followed all of your instructions, I swear! He just came out of nowhere!"

"Well you must have tripped some alarm or something!"

"I swear to you, I saw nothing that would suggest a security system went off!"

You were silent for a moment, stewing over the fact that you hadn't been the one to go inside yourself. She needed to learn, of course, but damn if it wasn't frustrating trying to teach her.

"I got the necklace, by the way. Not that you asked."

"You did??" You glanced briefly over your shoulder as you pulled onto a side street off the main road. "Well... great! Glad we at least have that."

The pair of you were silent for the remainder of the ride, opting to save your voices rather than holler over the growl of the engine. At long last, you veered the bike into the parking lot to your apartment complex and parked it farthest from the streetlights illuminating the parking lot entrance to keep a low profile. The silence of the night pressed in on your ears as the rumbling of the bike clicked off.

"I could have taken him, you know," Kate muttered bitterly as you made your way inside. "I didn't want to engage with him, like you said. But I could have totally kicked his ass."

"Mmhmm. I'm sure." You rolled your eyes with a poorly disguised grin of amusement. Kate shoved your shoulder in response.

"I could!! You know I could. Don't pretend you don't."

"Sure. If you insist." You turned your key inside the lock to your front door, motioning for Kate to enter ahead of you as you swung the door open. She stuck her tongue out at you as she stepped past, flipping on the lights inside as you followed her in.

The moment the door shut behind you, you let your weight fall back against it, sliding slowly to the floor in exhaustion. Kate had already stepped over to the kitchen table and hoisted her bow off her shoulder, setting it down on the wooden surface along with her quiver.

"Really, Kate? Weapons on the table? What are you, a barbarian?" you scolded teasingly, picking yourself up off the floor with a tired groan.

"Not like we ever actually eat at the table," she countered, her gaze following you as you sauntered into the living room. She had you there. You shrugged.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't at least act like we're civilized."

"Civilized?!" Kate laughed, gesturing to where you now stood next to the sofa in the living area. "What civilized person carries that many weapons on them?"

"That doesn't make me uncivilized! That just makes me... overprepared."

With a grunt, you bent down and lifted your left pant leg enough to unbuckle the dagger sheath hidden around your calf, letting it clatter to the floor unceremoniously.

"Overprepared. Yeah." Kate gazed skeptically at you as you continued to unarm yourself. The pistol in the holster at your right hip that you set carefully on the coffee table. Another dagger sheathed in your left sleeve around your bicep that you unbuckled and allowed to drop to the floor beside the first. The small crowbar you kept shoved through the back of your belt, concealed under your shirt, that you tugged loose and dropped to the floor with a sigh of relief. "Seriously - you carry more weapons on you than the Russian army!"

"Do not! This is a perfectly normal quantity of weapons for a vigilante," you argued, removing the final pistol hidden in a pocket along the back of your left thigh and setting it down on the coffee table next to the other.

"What would you do if you didn't have all that metal on you? Wouldn't you feel so much... lighter?"

"Yeah, lighter and defenseless." You crossed the living room and slipped into your bedroom to change, closing the door most of the way behind you.

"You wouldn't be defenseless if you knew how to fight!" Kate called through the crack in your door. You sighed, tugging your shirt up over your head and moving to undo the button of your tactical gear bottoms.

"I know how to fight! I just prefer to do it with a weapon!"

Kate was silent for a moment while you slipped into more casual jeans and a cotton T-shirt. When you returned to the living area, she was standing in the middle of the room staring at you with an amused smirk.

"Honestly - for a seasoned vigilante, you sure rely on your weapons pretty heavily."

"Says you, miss mini Hawkeye," you quipped, motioning toward the bow lying across the kitchen table.

"Pshh, yeah, so... I use my bow and arrow... a lot," she admitted reluctantly, "but at least I know how to fight in hand-to-hand combat if I'm caught without a weapon!"

"I would be just fine if I got in a fight with no weapon!" you scoffed.

"Would not! I would totally smoke you in a fight."

You snickered. "I seriously doubt that."

Kate followed behind you as you strode into the kitchen and tugged the refrigerator door open. "You don’t think that my literal years of martial arts training would give me an advantage?"

"Nope. I've been doing this a lot longer than you have." You gazed blankly into the open refrigerator, trying to decide what you even wanted.

"I don't buy that." Kate's voice faded slightly as she began pacing across the kitchen floor behind you. "Seriously - you should let me train you! I bet you'd be so much better at fighting if I trained you."

"Train me?" The door to the refrigerator slammed shut as you released it, spinning around to face Kate with a bewildered expression. "You think you could train me?"

"Well... yeah, obviously," she asserted, planting her hands on her hips. "You might be a weapons master, but you've got nothing on my combat skills."

"I have been doing undercover field work for over a decade - and you dare to suggest you could train me?" You fought to contain the amused, teasing grin as you slowly advanced on her, trying to maintain the intimidating façade. Kate squared her shoulders, planting her feet firmly in place to stand her ground.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do!" she declared, jutting her chin up with an air of confidence. You let a slow smirk overtake your features.

"I'll show you who's the master of combat, here," you growled. Without further warning, you lunged forward and tackled Kate to the ground.

She clearly wasn't expecting the sudden physical attack, based on the shriek of surprise that burst from her throat as the pair of you barreled to the floor. You took advantage of her astonishment, swiftly pinning her wrists to her back and digging your fingers into her side.

"Ack- HEHEY! Cuhut that out!" Kate demanded. You could hear her feet digging into the floor behind you in effort to gain traction.

"What's the matter? Weren't expecting to be taken down by the master?" you taunted, pinching your way up her ribcage. She snorted suddenly in response, rolling hard. To your surprise, she successfully threw you off of her. You toppled sideways, barely striking the floor before Kate was on top of you. She swiftly snatched your wrists and pinned them beneath her knees at your sides, her hand darting up to wrap loosely around your throat.

"You... you were saying?" she panted, eyes flashing victoriously.

“Please. This proves nothing, other than the fact that you get ridiculously violent when someone tickles you.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s called instinct. You’d have it, too, if you were ticklish.” She punctuated her statement with a sudden squeeze at your exposed side with her free hand. Unable to contain your reaction, you spluttered and jerked away from her fingers. Her eyes lit up, and your stomach sank. “No. Way.”

“Kate, I swear, you’d better get off m-eep!” You let out a squeak as her fingers contracted into your side once again.

“All this time, and I just assumed someone like you couldn’t possibly be ticklish!” she marveled.

“Yeah… well… you thought wrong, obviously. Now get off.”

“I thought you were the better fighter?” An impish smirk spread across her face. “You should have no problem throwing me off you.”

You let out a frustrated growl, tugging at your wrists to try to free them. Kate dug both hands into your ribcage viciously the moment you started struggling. A loud burst of laughter exploded from your chest at the suddenness of it, only serving to egg her on as she scratched rapidly at the spaces between your ribs.

“This is actual gold!” she exclaimed, her grin only widening at your extreme reaction. “How are those weapons working for you now, huh? Wish you knew how to fight, don’t you?”

You managed to yank your wrists free, immediately sitting up and shoving Kate off so you could roll and spring to your feet. Before you’d even turned around to face her, Kate swept your feet out from underneath you with a well-placed kick to the ankles, knocking you face-first to the ground. She dove on top of you, snatching your wrists and slamming them to your back to pin them in place the way you’d done to her. Tickling fingers found their way up under your arm before you could spit out the empty threats on the tip of your tongue.

“Not so tough now, are you, super spy?” Kate goaded, pressing harder against your wrists as you began to struggle violently under her weight. “Still think you’re a better fighter than me?”

“GEHET OFF, DAHAMNIT!” You dug your toes into the floor and bucked your hips in effort to knock her off. This only served to be your downfall. Taking advantage of the increased space, Kate wriggled her fingers into the softer skin on the side of your belly just below your ribs. With a screech, you dropped your weight back down to the floor, dissolving into hysterics. "WAIT-WAIT-WAIT... OHOKAY! OKAY I-HI GIHIHIVE! PLEHEASE!"

"Wow! This might be your ultimate weakness!" she exclaimed in amusement. Thankfully, she heeded your surrender, relenting in her brutal attack and shifting her weight off your legs. Exhausted, you gradually rolled onto your back, coughing as you greedily sucked in oxygen. "So... remind me... what was that about not needing my training?"

"Oh, shut it," you groaned, pushing your upper body up on the palms of your hands to sit up. Kate stood, offering you a hand, which you accepted reluctantly.

"Seriously, though - I would love to teach you some combat moves. And..." Kate pondered for a moment, a genuine grin crossing her face. "... maybe... you could teach me my way around a dagger. You know, to pay me back?"

You sighed, shaking your head but grinning all the same. As much as you hated to admit it, she was right. There was a lot you could learn from your friend. And, of course, there was much she could learn from you, too. If you could both set aside your pride, of course.

"Alright, Bishop." You held your hand out, offering her a handshake. Her grin broadened as she grasped your hand, shaking it firmly just twice. "You've got yourself a deal."

#tickle fic #tickle fight #marvel tickle #tickle fluff #sfw tickle fluff #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x gn!reader #Kate Bishop x reader platonic

[amrv-5]

for the fanfiction wip guessing game……..is it cheating if i say like. “beej”

LOL HELLO and--I wouldn't consider this cheating at all, PRECISELY because it turns out I actually very rarely use "Beej"??????? Somehow??????? In fact it comes up: zero times so far in my WIPs (sorry!!) so instead you get my Baffled, Intrigued thoughts on How and When and Why the nickname comes up in my fic after I went through all of my pub'd stuff and ctrl-f'd "Beej" to see if I really actually use it that sparingly.

Okay, on "Beej": I've got multiple fics where it's not used at all, or used only once. The nickname comes up just 12 times in all 221,000 words of Somewhere to Get To, compared to something like 50-ish instances of "Hawk." Admittedly some of that disparity is because Daniel and BJ and Erin and even Hawkeye himself use "Hawk," whereas BJ is only "Beej" to Hawkeye. But it also just isn't a regular-use term, it seems, for my take on Hawk. It's usually, going off of my backlog, something I reserve for apparently 3 scenarios (none of this is intentional, by-the-by, just how the characterization shook out, I guess, I find it interesting anyhow):

1. Moments where Hawkeye's overcome in some way, doesn't feel he can or should commit to the full two-syllable hit of 'BJ'--when he's scared, or laughing, or gasping, or drunk, and so on:

“Beej?” Hawkeye asked, coming up behind him, still not touching him, like he thought he’d done something wrong. (Somewhere to Get To, ch. 14).

Hawkeye shook his head. “Kiss me. Please kiss me, Beej, I want—” (Crosswalks, Crossroads).

2. When he's trying to be soft, or offer comfort, or apologize:

HAWK (beat, regretful): Oh, I’m sorry, Beej. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just playing. (Black Box War, ch. 6).

“I told you not to worry about me. I’m—I’m trying to show you a good time,” BJ explained, his feelings, absurdly, a little hurt. Hawkeye’s posture instantly gentled. “Oh, Beej, you are. You always do.” (Feeling's Plain to Me).

3. He uses it when BJ calls him 'Hawk' or the link to his own nickname is implied. It's a beat I hadn't realized I'd written multiple times until I went looking for it, but there it is:

BJ: Hawk. HAWK: Beej. (Black Box War, ch. 7).

“Hawk,” BJ said, stopping him before he could duck into the mess tent.  “Beej,” Hawkeye acknowledged, shading his eyes. (Aspirin or Sorrow, ch. 5).

“You thought you’d come back and it would just be like old times? Hawk and Beej? Beej and Hawk?” Hawkeye’s voice was getting steadily louder. He slurred. “It doesn’t work like that.” (Somewhere to Get To, ch. 7).

“Hey, Hawk,” BJ said after a while, voice strange.  “Yes, Beej,” Hawkeye responded. His pulse rose. Something felt precipital about the moment. Maybe it had been a mistake to come so far into the woods. If he closed his eyes, he thought he could hear the ocean. On a windless day, the waves might be more audible. That was comforting. (Sailed Calmly On, ch. 4).

Anyway. Odd. This was fun, baffling, very weird to learn, thanks for bringing it inadvertently to my attention, and uhhh SORRY IT WASN'T IN ANY OF MY WIPS LMAO I AM AS SURPRISED AS YOU??????

#fic meta #I guess?????? fascinating #SO SORRY it wasn't in any of my WIPs genuinely. odd to learn LOL #ask game #THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

In the Dark of the Night

Summary: From the world of Multitudes (can mostly be read as a standalone smutfest though). Clint and Buck can’t remember the last time they had some time alone, so decide to go camping for a night and get away from the pressures of parenthood. The usual sexytimes ensue.

Prompts fulfilled: ‘Bigger is Better in Bed’ – Multifandom Flash (Beehive); ‘Skinny Dipping’ and ‘Camping’ – Marvel Rare Pair Round 3; ’27. Outdoor Event’ – Flufftober; ‘Sex Toys’ – Build a Bucky Bingo; ’13. Restraints’ – Whumpcember.

CW: All the sex. Only a shade short of PWP. Check it out on AO3 here or below the cut with the cards!

“This is harder than I remember,” Clint grumbled, fighting with a metal pole, his brow furrowed in frustration. I couldn’t help but grin, reclined with my feet up on a cooler, sipping at a bottle of beer. ‘Are you sure you don’t want any help?’ I offered again when his eyes were pointed toward me, the bottle between my knees to sign one-handed. We were both still adjusting somewhat to the realities of living without our aids that made us seem ‘normal’ to the wider society – but we were both also happier without them. Clint’s headaches were all but none-existent, and the pain in my shoulder was significantly reduced without the constant muscle engagement. We were both less grumpy, better fathers and husbands than we’d ever envisioned ourselves being. But, coming up to the third anniversary of our first date, we’d realised it’d been a very long time since we’d had any time just the two of us. With two kids under three and five (six, in Clint’s case) other partners to keep amused, there just weren’t enough hours in the day – not to mention our residual Avenger duties, and taking the kids to the compound to keep the team happy. But here we were, in the middle of the National Park – no more than an hour away from home, just in case – with a tent, a cooler full of beers… And a bag I’d kept from Clint’s eyes, packed with things to make our evening more entertaining. “Do you think they’re doing okay?” he mused as he finally maneuvered the poles into place, frowning minutely. I stood to wrap my arm around his waist, my chin finding his shoulder. ‘They’re absolutely fine, honey. I promise. And we can be there in less than an hour if we’re needed – hell, I’m pretty sure if it was an actual emergency, Steven would be hunting us down.’ His head tipped back with a soft sigh, leaning into the curve of my neck. “I know, I know. I just… I haven’t spent a night away from the kids since they were born. It feels weird not to have Artemis climbing something she shouldn’t, or Apollo wanting an extra story before bed…” I smiled fondly, nuzzling into his hair. I couldn’t deny that I was preoccupied with the same thoughts – but if I too let myself dissolve into worry, we’d end up leaving before the tent was ever erected. ‘Well, the Spiders and Steve will take good care of them. They love those two crazy kids as much as we do, sweetheart. Everything is gonna be okay.’ With another sigh, he nodded, turning to wrap his arms around my neck. “I know you’re right. It’s just weird being away from them, you know?” My lips found his softly, reassuringly, hand at the base of his spine to pull him closer, occupied by holding him and forcing him to lipread. “I know. But I plan to keep you plenty occupied, don’t you worry.’ “Oh?” He grinned broadly, pressing gentle kisses along my jaw and eliciting a quiet purr. “Mhm. Can’t remember the last time we weren’t in earshot of the kids, too…” My fingers tightened, digging gently into his waist to hold him more firmly against me, and he whimpered gently in response. “Intending to have your way with me, Sergeant Barnes?” he breathed, whining when I pulled his hair to expose his throat to my teeth and tongue. “Always, Hawkeye,” I murmured, nipping gentle bruises into the soft skin over his pulse before shifting away, leaving him panting lightly. “But I think you have a tent to finish assembling first.”

It was still half-light by the time we’d made camp, so we decided to head down toward the lake, the cooler hanging between the two of us. “I wish I had both hands so I could sign,” I grumbled, making him roll his eyes good-naturedly. “If I had my hearing aids, you wouldn’t have to,” he pointed out. “But they’re at the bottom of a very deep lake, and your arm is only for emergencies these days. And we’re both better for it… Right?” he added, a minute frown flickering across his face. “Right,” I agreed readily. I didn’t regret my choice most of the time, but moments when I couldn’t sign to my husband were endlessly frustrating, even now. “I’d far rather lipread on occasion than either of us suffer.” He leant over to kiss me lightly, and I grinned, eyes flicking to the side automatically at the shimmer of dying sunlight on water reflected on his face. “I’d far rather see you wet and naked than fully dressed right now, Barton.” With a soft laugh, he left the cooler on the sand, heading toward the water as he worked on his clothes. The sight of the exposed skin of his back spurred me into action, jerking eagerly at my belt and kicking off my shoes haphazardly as I stumbled forward. By the time I’d caught up to him, he’d already shed his jeans, and turned to me with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers. “Care to do the honours?” No sooner had he spoken than I was on my knees, tugging hungrily at the material. Polycules and toddlers didn’t leave us much time for the simple pleasures in life, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to take my time with him – sex these days was typically quick and dirty, often stolen in a layby after running an errand or with one eye on a monitor to make sure the kids were okay. It’d been some time since we’d been truly intimate, and even longer still since we’d done so just the two of us. I certainly can’t remember the last time I did this, I noted, trailing the very tip of my tongue over his length slowly, one hand tanging in my hair to ground himself as he let out a low groan. “I can’t remember the last time you did this,” he breathed, making me smile as I took him between my lips patiently, revelling in the feeling of him getting harder on my tongue. “Fuck, I forgot how goddamn good you are, James…” With a soft purr, I bobbed my head slowly, sucking pre-come from his tip before drawing away and making him whimper. “Now, now…” I murmured, standing to kiss him deeply and feeling him tremble at the taste of himself on my lips. “We have all night, my love. I intend to take my sweet time with you.” His hands fumbled as he unbuttoned my jeans, sliding my shirt over my head as I kicked them free, his fingertips trailing the ragged scar at my shoulder and eliciting a shiver. “What if I don’t want to wait?” he whined, palm pressing against my half-hard cock through my boxers, making me hiss through clenched teeth. “A needy boy, aren’t you?” I chuckled, smirking when he nodded desperately. “At least let us get back to the tent, honey. I doubt any of our partners will be amused at having to pick us up from a police station for indecent exposure.” Clint met my eye, grinning, and we snorted in unison. “Yeah, okay – Ashe would probably get a kick out of it.” Our most deviant Spider would almost certainly be delighted by having to fetch us after being caught fucking on the beach – if anything, they’d simply be sad they missed the show. With a light-hearted sigh, Clint stepped back, placated by the promise of a long night to come, waving a hand as his feet found the water.

I would be a happy man if I never stopped staring at him, I marvelled, watching the last of the twilight dapples fade from his still-damp flesh. I don’t know what I did to deserve him. “You’re staring,” he murmured without opening his eyes, one hand shifting to take a long sip of his beer. “I can’t help myself,” I replied honestly, rolling onto one side to survey him more thoroughly. “You’re breathtaking.” He was lay stretched out on a towel beside the campfire, the leaping shadows cast by the flames dancing over his tanned skin, coloured by the years spent on our farm and running around in fields, chasing child and dog alike. A light blush dusted his cheekbones, barely perceptible in the low light, and he offered me a lazy smile. “I don’t know how you keep your hands off me.” “Neither do I,” I agreed, moving to lay beside him, palm smoothing over his chest. His eyes closed automatically, a smile pulling at his lips as my fingertips brushed his abdomen. With a soft, happy sigh, I closed my fingers around his half-hard length, leaning closer to kiss him lightly. “I’ve missed this,” I admitted quietly. “I love our life, but…” He nodded, shifting closer to me, one hand tangling in my hair. “But sometimes you miss having a little more time to ourselves?” I nodded back, and he grinned, lips brushing mine. “We have two kids, sweetheart. I think every parent misses having more time to themselves – even when there’s a whole hoard of them to keep the kids entertained. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’ve missed you too,” he added, shifting his hips infinitesimally closer, one eye opening to find mine. A low growl resounded in my chest, and I moved quickly, my hand finding his wrists and pinning them over his head to keep his body extended and still beneath me. He let out a soft whine of delight, neck straining to seek my lips with his, but I simply straddled his waist, letting my cock nudge against his teasingly. “My poor, neglected Hawk,” I murmured, tracing my lips along his jaw. “It’s been so long since you  had me all to yourself…” He nodded frantically, writhing beneath me and pushing himself closer, making me smirk. “You know, I’ll still never forget the very first time you fucked me – the day we announced Artie to the team, with the Spiders’ eyes on you as you realised just how good I felt wrapped around your cock…” He swallowed dryly, nodding again, his lips parted with need. “I- I didn’t expect- I didn’t think it would be so… That you would be so…” “Amazing? Incredible, flawless, irresistible… Tight?” I added, dropping my voice to a whisper and rutting my hips gently against his. “All of the above,” he gasped, back arching. “Please- God, it’s been so long. I need you, James.” His words fanned the flames burning in my abdomen, and I surrendered with a groan, claiming my mouth with his hungrily and rutting against him, lost in the sensation of his cock pressed against mine. “Want to fuck me, baby boy?” “God, yes,” he groaned, wriggling beneath me once more. “Please- Please, Buck- James, I-I need-” He didn’t get chance to finish his sentence as I shifted my hips, lining him up against my ass and grinning as his eyes grew wide. “Don’t you- Should we-”

My fingers released his wrists and found the small bag I’d packed, quickly pouring a copious amount of lubricant in my hand as his eyebrow raised in interest, neck straining to peer into my bag of tricks. I smirked, kissing him softly. “I’m a big boy, Clint…” My hand slicked over his length, eliciting a shiver, and I let his tip slide inside me slowly, revelling in his trembling, taut body, eyes blown wide as I took his cock patiently. “Mm- and so are you… God, I forgot just how big you are, Hawk…” His fingers found my hips, guiding me along his length, panting softly in pleasure. “I forgot how tight you are, James… Fuck, you feel incredible- I can’t believe how long it’s been since w-” I cut him off with a twitch of my hips, eliciting a sharp groan, his fingers clenching in pleasure as I rode him patiently. My hand moved automatically back to my bag, retrieving a length of rope and a rubber ring. Clint’s eyebrow raised, and I grinned as I tugged him upright, passing the rope around his torso and securing his wrists to his chest. “No touching,” I breathed, pushing him roughly back to the dirt and sliding his cock free, eliciting a whine of frustration, hips straining as best they could to bury himself back inside me. With a soft, soothing hush, I slid the ring along his length, revelling in his whimper of revelation. “James-” I leant forward as I took him once more, kissing him gently and smothering the whine on his lips. “Easy, sweet boy… I don’t want you finishing too quickly, do I? I’ve waited a very long time for this…” My hips twitched, and he gasped quietly, head tipping back in his trussed-up pleasure and frustration. “Fuck- G-Good idea, I… I don’t think I’d-” My hand wrapped around my own pulsing cock as I shifted more quickly, letting out a quiet groan of pleasure. “Fuck, Clint, I forget how good you make me feel…” My back arched as I made the most of his vulnerability, knees clamped to his hips as I worked myself eagerly atop him, already growing ragged and frantic as his tip brushed the vulnerable bundle of nerves when I buried him inside me. “Too good- Christ, I don’t know how long I can-” “Please, James,” Clint rasped, hips twitching desperately, his eyes alight with pleasure when I cut myself off with a desperate whine. “Please- I want you to come for me. Please, sweetheart.” His eagerness and hunger for my ecstasy spurred me along, my fingers tightening around myself as my muscles trembled desperately. “Clint- fuck, I-I-” The words faded into a groan of euphoria as I clenched around him, every inch of my body taut and shaking as I found my climax. He moaned happily as my seed painted his chest, fingers flexing with need, his hips moving as best they could to guide me through my orgasm with sweet care. My body was still quivering and weak as I untied his hands – but he knew the drill well enough, knew that my fatigued form wasn’t a signal for him to stop, but merely to take control and use me like the worn-out sex toy I loved to be. My cheek met the dirt as he pinned me, hands on my hips as he pulled me roughly against him. My own seed was still dripping from his chest as he buried himself inside me, slickening my skin and trailing over my ass. “That’s it, James – keep that ass nice and high for me, that’s a good boy…” I whined under my breath as one hand tangled in my hair, jerking me back against him. “Think I’ll need this ring a little longer if I don’t want to fill you up just yet…”

“We have all night,” I noted, turning my head so he could read my lips, the words coming intermittent and panted as he pounded against me mercilessly. “Pl-plenty of time to recover, t-to go a-ah!-again- fuck, yes, just- just like that, Clint, please!” My cock was filling again already, and his hand shifted to grasp my stiffening length, jerking me in time with his eager thrusts. “I can tell how much you’ve missed me, baby – so desperate for me to spent all evening buried in this tight ass, hm?” I nodded desperately, enamoured by the low, filthy chuckle the motion elicited. “Don’t you worry, my sweet boy; I’ll make sure you’re good and satisfied before we head home.” He pulled out briefly, making me whine as I pressed back, feeling empty and lost – but his tip quickly slid back inside me, bottoming out fully without the ring wrapped around him and causing my fingers to dig into the dirt desperately. “This is what you’ve been waiting for, hm? So needy, so eager for me to fill you up?” I nodded again, rutting back as he slammed into me with bruising force, his hand clenched around me. “Fuck- James- I can’t, I’m-” “Please,” I whimpered, joyous tears pricking my eyes as he unmade me. “Please, Clint. Fill me up. Use me. I’m yours.” His cry was almost feral as he emptied himself inside me, hips never slowing until I spilled yet again, lost in the sensation of his hot seed being fucked further into me and leaking around his cock as he groaned contentedly. “Fuck- That’s it. That’s it. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

I lay with my head on his chest in the dirt, still panting softly, the both of us naked, slick with sweat and sticky with our seed as he caressed my hair gently. ‘I’ve missed this,’ I signed, my movements muted and tired, but no less happy, and he kissed my forehead  with a hum. “It’s nice to get away every now and then,” he agreed, holding me a little tighter. “…Though the swim now seems a little redundant, huh?” I grinned as I raised my head, leaning forward to brush my lips to his lightly. “I’d say let’s go again, but I’m sure we’re going to get plenty more filthy before the night is over.”

@flufftober @whumpcember @buckybarnesevents @multifandom-flash @marvelrarepairbingo

#mine #fanfiction #fandom: marvel #writers on tumblr #rating: e #flufftober 2023 #whumpcember #marvel rare pair bingo #multifandom flash bingo #build a bucky bingo 2023 #bucky barnes events #Bucky x Clint #winter soldier x hawkeye #pwp #pwp fics

[shatteredwriters]

Take a break, pull up a chair, and settle in for a random MASH Headcanon:

Missouri was cold this time of year. The church felt even colder. Soft organ music filled the room, with small pockets of people congregating in various pews. All still wore their coats and scarves. All were in black.

The service was set to start at 4 o’clock in the afternoon, giving those people coming in from out of state time to get there. Margaret was early as usual, her punctuality, finely honed in the Army, one of the many guidelines she implemented in her life. Charles came next. He squeezed Margaret’s hand as he slid into the seat beside her.

Then, people they hadn’t seen in years began to trickle in. It seemed the entire unit was invited. They all began to sit in and around one another, filling up one side of the church. There were handkerchiefs passed around, tearful smiles, gentle nods of acknowledgment.

At 4:01, the doors creaked open and three men shuffled in. They sat in the back, doing their best to not disturb the service that had only just begun. One carried a box, the second a brown bag, the third a small wooden container.

They were the last ones to rise to pay their respects. They clapped hands or kissed cheeks with those they passed. Waiting for them at the front were Margaret, Klinger, Father Mulcahy, and Charles.

Nobody moved for a few seconds. They all just looked around at one another a little uncertainly. They hadn’t seen each other in some time, and their planned reunion for the following summer had come earlier than they expected…

B.J. and Hawkeye broke them all out of their reverie. They moved quickly to embrace Margaret first, and then everyone else in close succession, tears in their eyes and sad smiles on their faces.

Radar hung back a little, watching the hugs and handshakes. He wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to be there with them. He almost hadn’t come at all, standing outside the church doors too afraid to come in. But seeing Hawkeye and B.J. had bolstered his resolve—he’d take this solemn opportunity to bid farewell to a man he admired and looked up. Radar didn’t get that chance the first time around.

Klinger and Father Mulcahy noticed Radar’s hesitation and pulled him into the group.

They had something they had to do. All of them.

Glasses were taken from the box and a bottle of brandy from the brown bag. All seven remaining members of the 4077 raised their drinks together.

Father Mulcahy whispered a small prayer.

“To Sherman,” the old members of the Swamp said in unison.

“To the Colonel,” Margaret said to herself, wiping at her cheeks.

“Til we meet again,” Klinger added, his eyes raised to the heavens.

“Rest easy,” Radar finished quietly.

Hawkeye and B.J. left hand in hand, promising they’d see everyone at the Potter’s farm that evening. Charles and Margaret were right behind them, with Klinger and Father Mulcahy paying one final respect before heading towards the door. Only Radar remained. He opened the wooden container in his hand, placed something on the light stained wood, and left.

The church was empty and silent. Six white roses lay atop the casket, forming a small but beautiful offering from six grieving friends. Right below was a horseshoe. It was polished and shining, with an engraving at the top.

Thank you for everything. We’ll miss you. Love, Radar

#mash #mash 4077 #m*a*s*h #m*a*s*h 4077 #mash drabble #writing #this is the painful idea that slapped me across the face this morning #now you all must suffer with me #maybe i’ll make this into a real fic #someday #hawkeye pierce #bj hunnicutt #b.j. hunnicutt #margaret houlihan #charles emerson winchester iii #maxwell klinger #father mulcahy #radar o'reilly