#the good seats from which to watch the sparring fields

[buckybabesonly]

Protector

Summary: When Steve gets injured on the field protecting you, Bucky lashes out at you from fear of seeing you in danger, and jealously of Steve’s arms around you.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader, platonic Steve x Female!Avenger!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff (y'all know we only do happy endings here)

Warnings: Jealous Bucky, Bucky being slightly mean to reader out of over-protectiveness, minor character injury, I’m not very good at writing action scenes I apologize 🙇🏻‍♀️

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: My creative juices are floooowing lately! I have so many ideas saved in my drafts 😭 Please let me know if you liked this one!

"On your feet. Again." Steve’s voice was authoritative, demanding, as per usual. He gestured his hand at you as you lay on your back, skin gleaming with sweat.

You gave him a faux-scowl, the muscles in your legs shaking with exhaustion as you forced yourself to stand, hands bracing themselves on your knees.

"Wait. Need a breather," you said, shaking your head. Your hair was coming loose from your ponytail, and Bucky's fingers itched to neatly sweep the strands back from out of your face.

He watched silently from one side of the room, observing your sparring session with Steve. He was going pretty tough on you, though he told you it was for your own good.

"No breathers out in the field," Steve grunted, tackling you and practically tossing you over his shoulder, but with enough finesse so you landed safely on your butt.

"Hey!" you exclaimed loudly in shock. If you had been looking, you would have seen how Bucky reflexively half-rose from his perch, afraid that you had actually been hurt, until he saw the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at Steve and bounced back on your feet indignantly.

"I was making a point -" Steve ducked to the side when you launched a fist towards his head, then threw out a sharp roundhouse kick. You just managed to graze the top of his hair, and he laughed jovially.

"Almost. Try again."

Bucky settled back in his seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he watched you throw yourself again and again at Steve. Especially when Steve's strong arm encircled your waist, the other one hooking itself under your thigh to throw you onto the ground once more.

He clenched his fist, wishing it was him with his hands on your body instead, and in an entirely different setting.

His excuse for being in the training room was to try and see where your weak spots were and offer you pointers, in hopes that you would improve your hand-to-hand combat. You were an excellent sharpshooter, and could easily defend yourself, but needed to work on your offensive attacks.

Lately, the idea of you attacking someone head on had been making Bucky feel uneasy. Which was ridiculous, since you were part of the team and it was literally your job, but he found that it was affecting his focus out on the field. He felt like he had a constant obligation to look out for you, to protect you.

It seemed like Steve shared the same sentiment. The super soldiers were both oddly protective over you, and it had actually been Steve's idea to up your training in recent months.

The way you moaned as Steve landed a punch in your abdomen made Bucky simultaneously want to rugby tackle his best friend to the ground, and somehow planted sinful thoughts in his head. He knew Steve would never hit you with full-force, however, and made himself to stay put.

"Rogers, I swear one of these days, I'm going to kick your ass," you groaned.

He laughed again, and you took the opportunity to exploit his distraction, using your position on the floor to knock his feet out from under him with surprising force. Your kicked his shins sharply, sending him on his knees, and lunged for him.

You had him on his back for once, finally, and you grinned triumphantly at Bucky. He was mildly perturbed at your position, semi-straddling Steve, but he managed to crack a smile.

Steve finally called it a day half an hour later, leaving you and Bucky alone in the room. You were humming to yourself, stretching out your limbs. Bucky didn’t miss the way you winced slightly.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked, tossing you a bottle of water.

“A little, but it’s alright,” you shrugged. You took a sip, eyes sliding over to his form. He was looking particularly handsome today in a pair of form fitting black jeans, heavy boots and his leather jacket zipped up around his torso.

God, this man could be wearing a garbage bag and you would be drooling. From the first day you met him, you had developed a crush on him, hooked by his ruggedly handsome looks and tough exterior. What really made you fall, however, was that surprisingly soft personality hidden underneath. He made you laugh, too, and you loved the way the corners of his eyes creased when he smiled at you. Bucky had easily stolen your heart.

Said heart was continuously fluttering nowadays whenever you were near him, like he was a silly teenage crush. You tried to play it cool.

“So, any tips?”

Soon, you were both grappling at each other playfully, peals of laughter leaving your mouth as you “fought”. Bucky was smiling that darn smile, looking almost childlike as you circled each other.

At some point you ended up on top of him, your hands around his wrists as you pinned them back. He could easily free himself, but he humored you.

“Hah!” you called out.

Bucky’s laughter subsided slowly as he took in the sight of you, panting on top of him. His eyes inadvertently fell to your cleavage, where the swell of your breasts was oh-so-visible from his vantage point, your skimpy tank top doing little to hide your skin.

Mortified, he felt a rush of blood to his groin. He knocked you off swiftly before you could feel anything which would reveal what a pervert he was, coughing loudly to hide his embarassment.

“That’s enough,” he said, surprising you with a change of tone. You felt a little disheartened at the switch-up, confusion settling in.

“Ah, okay,” you said, nodding. He was probably getting tired of your games, knowing how you didn’t like to take everything too seriously. Bucky mumbled something about going to take a shower before he excused himself and left.

Being an Avenger was always going to be life threatening. However, you could think of nothing else you'd rather be doing than fighting alongside your chosen family, trying to make your contribution to the world, even if it meant risking yourself.

You usually considered yourself a solid team player, trusting Steve to make the right call out on the field. Now, you weren't so sure, faintly aware that maybe, just maybe, you had screwed up. Especially in situations like these, lying on concrete with your ears ringing, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

Smoke and dust filled your sight. Your mind was scrambled, unable to comprehend what had happened. You couldn't see a thing, but you could feel the pain in your shoulder, and you wondered if you had dislocated it or worse.

The smoke cleared. All of a sudden, Bucky's face appeared, panic clearly written in his eyes.

The pieces were slowly coming together. You suddenly became aware that Steve was lying behind you, shield in hand and positioned above you. You could hear him groaning in mild discomfort. The clanging in your ears were subsiding so you could hear him and Bucky's shouting.

Your disorientation faded, and you realized what had happened. The explosion.

Four S.H.I.E.L.D agents had gone rogue and had secretly been working for HYDRA, who had been spending the past year regaining power and presence. You had been one of the people dispatched to take them down after the team received intel on the location of their base. They had been holed up in an underground bunker beneath an abandoned warehouse, the perfect spot for a group like them.

You weren't even supposed to be in that part of the bunker, but you saw an opportunity to breach their control room, where undoubtedly you would be able to find all sorts of valuable information about what HYDRA was planning, or what terrible projects they had ongoing. Unfortunately, they had been savvier than you thought, and had implemented a safeguard in the event of a security breach.

That safeguard, as it turned out, was explosives.

Steve had found you as soon as he was made aware of what you were doing, and he had appeared no more than 15 seconds before the bombs detonated. If he hadn't been around, you were almost certain you'd be dead.

You barely had time to register Steve's appearance before you suddenly found yourself flying off your feet, Steve a blur of blue as he re-positioned himself to protect you.

"...fuck, will you say something? Are you okay?"

Bucky was screaming in your ear, and you blinked, the haze finally clearing. Alarms were blaring, Steve was back on his feet, scooping you up with ease.

"We need to get back to the Quinjet," you heard Steve bark, and he began sprinting, jumping over rubble with you in his arms, Bucky following close behind.

As soon as you boarded the jet, Steve sat you down and ordered Bucky to tend to you. He was already kneeling at your feet and inspecting your injuries wordlessly. Steve swiftly geared the Quinjet to life, desperate to get them out of the area before anything else went to hell.

"Look at me," Bucky said sharply, his voice rough. You were startled at his tone, his hands brushing your hair back as he inspected your head for any serious injuries. Blood was trickling from your temples, but from what he could tell, they were only shallow cuts. "Where does it hurt?"

"I'm fine," you managed to say faintly, the reality of what had happened slowly sinking in. You had put all of them in danger because of your reckless actions, and Steve had actually been injured because of you. You could see the blood dripping off his fingers as he sat at the console, though from the way he handled himself you knew they could only be minor lacerations.

Your eyes landed on Bucky's face then, scanning him for any signs of injury. He seemed physically unharmed, but his face was bright red and he was shaking with rage as he spoke to you. You were ashamed, knowing that he was furious you put his best friend in danger.

“I told you to stay put,” Bucky snarled, slamming his hand against the back of your seat.

"I - I know," you stuttered, vaguely remembering Bucky's request in your earpiece just moments earlier.

“Why couldn't you just listen? You had to play the fucking hero?"

"Bucky, lay off of her." Steve's warning was stern, and Bucky shot a glare at the back of his head.

"No. She was being stupid," he spat, looking back at you. "What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?"

You bristled then, despising his patronizing tone. “You’re one to talk. How many times have you completely gone off script and blindsided us with your decisions?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew it was an unfair statement.

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't think you realize what could have happened back there."

You looked at Steve again, guilt consuming you. He was focused on operating the jet, and you knew that he hadn't been seriously hurt, but he could have been. Or, worse, Bucky could have been caught in the explosion. He was lucky not to have been there.

"I'm sorry," you began, but Bucky cut you off.

"You need to take this fucking seriously," he snarled. "You went marching in there blindly, and look what happened."

"I thought I might be able to get something useful," you said weakly.

"Look how well that turned out," he said sarcastically. "You blew everything up."

You recoiled, hurt. You wondered if Bucky was actually upset that you had destroyed a valuable chance to get information on HYDRA. Though how were you supposed to know extracting the information would set off literal bombs? You had been acting quickly, wanting to get in and out. Maybe Bucky blamed you for destroying that chance.

"You can be so fucking stupid and selfish," Bucky exclaimed angrily, lashing out in full force. So reckless, doing whatever you wanted to do, without so much as a thought to how much potential harm you could be putting yourself in.

"That's enough," Steve shouted loudly, his voice angry and booming.

You flinched visibly, biting down hard on your lip to stop yourself from snapping back. Or worse, crying. Bucky walked over to the other side of the jet, away from you.

The feeling was awful. Your shoulder was burning, throat in pain from the smoke you had inhaled, and all Bucky had done was shout. It was surprising, how much your feelings hurt at his outburst.

Bucky was as tense as a statue. His mind was racing as he refused to look at you, thinking of all the worst possibilities. His heart felt as if it had literally skipped a beat the moment he saw you lying in the rubble, seconds after he'd heard the explosion and realized he could no longer hear you in his earpiece - there was a chilling moment amidst the action where he really, genuinely believed you had been killed.

Having you act so blasé about it after the fact infuriated him.

You, on the other hand, felt a heavy weight in your chest as you watched Bucky mutter to himself, the muscle in his jaw twitching. You felt so guilty, feeling so...incapable in Steve and Bucky's presence. Steve had been hurt because of you, and Bucky had every right to be mad at you. Nonetheless, his words cut you deeply.

Stupid and selfish.

The rest of the journey back to the compound was tense and silent. Bucky stared at the wall whilst you stared at the ground. As soon as the jet landed, Bucky stood up with full intention of hoisting you up against his chest to take you to the medical wing, but found Steve standing between you and him instead. Like a barrier, as if he wanted to protect you from Bucky's wrath.

"Let's get you checked out," Steve grunted, his arm once again around your damn waist as you stood.

Even though it was neither the place nor the time, jealously instinctively entered Bucky's bloodstream at the way you leaned on Steve. He wanted to be the one to take care of you, dammit, but all he had achieved was make you avoid his stare.

"Get her head checked out whilst you're at it," Bucky barked. "See if you can find out why she lost all her fucking common sense."

Tears sprang to your eyes when Bucky stormed off the jet, heading into the compound first. It hurt you more than you cared to admit that he hadn't even stayed to see if you were alright.

"He didn't mean that," Steve said quietly.

"He did," you retorted, wincing in pain as you experimentally moved your shoulder. "Shit."

"You alright?"

"Dislocated, I think."

Steve helped you to the medical wing, where you were promptly checked and - yep, dislocated shoulder. No other injuries though, thanks to Steve.

"You saved my life," you said gratefully as Steve stood beside you, wiping dried blood from his hands and face. "Thank you. I'm sorry, as well."

Steve's face was kind yet stern as he moved to stand in front of you. "No need to thank me. But yeah, the way you behaved was kind of reckless."

"I know."

He placed a heavy hand on your good shoulder, squeezing gently. "Get some rest, okay?"

"Do you think Bucky hates me?" you asked suddenly, looking up at Steve searchingly. "You know him best. Do you think he hates me now?"

Steve sighed loudly in a way that planted doubt in your mind despite his answer. "No, of course he doesn't hate you."

"I think he's at least annoyed that I risked your life," you mumbled.

"Okay, first of all, I've been in so many explosions that it's just a regular day at the office, now," Steve said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Secondly, I think he's just annoyed that you risked your life."

You were dubious, thinking that Steve was just trying to placate you. You recalled how Bucky had glared at you before. If he actually cared, surely he wouldn't have just stalked off like that?

“I think my safety was the last thing on his mind.”

"Get some rest," Steve repeated. "Stop overthinking."

You nodded unconvincingly, all while your thoughts continued to be plagued by a certain dark haired, blue eyed man.

"She okay?" Bucky asked Steve the moment he saw him in the hallway just off the medical wing.

"You could ask her yourself, you know," he said, cocking an eyebrow. When Bucky didn't respond, he offered, "Dislocated her shoulder. Few cuts and bruised ribs. Otherwise, she's fine."

Bucky felt himself let go of a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He had inspected you pretty closely on the jet and was sure you had been fine, though he was annoyed he didn't realize your shoulder was hurt, however part of him was still fearful. To hear Steve confirm that you were mostly fine was a relief.

"Good," Bucky said brusquely. Steve tilted his head at him, observing his best friend with judgmental eyes. The silence between them spoke volumes. “Shut up," Bucky added.

Your shoulder had been easily maneuvered back into place, though you were confined into a sling and would be for the next few weeks, rendering you useless on the field. That, combined with the gnawing guilt of putting Bucky and Steve in danger, dampened your usually upbeat self.

After being discharged from the medical wing, you had retired to your bedroom and stayed there for the rest of the day. A few mornings later, you left your bedroom at the crack of dawn, startled to see Bucky already making breakfast in the kitchen.

"Oh. Hey," you said meekly, clearing your throat as you made your way to the coffee machine.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and you wondered if he had slept at all. His hair was disheveled, like he had been running his fingers through it, and he had stubble all across his sharp jawline.

Things were weird now after his tirade at you. You considered the two of you to be friends - very good friends, actually. In fact, you would be lying if you said you didn't have a deep-rooted hope that you might become more than friends. But, after Bucky's explosive verbal attack on you, you felt so small standing in front of him. You had avoided him for the past couple of days, afraid of any potential confrontation.

He thinks you’re stupid and selfish, you reminded yourself. Each time his words replayed in your mind, a fresh wave of pain hit you. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about how harsh he’d been for the past few nights whilst in bed, tears slipping down your face and onto your pillow as you tried to sleep.

Your gut twisted in discomfort. You liked Bucky so much, and his admonishing had crushed you somewhat. You wanted him to respect you, didn't want to disappoint him, but you had achieved the opposite.

You turned your back on him and poured yourself a coffee, knowing that if you looked at him for too long, you might start crying. His face was one that you used to love looking at, loved how affectionate he was when he spoke to you, but now you were just scared. You didn’t think you could take it if he snapped at you again.

"Are you okay?" He broke the silence first, and you wondered if he actually genuinely cared about the answer. You really weren’t sure anymore.

"I'm fine," you said, nodding and moving over to the pantry to try and find something to eat. You stretched up to the shelves with your good arm, fingers curling over a bag of croissants but not quite being able to reach.

You felt his presence behind you, his chest pressing against your back softly as he took the pastries down for you, setting them down on the counter.

Bucky watched when you stiffened slightly, and felt a heavy twinge of regret at how he had spoken to you that day. He was already feeling like an ass about it, but now he wondered if you were somehow frightened of him. He knew that he had crossed a line, said some pretty nasty things.

He stepped away from you, clearing his throat loudly to catch your attention. When you half-turned to face him, he spoke.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said the other day. It was out of line."

He could only see your profile as you bit down on your lower lip, shrugging as if to say no big deal. From the way your eyes were darting about, Bucky could tell you were holding back on your emotions. "It's okay. You were right."

Bucky frowned, watching as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. "What do you mean?"

"What I did was stupid and selfish," you said, your voice quivering. Bucky's lips pressed into a thin line as you continued. "I wasn't thinking, and I put both of you in danger. I'm sorry. You have every right to be angry at me."

Realization hit Bucky like a freight train.

"Hey," he said gently, approaching you again, his hand awkwardly curling around your wrist. He could see your eyes beginning to well up. "Don't get upset." He tilted his head at you, trying to coax you to look at him.

"I'm not," you sniffed, blinking hard in an attempt to rid yourself of your budding tears.

"When I said you were stupid and selfish," Bucky winced at those adjectives now, "I meant I just felt you were stupid to put yourself in danger, and selfish because - well, you didn't even think about what it would do to me."

Your brow furrowed at Bucky's rushed explanation, looking up at him quizically. Your eyes were still glistening, and his heart ached.

"I don't understand."

Bucky made a slightly frustrated noise, releasing your wrist. He planted his hands on the kitchen counter instead, trapping you, your lower back pressed against the marble edge. He sighed loudly, making you swallow nervously.

"Bucky?"

"I care about you," he began, suddenly unable to articulate himself properly as he looked into your eyes. “A lot. As in, a lot."

"Oh-kay..." The syllables were long and drawn out. You were still nonplussed.

"No, you don't get it," Bucky said through gritted teeth. He cast his mind back to the events in the bunker, that same fear creeping into his system. "There was a second where I heard the blast, and I thought you were done for. I was terrified."

Bucky leaned closer, so close that his forehead was almost resting on yours. His eyes fluttered closed. It was easier if he didn’t look at you to voice his feelings.

"There was a very real moment where I thought I lost you, and it was horrible." The unspoken meaning hung in the air. I can't live without you.

His confession made your heart rise in your chest with surprise and disbelief.

"Oh, Bucky." The way you spoke his name made him want to hold you tight. "I had no idea you cared so much," you said softly.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, and they were anguished. "That's the problem. I'm so scared of showing you my feelings that you had no idea I care about you more than anything." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't know what I was so afraid of. The idea of you being hurt is infinitely more terrifying than telling you how much I really like you."

“I - really?” His words were black and white, but you were afraid to truly believe them.

“Did you know,” Bucky began, lifting his hand to brush his knuckles against your cheekbone, “how much I want to protect you? Keep you from harm? At first, I didn’t understand it, but then I realized that I was falling for you.” He took a deep breath. “It’s been so long since I felt anything like that for anyone, that I barely recognized what it was.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down his nerves. He knew he had to tell you how he felt. The way you were gazing at him now in pure adoration was motivation enough.

“I want to be with you, as more than friends.” He let out a soft huff of laughter, like he was amused it had taken him so long to admit something so simple.

You lifted your hand to cup the back of his neck, feeling a renewed confidence and sense of happiness at his words.

“I should have told you long ago how much I like you, too,” you whispered. Bucky's chest swelled in happiness at your admission.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?" he asked quietly, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

Your reply was to stand on your tip-toes so you could meet his mouth in a kiss, finally doing what you had wanted to do since the moment you met him.

#bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #winter soldier

[sickeninglyshoujo]

God you’re gonna hate me for this thought but after reading dad!simon all I kept thinking was

What if the daughter did die? Like id imagine reader being fuckin PISSED and kinda being closed off with Simon cus she didn’t want her daughter being in the army and Simon wasn’t hearing her concerns

oh

oh i do hate you

but i had to write it

teared up twice writing it and said i cant cry tonight about this

part 1 - dad!simon

word count: 750

warnings: death, grief

buy me a ko-fi

They brought your daughter home in a plain pine box.

They wouldn’t let you see her no matter how you wept and tore at the lid that had been nailed tightly shut.

“Just let me see my baby, I need to make sure it’s her…Let me see her just once please…” You cried to her C.O. The man gave a pained look above your shoulder at your husband, ever your shadow, who took his silent plea and wrapped his hands around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest.

He didn’t know you could scream like that.

The days immediately after the funeral are the worst. You sit in the kitchen chair where you woodenly placed yourself after returning from the graveyard. Your eyes stare into the air in the space in front of you, unfocused and unseeing.

The kitchen hurts the most.

This was where you had so many family dinners, first with your messy baby in her high chair, a headstrong toddler demanding her own utensils, a gap-toothed child rolling her eyes at her parent’s sneaking kisses over lasagna, a moody pre-teen who insisted that she be allowed to go to base with Simon, a teenager too pretty for her own good asking her father about his time spent in the field.

You knew it was a matter of time. She took after her father more than you. When you argued with her, it was like staring into your husband’s face. Quiet determination and a total lack of regard for anything except their motives.

At 18, she enlisted. She laughed at your worried frown as her father clapped her on the back and shook her hand, “Welcome, Recruit.”

Her training with the SAS was supplemented by her father, making her truly a force to be reckoned with when put against her fellow recruits. She began bragging to you on her phone calls home, telling you all about how she planted the men flat on their asses in sparring!

Then she was no longer a recruit, but a fully enlisted member being sent onto missions with real gunfire and real danger.

You had never been one quick to prayer, even when Simon was in the service but that changed when your daughter started getting sent all over the globe in order to serve her country, until she makes one final journey home.

Simon stops eating at the table. He can’t bear to watch you sit there, eyes staring into nothing. Any words his mouth could form wouldn’t fix this. How he groomed your daughter for military duty from the cradle. Which of those trips to base was the one that had lit the spark that destined her for service? Was it one too many war stories told to her in the cradle when he was explaining where he had been? Why he hadn’t heard her first words, but that he was here now and ready to hear her talk his ear off.

You start to slowly leave the kitchen table: Perching yourself on the sofa in the living room, watching the corner she usually sat in.

Simon stops sitting in his recliner, opting instead for his office. He can’t watch you stare at the empty seat even if he had been doing the same.

It comes to a head nearly a month after her burial.

“Why can’t you look at me Simon!”

His head whips around, you hadn’t spoken much for weeks and now you were yelling at him, just this side of hysteria.

“I lost my daughter and now my husband can’t even look at me! I’m hurting Simon! I never wanted her to enlist, but you had to play war hero! You always had to be her hero and now she’s gone Si! She’s gone and I’m losing you at the same time!” Your tears are overflowing now, you’re swiping at your eyes and trying to not let them travel down your cheeks in a losing battle.

Simon’s mouth is agape, “Dove, I-”

“Don’t ‘Dove’ me! You haven’t talked to me Simon! You haven’t held me! You haven’t tried to tell me it’ll be ok and that we’ll get through this! We haven’t even slept in the same fucking bed together Simon!”

He had hoped you wouldn’t notice how he had opted for the uncomfortable loveseat hidden in his office. He had hoped you were too lost in your thoughts and grief to notice.

“Simon I can’t do this with you if you won’t help me. I need a break. I’m living with two ghosts now.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley #grave writes

[thejacketscloset]

Hold my hair up, darlin. (ice packs on my neck)

Soap had a real bone to pick with whoever invented wisdom teeth, and whoever decided they needed to be removed in some shitty complicated and painful process. He had thought for most of his life that he’d gotten out lucky, seeing as he never had a reason for them to be removed when he watched all his friends complain about the pain before and after their surgery’s in High School. He’d honestly gone years without thinking about the teeth, until an unfortunate recent development.

It had started some time at the beginning of the week, he had been doing some casual sparring with Gaz on their day off. Gaz had gotten a pretty good hit against Johnny’s jaw, nothing too concerning, but it ached like hell even long after they were done sparring. Soap hadn’t thought it was concerning though, he was used to bruises and sores lasting. After about two days of aching though he lamented about his pain to Price, and of course the old bastard had been worried about it. 

Next thing he knew Price was asking him all these questions about his pain and his fucking dental history of all things. Soap thought the concern was stupid, and let Price know more than once, but now there was no stopping the stubborn man now that he had the worries in his head. He was practically scheduling an orthodontist consult within twenty minutes of the questioning, and of course that had only led to Soap having a surgery scheduled later that month that he had been ordered not to cancel just because he didn't want to  because apparently dental health is just as important and price didn’t want Soap whining about his jaw constantly on the field.

It was all bullshit to Soap, but no one seemed to agree with him. 

Embarrassingly enough, when Soap had complained to his lieutenant it somehow ended up getting him put in Ghost’s care for his recovery, which was the complete opposite of what Soap had been hoping for. Typically Johnny would be eager to jump on any opportunity to spend more time with Ghost out of work, but being dragged around by him while he’s high-as-balls off anesthesia wasn’t something Soap considered to be quality time.

 Soap tried convincing Price not to rope Ghost into it, telling him he could deal with the recovery himself, but surprisingly both Price and Ghost shot that suggestion down immediately. 

You’ll need a ride home Johnny, and I already agreed to. I’ve seen you shit-faced after bars plenty of times before, quit worrying about this, it won't be any different.

Just like that Soap was out of options, so with no other arguments left he simply moped up until his surgery day. Ghost had gone with him to the procedure before-hand, even thoug+h he only needed to be there after it was done, which Soap wouldn’t deny was nice. 

Ghost ended up waiting nearby for the whole procedure, being right there when the nurses finally brought him back out of the recovery room in a wheelchair. In true Soap fashion he was complaining, it was hardly understandable through his thick accent and slurred words, but Ghost found himself fighting off a smile underneath his mask at the sight of it. 

The nurse hands Soap off to Ghost and wishes him luck, and as soon as he’s asking for cooperation Johnny is being stubborn. Ghost asks his sergeant to stand up quickly so he can be transferred into the passenger seat, and he’s met with Soap’s colourful vocabulary. 

“Ma heid’s mince, Ah’m not getting up” Soap grumbled and leaned his body away from Ghost’s reach, lazily swatting away his hand. 

“I thought you agreed you wouldn’t be stubborn after?” Ghost complained right back, there was no real annoyance to his words though. He ignored Soap’s swats and practically hauled the Scott up by himself into the passenger seat. 

“Ah umnae stubborn..” Soap mumbled, his head lolling off to the side. He watched quietly as Ghost reached across him and fastened his seatbelt for him, he probably could’ve done that himself if he had asked.

“Sure you aren’t.” Was what Soap got in response before Ghost closed the door and moved over to the drivers side. Even in his loopy state soap could recognize the amusement dripping from Ghost’s tone. 

Soap is basically falling in and out of awareness during the drive back, everytime Ghost glances over him he can see Soap looking at him fondly. It makes his face feel warm underneath his mask, and he tries not to think too much about it, Johnny probably doesn’t even know he’s staring. 

“Is there something on my face Johnny?” Ghost asks quietly when they’re just turning down the street that Soap’s flat is on. He glances at Soap once again to see the other’s reaction, but it just looks like he's scrunching his face up in pain. “You alright there?” 

“Am pure done in” Soap says gruffly. He runs a hand down his face before letting out another groan and rolling his head to lean away from Ghost.

Ghost chuckles a little at him and says "You're alright Johnny, we'll get you laying down once we're back," in a soft tone. He doesn't really think Soap is listening to him but suddenly he hears sniffles coming from the other. Ghost doesn’t even have a chance to ask if something was wrong again before Soap is crying quietly and babbling words that Ghost just can’t quite catch. 

Ghost looks over to Soap again, and his heart squeezes slightly at the sight. The sergeant is basically pouting at him, his lip wobbling with tears pooling in his eyes. The sight was honestly jarring to the lieutenant, though in any other circumstance it probably would’ve been a bit amusing. Soap spoke up again, this time more clearly, and Ghosts concerns were put to rest. 

“You’re just being so nice to me” Soap practically wailed,taking uneven voices in his emotional state. “Ah feel bad yer stuck dealing with me when ye should be having a damn break.” 

Ghost was stumped for a second, taken aback by Johnny’s sudden confession. After a few seconds though he composes himself enough to respond properly to his friend, hoping to prevent him from getting any more emotional. 

“I’m not ‘stuck’ Johnny, I agreed to do this willingly. ‘Couldn’t have you hurting yourself even more before we even get to recover, Price gave special orders to keep you from doing something dumb.” 

Soap shook his head in response, quiet sniffles could still be heard from his side of the car. “Yer so carin L.T. I woulda been fine on mah own. I’m glad yer here.”

Ghost felt his face go warm under his mask once again, and he gripped the steering wheel a bit harder than what was needed. It felt wrong to hear all that from Johnny in that moment, like those word’s weren’t yet ready for his ears. If Ghost was going to listen to his sergeant spew bullshit about him caring he wanted it to be when he wasn’t high, with some humor to his tone. It felt less intimate that way, it was more comfortable for Simon to listen to. This was different though, this felt like Johnny’s private thoughts were out on display for the world and he didn’t even know it. It made Ghost’s stomach twist uncomfortably. 

"Relax Johnny, don't go saying things you'll regret later."  Ghost said in the same soft tone, but his words felt more heavy. Please god don’t say anything more, and please god don’t remember this later. 

“Ah willnea regret it Si,” Soap all but whispered, his sniffling had calmed significantly. The soft tone and the use of Simon’s nickname makes his stomach flip uncomfortably again. “Ah know ye need to hear it, ye really are wonderful. The team dinnea say it enough”

Ghost stayed quiet, kept his eyes trained on the road ahead, and didn't dare look at Soap again. He wasn’t sure why he felt almost afraid of what he might see, but somehow he knew whatever face the sergeant was making would break him one way or another.

By some grace of god they make it to Soap’s flat in one piece, and Ghost has to drag the other inside while he’s half-asleep. The second Soap hits the bed he’s fully out like a rock, and Ghost shakes his head fondly at the sight. It was expected though, he would need to sleep quite a lot to let the medication wear off. Ghost silently pull’s Soap’s blankets over him and makes his way outside of the bedroom, hoping to find something else to occupy his mind for the next few hours. He knew well what happens when he lets his mind wander. 

They always fall back to a certain persistent Sergeant he just can’t seem to deny a place in his mind and heart.

__

a bit nervous to post this since it would b my first proper fic on here but whateveerrrrr you'll surely all be nice to me!

this is part 1 of a probably 3 part but potentially longer fic I'm gonna write! also give it a looksie on ao3 if that's your jam!

#ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare #fanfic #fanfiction #cod fanfic #ghostsoap fic #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #pls be nice to me

[uncouth-the-fifth]

(you are a) natural, baby - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: blowjobs, deepthroating, Impala sex, whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite). nothing too insane. yk the deal. Word Count: 11034 Notes: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. i've been. thinking about sam lately. and i MAY or may not have had the most vivid wet dream of my life... which may or may not have inspired this slightly........... enjoy! there will be a sequel btw ;) for plot's sake, yes, Sam is 23 and is still a virgin 🍾 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You couldn't believe your luck.

You notched the car into park, lips parted in disbelief. Holy shit. Rain bore down on the car from all sides, making an already dark night impossible to walk in, nevermind drive. Baby—or the Impala, you corrected yourself, since Sam always poked fun at you for picking up Dean's little nickname—had puttered out her last huff of warm air a few miles back. That left at least another hour’s worth of driving until you were back to Dean, who was waiting back where your present job was. There was no way you could get back in this weather. It'd be past midnight soon anyway, so…

You played your fingers on the wheel. Bent over it, squinting at the rain. Slumped back in your seat. All the while, Sam watched you go through the motions passively. He already knew what you knew: you'd have to camp here for the night. Just the two of you. Alone.

The universe had done everything short of smashing you together like kissing barbies. In this week alone, the messy line of feelings between you and Sam had been tested at least a hundred times. It was obscene. Ever since Sam's twenty-third birthday, all the forces of nature had woken to remind you at every turn how stupid horny you were for him. Sam was no longer the beanpole you could easily throw while sparring; there was a man in your passenger’s seat, a good deal taller than you on miles and miles of leg, with handsome, veiny arms and a lap made for sitting in. Your childhood crush had been nursed so long that it'd grown into love. But now that you were a twenty-five-year-old, full-time hunter, there was little room for a childhood novelty. You had instead made space for a covetous, needy desire that the universe loved to throw in your face.

Monday. Sam had helped Dean out with one of the less-than-junk cars in Bobby's yard, bent up under the bonnet, sweat and grime making his tee cling to the landscape of his back. And Jesus, what a landscape it was… Sloped and firm with experienced, long-developed muscle. Tuesday. Dean got on the subject of blowjobs, and Sam immediately got off the subject. Significantly, you learned he's never had one. Your mouth watered just sitting next to him. Wednesday. You risked using the last towels in the pile for your shower, each just big enough to close and cover your modesty—if you don’t stand up straight. Sam caught you coming out of said shower. He looked, looked some more, and you sniped at him for it around the saliva building in your mouth. All you wanted to do was claw his jeans around his ankles and blow him until he forgot his name. Sam lingered like he wanted the exact same thing, and both of you pretended to ignore the tent in his pants. Thursday. Sam coached you in long-bowing. You stood just inches apart in an empty field, Sam's shoes between your in the grass, and you fucked up every damn shot because Sam's massive hands were on your waist and your hips and in your belt-loops. He'd lean in until he was almost kissing the shell of your ear and say, S’ alright. Just focus on your footing. You're doing great, even though you hadn't hit a single target. Friday. You, him and Dean left for a North Dakota case. You had to share a bed with one of the boys, and Sam reminded you what sharing meant the whole night, huffing soft moaning breaths against the back of your neck in his sleep.

You resist the urge to clamp your thighs together. It'd been freezing cold in your room and you’d been sharing beds since you were young; to have just your backs pressed together was impressive. At one point, you turned over and Sam stretched back to meet you, his warm spine flush to your chest without hesitation, flaying you instantly. He’d seeped back into the mattress as content as could be. You resisted the urge to run your fingers through his floppy hair, or caress the smooth strip of flesh that the seam of his shirt didn't cover. You failed at the first—but to be fair, Sam's hair was in your face and it was annoying you and you had to be close, because the room was so cold. And your hand just ended up there. And then it ended up under his shirt, your nails stroking his stomach, because Sam was a tease who'd dragged your arm around him in the first place. He'd been shaking, it was so cold. You couldn't just let him freeze. Regardless, it was hard to say no to him when he was smoothing your palm against his ribs like that.

“Think we can make a run to get the blankets from the trunk?” Sam invited. “I can do it if you give me the keys.”

You wanted to say more to that, but you settled instead on taking the keys out of the Impala and dropping them in Sam’s waiting hand. “Thank you,” you murmured, and Sam bobbed his head once before braving the weather.

He was gone for less than a minute, but the clinging silence that rang in your ears could’ve gone on forever. The rain pounded across the car with a vendetta, plunking off the metal and hammering over your empty parking lot just as hard. It raced down the glass fast enough to make the outside world a shimmering blue mirage. Sam’s figure was a darker silhouette closer to the glass, and you busied yourself putting a sweater on as he dove inside.

“Dammit,” Sam cursed. He knew better than to shake his hair out on Dean’s good leather, so he tossed down the blankets in between you—and there was a generous gap—to hunt around the backseat for a towel. The amber streetlights gave you just one glimpse of Sam’s rain-streaked face. It shouldn’t have flushed your belly with want as much as it did, but that’s half the reason you were in this mess.

“S’ bad out there,” you said, obviously. Sam agreed with a hum, and together you sorted yourselves for relaxing before you slept.

Before, you’d had the car on and the heater going, so you were mostly okay with your jackets tossed in the backseat. Sam had on a tee and a moss-colored sweater to keep him warm, and you had the thought of his firm muscle underneath those layers to keep you warm. Though more cold had seeped back into the Impala, you didn’t put on your jacket, toeing off your boots in the footwell. You piled on your blankets and curled up against the seat, Sam doing the same. He hadn’t put his jacket on either.

You shared a glance. Well, it was more like Sam was already looking at you and you caught him, flushing up to your ears. “There’s no way we won’t make it there til morning,” he said, “I’ll text Dean.”

“Good idea,” you agreed. You brought your legs closer to your chest, bumping Sam’s thigh with a stray foot. To your surprise, he glanced up at you at the contact, and again you found one of his coy glances. You couldn’t believe it. Was he...?

All four burners in your body flicked onto a simmer at the same time. You bit your lip, taking him in as he was illuminated by his phone’s screen, wet twisting curls of hair in his eyes. “S’ okay. I don’t think Dean will care, with how slow this case is going. Though I can guess why you’re so eager to get back,” you tested the waters with a sly smile. “That witness—Miss Checknik, she was really aiming to get you alone, huh?”

Sam was still raw from Dean pressing his buttons on this, so he was shier than usual when he mumbled, “It’s… not like that… I’ve never even done that before.”

“What?” you blurted. “Had sex?”

Sam’s gaze snapped up to yours. Around you the rain roared, but you still caught his subtle hitch of breath. His pause went on for another telling amount of time, until Sam’s ears were red too. “...It’s not like you have either,” he muttered.

This had to be on purpose. You tossed an arm over the back of the seat, knuckles against your cheek and a growing, sly smile on your face.

Sam sat up. “You’re kidding. Really?”

You slouched, huffing. “What, is that a surprise or something?”

“No,” Sam spoke a little too quickly, like he’d been thinking about it. He swallowed. “No, not at all. I was just…”

You wet your lips and let your eyes drift over him. Sam sat stiff in your passenger's seat, legs crossed a little too tightly, his hands folded together over his lap, hiding a building, jealous hard-on. A muscle jumped in his neck. The shivery warmth that reigned over you every time Sam entered the room conquered you again, watching him squirm, and you couldn't help but do the math. You could… you could make an offer. If he said no, that was fine. All you’d have to do was endure a night's sleep in the car with him then a few awkward days afterward—but you and Sam had done that dance a hundred times before, after kissing for spin-the-bottle or getting caught lusting after each other, so maybe this was it. This week had been filled with omens.

You went all in.

“We travel a lot and it relieves stress, so… I’ve picked up a few dates. Bar-flings, heat-of-the-moment stuff with hunters, every once in a while.”

You risked a glance at him through your lashes. Sam had inched closer to listen, just enough for you to notice, and was clearly trying to sculpt his face into something less interested—but his eyes were glazed and his attention was rapt. You had him right on the hook.

Sam swallowed. His voice was thick with arousal. “I, um, didn't know that was your thing.”

You shrugged, “I don’t enjoy it as much as Dean does, but yeah. The guys I pick up, I mean—they’re okay. Most can't find their way around a bra, never mind… well, y’know. You get what you can get. But the other parts, the fun parts of sex…” Even you were blushing at how dirty your smile felt. “I'm real lucky, Sam. Most girls don't get off making their partners happy, but I do. It's… made me real good.” You twisted so your chest was pushed toward him, feeling yourself ache in your jeans. You hushed coyly: “I’m told I’m a real natural with my mouth.”

“Really.” Sam repeated. He sputtered out a half-hearted chuckle. His cheeks had gone all cute and ruddy with a blush, exposing the lighter moles on his face.

“Really,” you promised.

The look on Sam's face went beyond teasing, now. You’d told yourself you were just messing around with him, but Sam was twitching in his seat, suddenly unable to sit right, and all the years of play-flirting had apparently stacked too high. Something hot and magnetic had brought you closer and closer together in the Impala’s front seat. Sam was frozen like he wanted to crawl out into the rain and disappear—always so shy, so easy—but something else rooted him to the spot this time. One more motion and you could close that measly gap blazing between you, get his skin pressed firmly to yours. Your arms and back and belly crawled with a phantom itch, and Sam's hands looked so perfect and big that you knew they could fix that feeling. Your mouth felt wet and lonely. Sam's was right there, panting as he waited for you to do something.

“Have you really never had sex before?” You filled Sam's flushed silence. You scrutinized him, brows furrowed with sympathy. “Not even a blowjob?”

Sam's whole body hitched like a slow to start engine at the word. He temporarily forgot himself, choking on his breath and roaming his sweaty palms across his thighs—uncovering, for just an instant, the outline of something firm and big in his jeans.

Still, Sam's eyes couldn't shake yours.

“Um, no,” Sam admitted. “Never had t-the… opportunity, I guess. Or the right person.”

“Would you?” You scrambled to let the words loose, then resettled in your seat, lounging back and stifling your excitement. Sam's dick. Sam's big, virgin dick in your mouth. “If the right person…” you gestured vaguely, like this was still at all a hypothetical, “gave you the opportunity?”

It took Sam a second, eyes flickering fast over your face beneath his bangs, but eventually, he gave a single short nod.

A nuclear reactor’s worth of heat sizzled up from your toes. It bubbled out of you in a pleased, purring sigh, and you could barely suppress your grin, your butterflies, your nervousness, when you crawled into the cold space beside him on the bench. You leaned in slow by his ear. Your nails played across his thudding pulse, his taut neck, spurring Sam’s breaths into gasps. At an agonizing pace, you dragged your soft nails behind his ear, to the tingling nape of Sam's neck, and relished in the feel of his flesh like a vampire as you stroked him there. The blunts of your nails scratched gently at his hairline. Sam squeezed out a soft moaning sigh, so sweet and trusting that you closed your eyes to soak in it all the way.

After a few strokes of your nails to Sam's shivering skin, you fanned your warm breath down his shuddering collar and barely kept yourself from moaning in his ear: “I’m real smart with my mouth, Sammy… I could make your first time good for you. Better n’ good, even.”

He sat there in utter disbelief. Sam breathed hard, and now that your hand was on him, his squirming had stopped. After a deep, weighing pause, Sam removed his hands from his lap and slid them down to his knees instead, tasting the growing appetite in his mouth.

“...What would it feel like?” The rasp in his voice made you instantly wet.

You flushed. “You want me to describe it to you?”

Sam gave a shy shrug of his shoulders, playing innocent, but that clever smile of his had been haunting you all week. He knew precisely what he was doing. “Never had one,” Sam reminded.

The car was suddenly boiling. You had kicked off your blanket a long time ago, and so had Sam, which left you in layers that neither of you wanted anymore.

“Well,” you breathed out, amused. You gave yourself room to undo your coat, and Sam hung on every motion, making each exposed inch of you feel needy and overheated. “I really only know it from the giver's point of view, but, um, it's really fun for guys. I'm sure you've heard other men talk about it before. Unwinds your whole body and blows your mind, done right,” you talked as you shed your coat. “If they made it sound easy to give a good blowjob, Sam—it’s not. You have to know what you're doing, how to read your partner… know what they like… luckily for you,” you hummed, “I've never had a complaint.”

Sam nodded after nearly everything you said, unsure where to settle his hands or what to say. He looked more demure than you’d ever seen him, and it was so cute to you it was almost unbearable. You could imagine him making that exact face at you with his wet dick pushing into the inside of your cheek—all bashful but desperate, hinged on your every word, your every lick. The thought of all the pretty sounds he'd make when you blew him left you on sensory overload, and the only thing that would fix it was Sam kissing you breathless.

It struck you that Sam was really gonna let you do this for him, after years of him caring too much about you to let you take care of him. You were left with a peculiar rush; Sam trusted you.

“Blowjobs are… all the good bits of kissing and jerking off put together,” you explained. You settled back where you’d been before, hanging on Sam's shoulder and talking filthy in his ear as he quivered with want. This time your nails drew circles on his collar, and Sam surprised you by squeezing his hand around your thigh to steady himself. You could've cum on the spot. A flood of heat burned down your gut and throbbed between your legs, soaking your underwear clean through.

You’d never stopped looking at each other, but your faces were closer than ever and the eye contact felt explosive. It was dark but for the streetlight, and quiet but for the endless rain, both aspects of life you saw every day—monsters in the dark and a storm banging on the car. But with Sam there, these everyday mundanes felt… romantic. Passionate, like the movies. His eyes were this beautiful, soft fawn brown. You couldn't wait to see that slip of color admire you from between Sam's thighs.

“The girl, she’ll…” your mouth flooded with drool. “I’ll get down on my knees for you,” you corrected, boldly.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. “And I'll get nice and comfy there, because I'm gonna waste as much time on you as I can…”

Your hand graduated into his hair again, since Sam forgot how to breathe each time you did it, and with it occupied you lingered on his face. Sam looked piss-drunk with lust; his head was on a swivel, lolling in whatever direction you went, his lashes fluttering low on red-patched cheeks. “I'm gonna take my time getting your pants off, y’know, tickling your legs.” A particularly dirty thought occurred to you, and it must've shown on your face because Sam's parted lips opened further. “Maybe, if you wanted, I could do this little trick I learned with my teeth… open your fly that way. You want that?”

Sam's eyes flicked down to your mouth, thinking. “I do,” he bobbed his head, “I really do.”

“Okay.” You pet Sam's chest, and coupled with the attention of your nails in his hair, a moan seeped out of him, vibrating somewhere deep under your hand. You grinned a shark’s grin. “...Then I'd look at you like that, cause’ that's what I've been dying to do for ages, see you all hard for me and nobody else. You might kill me cause’ you're so beautiful, Sam. And I'd kiss you everywhere I could… all over your thighs, your hips, the muscles in your stomach, your dick… your cock.” A whine jumped out of Sam's throat. Just the word made your throat feel open. “When you're squirming and begging for me to pull you out, I'll take off your boxer briefs, too, the blue ones I know you're wearing—” You’d seen him in them that morning, when he'd crossed his arms and his shirt had rucked up enough to flash some belly. Sam huffed an embarrassed laugh, and you kept going. “I know exactly what I'll do when your boxers are off, cause’ I've been waiting years for it. M’ gonna take your dick in my hand and just admire it, feel how big it is, imagine what it'll be like inside me—” Sam cursed aloud at that, “—inside my warm, wet mouth. I've been imagining what it looks and feels like for so long, Sammy, I think I deserve to see the real deal. Don't you think?”

You ran a finger along Sam's collarbone, and he rolled into it, chasing the slightest touch of your hand regardless if it was on his dick or not. You hadn't even drifted below his belt yet, and Sam was still arching into your touch like it would make him cum. He nodded mindlessly, sweat and rain making his hair cling to his face. “God,” he swore. “You do, ____—you d’serve it so much… so much…”

You cupped Sam's sweaty, tacky jaw, and he sighed like you’d rubbed him through his jeans. You resisted the urge to do just that, asking, “Can I have a kiss, Sammy?”

Sam peeled himself off the seat and rolled into your arms. The hand on your thigh was joined by a second, bracing his huge, sturdy palms on your legs in a way that made you grateful you weren't balancing on them, and with his face nestled in your hands and his eyes all dewy for you, Sam kissed you. You knew that that was it—every time you found your way to a kiss with him, it was the final straw. You loved him. Sam kissed you like he loved you too, pecking you soft and light like you were his dream girl, like he only wanted to treat you gentle, since so often his hands were forced to do the opposite. Quickly, your fingers were in his rain-tangled hair. Sam drew back to groan and then angled his head, pecking you in deep and loving bursts until you were giggling at him. He kissed those giggles too, smiling into his dimples. Sam never failed to make your heart go rabid when he did that, kissing you good; you had seen him kiss other girls before, and he never seemed as skilled or intuitive unless it was with you. Something tirelessly drove him to impress you.

You urged Sam's back flat to the seat again. With your leverage returned, you cupped his neck, then his shoulders, slipping your hands into his shirt, first through his collar and then up his stomach, palms seeking and appreciative. His flesh was warm and his figure was firm or yielding in all the right places. Sometimes, when you sparred and Sam was on top of you, or when you shared beds and his back was pressed to yours, you got glimpses of what Sam felt like. But now that you were free to roam where you pleased, only one signal could make its way through your nervous system: he is so beautiful. You uttered this to him in a frenzy. Sam couldn't get any redder, but you could feel his skin get warmer yourself, could press your hands flat to it and feel the life underneath, which was all the response you needed.

You licked your way into Sam's mouth. He was pliant for you as you did, whole-heartedly enjoying the filthiness of your tongue lapping and sucking at his, even if it was new to him. You laved yours from his bottom lip, across his open, wet mouth and flat against his top lip, prying approving little sounds from him. Butterflies furled and unfurled their wings in your stomach.

When you finally freed yourself, you sucked down breaths open-mouthed and fell back on your haunches.

“That's how it's gonna feel on your cock,” you proclaimed, and swiped a line of spit off his chin.

“Yeah?” Sam panted.

You wormed your fingers under the seam of your tight tee and yanked it over your head, cursing at him in a wrecked whisper. “Yeah. Then I'm gonna put you all the way in my throat, every inch of you, lickin’ and kissin’ all I can get. And when you're ready to cum, m’ gonna play with you, n’ hold you in mouth and make you sit like that.”

Sam mewled, only making your craze to get your pants off even worse. “Why?”

“‘Cause you've tortured me, baby,” you swore. You rocked back onto your tailbone and wormed off your bottoms, sucking back spit at the sight of Sam puppy-dog-eying you and palming his dick—palming his dick because of you, because of your lacy black underwear and how it looked on you. You knew you looked hot. But Sam made you feel it, like you were a Victoria's Secret cover model, like you were the hottest girl he'd ever seen, naked or otherwise. And you were—Sam had never been with anyone else. “Look at me, Sammy. You've tortured me. Made me wait to kiss you and touch you like this for so long, I almost lost my mind. So you're gonna get a taste of your own medicine, just for a bit—and when I think you can't take it anymore, just like me, then I'm gonna let you cum wherever you want. On my face, my tits, on my stomach…” you choked back a wave of unbridled, insatiable want, groaning out, “...in my mouth… inside me...”

The low, guttural noise puttering out of Sam broke. He took you by the underarms and yanked you against him, genuinely hauling you off your ass with a strength you forgot he had, little pants and miserable snarling moans pouring from him. Your mouths slotted together hard and unprettily. It knocked a girlish laugh out of you—when Sam let you breathe between sucking your face off, anyway.

“You like that idea, huh?” You teased.

Sam dropped a hand across your temple. His hand was so big that it could cover the entirety of your face, or perfectly seal over your mouth. In ways no other man had ever done for you, he stroked your hair back all tender just so he could get a look at his girl. You nuzzled into the weight without any mind for where you were going, knowing nothing but Sam’s love and Sam’s chest expanding and shrinking between you.

Those big fawn eyes wondered up at you. “You’d let me do that? Already?”

“I’d let you do anything.” You dropped what remained of your filter. This was truly dumbfounding to him, apparently, because Sam sat there stupidly for a second with his mouth open. He snapped it shut as you neared your faces, making it even easier to press a kiss to the seam of his mouth. “Any other man would take advantage of that chance. M’ not stupid. But you’re the only one I can think of who’d… who’d,” you searched for the words, admiring Sam’s nosebridge with your thumb. He had such pretty moles. “You’d be good to me,” you concluded.

Sam blinked. “...I’d want to be,” he smiled, sounding dulcet. Again, Sam brushed back your hair. “I mean… Anybody who wouldn’t be good to you i-is… is an idiot.”

“Exactly,” you smirked. Slow and sultry, you pressed your nose and lips into the plush of Sam’s cheek and dragged, then a little more, just glimpsing the skin with yours. He was ready and shuddering when your lips were at his ear. “That’s why it’s you I’m thinking about when I’m fingering myself.”

Another weak sound wept out of Sam. Christ, the noises he could make. If your imagination had even come close to the real thing, you would’ve been this dirty-mouthed with him ages ago.

Sam cursed, “Jesus, ____.”

“It’s true.” You pressed this promise with a kiss into his cheek, then again, at his jaw, letting yourself sink into each one with boundless pleasure. Sam melted helplessly against you, ears perked. “Every day. Every time I took a shower, after sharing a bed with you all weekend. I was always soaking wet because of something you’d done hours ago that I just couldn’t shake, hot out of my mind…” you swallowed down another onslaught of drool. “I pictured you having a hard day, y’know, needing something to perk you up. I’d haul your jeans down and lick you all over like an ice cream cone.”

Sam’s whole upper body was blushing so hard now that steam floated off him. “God, me too.”

Your brows raised. “Yeah?”

He nodded himself dizzy. “That same thing. You having a hard day. I’d… I’d…”

You leaned in, blinking in shock. “How did you imagine it?”

“We’d be kissing.” One of his long, too-long-to-be-wasted fingers followed a thread of your panties. “On your bed, the Impala, wherever we could find. I’d lay back and… and you’d crawl on top of me…get your legs around my head—”

Sam’s hot, moist breath tickled your face. So close, with your lips wet from Sam’s kissing already, it was all too easy to follow along with his fantasy. Sitting in his lap in the backseat. Laying him down there, your palms flat and steadying on his chest. Curling your thighs around his face until his nose pressed up into you, then his mouth, slipping open, and his hot, silky tongue taking long drinks of you. The sensory ghost of it alone could’ve made you cum.

You blurted: “You’d eat me out?”

One man-paw of his smoothed down the planes of your back, palming big handfuls of your skin. Now, it was his turn to smile wolfishly. Sam confessed: “I’ve always wanted to.”

The admission temporarily launched you into orbit, and for a long time you hung there, clinging to him by the shirt, dully aware of the rainy smell of him and how hard your cunt was pulsing. Sam. Your Sam, sitting with these thoughts in his head. At the same time that you were pushing your knees together when he sat beside you at the dinner table, Sam was fantasizing about getting between them. The eroticism of it already had you close to edge. Anytime you’d ever been with him, at some point, Sam had to have thought about how his fingers would feel digging into your ass-flesh while he fucked you with his tongue, while you squealed his name, the flat of your toes curled against his shoulders. Uncensored. He could’ve revealed any fantasy on top of that, but he chose this one. The one that had him pleasuring you and fucking loving it. Sam didn’t just want you—he wanted the angle that could get him the most of you, the most exposed and honest position. You fucking loved him.

You were tonguing into his mouth before Sam could finish, both hands in possessive fists around his shirt. Sam started laughing, the asshole, but you persisted, closing him in with passionate dips of your head and kissing him senseless. Your hands feasted on him, clawing into his hair and down the back of his shirt and around again. Nothing was enough. You were convinced you wouldn’t be satisfied until you were Sam, or melded into him somehow, like chocolate chips in a warm pot.

“Thought about… tasting you n’ makin’ you feel good,” Sam hissed. “So good that you’d have’ta put your fist in your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. You’d put your hands in my hair a-and… and… shit, you’d taste so good. I want to taste you so bad, ____. Want you to—” he leached you into a long, surging kiss, purring deep in his throat, “sit on my face.”

You wrestled down a choked whine, which Sam swallowed. Every movement of his mouth went straight to your pussy, echoing there. Sam must’ve known this, because he kissed you exactly as he would between your thighs, all tongue and sucking lips, unbearably hot in comparison to your untouched cunt. You could almost feel the blazing front of his mouth bearing down on you there, his breath fanning over you and his tongue—god, his fucking tongue—flexing into your clit. You broke away.

Sam’s hands hesitated at the top of your back, then all at once took two whole handfuls of your ass, and pushed up with his hips to open your thighs for him. You let slip a helpless moan. His hands were warm and calloused and everywhere, except for the precise place you needed him most. But above all else, Sam was a selfless, loving man, so immediately he was moving to drag down your panties.

“Please,” he choked. “Please, ____, please, I can—I can do it for you—lemme do it for you, baby. Let me take care a’ you.”

“Sam.”

You pressed both palms flat to Sam’s chest in an order. Sam immediately stopped, though he did not look pleased about it. You took a breath to realize the pussy-eating fiend you were soon to have all to yourself, then stepped back to your initial focus. “You’ll have to wait. Want you first, pretty boy. Have you ever even done that before?”

Sam shook his head, sending his bangs fluttering around his face. He pouted. His hands coasted along your arms, dragging you down and into him still.

Bleeding with earnestness, he husked, “No. But I’ll learn for you. I’ll practice on you over and over again, til’ I’m better than anybody you’ve ever had that way. S’ all I want.”

You bit your lip and, god, was it impossible to say no to him.

“I'm all yours, Sammy. Whatever you need, you know I'll give it to you. But we’re gonna do this first, okay?”

You wanted his first time to be good, better than good, all because of you. You wanted to be his second time. His third time too, and every time after that. And if that didn't work out, then you hoped that every time he got a blowjob in the future, it was a good one. Even if it’d be downright pitiful in comparison to the way you were gonna suck his brains out now.

You reached between you and gave Sam's strained cock a generous squeeze.

Sam lost it. “Please, you, please please—” he all but sobbed. His hips rolled up and his knees snapped apart, making room for you, inviting you in, hands making marks on your arm in his scramble for touch. “Please. I-I need it, I need—I need you, god, I want to feel—”

You hung back, absorbing the result of your work. You’d barely touched him and Sam was already out of his mind. He'd had orgasms before—you’d heard him reaching them through the wall in the shower, and his desperate choking breaths were so hot that you had touched yourself right outside the door—but as good as they'd sounded, you were determined to blow them out of the race.

Sam started for his fly, which was your cue to step in. You waved his hands away, guiding them to his stomach, where they fisted in his shirt and drew it up over his sculpted naval. You shushed and soothed, “Sam, Sammy—s’okay, you're okay. I'll take care of you, alright? I'll start right now,” you peppered kisses on his face, bent beside him on your knees. “We gotta get the seat back. Help me?”

You pushed the Impala’s bench back as far as it could go, and you made sure to lay the backrest down a few more inches, too, so Sam could relax and you had a good angle on his face. He was equally considerate and folded up a blanket for you to sit on in the footwell. As soon as Sam sat up, you evaporated into his lap. You expected him to go shy on you again, but this time Sam helped you settle there, clenching his teeth and dragging his eyes up your figure. You stood still for the examination, and the longer it went on the warmer your flaming skin got. Both of Sam’s unreasonably big hands landed on your waist at the same time, and for a moment your roles reversed, Sam’s eyes smoky and heavy-lidded as he devoured the sight of you. You felt yourself throb pathetically in your panties. You were probably the first girl Sam had ever seen intimately; and, in true Sam fashion, he consumed the new sight, cataloging and learning things. A tiny whine slipped out of you when his fingers dug into your thighs, then again when Sam’s thumb brushed under the band of your bra.

“I'm all yours,” you reminded with a smile you hoped was confident. If it was, it was ruined by you shyly and awkwardly reaching for the clasp of your bra. “Whatever you want, Sam, I can do.”

He gazed up at you through his bangs, expression bleeding with love and boyish frankness. “What do you want?”

“To make you happy,” you answered, without question. “To make this night good for you, even if it's the only night we'll have.”

Sam shook his head, absent-minded. A slow, clever, panty-dropping smile developed on his face, something that was clearly common in the men of his family.

“You said that most guys you're with, like this…” he thought aloud. Sam brought you close to him, and when your shadow fell across him and you were nose to nose, he slid two warm fingers up your back and click—he was pulling your brassiere off your shoulders. “You said that most of them can't find a way around a bra, nevermind you,” he observed. “We're going to need more nights if I'm going to prove to you that I'm different.”

“Sam,” you whispered, “you were always different from them.”

You pushed him back against the seat, aligning his spine with it, and as soon as Sam hung his arms over his head you were kissing him wet and deep, both of your hands sliding and groping along the firm muscle of his raised biceps. Now only a flimsy tee stood between them, and you were as rude with it as you were with anything else keeping you from Sam. The long, muscular frame you’d been fantasizing about for years was exposed to you now, and you wasted no time getting acquainted with it. Only recently had Sam started to linger in wet t-shirts in front of you or guide your hands under his shirt as you cuddled—for longer, you’d had no clue what he looked like under his clothes. Dean got all the credit for being John's perfect hunter, but Sam had the perfect hunter's body, barrel-chested huge and wood-shattering strong.

You sunk onto your hands and knees, palming him, groping him, caressing him, outlining the lines of his muscles and his ribs with your fingers. Nobody could resist the temptation to kiss him all over, and in all fairness, you had promised. You dragged your mouth down Sam's chest, kissing the center seam of his body to his happy trail. You almost lost yourself pleasuring him this way; at the sound of Sam's deep breathing, you endured, hovering over your prize instead. You knew you must've looked beyond turned on: your dark eyes were wild, dilated and glittering with want, your panties were soaked through and your lip was almost bleeding you were biting it so hard.

“Fuck,” you cursed, settled back on Sam's thighs, “I've wanted to blow you stupid for years, Sam… it didn't matter what you looked like underneath here or not… but fuck, I feel like a schoolgirl, drooling over all these muscles. You used to be so lanky.”

“Hard to be healthy on the road,” Sam flushed. “We're fighting monsters every day, it’d be stupid to die to a heart condition…or… something.”

“Yeah,” you groaned before you could contain yourself, “but you're sure not making this crush I have on you any easier.”

Sam whispered, sounding coy as he plucked the waistband of your panties. There was that dimply smile again. “You got a crush on me, pretty girl?”

The next words poured out of you as sensually and devoutly as you felt them: “Yeah,” slow, you dismounted his thighs, folded your legs in between Sam's, and finally, finally, sunk on your shins into the footwell. “You wanna see what I do for the men I crush on, baby?”

“So bad. So damn bad,” Sam begged, and it was surreal to finally see what he looked like from this angle, since you’d been dreaming of it for so long. His head lolled back and all you could see of him was the sexy column of his throat and all the soft red lines you’d put in his skin there, just bright enough to see. His chin lowered so Sam could look at you, and sweet lord—there were those fawn brown eyes, drowning in the darkness and the black of his lashes. They boiled over with devotion and willingness and thirst, teased for far too long now. You almost felt bad enough to cut him some slack. But now you were here, with Sam's cock just inches from where it should be, and you couldn't just start going easy on him.

You did exactly what you said you would, so Sam knew what was coming. As promised, you hunkered down on the blanket Sam had folded, letting your knees settle comfortably on the floor. Then you started in on him. You played your nails across his legs, stroking the sides of his thighs, feeling how his pants clung to his skin. On his lap, it was impossible not to fantasize about Sam sitting you on one of his legs and inviting you to rut across his solid, powerful jean-clad thigh. It took a lot to make you feel tiny—but Sam did just that. Crouched down at his feet like this, Sam only seemed bigger and his body better built than usual. You pressed your cheek against his inner thigh and just basked in him.

Sam writhed having you so close to the source of his suffering. “Please,” he sighed below his breath.

“Please what?” You grinned, wolfish.

You turned inwards and kissed the inner seam of Sam's jeans, right on the denim path to his aching cock. Just inches from your face, angled down Sam's pantleg, was a heavy, massive tent more than the width of both your hands put together. Fuck, it'd been even longer since your last good blowjob than you’d thought it'd been. Just seeing the outline made your cunt pulse. Pressing your kiss-swollen lips to the denim above the head bolted molten hot desire straight to your core, and for Sam it was no less extreme, his hands curling into fists on his chest.

His eyes squeezed shut, and the little hoarse squeak that left him made you forget your gag reflex entirely. Sam moaned, “Please please please put me in your mouth—____, p-please.”

“I think you're a little ahead of me, Sammy…”

Your voice dripped with liquid sex. You steadied your hands on Sam's knees and bent forward again, nuzzling his cock with your nose and cheeks, glittering obsidian eyes devouring Sam's softest reactions. He was sensitive—even more sensitive than you’d been hoping for. Just the tiniest lick through scratchy fabric had his toes curling. Again, your nails scraped down his thighs. This time you leaned forward as the gesture drew back, bringing you up to Sam's happy trail. And man, happy it was–it was the centerpiece for miles of twitching, gleaming, sweaty muscle, soft-blended abs, hard-cut v-lines and all.

“Let's start by getting these tight, constricting pants off your first.” you smirked. “How does that sound? You must be uncomfortable, Sammy.”

He was, to the point that just the thought of getting them off had his hips arching toward you on the seat. Pitifully, Sam pleaded, “____. C'mon. Anything.”

“S’okay…” you whispered. You kissed the button of his jeans. “I'll get it off and you'll feel so good, darlin…”

Sam watched you from over his heaving chest, so hard that he was delirious, quavering miserably when your touch disappeared. His soft desperate gasps reminded you of the noises he made when he had dirty dreams sleeping next to you. The few times it'd happened, you just endured it until you drifted off to fatally horny sleep. But once it'd been your name he was sighing like that. It took every ounce of strength you had not to roll over and jerk him off right there. The scene was so vivid it was painful, and you could easily imagine yourself cuddling up to his back and stroking him sweet and slow half-out of his pajama pants, your cheek to his shoulder. Or even better, crawling under your shared sheets and deepthroating him awake. You wondered if Sam had ever heard the dreams you had of him. Or how many times you’d fucked yourself in the shower, imagining him reaming you into the tile like an animal. You had never dreamt of another man that way, or loved a different one so terribly that it made you reckless.

Sam watched you with wide, long-lashed eyes. Nobody else could look so innocent watching somebody get ready to suck their dick. Every time you glanced past his chest, you expected the perverted revelry you got from your other partners to reveal itself on his face. But, god. Sam. He basked in you, in your touch, arching up to meet your hands and worshipping your with his gaze. Love downpoured from every molecule of him. All his reserve had shredded away, taking any reason he had to hide right along with it. I love you I love you I love you, his body wept.

The second you got the fabric corner of his jean-opening in your teeth, Sam’s lips parted, and you remembered all the times you’d tie cherry stems in your mouth to impress him—how many popsicles you’d enjoyed all too slowly and vocally while Sam was watching. It took just one pull of your chin and his fly was off the button. One more and his zipper was in your teeth. You dragged down your head, sultry eyes never leaving his even when you got his fly open, and soaked up the look on Sam's face as he realized the kind of professional he was dealing with.

“...Wow,” Sam gaped. I've hit the jackpot, his wide eyes said.

“Up,” you instructed, and let your grin say the rest. Excitement was burning between your legs now. You tugged on his belt loops until Sam raised his hips, giving you the room to pile them around his ankles.

When you brought your eyes back up, your breath caught. Sam was hard enough to crack steel. You couldn't believe your own luck here. The boy you’d been head over heels for since before you could speak, the man you’d devoted half your life to, and he was so hot for you that he could hardly breathe.

“You don't know how long I've been fantasizing about this.” Your voice was almost too hoarse to hear over the rain, a prayer's voice. You drew yourself between Sam's thighs, and shaking from head to toe with hunger, you spread both palms over his hips and dragged your mouth up Sam's length in his boxers.

Sam had already given himself up to the pleasure. His nails seared into the upholstery, and he moaned, rocketing up, off his back, rocking into you already. The neediness of it burst another tank of heat and love and lust inside you—your Sam, above you, about to be yours, begging so pretty for you… Fuck, heaven would be boring in comparison.

“____, please, baby, please I need it,” he almost sobbed, “I'll do anything anything ____ I ju-just, I just want you. I want your mouth on me I wanna—god, please ____, how good you feel, I want it, please—”

“Anything you want, Sammy, you can have anything,” you soothed, muffled and slurred by your dragging kisses.

“M’ all yours, all yours, all this cock just for you, g-god yeah—your mouth ____ please I need your mouth—”

There was so much drool built up under your tongue that you had to swallow to speak—but you decided against it, saving it for your prize instead. You couldn't wait a second more. You were hooking your fingers in Sam's briefs before you could second-guess, before you could even think to judge if you should unravel Sam a little more—but he was there, bucking for you already, so there was no use waiting. He couldn't even lift his hips before you’d yanked his boxers out of the way. You felt him in your hand and all of it—the length of his cock, the weight of it, the fact that it was Sam, had you sinking into his lap like a priest into a sermon, flesh into the earth, and instantly you threw yourself into the task like you’d never done for any other man. This was for Sam.

You took in just a bit of him at first, enough to introduce him to the hot, velvety heat of your mouth and wet him with a single good suck. Sam's sob cut off with his breath. He was careful to treat you right, even like this. One of his hands had startled into your hair, the pleasure was so much for him. It never did anything more than jolt—he wasn't the type to just shove you on him, anyway. Your smile felt obscene with your lips slick and swollen around him; your tongue gave the lightest lap at the special spot under his tip, and Sam strangled down a filthy, whining mewl. His head was plump and comfortable on your jaw, so you gave it your first dose of attention, loosening your seal around it so you could share your drool with the rest of him. You hollowed your cheeks and brought him a little further into your mouth, shattering what remained of Sam's strength. He sunk back against the seat, exhausted, and watched you bracingly from above, sucking down breaths. Already, there was enough spit on him to make Sam's cock gleam like your lips. It clung to your chin and the tip of your nose in shining patches. Sam ran a hand through his hair and lazily studied you as you sucked him off, falling further in love with you by the second.

“That's it,” Sam cooed. He sounded broken and thready, but he insisted on curling your hair around his fingers, dizzy. “So good, ____—suck it, just like that, please, baby, j-just… ohh, fuckkk…”

Suck it, he'd said. You did as told. The command vibrated through your whole overshot body, and your throbbing, weeping cunt only felt emptier hearing the order. Sam filled up your mouth so well that your cheeks were puffy. He was the perfect size for you—a damn perfect masterpiece. His girth sat thick in your hands, veiny in ways that you wanted to feel with your pussy. Oral had always been enough before, but already you wanted Sam more than air, and more than that, wanted to blow him so good that he'd reward you for it. You tested out a few lower bobs, his cock slick and sticky between your fingers now, and every time you suckled on him Sam squeezed his eyes shut all pretty. The rain was dying out, so the liquid noise your lips made on him filled every crevice of the Impala louder than before. The pop of you slipping off his cock almost echoed.

“Tell me what you want,” you coached, your voice just as broken and hushed as Sam's. You couldn't even part from him that long, and dipped again to whorl your tongue around Sam's heavy tip. “Whatever you need, Sam,” you punctuated the reminder with a long, flat drag of your tongue from his base to the special spot under his tip, and beamed; Sam yelped. “I love it… I love,” you swallowed, “I love doing this for you.”

Sam worked his fingers into your untamed hair, and you did fucking love it. On the floor your knees were aching, but it and everything else was numb to the rolling glide of cock slotting into your mouth, of Sam reveling in your lips and tongue on him, watching you give it all just because he asked.

Sam’s knuckles caressed your cheekbone. “Wrap your lips around the head. Tight.”

You listened. He was more than comfortable on your jaw now, so your lips molded nicely to him, sealing and hollowing so he was even more snug in his new favorite place.

“Good girl,” Sam groaned, probably on instinct, but you stroked him faster for the praise, so he repeated it until his mind was muddy. “Lick the part unde—oh very, very good girl… I wish you could see yourself… I-I want…” he hissed in delight, “you look so pretty, ____… so pretty with my cock in your mouth, god…”

Holy shit. You had never really paid attention to that kind of talk before during sex, busied with the task at hand, but there was something euphoric about the way he said it to you now, your shy Sam, your Sam, his voice raspy, his pink mouth panting and open, his hands all over you, talking to you like he’d always wanted to say that. Your cunt ached.

With a deadly rumble spilling up from your chest, you slipped off his head and laved your gluttonous mouth down Sam’s soaking shaft, kissing, tonguing and sucking at whatever flesh you could find.

“Keep talking like that,” you begged into his base, breathless.

Sam listened. He cupped the sweat-slick nape of your neck, his hand easily broad enough to cover your back blade to blade, and in a messy, groping haze, dragged it up against your cheek. “Never seen you like this,” he purred, “eyes… all dark and… hot… lookin’ up at me… you’re so tiny between my legs like that.”

You couldn’t have restrained yourself if you tried. A weak whine seeped out of you. Sam’s thumb pushed into your cheek and you turned, lapping at it, then covering his hand with one of your own and searing kisses all over his palm. It was heavy and perfect for smudging your nose into. You sunk two open-mouthed kisses into Sam’s wrist where his bracelet was, then up his forearm, knowing only his body and how it could connect to your mouth. His pulse thudded furiously. Just as fast as you’d nuzzled up to him, you returned to Sam’s thick thumb, sucking it deep and right as he watched in rapture. The filthy delight written all over those mesmerized eyes had you praying to him.

“Wanna do this all the time,” Sam swallowed. He was all stream-of-consciousness now, too frenzied to filter himself. “Watch you suck me off… watch those perfect lips disappear around me, _____… y-you… oh, god, you are a natural, baby…”

His other hand, again, flushed your hair away from her forehead. All the love put into your face at once rooted you to the spot. It was miraculous, how special Sam could make you feel with just a few light touches. Bleeding with tenderness, he caressed your shoulders, your cheeks, your jaw, your hair, feasting on you as you had him.

Sam pushed the meat of his thumb into your swollen lip. “Open for me. Yeah… oh, yeah, let me watch you put it in…”

Your lips parted, mostly out of shock—when had Sam started thinking like this? A deeper part of your mind registered it all as innocent teasing, since Sam could never hurt or demean you; he was the basest definition of good to you. Regardless, you were more than willing to obey, and opened wide, tongue splayed for the heavy head of Sam’s dick. The extra kick of his pre-come had your toes curling every single time. But combined with Sam’s ruddy-cheeked, enraptured staring, just one touch to your clit would bring you over the edge. You forced your knees apart on the floor and held off. Just in case Sam intended to keep his promise.

The easiest way to put Sam’s dick into words was by comparing it to a warm, solid lollipop that took up your whole mouth, like the twisty kind from the carnival that eclipsed your whole face, chin to forehead. You’d been mourning Sam’s scrawniness after his four years away at college, but now you were nothing but grateful for the extra mass. Sam was really, really big. Bigger than anyone else you’d been with. He could’ve been any size and you would’ve been just as rabid for him, but there was something specifically hot about sucking him down as far as you could and failing to hit the bottom. It took effort to get there. You lazily pumped what you had left of his shaft, and in slow, deliberate surges of your spit-wet mouth, you earned an inch, then another.

Sam moaned so gutturally you felt it rumble under your palms. It was so Sam, in that it was like any sound you’d ever heard him make, sighing at a stupid joke, snarling during a fight, but this time it was him losing it because you were giving him a blowjob. Because you’d snuck away like idiot teenagers and you were blowing him good and filthy in Baby’s front seat.

“I-I thought about you all day,” he licked his lips, “all week, like this… it’s, you are so much better than I thought… m’ gonna make you cum so good for me.”

You wished that he could feel the way your cunt had fluttered at that. All you could do in answer was hum in approval, since you were so drunk off him, off the girth pressing against the start of your throat, that you couldn't even lift your head to speak. You did the opposite, pushing down and surging Sam's length in deeper and further than you’d gone before. The half-hour you’d poured into warming up for this was instantly worth it. You were by no means an amateur. Blowjobs, as a sexual activity, were with ease your favorite—but deepthroating was where your real talent lay. Wielding your skill, you relaxed your sore jaw and pressed forward.

The initial burn waited for you there, but Sam’s reaction was priceless.

Every muscle in his body snapped in, a taut coil broken in one motion. A strangled gasp broke from his throat. Sam's entire torso bore forward and his hips surged up to your face in a voiceless gasp, which you’d been expecting. You pinned them back down and dug for it, giving him no room to breathe, mashing your nose into his abs and hanging there, lingering, suckling, gagging, so all Sam could feel was the soft, hot, velvet pulse of your throat around his spent cock.

“I’m. I-I—”

You sucked harder, bringing a wave of spit with you, and closed a hand around Sam’s closest fist. Drool seeped over your knuckles. He spasmed. His voice tore, cutting off.

It was a little hard, but with practice—and you could practice on Sam for days, if that’s what it took—the ache would fade. All the pleasure was in the act itself, in your own slobbering sounds, the drool, and above all else the punch-to-the-teeth thrill it gave. Every inch of Sam’s pretty virgin dick was stuffing your throat. You could barely hollow your cheeks around him, Sam was so thick. His cock pulsed, once, then twice, then over and over. No other person in the world could claim him like you could, and no other person would ever have him like you had.

Sam came, and hard.

His thighs snapped closed around your ribs. He hung in place bent up over you, twitching mid-sob. Both of his hands snapped around your head, then his arms in full, scrabbling across your back, crazed, heaving, coating you entirely in the woody smell of him.

You flattened your palms to his thighs and drew upward. When it was just half his shaft in your mouth, so coated in saliva that you were connected to it in cloying strings, you persisted. The first spurt of him on your tongue detonated a ruthless orgasm deep within you on the spot. You latched onto him as it crested through you, digging your nails into Sam’s rolling hips, back and toes curled, pressing closer and swallowing the mouth-watering load you’d been dying to taste for years now. It came with its own gratified explosion of ecstasy. Your pussy sobbed, clenching without end, wracking your whole body with delicious waves of mind-whiting pleasure. The taste of him conquered you—fuck, he tasted perfect, salty and organic and human and Sam. It was a sugar rush of earthy sweetness that burned straight to your overwrought core.

You could’ve unburied yourself and let Sam finish anywhere, since he was already so mindless underneath your spell that anything would’ve pleased him. But there was something potent and intimate in being able to taste him. His body—every divine inch of it was yours, and a piece of him was filling an empty place in you.

You should’ve guessed by the size of him alone, but christ, Sam came whole glassfuls. His cum bubbled up into your mouth and spilled out of the corners of your lips, and you relished in it, drinking him down, whorling your tongue around his fleshy head, soaking up every second of your hard work’s result. The taste of him overwhelmed and surrounded you. The act did. It was in every facet a religious experience, angels singing, clouds parting, the sun glowing over them—all of it. Sam went down your throat piping hot, and you swore you could feel his cum gliding all the way to your stomach.

You slipped off him with a gasp. Hoarse, weak sighs huffed from your blazing lungs.

Slowly, as your orgasm ebbed further from your mind, your surroundings filtered back in. Peeling yourself away from him effectively rebooted all the systems in your body again. You could hear the rain bearing down on the Impala’s windshield overhead. Both of your palms were sticky and cloying with saliva. The whole lower half of your face, your abused lips, your aching jaw, your glistening cheeks, were slathered with slick. Your throat felt raw but recently balmed, like you’d swallowed a spoonful of honey to heal a soreness. Each of your knees had been stuck in place for so long that they were both numb, so the scratchy blanket beneath them seemed to ripple with pins and needles.

And Sam. Sam’s weight was braced in his hands, pressed flat to the dash, putting your face between the long bridge-arch of his shoulders. He’d collapsed around you in the footwell, shuddering and gasping for breath, and through the sea of endorphins and hormones, he managed to press his tacky forehead to yours.

You panted together; you inhaled and so did he, atoms apart, nearly mouth to mouth. Sam’s hot breath fanned across your face, cooling the saliva there.

It was something out of some old Italian sculpture, a Pietà, two nude figures entwined, expressing their love in form alone. You were collapsed on your knees, a worshipper gazing up at your saint. Sam was bent over you almost uncomfortably, every fiber of his body yearning for closeness, but close wasn’t close enough to you, his face smushed into yours and his jaw slack.

He looked nothing short of lovesick.

Hands shaking, you cupped Sam’s face. You pressed your thumbs into his warm, flushed cheekbones, then his dimples when he smiled dizzily at you, his girl.

You swallowed. “Did you like that?” You closed her eyes, hoping aloud, “...Did I… did I do a good job for you, Sammy?”

Sam surprised you. The haziness in his eyes cleared more and more with each inhale, until eventually, he was blinking down at you without guile. He burst out laughing.

“...There’s no way it was that bad,” you deadpanned. It didn’t hold for long, with him giggling over you like that. You fought against a mean, vibrant smile and its matching flush. “Alright, Sam, shut up! Quit laughing, you ass! What the hell did I—”

With the seat pushed back as far as it was, Sam had the room to get his hands under your arms again and drag you up onto his lap in one sturdy motion. Your shoulders quaked with laughter the whole time. Suddenly, his face and chest and throat were flush with yours. It was enough to drive a person crazy. Like before, Sam slotted your mouths together. The difference this time was that his cum was all over your face—but Sam could care less. You went from kissing him to gaping, since Sam dotted each filthy lick of your tongues with a heavy lap across your cheek or your chin. Tasting himself. On you. Fucking hell.

“Stop gawking n’ kiss me,” Sam insisted. He pawed at your back for emphasis, then your shoulders from below, adjusting your weight on his thighs since in your shock you’d dropped on him completely.

(And that was definitely a hard-on scooping against your inner thigh. Fucking fuck. Jesus Christ. Holy shit, Sam.)

“You were better n’ good,” he shivered. Filthily and innocently all at once, he grinned, “...I can’t believe… that was how my first time went. I can’t believe you… You, you just…”

He struggled for words. Eventually, Sam purred: “You are a natural.”

I love you, you almost blurted. You deliberately filled your lungs to calm yourself down. Your arms were around Sam’s neck and he was gazing up at you, brimming with satisfaction and gratitude and boundless, unhidden love. Dangerous territory. His taste had sunk thick and sweet on your tongue, so you both moan when you share it with him in a surging kiss.

“Anytime,” you rasped, maybe sounding a bit desperate. You were. Sam was everything you wanted in a thousand different ways, so you refused to let the moment go. In the black darkness, you laid kisses into him until your lips tingled. “I fucking—ugh. That was perfect. You were perfect. If… if you ever want me like that again—”

“I do,” was Sam’s immediate, unflinching answer. “But… I have a condition.”

He swallowed. At first, you figured he was nervous, and knowing it was his first time you doubted he wasn’t. But then Sam’s eyes flashed. Both of his enormous hands smoothed down your waist, kneading the flesh, squeezing you around the sides so his thumbs were in your belly, then his fingers were sliding flat to your hip and down. They plucked under the waistband of your underwear—the last and only layer between you.

“Every time you go down on me,” his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, “I get to practice on you, too.”

-

part two.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #uncouthspn #supernatural #spn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine

[miscfandomwrites]

Fight Me, Bite Me

A/N: Because sometimes we need an arctic monkeys theme for a good sex scene

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers! Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut 

Words: 1.6k exactly

Location: Marvel > Bucky Barnes > Oneshots

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

~~

“You’re joking, right?” Wanda asked as I sipped my whiskey.

“Oh, fuck no. I’m just going to prove them wrong.” I replied. She shifted in her seat, shaking her head in disbelief as she took a sip of her wine.

A loud thunk had me glancing back over at the boys. Sam, Bucky, Steve, Thor, Tony, and somehow Bruce had decided on a game of throwing darts…or in the case of the two supersoldiers and god, throwing knives.

I was called a deadeye for a reason. My entire youth was spent as being as ‘rebellious’ as possible, which bled into my adulthood. I finished my drink and stood up. Thankfully the bartender poured me another, and I grabbed it. Sending a wink to the red head, I walked over to them.

They were laughing at something, but paused and turned their attention to me when I was close enough.

“Can we help you?” Tony’s snarky remark had me smirking at him. I casually gestured with my fingers on my drink. 

“You’re throwing them wrong.” I told him.

He, along with a few others started laughing. “So? Not like you can throw any better.” He replied.

At that, I grinned. I set my drink down on the discarded pool table and slid my jacket off. As I walked towards the wall, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail. You’ll see. 

Tugging the knives from the wall, I twirled each in my hands, feeling the smoothness of the blades. Finally pulling out all five from their scattered places on the spray-painted bullseye, I headed back to where the line was. 

Chuckles and remarks were still tossed around all except the two supersoldiers. Both Steve and Bucky were leaning against the pool table, the former with his arms crossed and the latter holding a relaxed stance. I sent them a cheeky wink as I took my stance. I held the other knives in my other hand as I cocked my arm back, ready to throw.

Thunk. Bullseye.

Thunk. Bullseye. 

Thunk. Just outside of it, barely.

Thunk. Dead-Center.

Thunk. This knife ended up being embedded in the hilt of the last one I threw. 

I dropped my arm down and was met with silence. I turned around, gesturing for the soldiers to move out of the way as I grabbed my drink. Tony started sputtering off about how there was no way I just did that, and started his nonsense again. Steve ended up walking off at some point, and Barnes and I just stood besides each other in silence, sipping our drinks.

Barnes and I had a...tense relationship. I wasn’t around the tower much due to preference and constantly being in the field, but I was just as much of a part of the team as anyone else. We sparred whenever I was there, and for some reason we both fucking hated each other. Rather, in my opinion it wasn’t exactly hatred, rather tension. Sexual tension. 

It was fucking stupid how we haven’t fucked yet, but still. Both of the red heads kept trying to push us together. Whether a stupid game of spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven, almost everyone saw the tension and tried to get rid of it. I swear, sometimes if we so much as looked at each other, the tension became thick enough to cut with a knife. 

“I didn’t know you could throw like that.” He suddenly said, resting his drink on the table. I hummed and did the same, turning towards him.

“I’ve been able to do that since I was a teenager.” I replied as casually as the look in the man’s eye would let me.

He nodded, taking a moment to glance down my body. I did the same, and when we made eye contact again I smirked. I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on and finished my drink. Running my tongue over the last few drops of the liquor, well aware of the man watching me. I headed to the bar and deposited the glass on the table and tossed a twenty down. I was about to head outside when he caught up to me.

He had pulled on his jacket and was walking next to me as I headed to the entrance. Hell, he even opened the door for me. I went outside, walking past the windows of the bar and glancing at the bar’s name, No Angels. It was a pretty decent bar, given the fact that we could throw knives in it. 

I turned the corner, the man still hot on my heels and went down the small dark alleyway. I had many, many hookups here. Some were good, some were bad, but they all didn’t fulfill the desire for him. Not even halfway down the alley I was slammed against a wall, lips crushing mine.

Fucking finally. I thought as a hand immediately threaded through his hair, tugging on it. The other was on his chest, and soon his lower stomach. Fuck, this felt good. Teeth and tongue and the taste of bourbon had me craving more of him. I pressed myself farther into him, and he replied by gripping the back of my thighs, forcing my legs around his waist. I could feel his erection already, hard and warm against me. 

He placed kisses along my jaw and moved to my neck, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh. Small gasps left me as he bit on my collarbone. 

I growled as he kept nipping my neck. I needed him. As much as this felt really fucking good, I needed him.

“Barnes.” I half-whispered, half growled. The man’s mouth went back to mine. 

“Yes?” He questioned, eyes focusing on mine. 

“Fuck me.” I whispered. My eyes were half-lidded and I could feel my dampness soaking through my underwear already. He grinned and kissed and ducked his head to my neck, leaving another mark. Still pressing my back firmly against the wall, he moved his hands to the waist of my jeans. Undoing the belt and tugging them down, he slipped a pant leg off and pressed against me again. The friction of my bareness against his jeans made me moan, and him grin. 

His hand trailed down and found me soaking. “Fuck, (Y/N).” He husked out as he slid his fingers through my dripping slit. A hum turned into a moan as he found my clit, making small circles on it with the pad of his thumb. 

He kissed my neck, marking me more. Easily, a finger slid into me. I moaned his name as he pumped it in and out, a second soon joining it. One hand on my thigh and the other fucking me, my brain was easily turning into a haze. 

I gained enough thought to undo his belt, and palm his erection. He paused as I slid his underwear off of it, and gently spread the pre-come along the slit. 

His mouth found mine again and I wasted no time, sucking his lower lip into my mouth and nipping at it. His hand moved out of me and I whimpered at the loss of contact, but when the tip of him met my entrance I moaned. Fuck, he was big. 

We kept kissing, kept the tongue and teeth battle going as he slowly slid into me. Once at hilt, I leaned my head back, hitting the wall behind me as I moaned. ‘Fuck, James….” I said as he slowly slid out. His mouth was at my neck again, and I made myself two promises. One, never, ever, fucking get drunk and tell the girls that I had a thing for being marked, and two, this better keep fucking happening.

His slow thrusts turned to faster ones, making me lean my head against his shoulder and biting my lip to keep myself quiet. A particularly deep thrust had me moaning his name, and he paused momentarily and started a pace that hit my g-spot with every thrust. I’ve never felt this much pleasure in my life. No one else could compare to this feeling right now. I felt the coils in my lower stomach tighten and felt him twitching inside of me. Fuck, I’m close. 

“(Y/N)” He whispered my name against my throat. 

“James.” I whispered against his shoulder.

With that, I came undone. Our lips crashed together as I felt him come inside of me. Moans fell from both of lips as we stayed there for a few minutes, catching out breaths. 

Our foreheads pressed against each other, we stared so deep into each other's eyes I swear I felt the universe move around us. 

“We should have done that sooner, you know.” I told him. He chuckled and pecked my lips, carefully removing his hands from my thighs. I knew for a fact there would be grip marks, especially with his metal hand. 

“We should have.” He replied, carefully sliding out of me. I kept my lips sealed shut, not letting a moan fall from them, 

I lowered my legs to the ground again, and we separated to pull on and straighten our clothes. It took a bit, my legs wobbly and the slick running down them was definitely not helping. 

We linked arms as we walked out of the alley and towards the parked cars, laughing at the absurdity and finality of what we had done.

#miscfandomwrites #avengers x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader

[fleeting-sanity]

Musical Forms

[ Previous Entry ] 🎵 [ Read @ Ao3 ] 🎵 [ Chapter Index ]

"I'm sure he'll take it well."

No matter how busy he was, those words never failed to steal his focus away. Restructuring the training method for the Knights? Done, but the Jedi Master never showed up because he forgot to contact her. Allocating funds between fortifying the Odessen base and reparations on worlds most affected? Off by four percent, when it should have been five, but blame his perfectionist nature for that. Attending that particularly insufferable annual gala? Zero fundings and partnerships were secured, but at least he looked impeccable! Which meant nothing to him.

He wanted to stop her from saying such things to their son. But his ego coupled with the busy schedule prevented that. It might also mean that he would be keeping Jaesa in limbo, appearing as if he was toying with her heart. Which would be the last thing he'd ever do. But he was not ready to forgive her yet. Why was she forcing his hand like this, he seethed.

Just as he was about to rage about it all, his son skipped inside his office beaming. Breathe in, breathe out, straighten the face, unclench the fist, then smile, as his mind forced him to. He needed to stop raging around the vicinity of his son, or better yet, stop raging at all. 

"Father! How's your day?"

Immediately, the rage evaporated. "I'm good. How about you? How's class?"

“Mmm, it was okay, we got out early,” As the boy took his seat opposite his father. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

Oh no. Did Jaesa already tell him about their relationship? But Rian's facial expression did not match his assumption.

"Are you finally free to spar?"

A subtle breath of relief escaped his mouth. He gave Rian the brightest smile, then an affirmation to his question. "In fact, how about now? Before it gets too hot and the sun won't glare as much."

"YES! Let's go!"

Both father and son merrily jogged their way to a small field near his Fury starship. Rian was equally nervous and excited to duel his fearsome father. He had seen some illicit holos recorded by Zakuulans at the Asylum and the Old World where Rionnic was clad in dark armor, slaughtering Knights and Skytroopers left and right. The child in him thought it was cool, but the Jedi in him thought it was horrifying. Was he really about to challenge that killing machine?

"Don't uh… don't go easy on me!"

But Rionnic sensed the real emotion behind that statement. Unfortunately, he would have to disregard that request. Maybe he could compose a proper training structure for Rian?

“How about I see your forms first? Practice them on me.”

“But I want to fight like real!” Rian protested, which was unusual of him.

“Hmm… the purpose of sparring is to improve and learn, good Sir. How about I make you a training set so we can go through them each week? Sounds fair?”

The little padawan wanted to further defy Rionnic’s authority, but a pout would do. He received a sheepish smile in return; the father seemingly relieved that his attempt at placating worked. Another side of Rian was actually intimidated by that image of his father as the former executioner, and his parents did not know that he knew. Despite Jaesa’s best efforts to shield him from that, and the reason why she left Rionnic.

“Alright, let’s go.” As Rionnic drew his lightsaber out.

His son took the initiative of surprising him by flinging a rock missing his face just inches away, using the Force. Rionnic was given little time to parry a forward lunge of a green blade by swinging upwards, and the grin on his face indicated how impressed he was. As the combat progressed; being the only one in the offensive and a little upset, Rian performed some Juyo moves. There were obvious openings for Rionnic to counterattack, but he chose to go easy on his son.

“Shien... very good!”

Both father and son were so focused on each other that they failed to realize Jaesa was watching them from near the starship. She kept thinking about the pain she would be inflicting Rian with that impulsive decision made in moments of volatility. One time she’d be a fighter with unstoppable spirit and determination, the other would be her beaten, letting go, and ready to move on. Just like her husband, she actually wasn't ready to tell Rian about this.

She decided to give them space and left without either noticing. 

As the morning turned to noon, Rionnic offered a break from the sparring session, which Rian accepted rather reluctantly. The training didn't come out exactly as the padawan had hoped, but at least there would be more of it in the coming weeks. The pair climbed the natural rocks stairway to a ledge overlooking Fury. 

"That was fun. I'm quite surprised by your mastery of the forms. You're very talented!" As Rionnic peppered praises unto his son. However, it might have fallen on deaf ears when he noticed Rian seemingly spaced out. Could this be about what Jaesa might have said? Or was he back to last week where his mind was contemplating all of those Sith atrocities? So many speculations on his part.

"... Rian?"

"Oh! Sorry! T-thank you father!"

The Sith chose to dismiss his neuroticism with another winning smile. "Are you tired? Ah, I should have brought drinks or more supplies for this."

"It's alright, father. We'll be better prepared next time,"

"Agreed! Actually, remember that one thing I promised you?"

Rian's eyebrow shot up, scratching his neck trying to recall said promise. Once the figurative lightbulb lit, he triumphantly raised a finger while exclaiming his answer. 

"You'll sing?!"

Again, Rionnic's distraction tactic worked. It was his turn to become shy as he ruffled the back of his neck, confirming it by a nod. He started believing what those parenting books were stating about children inheriting their parent’s involuntary movements; in this case, the exact same way they scratch their necks. Seeing Rian’s eyes sparkling with a complementing open mouth smile eased some of his imaginary stage fright. 

“Stay here, I’ll go get my instrument!”

Rionnic sprinted towards Fury, fetching a pitcher of water and its cups along with a xantha. Their thirst was first quenched before Rionnic pulled out a piece of paper containing the lyrics of his original song. A paper felt more personal to him rather than writing it on a datapad, especially a song for his long lost son. The amount of times he has performed can be counted on one hand, and all of it was private.

“Ahem… I’ve actually written this quite some time ago, I’ve just been spending time practicing it. Um… I hope you like it?”

The song started with a modified locrian mode by the xantha, progressing to the latter part of a melodic major. But when he was about to start singing, what came out of his mouth was a snicker instead. He groaned, covering his mouth in shame. “Sorry! Um… I’m a little nervous,” said the father while blushing. Rian gave some reassurance, while his father readjusted his breathing and cleared his throat. “Alright, alright, no more messing up this time!”

He knows when, fate notwithstanding, Strings of green and shine, Echoes from nature's dark and spring, Northern wind takes what he finds,

Return to him surely with time.

Beautiful is the mind of child, Swift is the wit of innocence, Beautiful are the eyes of child, Light is of the higher sense.

Ooh-oh, dull encrusted glimmer trails him, Wisdomful exchanges ever so enlightening, Ooh-oh, to sail the seas of brilliant stars, Enter the heart of clashing forces, no…

Will our mutual respect be enough?

Home is the true scenery of the heart, Hope is the true end of it all, Home are the souls inside the heart, Hold the darkness and never fall!

Return to him surely with time.

The song ended with a somber note, something Rionnic changed last minute instead of belting the line out. Rian's mouth was agape throughout the entire song, seemingly entranced by the acoustic performance. Truthfully, he never expected his father to sound like that. Noticing the son's facial expression made Rionnic even more flustered. 

"Um… what do you think? Any critique?"

"Critique? Why?"

The question to his question confused Rionnic instead. Perhaps he should have phrased it better? "Umm… I mean, do you like it? Do you think I can improve?"

"Can you sing it again?"

"Oh? Y-yes, yes of course!"

This time, Rian was swaying along to the music, taking in the melodies with closed eyes. When the song finished, he giggled while grasping Rionnic's arm. "Heehee… I like it, father. It's just that… you sound a little different from your speaking voice."

Indeed, he sang a few octaves higher than his usual range, and in a simpler style instead of his classical technique. Not a trace of his Empire accent was heard. He thanked his son like he was the fan and not the singer. The king of his heart couldn’t stop giggling, being flattered that he had such an amazing father. “Can you explain the lyrics?”

“The song is about you, good Sir. The very first line is about our bond through the Force. Green and shine means your lightsaber, echoes of dark and spring means… well, your spelunking hobby!”

The father happily explained each lyric, but there was one line he kept vague. It was about the state of his marriage, bluffing it off by telling Rian how much both parents loved him, which was not untrue. Which led Rian to ask; “Have you… sang for mother?”

Of course he’d go there, Rionnic thought. “I… haven’t.”

“Huh? But mother said she heard you sing?”

“But, um, not directly to her,” Rionnic mustered all the of self control he had to avoid mentioning the abandonment, not wanting to appear resentful in Rian’s eyes. “I very rarely sing, good Sir. As I’ve said before, I’m quite self-conscious about it.”

“Aww, I’m sure mother would love to hear you sing a song to her someday! Just a suggestion!”

He ruffled Rian’s dark brown mane, steering clear of promising anything in regards to Jaesa. But he did promise future songs for Rian. The pair then returned to Rionnic's office, being welcomed by Jaesa sitting and browsing a datapad. "Mother! Oh shoot, I forgot about the class story!"

"Seems like you both were having a good time."

"Yeah! I just sparred with father and…" Rian trailed off, looking up to gauge his father's expression. It was always the same loving smile that he could sense the sadness underneath. "I learned a lot from him!”

Rionnic was sure that Rian would tell his mother about the song and honestly wouldn’t mind if he did. He dismissed it as his son being considerate of his feelings about it, which eased up some of the tension upon facing Jaesa after that conversation. Still, he wasn’t the biggest fan of Rian needing to assuage his feelings; he was a firm believer of children freely expressing themselves. 

“Sooo…. the class earlier today was about attachments. While we can show compassion and love to those who need them, we cannot compromise the will of the Force. Whatever happens to them, we have to accept and believe in the best? This part I don't quite understand…"

"I think it means that if we lose them one day, we must always believe that the Force had better plans for them. We let them go…" Jaesa lamented, indirectly reflecting her own situation.

"Does that include both of you…?" Rian asked in a whimpery tone, which made Rionnic cross his arms, trying to hide his disapproval of this Jedi lesson. 

"We'll never leave you, but as you grow, I think you would want some independence. You still have a lot to look forward to, so don’t worry about that!" Tried the father in appeasing his son. The boy nodded, easily absorbing the advice of his amazing father. 

Shortly after Rian left to spend time with his friends, Jaesa didn’t wait to make her exit after cleaning up the tea set. It was unexpected for her husband who actually wanted a conversation after Rian’s lecture session. He could only stare as Jaesa left the office, panicking internally yet again. Should he give chase? Was he really about to chase his wife down?

“Wait!” 

Jaesa stopped in her tracks, brows furrowed for a double take. It was her husband’s voice, that much was unmistakable, but was he actually calling out to her? “I want to talk.”

Oh, so now he wanted to talk, as Jaesa scowled. She did not turn around and resumed her steps with a faster pace, again surprising Rionnic. What action should he take to make Jaesa stop? Instead of the obvious reach and grab, he stated in a desperate yet reluctant manner; “Bridge towards Fury.”

He waited for his wife there for about an hour. A part of him was amazed that she dared to make him wait when she was the one in the wrong , another part liked this new side of her. But the matter at hand was serious, and he promised himself to not let it devolve into another argument. When the large blast door of the military base opened, it showed his wife walking towards him with a cold countenance. She avoided looking into his eyes; wordlessly standing near him.

“Have you told him?” asked Rionnic without looking at her either, awkward and detached. 

“I haven’t.”

And quiet. Jaesa did not want a potential conflict, thus she started leaving. Rionnic was having a hard time trying to convey what he wanted to say, producing only a simple; “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“I… I thought we were supposed to keep up appearances for him?”

“And let the lie continue until it implodes? Until he finds out then resents us? I changed my mind, Valius. It’s better for him to find out… what we are now so we can all move on to wherever life takes us. I know my place.” Valius. That was a name he has not heard in a long time. Hearing it spoken from his wife’s mouth felt like a fatal blow to his heart. It was actually a name that only the people in his home planet called him, which shouldn’t hurt since they both hailed from Alderaan. It was the tone. Furthermore, the way Jaesa kept wanting to leave exasperated him. But he couldn’t say anything more after that, and only watched her disappear into the base. 

There was a war happening in both his mind and heart. He dreaded losing his little family all over again, only in a different way. A new wound opened on top of the still raw one–it was how cold Jaesa was. Like a switch flipped. Or maybe it wasn't an instant change, and he believed in his part of constantly hurting her. But he was still hurt, too.

Could he overcome the pain and confess his undying love for her even though it wouldn't feel right?

#swtor #swtor oc #swtor fanart #star wars oc #swtor fic #sith warrior #my art #star wars fic #jaesa willsaam #warrior x jaesa #sith warrior x jaesa

[koneko-pi]

Silver Season

Chapter Two: Dungeon Chills

Nozel brings Briar along to investigate the attacked village

The Silver Eagles training room was more like a massive arena than anything else. It was about the same size and shape of the Magic Knights exam field, but with a more Coliseum feel to it. With its high balconies for onlookers to watch, made of more white stone, open ceiling and a large sandy floor where Briar and Solid currently stood across from one another.

"Is Solid really doing this?" Nebra let out a sigh. She was seated in a comfortable plush chair in one of the nicer overlooking balconies. Others from the squad and a few visitors from noble houses had also all gathered around the stands to see what was going on. "She's got no Grimoire, how could she possibly cast any spells to defend herself against a Noble."

Nozel had no response to his younger sister's comment. While he also agreed the woman not having a book made this sparring match feel very one sided… he was certain he sensed mana within her. She wasn't the same as Asta, who had nothing at all, magic still coursed through her body. So did she simply choose to not carry her book around? Had she spent so much time at her little workbench that she thought she didn't need it?

"A fool…" he muttered to himself. Trying to distract himself from the fact that she had so quickly filled his mind with questions. He would let Solid have his fun with her, teach her a lesson, and then request a new Researcher from Julius under the pretense that this one was heavily unqualified.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Solid grinned as he brandished a hand in her direction. His grimoire fluttered around behind him. "Challenging a member of House Silva could cost you your job, you know."

Briar wasn't even looking at him, which had really irritated Solid. She was pulling her dagger off her back and was clipping its scabbard into place. She gave it a few testing swings to make sure the blades sheath wouldn't come off on accident.

"Did you hear me PEASANT?" he shouted at her, flaring his mana in an attempt to intimidate her but she swung her arm down and it was like the mana suddenly dispersed around her.

"What was that…" Nozel squinted, knowing full well he would have been the only one there to even catch that detail.

"Are you dumber than you look?" Briar shot back at him after she waved away some dust in her face.

"What did you say…" Solid hissed angrily, water was already beginning to build up around him.

"Look, I'm not good at banter." His new enemy sighed. "I know you want to toy with me like some sadistic cat would with a mouse, so can you get it over with."

"Surely she's stupid." Nebra couldn't contain her laugh. She was well aware of Solids nature and she still egged him on like that? Poor girl wasn't going to stand a chance.

"You pompous, rat." Solid hissed and threw a hand out. "You'll regret challenging me!"

From the ground around his feet burst forth a snake, made entirely of water, and shot out towards the woman. As it moved to her she also lunged forward-

Nozels eyes slowly widened.

The woman moved quickly, slipping under and around the spell to get up into Solid's space, the man's eyes wide with shock at her sudden appearance. "What-" before he could finish his sentence she raised her arm, her wide eyes locked onto his, before she cracked her scabbard across Solid's chin.

The water spell behind Briar immediately disintegrated as Solid stumbled back.

"What just happened?" Nebra was now standing, hands on the railing as she leaned forward to get a better look. "Solid! What are you doing!?"

"Its over." Nozel huffed as he turned and walked away.

"What?" Nebra watched her brother with wide eyes before turning back to look and…

Solid's grimoire shut then hit the ground. His eyes became hazy before rolling back into his head and he hit the ground knees first.

Briar grabbed his shoulder to stop him from toppling forward. "He should be fine." She muttered to herself. "Just rattled his brain a little."

Others quickly came out to grab hold of him, check on him and make sure he wasn't in need of healing.

Walking back to one of the entrances of the arena Briar walked right up to Nozel, who was waiting for her in the archway.

"Have I proven I'm not easy to get rid of yet?" She said with a tilt of her head. "I can assure you I am not defenseless."

She had good instincts… so good even…

"How did you dodge his spell?" Nozel already suspected the answer, but he wanted to hear it himself.

"Anyone can dodge a spell with enough practice."

"Not like that." He narrowed his eyes. "You saw something."

Briar stared at him, the look in her eyes made him think she was debating on whether or not to tell him at all.

"Mana has a flow." She finally responded. "In everything, not just spells. The ground, the walls that surround you, plants and such. If you learn to see it and read it you can be surprised at what you can do."

He had been correct. This woman was acutely in tune with Mana, and could probably sense it to an insane degree. She had slashed through the mana in the air to dispel it. No… It wasn't like that Black Bull, she had just asserted her own mana in the cut to redirect Solid's to go around her. And she had seen the coil of the serpent- following its flow in reverse like riding a wave to get up close to Solid without injury.

With a skill like that, and so finely tuned, why was she not using her grimoire. Everything about this woman had Nozel's instinct screaming to be weary, and he was supposed to be working with her for this mission?

"Why don't you have your book?" He asked more firmly, stepping in her way when she assumed the conversation was done and she tried to move on.

"I don't have a grimoire." Her expression changed into an irritated glare.

"You have Mana, but you don't have A grimoire? Impossible." He glared right back at her.

The two stared at each other, a spark between them had many others looking over wonder if Nozel would take the tense moment as an opportunity to avenge his brother's pride.

"You and I are still strangers." Briar finally broke the line between them. "I have no obligation to share anything personal with you, we're just working together under the Wizard King's orders. So may I please pass to prepare for our little excursion?"

Nozel did not like ending this conversation like that. He didn't like the idea of such a mysterious entity lurking under the Silver Eagle's roof with some free reign… but she was right, despite how foul he felt admitting it to himself, he could not force her to talk about herself. All he could do was try and replace her.

So he stepped to the side. She stared him down one last time before walking past and disappearing down the hall.

"Is everything alright?" Nebra asked as she hurried up to Nozel, having already checked on Solid.

"Fine. How is Solid?"

"Just unconscious." She clicked her tongue. "She hit him just right so that he fell unconscious. She must be a brute to hit him that hard." A look of disgust grew across her face. "Honestly, to fight like that… What is she, a barbarian?"

"Be weary of her."

"Eh?" Nebra looked up at her brother to see he was still staring down the hall.

"I don't trust her." Was all he said to finish his sentence before he too was walking away. "And make sure Solid gets extra training. I don't want another incident like that again."

Nozel won't have this stranger embarrass house Silva again.

"Based on the Report the Green Mantis' had written after dealing with the issue, the Ants had shown up suddenly in the middle of the day. A man had been minding his own business in a field, tilling and doing work, when his foot got caught in some kind of hole. Little did he know the hole was a gaping mouth. His scream alerted the rest of the villagers but it was already to late, a hoard of the beasts had burst forth from the ground and-"

"That's enough." Nozel sighed loudly enough to interrupt Briar and her retelling of the events. Like anyone had to guess what happened given the state of things.

The following day the Eagles had set out, some wishing Briar's arrival was just a horrible dream but alas, she was here to stay.

Solid particularly had pitched the biggest fit when Nozel had demanded he stay put after his embarrassing defeat.

"It was a fluke! You know I'm better than that, why do I have to stay behind!?"

"To improve on your reflexes." Nozel glared down at his little brother, who shrank under his gaze. "Now get GOING."

The boys dejected and defeated expression was one to be remembered, given his awful reputation.

It was not hard to pick out which village they were supposed to be investigating. The whole village looked like it had been invaded; buildings broken with things strewn about, windows shattered, gardens upturned, the field that normally grew their food was also in tatters, torn apart with not a speck of food left in sight. Spatterings of red and green across the ground… the only signs of life were the occasional scavenger birds flying in to peck at what they hoped was a meal.

"What happened to the villagers?" A brown haired knight approached Briar who currently held all the documents in her hand. The woman flipped through her papers, a solemn look on her face. "Survivors were rushed to the next village for treatment. As for the others…" She turned her head to a massive ditch in the middle of what had once been a cabbage field.

The eagle grimaced at the thought.

"I don't see any ant bodies." Nebra hummed as she walked around. She kicked a child's toy out of her way and into a desolate home.

"Aside from the ones the Mantis squad took in, It's possible they too were eaten."

"What?" The Silva looked at Briar in disgust.

"They came out for food." Her cream colored eyes looked around at everything. "The people ran off, the field was eaten. What was left other than the bodies of their own?"

"Disgusting savages..."

"Their animals, Nebra, what more could you expect." Briar turned away from the noble, finding her comments to be not only unnecessary, but headache inducing. She instead entered a nearby house.

It was dark and abandoned, food scattered across the ground where the table had been knocked over in some attempt to shield the occupants from intruders. The woman stared at a dried up, red, stain on the ground before she bent down to pick up a picture frame that had been broken on the ground.

Dusting it off, she tugged the photo out of its broken frame. The image was a small painting, something that was expensive for people living all the way out here, of a family of four. Mother, father and two sons all posed in a picnic-like setting, likely here in this very village. Her eyes glanced once more to the stained floor before she folded the picture up and tucked it away. It took a lot of focus to try and not think about which of them that could have been. Looking around the house, with its tiny rooms and little furniture she felt confused.

Briar was not afraid to fling open dressers, check under beds or up into dark spaces. She wasn't someone to be easily spooked by quick dim corners. What did make the hairs rise on the back of her neck though was the unmissable feeling of being watched. Yet she found nothing but broken items and overturned furniture.

"Suspicious…" was all she said as she turned to leave the home and move onto the next.

All the other houses were the same. Evidence of struggles, evidence of tragedy, and not a single person or ant to be found. Even with all the eagles exploring and digging through homes and rubble they found nothing, and without anything to go off of it wouldn't be very easy to find the nest. If they had one…

Coming out of the last house Brair noticed drag marks. As she looked up and around the village she saw several more, they came from different homes and locations but all of them converged onto one path and that led to…

A barn.

In a situation like this the villagers would have likely abandoned their cattle and animals for their own lives, but there wasn't an animal to be found. Not outside, and certainly not inside. In fact she couldn't see anything inside the barn at all; it was a wide opening with double doors swung open, which would have allowed plenty of sunlight to stream inside to see the ground, support beams, corral or hell, even the wall in the back.

But inches past the doorway was nothing but ominous darkness. Not a single bit of light seemed to penetrate it so all that swam before her was an inky blackness, and it made the hairs on Briar's neck stand on end. She looked worried as she reached for it slowly…

"Woman."

Briar jolted when someone suddenly called for her. She slowly turned around and her unease was replaced with irritation at the sight of that stupid braid. "I have a name." she responded shortly back to him.

"I'm aware." Nozel responded curtly. "What are you doing." The look on his face told her he thought she must be doing something foolish.

"I sense odd magic here." She gestured to the barn and took a step back when Nozel moved closer to investigate himself. He looked around-

"What are you talking about?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Do you not see it?" Now she seemed concerned as she once again stared into what felt like a black abyss.

The man let out a breath of air before peering down his nose at the woman. "I understand you don't like being here as much as I don't like working with a peasant, it's nothing but a headache for all of us." Briar's eyebrow twitched. If the man didn't always act like a stick was up his butt all the time maybe she wouldn't butt heads with him. "But do not waste my time." He punctuated the last words with an angry hiss before turning around with a flourish of his cloak, it nearly hit her across the face and she had to lean back with wide eyes.

"We're investigating the pit. Come." He didn't bother waiting for her as he went on his way.

Briar slowly held up a shaking fist as a vein throbbed in her cheek. "If that's how it's going to be…"

All the eagles were standing in the field. No bit of greenery was left and dead center to it was a massive pit. The inside was concave, giving it an inverted cone-like appearance, and was less like soft dirt and more like sand. The diameter of it was almost ten feet by the look of it, and it looked almost as deep. One eagle took a tentative step forward to try and peer inside, but quickly back pedaled when the fragile dirt along the edge slid down into the center.

"Imbecile." Nebra clicked her tongue.

"What did you find." Nozel asked as he approached with his unfortunate partner behind him.

"This pit isn't the only one, sir." Nils informed his Captain of their findings. "Besides this one we have found six others. While they vary in size they all appear to serve the same purpose."

"And what do you think that is?" Briar asked curiously.

The silver eagle glanced at Nozel, as if asking for permission to tell her, which just further irritated her. The captain gave a nod, also wanting to hear and Nils cleared his throat. "We think this was how they got in. They must have some kind of earth affinity. All the pits have the same sand-like texture and the ground crumbles easily when touched."

"As Simon wonderfully demonstrated." Nebra giggled behind her hand while the mage in question shot her a dirty look.

"Why don't you show him yourself, Nebra." Simon gave a strained grin. "I'm sure your brother would appreciate your initiative."

"Are you implying I'm not pulling my weight?" The woman growled back.

As the two began bickering to one another Nozel turned to the mage next to him. "Curtis."

The man jolted at suddenly being addressed. "S-sir." But was at the ready for whatever his Captain needed.

The Silva held a hand up. "Give me something to throw."

Curtis was confused but didn't hesitate. With magic he created a small sphere made of stone and offered it to him.

Nozel weighed it for a moment before he tossed it down into the pit. Sand fell down with the stone before it rolled to a stop in the middle-

And a set of pincers snapped onto it and drug it down.

"Oh…" the eagles watching looked concerned.

"It's a trap." Nozel confirmed.

"It's not just a trap…" Briar was looking up and over the field, barely seeing a couple of the others that the squad had mentioned. "It's a nest."

"What!?" Nils whipped his head to the woman, but before anyone could question her further the sound of Liquid metal drew their attention. Silver hung in the air above the pit, melting and taking shape into three long spears. Nozel's face gave the briefest of twitches before there was a flash and all three weapons plunged down into the center of the pit.

The air was filled with a loud and drawn out squeal. One spear dug in a little deeper and the sound was cut off.

Raising his hand, Nozel pulled the now dead insect from within its nest. It was pierced with all three spears and dripping a foul smelling green fluid. Looking almost exactly the same as the one Jack had brought Nozel began to get increasingly concerned.

"Woman." He turned and the spears brought the dead insect closer so it could hover in front of Briar.

Her expression twisted in disgust as she leaned away from the foul stench the body gave off. She didn't need to ask to know what he expected of her. With a sigh she took a breath of fresh air, rolled up her sleeves and started grabbing at and moving around parts. Sometimes even removing a spear to plunge a hand into its carapace.

Nebra gagged and turned away, she was too close to throwing up all her breakfast. "Oh my GOD." She heaved. "You're disgusting, I can't believe you're doing that!"

"It's not that bad." Brair huffed. She pulled a hand out, covered in green fluid- "it just smells foul. But it feels like ground meat." -and she slowly reached that hand towards the noble woman. Nebra let out a sound like a strangled cat before she quickly scrambled away. Brair looked smug.

"Stop being childish." Nozel glared at the pair of them.

"You really do have a stick up your butt, huh." Briar jabbed at him with her words and his glare intensified.

"What did you-"

"ANYWAY-" She quickly cut him off before anything could start, which just further irritated him. It showed through the way his spears were vibrating.

Briar flicked the fluid and gunk from her hands till she was satisfied. "This is just a younger stage. I wouldn't call it a larva, but it's not an adult either."

"So these animals came in from somewhere else, and set up a nest?" Nils asked, he had his cloak over his mouth to try and stifle the stench.

"It's possible." The woman took his cloak and wiped her hands completely clean.

"Hey-!"

"But we haven't seen any record of these beasts before."

"Any wild lands are too far." Nozel, finally done with it, tossed the animal back into its pit, where it slowly sank out of sight. "Several miles in any direction is farm land and villages. We are not close enough to the Neutral Zones border for them to have come from there."

He was right. That thought had Briar scratching at her chin as she tried to deduce what was going on. The Neutral Zone was one of the more favored places for her people to study. It was named "Neutral Zone" because no kingdom would dare to expand their lands into it, even a place like Heart Kingdom who was bountiful in magic and manpower didn't dare try their hands at the dense forested areas. This was because the Neutral zone was wrought with grand magic zones, and the flora and fauna in those areas have been twisted and evolved to survive it, leading to things like man eating plants or dragon esque reptiles. It was a highly dangerous place to live in, only the witches had really found a way to live in harmony within their area, and even then it was more tame compared to some places.

Knowing that, it wasn't hard to believe an animal like a giant man eating Ant could have come from the Neutral Zone. However Nozel had a point. The ants would have had to travel an intense distance, either above or underground and neither of those options seemed feasible.

"They had to be local then…" she concluded.

"What?" Curtis' face scrunched up in disbelief.

"They had to have been here, in the town it's the only thing that makes sense."

"What, has this village been living above an ant hill and no one knew?" It was obvious they didn't want to consider her idea. Whether it was because it sounded dumb or because it came from an outsider didn't matter to her.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" The man continued to berate Briar. "Our whole mission here could be jeopardized by-"

"Be silent." Nozel's voice suddenly cut through the start of their bickering. He was staring off at the village, but the placement of his feet had shifted into a battle ready stance.

"Sir…?" Nils asked nervously. The eagles turned to their captain and then to where he had been looking: into the village. Desolate and empty still.

A few of them didn't understand what had their captain so on edge, but got down into battle ready positions. A few grimoires flared to life as mana surrounded them.

"It's quiet." Briar concluded.

The sounds of birds and wildlife still lingering around them had completely stopped. The only sounds around them was the occasional rustle of trees from the breeze.

Briar felt a twinge in her back and slowly her hand moved back to grab hold of the hilt of her knife. The air was so still and silent you could hear the snap of her undoing its safety clasp.

One of the nearby houses burst into debris and dirt. An intense buzzing sound, like the air was vibrating, surrounded them before the cloud of dirt was extinguished as something came flying at them.

"Look out-!" Nozel turned to cry out but whatever this thing was, was too fast.

Nebra screamed as she was snatched up, dragged up into the sky and back into the village; all in a blur of purple and white. All that remained of her was the feathers used to decorate her cloak.

"Nebra!!"

The buzzing still filled the air.

"Stay together!" Briar shouted as more buildings burst around them, brown blurs zipping through the air. When one suddenly changed trajectory to the group, Briar took a step forward and planted her heel down in the dirt. Her eyes were wide like saucers but full of concentration as she yanked her blade from its sheath and flipped it around so she held it backwards; she brought it up and then down, bracing the hilt of it with her other hand as the blur screamed right past her head, nearly taking it off.

Green fluid spattered across the floor as the beast was cut straight down the middle by her dagger.

Curtis watched it hit the ground and tumble several feet away where it writhed on the ground before dying. Even with its belly cut open they could tell what it was.

Its body was longer and slimmer, built for aerial combat, with long wings and a large stinger on the end of its body. Its eyes were massive and it had pincers the size of dinner knives on its face.

It was the adult form of all the ants they'd been finding.

"Get in a circle!" Nozel shouted and all the eagles immediately moved. Their backs facing one another as they were surrounded in a flurry of buzzing and hissing.

Many of them fired off spells into the hoard that circled them but no one could manage to hit one. They all moved too fast. Nils was almost grabed by another but Nozel had acted a little faster, he noticed and created a shield just in time to deflect the angry insect up into the air. The bug stuttered in the air, like it was dazed, before joining its brethren once again.

"We can't do this!" Curtis shouted as he created a shield before another could grab him. While he went unharmed his earthen barrier shattered on impact. "Their stronger than they look!"

"Protect the group!" Nozel commanded as he threw his hands around. Around them spears and cages would appear and disappear but like others they moved too fast for him to do any real damage, let alone catch one. "Woman!" He turned his head to the Magical scholar behind him, her oddly shaped blade was gripped tightly in her hand and she was in a slight crouch but she didn't respond. "Woman- tch!" His face twisted as he felt an insect narrowly miss his midsection, his robe got torn to shreds and his abdomen was now visible through his clothing but he wasn't hurt.

'What is that idiot doing!?'

She had been the only one to hit one, was she now frozen in fear or something!? This is why desk workers should stay inside-

"Six o'clock!"

Nozel reacted immediately. His hand whipped out where a silver netting sprung to life in front of one of his men. The eagle screamed as the insect was caught, its pincers barely closing in on his chin.

"Kill it you idiot!"

"Sir!!"

His grimoire fluttered and then ice spears slipped through the openings of the cage and impaled the beast, leaving it to squirm and squeal.

Nozel's head whipped to Briar, the woman was still standing there but he could see her face was flushing with how focused she was. Her eyes were wide and seemed to be staring into space but-

"8 o'clock!!"

Another eagle created a net of silk and caught the beast, swinging it and slamming it down where curtis crushed it with a boulder.

-she was tracking them with her Mana sensing.

"Everyone focus!" Nozel shouted as his mercury melted around him, malleable and ready for use. "Listen and be ready!"

"Sir!!"

"3 o'clock!"

"9 o'clock!"

"12 o'clock!"

The pattern continued like this. The eagles would listen to Briar's shouting and whichever knight was standing in position would ready themselves with a spell. By the end of it they were surrounded by dead flying ants, with the worst injury being a long cut along Curtis midsection.

"I got you!" A younger member rushed to him, a foam building up around him to cover up the wound.

"Aah that feels good.." the man groaned as the pain began to melt away with magic.

Nozel quickly paced around them, taking in the situation and wounded. No one had been taken besides Nebra it seemed. While his demeanor remained composed, inside he was frantically itching to chase after the disgusting creature that dared to lay its hands on a Silva.

"Woman!" Nozel whipped around to face Briar. "You need to track…it…"

His voice slowly trailed away as he walked up to her.

The woman had sat down on a nearby fallen log. She looked tired and had her hand to her face, two fingers were pinching her nose closed as blood dripped down her hand and wrist.

She looked up at him, irritation mixed amongst the exhaustion.

"What." She said bluntly.

He resisted the urge to squint at her. Like he could ever be considered for a peasant, someone beneath him. "Can you function?"

She took a deep inhale before she closed her eyes. He watched, with disgust, as she blew one side of her nose out so blood hit the grass. "I can still do my job. It's been a while since I had to track something that fast before." And so many at that. She thought her eyes were going to burst with how many entities she picked up on all at once. Her power really wasn't what it used to be.

"Then we're going!" Nozel said it more to his squad than to Briar. They all gathered with a unanimous "yes sir!"

He gave the scholar another moment to collect herself. And knowing what an impatient man Nozel Silva was, Briar stood up and began the walk in the direction she knew the flying ant had taken his sister. Her heart clenched for a moment.

"This again?" Nozel narrowed his eyes at Briar. They stood once again in front of the dark, open barn doors.

"Would you wait, you impatient chicken." She snapped at him.

"W-what-!?" His face flushed, with either rage or embarrassment Briar didn't know. But the reaction from him and his squad mates, who had all gasped and taken a step back, was amusing nonetheless. "You dare to insult-"

"Stop talking!" She snapped a hand in front of his face, which just added fuel to the fire that was his fury. "Let me do my job and it will make sense, YEAH?" Her headache had made her patience run very thin, and she was not in the mood to deal with his arrogance.

The air was tense with mana, the two glaring at one another so intensely it was like electricity was flying between them.

The eagle was stupidly prideful. He didn't say anything or even turn his head away, but the brunette took the clenching of his jaw as his way of conceding to her.

"Good." She said as she put her hand down. Everyone watched as she bent down and picked up a large stone. She turned it over a few times before writing some kind of rune on it. Nozel took note of its shape, finding it much more angular when compared to their own wispy looking magic runes.

The rune glowed and then she tossed the stone into the black space.

Eyes widened as the blackness ripped like water and then retreated inwards, revealing a path into what looked like a deep and damp cave.

"What is that…" Curtis looked nervous, his eyes wide with a trickle of sweat falling down his cheek.

"It looks like a dungeon." Nils swallowed a lump in his throat.

A dungeon, way out here? And it didn't even look like a normal one, there was no grand entrance or structure. The building didn't even give off a mana signature they could sense-! But now that this woman had supposedly opened the door…

Dark mana was creeping out around them from within. It felt like a dungeon now…

"How did you know…" Nozel asked slowly.

"I tried to show it to you early." Briar didn't look at him. "You wouldn't listen."

Nozel felt his teeth grind together as he sucked in a breath to calm down. He refused to be embarrassed, how was he supposed to know, the building had looked completely normal to him at the time. But looking at it now… he saw the spatial displacement inside the barn.

A more urgent question in his mind was how was she able to see it but no one else, how did she know how to open it up?

"Nebra is inside?" He asked.

"She is." Briar was certain of it. Though she couldn't guarantee in what state.

Nozel's fists clenched. This wasn't a normal dungeon, its appearance and feel were too different from the ones they were used to seeing. He also had never heard of a dungeon housing such dangerous creatures, let alone that they could willingly leave whenever they wanted. Knowing all that… under normal circumstances, the appropriate thing to do would be to leave a few mages here, report to Julius what they had found and return with more manpower to raid it.

The threat level was that high, based on what he had seen.

But his sister….

"Are you coming?"

Nozel was snapped out of his thoughts; his squad was patiently waiting for him and Briar was standing before the entrance, watching him with arms crossed.

"You're seriously not thinking about leaving her behind right?"

It irritated him how well the woman had read his mind… but he also felt a sense of relief that he had the support.

"Of course not." His chest puffed again as all hesitation melted away from him. "Were going in, you saw what could be lurking inside. We're going in, watch your backs and do not go off alone."

"Yes sir!" His squad shouted to him, full of confidence and determination to follow him.

Nozel approached Briar and she sidestepped, making an 'after you' gesture.

"Do you know what's inside?" He whispered to her. Finding her more suspicious by the minute.

"Not from out here." She replied honestly. "Could be anything, really."

The look on her face was a mix of emotions, Nozel couldn't exactly place it. He'd have to question her later though, the longer they took the longer Nebra was by herself in there.

"Let's go." And with a flurry of his cloak he walked in, his body vanishing into the dark dungeon entrance.

His squad followed in after him, Briar went last, bringing up the rear.

But not before she gave the dungeon one last look.

The dungeon gave her chills…

#black clover #black clover oc #black clover fanart #nozel silva #nozel x oc #oc: briar rose #black clover anime #black clover fanfic #black clover fanfiction #silver season

[thinkaboutmeff7au]

smoldering: the director’s office

yowza!! this is a bit of a long one; i want to stitch together some of the time between “born under punches” through the denouement of wutai war. this series will be called “smoldering”. wrote this a month or so ago--here’s to making paperwork interesting

***

(The VHS tape played in the living room with all three of his siblings watching in quiet rapture. It gave him some peace at the kitchen table with Jenova at the other side. “I saw your interview today,” she commented with a smile. “You did so well!”

“It was all on a teleprompter machine,” he replied. “I barely had to do anything.”

She tilted her head and watched him carefully. “Is something wrong, Sephiroth?”

His mind still churned, Genesis’s wild eyes haunting him. “I...er, after the interview, I had a fight with my mentor...”

“Who’s that again?”

“Genesis.”

“Okay, yes, I remember. What happened?”

“He swore at me, then he wanted to spar, so I did, but it was...” He paused and sighed. “It was intense...”

She shook her head. “Some people aren’t meant to be teachers like that. They only do it because they couldn’t reach fame themselves. He’s a 1st too, though, right?”

“Yes...we’re both 1sts now. So, we’ll...be working together.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “He paged me to apologize, but...”

He trailed off. Jenova smiled gently. “Well, good that he apologized. I’m sure you can patch things up, and you’ll be good friends after everything.”

Her solution seemed so simple, and her tone made Sephiroth’s shoulders relax a little. “Right. I...hope you’re right.”

She winked at him. “I’ve been around a while, I know a few things,” she said.

“Mom! Can we have some popcorn?” Loz called from the living room.

“I want candy!” Kadaj insisted.

“No candy,” Jenova insisted. “But popcorn is okay.”

Sephiroth stood up. “I’ll get it, Mother,” he said, walking to the cabinet.

Jenova chuckled. “Thank you, dear.”)

***

The next day, Sephiroth started his morning by heading directly to the Director’s office. Before you get settled in, come see me in my office. We have some paperwork to take care of, Lazard had requested over the pager.

This time, Lazard was not alone. Tseng of the Turks stood at the door, nodding to Sephiroth as he came in. He stayed there as Sephiroth took a seat in front of Lazard at his desk.

“Morning,” Lazard said. “Since your promotion was on the field, we never sorted out the official paperwork. It’s best that we do this before you get settled in.”

The stack was thick. There were initial lines on every page. I’m going to be here all morning, Sephiroth thought with disdain.

“I suggest you read through everything, but I can give you a verbal summary.”

Sephiroth’s eyes flicked up to meet Lazard’s own, blue shielded behind glasses. “Please,” he said.

Lazard cleared his throat and folded his hands together on his desk.

“As a 1st-class SOLDIER, you will be tasked with leading initiatives and training subordinates. Tseng will act as your direct report to deliver orders directly from me. While you will have freedom within the company and will not be restricted in most of your activities, you will become property of Shinra.”

Sephiroth’s eyebrows narrowed.

“You will live where we tell you to and be stationed where we tell you to be. You may conduct your personal life as you wish, but bear in mind that when you are in uniform, you are representing Shinra. You may be called upon at any time to go on patrol or to serve.

“While most who make it this far intend to stay with the company, 1st-class in particular is a lifetime sentence. Given the mako composition already administered to you, you will be granted good health and a longer life, which you are indebted to by the company. You can choose to ‘retire’ as early as 65 years of age, however if Shinra requests your abilities, you can not refuse.”

Sephiroth sighed as a result of holding his breath. “So, there is no way to be discharged?”

Lazard shook his head. “Even a lateral move will not absolve you of this responsibility...especially one of your ability.” He took off his glasses, which revealed a shimmer in his eyes that Sephiroth had not noticed before. “Before this, I was also 1st-class SOLDIER, many moons ago now. If they wanted to, they could ask me to don the black and suspenders and go out on the field.”

“Have they?” Sephiroth asked, blinking.

“No,” Lazard chuckled. “I have done my best to keep that from happening in my position. However, if Mr. President so wished, he could make the demand. I would give him an earful, but I could not refuse.”

His voice dripped with contempt as he spoke the words “Mr. President”. It was a tone Sephiroth didn’t think was possible from him,  and he briefly shared a look with Tseng, still at the office door. Tseng pursed his lips, but said nothing.

“There are some other Shinra positions that carry similar caveats,” Lazard continued, “particularly those who possess company trade secrets. However, SOLDIER is special, because of your genetic modification and physical ability, combined with some level of inner company workings.

“Therefore, you will never be discharged. If a situation would warrant a ‘dishonorable’ discharge...you will be terminated. Your status will be ‘killed in action.’“

Sephiroth stared down at the contract, words no longer legible but distorted squiggles crawling on the paper. Is this why Jenova tried to dissuade me from joining SOLDIER? Because it is an irreversible, eventual death sentence?

(”...monster...just like the rest of us...”)

Genesis’s eyes flashed in his mind again. He knew the truth as well.

“I always start with this up front, because it is important.” Lazard sighed. “Many SOLDIER in 2nd and 3rd-class often get the wrong idea about the glamour of 1st-class. It can be a lonely job, and comes with a heavy price.”

Lazard’s face relaxed. “This all being said, I have been watching you come up, and I have no qualms regarding your sense of duty and responsibility. Unless you have a dramatic change of heart, I don’t think you will be getting into any trouble, as it were.”

Sephiroth smirked humorlessly. “I appreciate the compliment,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?” He bit his lip and shrugged. “I already accepted the promotion.”

Lazard said nothing, but his eyes confirmed it. This paperwork is a formality. I suppose if I really wanted out, I could refuse and be demoted. But, with the press conference already over, it would mean a scandal. Which may mean termination.

Of me.

At the same time...was there any other path for me?

To stand at the top, alone...

“If you turn to page 32, you will see your new yearly salary,” Lazard continued, gentler than before as he placed his glasses back on his face. “Given the circumstances you yourself addressed, you are in a unique position to negotiate for a higher salary if you so choose.”

The page had been tabbed with a yellow sticky note for easy access. Sephiroth turned to it and stared at the large number staring back at him. “In fact, I may preemptively bump it, provided the budget is available. Or a signing bonus could be in order?”

“This is...this is fine,” Sephiroth replied. With this money, I could buy Mother a new house out of the Sector 2 slums in a couple of years...!

“Well, I’ll still see what I can do,” Lazard replied. “Your benefits are completely covered by Shinra at no cost to you. You also have special access to Shinra owned condominium buildings, including the newest one near Sector 5. Angeal and Genesis own condos there, for example.”

That’s a luxury building, Sephiroth thought, still staring down at the compensation number on the sheet. I never gave much thought to where I would be living; I assumed I would continue to stay on base, or just go and live with Mother to help with the kids...

“The condos can be bought at half of market rate, either outright or through an interest-free payment plan, your choice. I will forward you our real estate agent’s contact information before the end of the day.

“You also are now allowed to carry your own weapon, and not a Shinra issued one. If you are interested in a sword, we have a blacksmith who is on site part of the week that can craft you a blade. Otherwise, there are a few options in Midgar if your tastes lie elsewhere.”

A new sword, Sephiroth thought, that will be a relief. He thought of Angeal’s heavy Buster Sword, and Genesis’s slender and elaborate Rapier. Though I am not sure what style to get. Perhaps something light and simple...

Lazard continued. “I would like you to take some time in the coming weeks shadowing your fellow 1sts in their duties. You can get a feel for where their strengths lie and what you would prefer to do while on base. You will be stationed here in Midgar for the foreseeable future.”

“I see,” he said.

Lazard smiled quizzically. “I thought you may be more enthusiastic about that. Keeping you with your colleagues, and close to family as well.”

“A-ah, I am...” Sephiroth said. Typically, his emotions often didn’t come across well, but with his heart heavy under circumstance, he could only muster a thin lipped turn of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Eventually, I would like to see you be a de facto leader among the 1sts, hence the free reign you’ll be given here. It will be a different story once you are deployed.” He stared in space behind Sephiroth. “We will not be at war forever, after all. That is my hope...”

“How soon will that be?” Sephiroth asked.

It was the first time Lazard looked taken aback. But, even that was controlled. “Come again?”

“How long...until we are deployed again?”

Lazard’s expression neutralized. “Right. Unfortunately, I can’t say for sure. Within the year, I assume. Maybe as soon as a month. Could be tomorrow, though unlikely. Your performance should keep things at bay for a while.”

Sephiroth’s eyes flicked down to the mound of paperwork. He watched himself aimlessly flip back to the beginning. This is how it will be, now. This is the point I wanted to make it to. Now that I’m here, I don’t know how to feel...

I always wanted to be at the top, to be the best,

(to be the most useful)

(you’re different than all the others)

and even...to be admired.

(”You’re such a freak!” the boy spit at him. He punched him and grabbed him by his hair, shoving him against the lockers. “This isn’t a wig? Your hair is like this, silver like a fucking old man? Gross!”

Sephiroth’s nostrils flared, and he grabbed the boy by the waist, easily hurling him backward...)

I never got it growing up, not where it mattered. Fifteen years rotting away in an orphanage, then three in the slums.

But now...

(As he walked by the reception desk, a group of Shinra administrative professionals in crisp, white blouses and black pencil skirts all turned their heads. “E-Excuse me!” one piped up.

Sephiroth paused and looked back. He wasn’t even in uniform yet--only his black, company jacket, a t-shirt and jeans--but each of the women were tinted with pink. “Yes?” he asked.

“You’re, um, you’re Sephiroth Cetra, right? 1st-class, sir?”

“That’s right,”

“Wow!” she exclaimed, then quickly looked away. “Um, sorry! I just wanted...your hair is beautiful, by the way!”

She scurried back, clearly embarrassed. Sephiroth lifted his chin. “Thank you...”)

“Do you have any questions for me?” asked Lazard. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Sephiroth didn’t hear him, mind far away. Now...

(Genesis clapped as Sephiroth destroyed the last target dummy. “Well done, well done,” he said, taking a drag off a cigarette. It looked like one, but the smell said otherwise. “Damn, you’re good.”

“Do you think so?” Sephiroth asked.

“Oh, yeah. You’ll be 1st in no time. It’s like Shinra pumped you out of the fuckin’ lab as the model SOLDIER.” Genesis coughed a little smoke and laughed at his own quip.

Gently out of breath, Sephiroth sheathed his sword and met his eyes. Genesis, in turn, held his gaze.

When he looked away, it felt like he had lingered too long...)

“Sephiroth?”

Things...are different. I have...friends now, maybe. But after what happened with Genesis...

(”You’re so...fucking perfect...”)

(”He doesn’t hate you, you know.”)

I hope Angeal is right. I hope Mother is right, too.

Sephiroth cleared his throat, willing himself back into the Director’s office. “Sorry?” he said. “No, I’m...fine. It’s fine.”

Lazard waited for more, but Sephiroth had no more to say. He took the pen laid carefully beside the contract and began to initial each page. Words flashed at him that did not process.

He reached the last page, and Lazard interrupted him. “This is your last chance,” he warned. “Once you sign that last page, you can’t go back.”

Was there any other choice? Sephiroth thought, but kept it to himself.

His hand did pause over the line,

but only for a moment.

In spiked script, he signed Sephiroth Cetra, and dated beside it.

“Very well,” Lazard said. He stood up and reached over to gather the paperwork. “You are officially 1st-class SOLDIER. Congratulations.”

Formality seemed to settle in the office. Sephiroth stood as well. “Thank you, Director.”

“I hope your career is as fruitful as its start.” Lazard stacked the paperwork, then stepped around and shook Sephiroth’s hand. “Barring the most unusual circumstance, we may not cross paths again like this.”

Lazard pulled him gently closer and stared sternly up at him. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Sephiroth stared back. He said he was 1st-class once as well...he knows how this is more than anyone.

(what sword did he use? How much blood has he seen? How many has he killed?)

“Thank you, sir,” Sephiroth said.

Lazard smiled. “You’re dismissed. Tseng will walk you out.”

Sephiroth let go of his hand, and turned to the back of the room. Tseng opened the director’s door, but resumed to a stance with his hands behind his back. As soon as Sephiroth walked through, he trailed behind.

“I will take you back to the 1st’s locker and break room,” Tseng said. “If you have any questions about the Director, I am afraid most of his personal information is classified.”

“I don’t have any questions,” Sephiroth replied, staring straight ahead. “I know all I need to.”

Tseng tilted his head as he called the elevator. “Very well.”

The elevator pinged, and they stepped through and rode it in silence.

#extra log #smoldering series

[iamanartichoke]

work-in-progress wednesday

*trips and drops some ‘Loki-experienced-microaggressions-as-a-child-and-apparently-isn’t-over-it’ feels* 

He doesn’t notice, then, when the Hulk shrinks back down into the decidedly unimpressive Bruce Banner until Thor and Bruce sit down at Loki’s table in the mess hall a few evenings later. 

“Hey, Loki,” Thor greets, cheerful as usual. 

Loki narrows his eyes as he glances from Thor to Bruce and back again. “What is this?” he asks. 

“What is what?” Thor inclines his head toward the bowl he’s just set down in front of him. “It’s dinner.” 

“I mean, why are you eating here, specifically?” Loki watches as Bruce awkwardly adjusts himself, taking off his spectacles and cleaning the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “I was here first.” 

“No one’s telling you to leave. We’re joining you,” Thor responds, and promptly digs into his soup. 

#you ever not realize you have a headcanon until it comes out in fic? #yeah so there were times when thor and the w4 would kick loki out #of wherever he was #bc they decided they wanted to be there and didn't want to share the space #maybe not so much at meals but #the good seats from which to watch the sparring fields #the corner of the library with the comfy chairs and the big window #that is positioned just right so that at precisely 3pm each day #the sun hits the glass and reflects the bifrost and drenches the entire corner in rainbow-colored light #the sturdiest trees in idunn's orchard #bc the branches are strong enough for loki to sit on #while he munches on stolen gold apples #anyways yeah happy wednesday lmao #work in progress wednesday #charlotte writes #fic excerpts no one asked for #this story is a long way from being done #let alone post worthy #but i do have a goal to update stfb sometime in may #i'm just chugging along like the little engine that could #loki pokey artichokey

[ijustwant2write]

Call Me By My Name-Pietro Maximoff x Powers!Reader

(GIF credit to @dailymarvelposts​)

Tags: @bloodorangemoonlight​ @amirahiddleston​

Requested by @husherstan​ : ‘could you write a one w pietro maximoff? idk if you know about a trend on tik tok where a gf or bf call them partners by they first name. Reader and Pietro are enemies cuz them both are always trying to be the best of t team, reader calls him by others names and when she (or gn) calls by him real name he was like "why are you calling me like that? whats wrong with you? are you feeling bad today?" (and he likes her so fucking much, a simp)’

Characters: Pietro Maximoff x Reader, Avengers team x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name   

(Character has the power of force fields, that both generate electricity and provide protection for them/others)  

Warnings: Name calling, bullying, arguing, fluff

                                      *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“For the last time, watch where you’re going Speedy Gonzales!” I snapped as Pietro almost knocked me over again.

His form whizzed around the room once more before stopping in front of me.“Maybe try keeping up next time.”

I was startled by the force he left behind as he ran off again making a show of circling the entire training room multiple times, creating a small wave of air. I groaned loudly as I went back to jogging. He was such a show off, it infuriated me. We weren’t here to compete against each other, we were supposed to be a team; but when he waltzed around the place boasting about how fast he was, it was really hard not to step up to the plate. 

Pietro was running faster than usual, trying to overlap me dozens of times, more than he would have done in a normal session. It got on my last nerve, making me stop, my powers already flowing through my arms. It would be hard to pinpoint him, so I charged up a huge ball of electricity, casting it out harshly. I just managed to catch him, laughing as he yelped out in surprise, being thrown high into the air before landing on the sparring mats. I saw him slowly get up, clearly I had caused some pain. My fun was soon ended as he ran towards me again, having to quickly put up a force field that would protect me. Pietro bounced off it, though I hadn’t put any charge in this one, so he only fell on his backside.

“Enough!” Wanda yelled out, though we still kept our guard up around each other.“Really (Y/N)? You can relax now.”

“I don’t trust him.” I replied.

She sighed.“Come on, Steve wants to talk about the mission.”

“Why? We debriefed three days ago.”

“Something to do with it being on the news.” she shrugged, walking away.

Pietro glanced back at me, looking me up and down before following his sister. However, he didn’t look at me with disgust or anything of the sort, it was almost as if he was checking me out. I tutted at myself, why on Earth would he ever look at me like that?

I wasn’t happy joining the meeting in my sweaty state.Everyone else was dressed and put together, but at least Pietro looked similar. The team was gathered around a table, looking to Steve who was stood at the front, his arms crossed over his chest. He had the look of disappointment on his face, which meant bad news for the rest of us...or whoever was in trouble. With no seats left, I copied Steve’s stance at the back of the room, rolling my eyes when Pietro stood beside me.

“Sorry to call you guys in on such short notice.” Steve started.“But I feel that we have to discuss something that’s starting to effect the team.”

He pulled up a screen showing the news. It had images and videos of our last mission. We were raiding an old factory on the edge of the city, finding a terrorist group hiding out there as they worked on their gadgets. News coverage showed the team fighting from a helicopter view, and we were all confused as to why Steve was showing us this.

“Fastest man alive,” Pietro repeated what the reporter said,“it has a nice ring to it.”

“I wouldn’t put that in your Tinder bio.” I quipped, causing a few chuckles.

Steve looked at me.“And this is why we’re here today.”

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.“What?”

“You and Pietro are always at each other’s throats. It’s...well frankly, it’s exhausting listening to you two arguing all the time. And it could seriously put someone in danger whilst on a mission, even you two.”

“He always starts it-”

Pietro held up a finger.“Hold on, you do too-”

“You’re just proving his point guys.” Natasha spoke over us.

“As I was saying,” Steve brought the attention back to him,“the media has also caught onto this. There’s multiple images of you two clearly arguing, or even getting in each others way during the mission. At one point, you’re both trying to save the same person, but almost miss that chance because you’re so invested in being better than the other!”

Steve was really mad, and from everyone else’s faces, they thought the same thing.

“So until all of this changes, you two are suspended from any missions.”

“What?!” we both exclaimed.

“And you may not approach any other team member for assistance with training.”

“Why are we both being punished?” I demanded to know.

“Oh, do not play the victim here Mrs Incredible!” Pietro snapped.

“Mrs Incredible is super stretchy, it’s the daughter who has the same powers as me, you idiot!”

“See? You’re further showing me that I made the right decision. I felt bad at first, but now I know that this is the right direction to go in.” Steve raised his voice.“You’re both dismissed.”

“Well, what are the rest of you doing?” Pietro dared to ask.

“We are going to go over all the planning we have done for upcoming missions. Everything has to change because of you two. Now please go.”

I held it together as I left the room, not wanting to appear like a toddler stomping away in a tantrum. It was impossible to get away from Pietro, what with him being ‘the fastest man alive’, but I was going to try. I didn’t need another argument right now, I was upset, needed to be alone. Apparently, I wasn’t going to get that.

“Leave me alone.” I warned Pietro as he followed me.

“I can’t believe this! They’ve kicked us off the team because you always have to say something-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And to think, they’re going to risk not having me on the team. I help them with everything, I’m a crucial part-”

“Pietro!” I shouted, spinning on my heel to face him. 

His eyes widened at that, glancing down to my clenched up fists, little electric sparks running over them, before looking me in my teary eyes. 

I sighed, relaxing my tense shoulders and hands before leaving. There was no point trying to explain. He wouldn’t understand. We would both get mad, probably fight, the team would have to break us up; I had no energy to do that. Slowly turning away, I was surprised by the silence that followed, Pietro didn’t even follow me. 

I checked the time on the lock screen of my phone, seeing that an hour had passed since I fled from Pietro. It also made me realise how dark the room had become, the sun would set in a few minutes. But I didn’t bother turning on any lights, instead leaning back again on the chair. I was sat in an empty lobby, it was a small room, facing the floor to ceiling window that showed the landscape that surrounded the headquarters. Besides just sitting here, I should have distracted myself. Perhaps put on a film, relax after training, something to take my mind off of things. Instead, I decided to sit with my thoughts.

“H-hey.” I heard Pietro quietly say from the doorway. 

Looking over my shoulder, I didn’t reply, facing the window again when he began walking towards me. He hesitantly turned on a lamp near us, sitting on the chair beside mine. Pietro also looked out of the window, clasping his hands together for a few seconds before fidgeting. I tried to ignore it, though after an hour of peace and nothingness, it became irritating quickly.

“Can you stop?” I blurted out.“Please?”

“Are you annoyed by everything I do?” he asked.

“Not...everything. I just...doesn’t matter, it’s not like you care anyway.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m not falling for this Pietro.”

“Why are you saying my name?”

“What?”

“You never say my name. Actually, we never say each others names.”

“And why does that matter?”

“It just feels, it feels serious.”

“I mean, we’ve basically been kicked off the team, so yeah, it’s serious.”

“We’ve not been kicked off the team (Y/N).”

“We could be if we don’t get our act together.”

“It won’t go that far-”

“But it could! I can’t believe how calm you are about the whole thing.” I stood, distancing myself from him.“I’ve worked too hard for this. Imagine what would happen if word got out that I was disbanded from the Avengers because of a tiny argument, with a team member who is so narcissistic that he can’t put others before himself!”

I realised I had began ranting, stopping myself before I said anything else hurtful. But by the look of Pietro’s face, it was already too late.

“I...I’m sorry (Y/N).” he never broke eye contact.“And before you say anything, I mean it.”

“Pietro, I-”

“I can see how much this job means to you.”

“It’s my fault too. I always try to outdo you or challenge you.”

“No, don’t be humble.” he got out of his seat, standing in front of me.“It’s almost always my fault that we argue. And I hate myself for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m usually very good with the ladies.” he grinned, though it disappeared when he realised it wasn’t time to joke.“But not around you apparently. It’s probably because you’re extremely strong and sure of yourself, and I go for a different type, the polar opposite to you.”

“Pietro, I...um...”

“I was really impressed by you when we first met. It made me nervous actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, all I can do is run really fast.”

“But, you’ve been on much more missions than I have. Doesn’t that say something?” I hung my head.

“Are you crazy? You’re not on those missions because they don’t need you.”

My head whipped up to see his smile drop.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that those missions are for Avengers like me. The ones they can use over and over without worrying about them being too tired for the next one. What I’m trying to say is, you’re too important.”

“I never thought I would say this, but Pietro, you’re an important part of the team too. I always rose to your challenges because I felt I needed to prove something to the others. I was new, then I was accepted after all my relentless training, but when you and Wanda came along, I instantly became old news. And you didn’t even go through the rigorous regimes like I did, so I just assumed you were better than me.”

“It seems we were both wrong about each other. We were going through a lot of effort to outdo the other when we could have saved that energy for...well, anything else really.”

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

Pietro held his hand out.“Truce?”

I smiled up at him as I shook it.“Truce.”

A cheeky smirk appeared as he raised an eyebrow at me.“Let’s not tell the team about this just yet. I feel like there would be a lot of ‘I told you so’.”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“And another thing.”

I noticed he was still holding my hand, though they were lowered now, and his grip wasn’t as firm.“Yes?”

“Can we start calling each other by our actual names?”

“I mean, I assumed we would anyway.”

“Oh, good. I just...”

“You just?”

“I just like the way it sounds when you say my name.”

#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff imagines #pietro maximoff one shot #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff fanfic #pietro maximoff fan fic #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff fan fiction #quicksilver #quicksilver imagine #quicksilver imagines #quicksilver one shot #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver fanfic #quicksilver fan fic #quicksilver fanfiction #quicksilver fan fiction #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel one shot #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction

[intheticklecloset]

Control (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

I really love writing about these two, whether platonic like it is here or romantically like in one of my previous fics. Their dynamic is so great, and I really love what little I’ve seen of their friendship so far. Thank you for the fun prompt! I had a blast exploring Shinsou’s quirk a bit with this one. ^^

7. “Don’t look at me like that!” “Like what?” “Like you’re going to…do something!”

~

Shinsou was starting to hang out around the 1-A dorms more and more these days, and Deku couldn’t be happier about it. Despite his standoffish nature and I-don’t-want-friends attitude, the boy from 1-C didn’t seem to mind that Kaminari and Ojiro had become attached to him. Deku would often see the three of them together in the living room chatting, or outside sparring, or walking to and from the school building together. It made him happy to know Shinsou was starting to feel more comfortable around their neck of the woods. And, if he was honest, he was hoping to start forming a friendship with the purple-haired boy as well.

“Hi, Shinsou,” he greeted one evening after school as Shinsou stepped into their residence, his blonde companions by his side.

Shinsou nodded at him. “Midoriya.”

This would often be how their interactions went. An enthusiastic greeting, followed by a polite return of some kind. As time went on said returns became slightly warmer, but only marginally. Deku didn’t mind. It was a start.

“Hey, Midoriya,” Ojiro said, waving at him. “We’re going to introduce Shinsou to Mario Kart. Somehow he’s never played it before.”

“What?” Deku exclaimed, staring. “You’re kidding!”

Shinsou shrugged.

Kaminari beamed. “I know, right? You want to join? It’d be cool to have four players.”

Yes! Deku leapt out of his seat. “Of course! I’d love to.”

That game – while not one-on-one – was a good ice breaker for Deku and Shinsou, as the former naturally bantered and exclaimed and laughed along with Kami and Ojiro while the latter occasionally spoke up and held conversations but mostly muttered about how his character always seemed to be going the wrong way.

After that, their greetings became much friendlier.

Deku stepped into the backyard of their dorm one Saturday afternoon with the intention of getting some fresh air. He’d been sleeping much better lately, and now that it was getting warmer outside he enjoyed spending time in nature when he could. When he opened the sliding door, he was surprised to see Shinsou sitting on the patio, staring intently into the near distance where his blonde friends were currently duking it out.

“Hi, Shinsou,” Deku greeted, taking a seat beside him.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou replied, offering a small smile.

“Are they sparring or actually fighting about something?”

“I honestly can’t figure it out myself.”

“Oh, boy.” Deku laughed, stretching and then leaning back to look up at the sky. “Nice weather.”

“Yeah.”

There was a slight pause. “Hey, do you want to spar?”

Shinsou turned to look at him, deadpan. “Midoriya.”

Deku realized how silly that sounded, now that he was getting that look. He chuckled sheepishly. “I mean, we could go quirkless. Just physical combat.”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“You know, keeping in shape. Staying on top of our reflexes.”

“In what situation would a villain ever fight without their quirk?”

Deku thought back to the quirk-ereasing serum, but then shook it off. “That’s a fair point. It was just a suggestion; we don’t have to.” Silence settled again, but a few moments later he took his notepad out of his shorts pocket and scribbled something down.

Shinsou glanced at the pad in his hand. Does he always keep writing material on him? he wondered, then froze when his eyes caught what was written on the page. It was a list, with his own name at the top. Deku was currently writing “doesn’t prefer quirkless combat” directly underneath a bullet with an entirely different theme.

According to Ojiro – really ticklish?

Shinsou felt his cheeks heat up in a blush and he snapped his eyes back up to Deku just as the boy finished writing, closing the notepad and storing it away once more. When he turned to look at him, Shinsou quickly averted his eyes, staring not at his friends in the field, but at the ground.

“Shinsou?”

Crap. What do I do? There’s no way he doesn’t notice I’m blushing.

“Are you okay?” Deku asked, sounding worried. “You look really flushed all of a sudden.”

“I-I…um…” Pull it together! “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just getting a little warm out here.”

There was a pause. “I mean, I guess it is kind of fluctuating between warm and cold.”

He knows I’m lying.

“Midoriya,” Shinsou started, then stopped. Great. What do I say now? He’s looking at me. Say something! “I…I’ve changed my mind. I wouldn’t mind sparring.”

Deku blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, uh…kind of.” What am I doing? “I want to…try something. But…it would require me using my quirk on you. Only if it’s okay. I’ll never use it on you outside of combat.”

“Isn’t sparring combat?”

I am digging my own grave here. Shinsou was growing more flustered by the moment, but he plowed onward, uncertain why he was suddenly following this strange train of thought. “What I want to try isn’t exactly sparring. It’s, um. Endurance training.” Oh, brilliant. Truly genius, Shinsou.

But Deku looked intrigued, which encouraged him a little. “Endurance training? Enduring what?” When even more color flooded Shinsou’s cheeks, Deku hesitated. “What…what exactly are you going to make me do?”

“I won’t make you do anything,” Shinsou replied quickly. “Not if you don’t want to. But it’s not…nothing untoward. I just…” He let out a groan and ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it. It’s stupid, it doesn’t make any sense. It probably won’t work anyw—”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Deku protested, sounding earnest. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

That’s what he’s worried about? Shinsou gave him another tiny smile. “You won’t.”

After another moment, Deku nodded. “Okay. Sure. As long as you don’t make me hurt you, you can use me to test whatever it is you want to test.”

Shinsou couldn’t believe his ears. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Midoriya, are you sure? Do I have your permission?”

“You can brainwash me, Shinsou.”

And with that, his face went slack, his eyes lost their shine, and he was under Shinsou’s control.

What am I doing? Shinsou thought frantically as he watched Deku’s unmoving features and body. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?!

Still, he’d passed the point of no return. He’d followed his gut reaction to seeing that note about himself this far down the rabbit hole; he might as well go all the way now. He cleared his throat, shifted a little. Heart racing, he mustered up the courage to speak exactly two words.

“Tickle me.”

Deku moved to obey, making Shinsou flinch slightly, but he forced himself to stay put as the green-haired boy found his sides and started digging. Shinsou sputtered, giggles spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably, his cheeks heating up with flustered embarrassment as he watched Deku’s expressionless face. He knows what’s happening. Somewhere in there, he realizes what I’ve asked him to do. He knows. He knows. He knows…

And yet, Shinsou still had control. He whined, then forced himself to speak again. “Hahaharder.”

Deku increased the pressure of his tickling, moving up to Shinsou’s ribs, steadily pushing him down so he was lying on his back on the patio. Absentmindedly, Deku knelt beside him and continued tickling even harder, drawing louder giggles out of Shinsou.

I’ve still got him. “Hahahahaharder,” he said again, and again, Deku complied. Shinsou could feel his control wavering, but he still had it. “Hahahahahaharder!”

Soon Shinsou realized it wasn’t the amount of pressure Deku was applying that would make him lose control, as he was tickling about as hard as he could in this spot and the boy from 1-C still had him under his command. The only way to really test this would be to switch spots. “Stohohohohohop!” he commanded, and Deku obeyed.

Shinsou was blushing furiously, but he was also genuinely curious now, so he continued in his mission. “Straddle my thighs,” he said, “and tickle my hips as hard as you can.”

Deku swung a leg over so he was sitting on Shinsou’s legs, pinned them to the patio, grabbed his hips, and tickled with everything he had.

Shinsou tossed his head back and screamed with laughter. He lost control instantly, feeling the thread connecting his mind to Deku’s snapping in half like a twig, and after a few more moments, the tickling stopped as well.

Deku stared down at the usually quiet boy in awe. “You…you wanted me to tickle you?”

Shinsou covered his face, too embarrassed to look at him. “I wanted to know if I could maintain control while being tickled. It’s a pretty distracting thing. Clearly, when tickled in the right spot, I can’t stay in control. You can put that in your notes, too.”

“What?” Deku sounded surprised. “Wait…did you see…?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, man.” Now Deku sounded embarrassed. Shinsou dared a peek at him. Sure enough, he was blushing now, too. “I’m sorry. That was probably weird to read.”

“It turned out to be a win-win for us both, though. I got my answer, and you got to see for yourself how ticklish I am.”

Deku frowned. He still hadn’t moved from his straddling position. “I mean…technically. But I wasn’t myself. I’d hoped to catch Ojiro tickling you sometime, or maybe Kaminari.”

Shinsou looked up at him. “Is it true? Do we share a death spot?”

Deku glanced down at his hips, and something seemed to change in his expression. He went from looking slightly bothered to looking incredibly inspired and mischievous. He grabbed onto Shinsou’s hips and kneaded. “Well, let’s see.”

“GAH!!” Shinsou yelled, unable to help the flood of laughter that bubbled up and spilled out of him in response. “MIDORIYA!!”

“It certainly seems to be a good spot, but there are plenty of other places I didn’t try just now,” Deku mused aloud as though he were mentally taking note. He probably was. His fingers moved up Shinsou’s sides, skittered across his belly, tweaked his ribs, scribbled in his underarms. Shinsou was kept in constant giggles, squirming as much as possible and hiding his face a lot, but never protesting.

Finally, Deku moved back down to his hips and dug in again, beaming at the laughter he produced. “Yeah, I think we do share a death spot, Shinsou.”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” The purple-haired boy pleaded, squealing and shrieking. “PLEHEHEHEASE, NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!!”

Deku couldn’t help but laugh. “You even sound like me!”

That’s exactly what Kaminari said!

“I have to admit, it’s kind of fun tickling someone else who has the same worst spot as me.” Deku chuckled. “Now I can see what I look like to the others. No wonder everyone goes for that spot so fast. It’s fun to tickle you here!”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Shinsou cried, trying to grab at Deku’s wrists and failing. “MIDOHOHOHORIYAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! I’M SOHOHOHOHORRY!!”

Deku did stop, frowning down at him. “Huh? Sorry for what?”

Shinsou gasped for breath, trying to circulate enough oxygen to his brain to formulate a response. “For…um…I-I don’t know…brainwashing you?”

“I gave you permission.”

“F-For…ah…for looking in your notes? Ruining your chance to see how ticklish I am while still in control of yourself?”

Deku smirked.

Shinsou’s heartrate sped up. “Midoriya…d-don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to…do something…”

“Oh, well, sorry about that, Shinsou. But I am going to do something.” Deku grabbed the taller boy’s wrists and pulled them down to his sides, pinning them there with his knees. “Because you haven’t ruined my chances to see how ticklish you are.” He grabbed his hips but didn’t tickle yet, enjoying how Shinsou gasped and flinched with a look of clear excitement on his face. “There is one thing I have to ask you, though, that I won’t be able to figure out on my own.”

“W-What?”

“Ojiro told me you ‘don’t mind’ being tickled. Since we’re already so similar when it comes to tickling, does your saying you ‘don’t mind’ actually mean you like it? Because that’s what I mean when I say I don’t mind.”

And that’s exactly what Ojiro said, too!

Shinsou couldn’t help but whine, flustered and embarrassed and blushing so hard he felt the heat of it on his cheeks. But having Class 1-A’s most fascinating student on top of him like this, so close to making him laugh again, made him give in.

“Y-Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I like it.”

Deku smirked, and he pressed his thumbs into his hipbones, and Shinsou was lost to his laughter.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #izuku #midoriya #deku #hitoshi #shinsou #shindeku #fluff #friends #control #tickling #ticklish #tickle

[nicolos]

just a kid

Excerpts from an Age Swap AU: Andy (1975 - ???) & Nile (900 BC - ???)

The new one is good enough to kill her once before they even reach the hotel room. Nile can see her experience in combat in the way she had responded immediately after waking up in the back of an unfamiliar car; the sort of experience that doesn’t need a gun to kill someone. Tiring as dying is, she appreciates that. When it comes to it, it’ll help her. Probably it’s already helped her before.

She didn’t seem frightened by what she must perceive as a kidnapping, and hadn’t flinched when she killed Nile, but when Nile reawakens, the bones of her back and neck snapping as they heal, she begins to throw up.

Nile sighs and gets up, moving to rub her back before she winces away, watching Nile with careful, frightened eyes. She hadn’t been frightened seconds ago, watching her corpse with a resigned sort of look, though if the resignation was toward her death or for the attempted capture, Nile doesn’t know—yet, anyway.

They spar again for a moment, but the only reason she had managed to kill Nile was the element of surprise, and when Nile breaks her arm while in a chokehold, she seems to realise that.

Nile lets her go, slow, watching her watch the way her bones knit back together under her skin. “Now that that’s done,” Nile says, trying to be kind, which she can just about manage because the woman had broken no skin, and she won’t have to drive with blood-sticky hair, “would you like to get in the car? We’ve got a long way to go.”

-----

She calls Bas once the woman’s fallen asleep.

“We’ll be there by tomorrow,” she tells him. She’d wanted to drive all the way back to avoid involving other people as much as possible, but Bas had recommended against driving through Europe on her own with a brand new immortal. Quỳnh had warned Nile to be careful with her—“I felt how frustrated she is,” she’d said. Nile can see it, too, even if that frustration seems now tempered by the knowledge that the two of them can apparently do no lasting damage to each other. Still, out of consideration for it, and because she doesn’t want to lose her driving across the continent, they’re flying to Italy. It’s not a long flight, but her contact—her contact’s contact, if they want to get pedantic—insisted on both taking off and landing in a specific air field for optimal secrecy. Nile knows better than to interfere with the knowledge of someone familiar with the region, but it means they have to double back the way she came.

It gives them, Nile figures, time to get to know one another. Make sure the woman doesn’t try to kill her in the air.

Until then: “Try to keep everyone out of trouble ‘til then.”

Bas laughs, like she’d known he would. “Yes, dear,” he says, tone fond even if he’s joking. “How is she?”

Nile looks over at her in the passenger seat. She looks more than exhausted, even in sleep—just as she had in Joe’s drawing. Her skin is paper-thin, stretched tight over her bones. “Good,” Nile says. “She managed to kill me once, but she seemed fine after that.”

Bas makes a low noise in his throat, and Nile grins. “Be careful,” he says, as though Nile has anything to worry about. It’s an old repetition between them, though; he worries so she doesn’t have to. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The woman—Nile feels bad not knowing her name yet, after two hours spent in a car already, but her driving has never been as good as the others’, and she’d needed to focus—and she’s pretty sure she wasn’t up to talking, either—wakes up when Nile draws the car into a small gas station. She watches her with the wariness that comes from having killed someone and seen them come back to life as she thanks and pays the attendant, but only says anything once they’ve driven away.

“So you’re…” she pauses, thinks about it. “Immortal?”

Nile nods. This is arguably the best place for this conversation: the more they’ve gone over it before they get to the plane, the better. She’s worked with Anton before, kind of, but she doesn’t trust him enough to have this conversation in front of him. “Yeah. And so are you.”

“That’s not fucking possible. It has to be a trick. An illusion.”

“You killed me yourself,” she says. “You felt me die. And you felt yourself die, too. Those bullet wounds are gone now, aren’t they? That can’t have been an illusion.”

The woman freezes at that. “How do you know about that?”

Her own dream had given her this: half of a signboard in Cyrillic, shouting in a language that even she understands minimally, and the excruciating but familiar pain of several gunshots. They had drawn their conclusions based on Joe’s familiarity with the region and Wolf recognising the language from his time spent here. But she knew the contents of their dreams, too: Quỳnh had felt her frustration and seen her clothes; Bas had seen the cityscape and her eyes; Nicky had tasted the blood in her mouth.

“I dreamed of you. Just like you dreamed of me.” The woman looks away. Nile thinks she gets it, but she’s never quite understood. Wolf calls it an advantage of being the first. Finding him had taken years of dreaming of life as well as death. They had been together, knowing all that he went through; he had been alone. Nile is intimately familiar with the loneliness, even after all these years, but she’s never woken up dreaming of people that don’t die without knowing the hows and whys of it; she’s always been the one explaining, even though she has no explanation to give.

“Where are we going?” she asks after a moment. Nile has no intention of telling her that they’re leaving the country until they get to the airfield, but she’s seen the careful way she’s been watching the road, cataloguing signs and probably distances. She had become tense, hand twitching for some sort of weapon, when they had seen the first signs for Grozny, and remained that way until they were well onto the road that took them around and past the city.

For now: “To the others.”

“Other immortals?”

Nile nods. “You must have seen them, too.”

The woman says nothing. “Is that who you were on the phone with?” Nile raises an eyebrow; if that had been pretend-sleep, then the woman was a better actor than Nile would have guessed. She nods and offers a wordless affirmative, keeping her eyes carefully on the sole other car on the road with them. The woman asks, after a second, “What were you speaking?”

Nile hums. Bas would hate her for this answer, but she has no interest in delving into the linguistic arguments about this. She can hear them now, Nicky and Joe, tied in debate about what they spoke. She gives the closest answer by her standards: “Greek.”

“Not like any Greek I know,” the woman says in Greek.

Nile grins, and answers—in a Greek she would know—“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t Greek.”

The woman stares at her for a moment, then looks away, irritated. After a moment, Nile asks: “What’s your name?”

“Just call me Andy,” Andy answers, back to English. It isn’t a full name, but that doesn’t surprise her; Nile would have expected Russian, but Andy speaks English with a curious American accent, the kind that these days passes for no accent, the dialect of TV show hosts and Hollywood stars. Nile herself sounds American after all the time they’ve spent there in the last hundred-odd years, but she can locate her own accent, if she thinks about it. Andy’s, she cannot—or at least, not to a place.

“Nile,” she offers.

For the first time since they met, Andy offers something that looks like a smile; just a quirk of her lip upward, with a raised eyebrow to match. “Like the river?”

Nile smiles. The question, so often-repeated these days, never fails to remind her of the time she received that name; of the slow journey up its flow, until she reached its mouth and dreamed for the first time of exactly where she needed to go. When she introduced herself to Bas, she had not called herself Nile, because that name hadn’t yet existed, but in her memory, that is what he calls her. Names flow away, she finds, but the meaning remains. “Exactly like the river.”

-----

As she predicted, Andy freezes when they reach the airfield, but after seeing the number she’d be up against, and giving Nile a long, watchful look, she boards the plane without complaint. “Where exactly are we going?” she asks again.

Nile sits on one of the rickety seats. “Milan.”

“To the other immortals,” she says, in Greek—probably for the pilot’s benefit. That’s probably for the best; Anton’s English may be weak, but it is functional enough, and Nile prefers to err on the side of caution in this matter. “Even if I say this is all true,” she tries after a minute, voice tight, then breaks off. Nile gives her a moment. They’re both thinking it—putting it in the conditional doesn’t make anything less real, but if it helps her, she’s glad to let her believe otherwise—“and even if there are other people who are—like you—why the fuck are you taking me there?”

Nile hums. “The dreams aren’t very clear, but they give us enough. You were on the run. You’d been betrayed.” Joe had felt that one; when he said it, his voice had been shaking with somebody else’s pain. “We wouldn’t normally do it like this, but it looked like you had to get away in a hurry. So I—”

With each word, Andy gets stiffer and stiffer, until—“You’re not answering my question,” she cuts in, tone harsh.

Nile watches her for a moment. “We look out for each other.” Andy sits back. Scoffs. Turns carefully away. “Nobody’s forcing you into anything, but—you’ve got questions. We’re the only ones who can begin to try to answer them. We’re a team.”

“Jesus,” Andy mutters, then shakes her head. Nile looks over her for a moment, half-wondering if she’s a Christian, if Wolf would like the company. There are no signs of faith on her, though. “So why’d they send you, if this is an extraction?”

Nile raises an eyebrow, teasing now. “You doubting my skills?”

Andy looks unimpressed. “You’re a kid.”

Nile grins. Andy’s older than her, physically speaking; closer to Bas’ age, or Quỳnh’s. Until Wolf, she had been the youngest of them in appearance. Andy looks the oldest, but it’s the weight she seems to carry that ages her. “I’m older than you think,” she says lightly. Andy rolls her eyes.

“That’s what all kids say.” Nile laughs, because it is what all kids say—what Andy would say if Nile called her young. “Is your whole team like you?” When Nile opens her mouth to answer, she says, “Not your age, though that sounds like a fucking nightmare. I mean this whole—team schtick. Did they agree to this?”

Nile nods. “They did. If I hadn’t come, someone else would. I told you, Andy. We have each other’s backs.”

A few moments pass, Andy looking out of the window, eyes caught on something a little bit beyond the horizon as they fly over towns and obscure greenery. Then, shoulders hunching, sounding every bit as worn as the paper that makes her skin, she says, “You don’t even know me.”

But that one is easy.

“I didn’t need to.”

#the old guard #tog fanfiction #andromache the scythian #nile freeman #mine #mine. #minefic #ageswap au #no plot just moments vibes and alternate origin hcs

[helpinghanikan]

Hot Date

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sum:  It shouldn't have to be said that SHIELD researchers aren't allowed to date their wards. But that doesn't stop the romantic tension from forming between you. The real question is, whose feelings will be most affected when the tension finally boils over?

Anomalous weapons supervisor was typed out on your paychecks, but babysitter would be a better description. Diplomas, experience and more resulted in your butt on bleachers. Watching the important people play around with powers few in this world understood.

Whoever designed this area probably didn’t know who exactly would be using it. It had the basics; a track for running, mats for sparring and weights for lifting. With more off the wall items thrown in that might be useful to the superpowered individuals using it. Like the massive metal balls being lifted and lowered by the red magic of your charge. Or one of your charges at least.

‘Wanda seems to have complete control of her powers. Whether these powers are coming from her mind or some sort of muscle in her hands has yet to be known.’ You type out just intime to get a guest sitting to your right.

“Can I get an autograph when your book is finished?” Pietro has been working on his accent, so had Wanda. As much pride as the two had they were still looking to adapt. But there were still hints of it on certain words. Especially when he’s this close not really trying.

“Only if I get to sign those tits.” Obviously, a joke, but you still had to take a quick glance to the camera. Just in case you get dragged into a meeting and this comes back up about your unprofessional comments. Not that it would stop your work.

“I can live without the signature,” Wanda’s voice, although distant, echoed in the wide space. “You’ve spelt many things wrong anyhow.”

Few people could say they were as close to the Maximoff twins as yourself. Even after the discovery of an alien/god, of the defrosting of a super-solider and the destruction from a billionaire people were wary of the twins.

It was through simple respect that Wanda had warmed up to you. You hadn’t talked to her with artificial kindness, didn’t look to the guards when her voiced raised even the slightest. No, you had asked how she was (the room was too hot for her), if she needed anything (just wanted to know how much longer she was going to be questioned), if she liked coffee or tea (tea is preferred), and how she was doing, really doing (she was tired, you all were).

It was another story for Pietro. Only trusting you after Wanda obviously saw you as a friend. Taking his own time to warm up after getting the same genuine experience you offered rather the blunt questions and stupid statements. It was the dinner you invited them to that sealed the deal. Nothing brings people together more than a lot of meat, the warm feeling of alcohol and a quiet afternoon with a food coma.

“What have you written?” Pietro asks, your laptop now in his hands.

There’s no point in trying to stop him when he snatches things. A child who had to move fast for food and safety makes petty theft a hard habit to beat. Not to mention Wanda already knew everything that went into your daily reports with a blink of her eye, it was seemingly only fair that Pietro got to know to.

“Same stuff I was doing yesterday, and the day before and the day before that and the-.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Pietro says, used to the child like taunts and knowing to stop you early.

With nothing of interest on said laptop he turned it back over to you. Taking his place leaning against your shoulder as you begin to work once more. Only speaking up to ensure you add in the correct description of his improvement.

These reports were supposed to be done without the twins knowledge. You were supposed to be a spy on the side of the government. Although it was blamed on Wanda’s mindreading in reality you had never tried to hide them. These friendships were genuine, resulting with the man practically putting himself in your lap to try and keep your attention.

"How much longer do we have to do this ‘training’?” Although a grown man Pietro could act like a little boy sometimes. When he’s done, he’s done. Taking whatever actions needed to get through his current situation and move on.

“For as long as the door is closed, Pietro.” Wanda has set the metal down. Taking slow steps to reach her brother and friend. “She would likely go faster without you hanging on her.”

There is no smooth way to say this; Pietro is a big spoon. Any chance he gets a hug or to hold someone results in being overwhelmed in lean muscle. Pietro was the only warmth during those impossible cold nights as newly orphaned children. His legs and arms creating a shelter that protected his chosen from any harm from ever happening. You were one of chosen now, which explained the face made at having to get up.

“Alright kids, let’s head home.” You say, slapping the laptop closed for effect.

You were one of several who kept an eye on the twins throughout the day. Wanda and Pietro pretended not to notice how certain employees just happened to always be in the hallway when walking through. Or the little cameras that were hidden in plain sight among the decorations in their quarters. And that’s not including all the mom aged agents “just checking in” at random times, complete with the sing song voice and overuse of the word “sweetie”.

On any other day you would have followed them into their quarters. Give them a recommendation for the TV and even stay awhile to watch it with them. A chime from your phone changing the day’s proceedings. It’s only a second-long hesitation that announces this change to the twins.

Pietro says your name in a tone different than the one earlier. It’s a tone of concern that snaps your head up at him. Wanda hanging around the quarter’s entryway, staying close enough to be apart of the conversation.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, now with your attention.

“What? Yeah, yes, I just got a…you know, a hot date.” You turn your phone to face him. Not long enough for him to read the entire message but enough to know that you weren’t completely hiding anything “I’ll see you guys later. Brush your teeth before going to bed, I’ll know if you don’t.”

Before Pietro or Wanda could give a retort the door slid shut.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asked the only other person in the room.

Wanda didn’t answer. Rather tilting her head towards her brother. Rolling her eyes when he asked “what? Wanda, what?”

-

Although officially a desk agent there were times the field required someone of your talents. When this happened, all other duties had to be dropped in exchange for an outfit change and a fancy car shared with your accompanying field agent. Natasha has been your designated agent since the first field mission and could now be considered a friend.

It would seem the babysitter had become the baby. Including having your clothes laid and being helped into them before reaching the car.  

“You’re an heiress looking for some expensive decorations and I am your lovely assistant and translator for the evening.” Natasha says, holding the under-suit’s legs open for you to slip into. “We’ll show up fashionably late. You are incredibly rich and important and better than all of them. So, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and try not to say anything, they’re below you.”

Unlike fulltime field agents you weren’t trained enough to go without serious protection. Not just in the form of an accompanying agent but also in a (jokingly called) bullet proof onesie. So, fitting it was essentially a bullet-proof wetsuit that stopped at the knees and elbows. Making the clothes to wear over it something with long sleeves, past the ankles and covers the neck. Sunday school appropriate for this event.

“Can I fake an accent? Like, German?” It was a dumb question for you to ask, but the ride to the gallery was already taking longer than it should.

“Hmm, Let’s hear it.” Natasha doesn’t look up from her phone but still sounded interested.

“Vell-,”

“Stop.”

Very special pieces were being auctioned off tonight. Invite only without any advertisements to say what’s up for grabs to outsiders. Although the windows were blacked out and authorities were paid off (but obviously not enough) supposedly nothing for sale was illegal. But if that were true you wouldn’t have found a seat in the front row.

The language of the night was deeply European. One or two words you could maybe guess what they meant but there was no way you could name it. Nat knew it though; it kept her ears perked to the room and her mouth right next to your ear for most of the night.

First items up were the typical rich people arty stuff; vases and paintings that probably represented something to someone if you squinted. Those went for a year’s paycheck in minutes. It was after the third portrait of some lady now long dead that Nat placed a hand on your back, just below the neck.

“Next up is ours,” she whispered. “you’re doing good and you’re doing great.”

The entire night was spent with better manners than an office setting could ever be. Back straight, eyes forward, and no one is allowed to make eye-contact. It’s only when the target was wheeled in that your mask was starting to slide.

Genuine HYDRA blueprints for a titanium prosthetic. White ink on blue paper with decades old coffee stains and tiny tears, spread up and out under protective glass like a butterfly. Although Mr. Barnes had a serious upgrade with the Vibranium he now used. But these blueprints showed just how advance the original was for the time.

Sitting forward as it’s wheeled by wasn’t enough to authenticate the prints. Something you easily communicated to Agent Romanoff with just a look.

It was a bad idea, it called why too much attention, but Agent Romanoff whipped her head towards one of the several employees of the auction. Curling her finger at them to get them over and in her speaking line.

She speaks quickly, and with an edge to her voice, to the employee. With only a few words back that same employee returned to his post and spoke to the next man in charge.

“They going to invite a few of us up to inspect the piece,” Agent Romanoff whispers, “You’re going to have to be fast, we’re going on stage.”

Others in the audience made their way onto the stage when invited. Agent Romanoff ensures that you are somewhere in the middle of it. Heels and heavy shoes making creating white noise for your work to be done.

In all HYDRA’s documents, blue-prints and almost everything else their symbol was hidden throughout it. A little game of where’s the octopus in two places. A large, but translucent, icon covering the center. And a smaller one in the bottom right-hand corner, hidden behind the creator’s signature. Reproductions never had the smaller symbol, but the stains and fingerprints ensured you were right.

Later, during the debrief, you would be lectured about the importance of subtlety and espionage. But how was the look you gave Agent Romanoff any different than how others were looking at their people?

After that (completely natural and not at all suspicious) nod Natasha’s arm was around your back. This was part you were suddenly feeling ill. This was the part your assistant/translator/arm-candy would escort you out with just enough urgency and demands for the bathroom that you’d be gone before everyone was in their seats. Apparently this was also the part a sudden security guard fires twice into your chest.

“Watch your head.” Although not yelling Agent Romanoff’s voice was firm.

It's hard to say which was scarier; the bullets aiming firing for your death or how calm and professional Agent Romanoff was about it all. Although, few rounds were actually fired inside the auction hall.

Agent Romanoff shot an arm out to the first security. Pushing his gun up and inward quick enough to catch his jaw and take him out of the game. Agent Romanoff keeping the downed man’s sidearm for herself.

That was really the only bit of action you clearly saw that night. When things go wrong in the field it’s the agents job to remove their ward from the situation with minimal injuries. As the researcher your job was much simpler; don’t die. “Keep your head down, use your arms to protect yourself and trust your agent.” Was hammered in during field training. With this mantra running over and over you weren’t in the position to watch the mess happening all around.

“Someone, call the police!” It takes a second to realize it’s Agent Romanoff yelling this. In a panicked, almost shrill, voice that practically screamed ‘we’re being victimized!’

With all the guests now properly riled up it was easier to exit the building. Allowing the oncoming mod to carry the two of you out of the building without much more fuss from security. Trying to kill an agent was one thing but killing a rich connected person (or worse their spouses) would be on an entirely new issue.

Someone stepped on your foot. Another put an elbow in your rib harder than the bullets. And a third open hand pushed you, and your agent, right out the door and onto the street. It was only through the strength of Agent Romanoff, and your handling of flats, that this mission could be considered successful.

The blueprints were already being tracked and followed by the time you’re stripped down to underwear. The pretty clothes had to be taken removed, the makeup wiped off, hair undone, and the bullet proof onesie had to be taken away. Simple tank-tops, shorts and a coat were worn on the journey home. By the time it’s all off, and you’re finally walking into the apartment, it shouldn’t be surprising how you looked to others.

“Have a good time?” It takes a second to realize it’s just the roommate asking the question.  

It’s expected that any roommate a SHIELD employee takes on would also be with SHIELD. The two of you weren’t in the same division or even security level part of why living together worked out so well. She was in the know enough to hear you complain but enough in the dark to keep any secrets from getting out.

“Yep, had a real banger of a night.” Although a friend and technical coworker you couldn’t disclose too much about the missions. At least not until the green light is given by the higher ups. Instead, you can only give the people something to speculate about. “Can’t wait to see what the bruises are going to look like tomorrow.”

-

Spoiler alert: the bruises looked like hickeys. Something noticed by Roommate but keeping quiet about it in exchange to heading out early. Ready with the latest thing to share with the office mates.

Just like any working environment gossip is always somewhere underfoot. After being dragged in by someone who couldn’t leave it at home it’s then latching onto everyone who came close enough to hear it. Most ignore it, others listen then forget and others drag carry it further into the workplace. Until researchers leaning against the wall talk too loudly and Pietro catches a few too many words.

“Who were they talking to?” Pietro asks once the housing area’s door shut. Quickly clearing things up with the use of your name.

“I’ve haven’t seen them yet.” Wanda doesn’t care enough to close her book but does enough to look up.

“No, yesterday. Before they left, someone messaged them. Who was it?”

Wanda shrugs and returns to her book, but there’s a smile there.

“You know who it is,” He says, now on beside her. “Tell me.”

“I can’t say for sure,” She’s smiling again. Only a slight glance at Pietro. “but I think he may be very handsome.”

The siblings argued as siblings do. With Wanda teasing as sisters do. All of this could be heard before you even made it to the door. Standing at its threshold to listen as the two go at it.

“Natasha will tell you the same, Pietro.” Wanda says, probably aware that you were in hearing distance. “And she says he can do more than simply be handsome.”

Although you say nothing Wanda grins at you.

The gossip overheard is just words without evidence. Just enough to get Pietro thinking but not enough to create any serious emotions. But the “evidence” to create those emotions was now standing in the room. Small marks darker than your natural skin was peaking out from the lower neckline.

To you, they were simple bruises, nothing worth trying to hide, even something to brag about to the other desk workers. To Pietro it was marks of another person, something that pursed his lips and marched away from. Doing so slowly, to be sure that both you and Wanda were aware of how upset he was.

“I missed something.” You say, setting everything down on the counter.

Wanda has a habit of sneaking into other people’s minds. The mission, the shots and the everything was slowly being filed through in the back of your head. A pressure at the base of your neck screaming that there was an intruder.

“Stop it.” You snapped, but Wanda only smiles back.

 “How was your ‘hot date’?” She finally asks.

“Is that what he’s…sonofabitch. Pietro!” There are only three rooms in this section of the compound. One being Wanda’s, another Vision’s and the third Pietro. Making it easy enough to find the pouting grown man.

“What?” He asks upon your entering.

There isn’t a response on your part for moment or two. Spending that time going to the room’s corner. Standing on tiptoes to find that switch that definitely doesn’t exist on the camera. Shutting it down for the time being before turning to start your explanation.

“You can turn that back on.” He says from his place on the bed. “There’s nothing bad we need to talk about.”

“So, you don’t wanna hear about how I was shot in the tit?”

Manners were out the window at this point. Pietro openly looking towards your chest. Back up to your face, and back down to your chest. “You were shot? They look more like…”

“They’re not hickeys, I was shot a few time through a suit.” Frustration was starting to build up. It was overflowing when you finished with “You really should know about being shot.”

The hurt on his face screamed. He didn’t look away but stayed staring forward right at you. “Pietro, I’m so…I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“It hurts,” He says. “Being shot, it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Even as you walk around to sit beside him Pietro stares at where you were. Listening to your apology but not saying much else. Until he dares to lean against you. Something more than cuddling with a friend this time around. “I get it, I get you’re scared and all that. And I really like you, Pietro, I like you more than I am allowed to.”

It’s hard to say who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. It was happening, and it was so much more than a something between friends.

“When that camera comes back on this didn’t happen.” You say in a moment of separation for air.

“What happens when the camera goes off again?” He asks, thumb rubbing over the bruise.

#reader insert #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #Pietros' alive au #One shot #Fluff kinda #Angst kinda #This is based on that window between 2012-2016 when everything was happy for the Avengers #Requested on my AOW #Not used to writing these kind of stories

[phantomwarrior12]

Sweet Beginnings (Chapter 1)

It's subtle at first - or at least, he thinks he's subtle in the way his eyes follow her movements in the field. He tells himself there is no purpose beyond mere observation - that it's intended for the sole purpose of mimicking the elaborate finishers, the pinpoint accurate knife throwing, the efficient executions. And yet, he's all too aware of this nagging sentimental edge in the back of his mind. He knows he cannot let it affect his objectives. After all, he is far from her skill level and in attempting these combat tactics, he's ended up on his ass more times than he cares to count and the observation is necessary.

In all his failings, he's come to find that she's surprisingly kind for a Guardian.

While his prowess leaves much to be desired, she assures him that he is still learning and that he will be fine. He is, after all, a New Light - it's what she calls him - or rather, her Ghost calls him - and he's decided he quite likes the term. Before he met her, most Guardians he met were...unkind, to say the least and at most, downright violent when they saw his face. So when they first met, he was apprehensive. He saw that same ironclad rage barely contained beyond the veil of her helmet. But then something changed - she relaxed. Almost like she realized that he was no longer whatever monster he'd once been. Perhaps that's why he likes the term - he's a New Light. A new person. A better  person, or at least, that's what Glint likes to tell him. But he doesn't pry at the Young Wolf. She seems...cautious. Careful and deliberate in what information she's willing to grant him, though he has yet to hear her speak let alone see her face.

Had she known him? Before all of this?

It plagues him and yet, he knows he dare not ask. He doesn't want to know who he was - especially not if it means losing her.

She is so many things and all of which, he's come to admire and adore.

Her patience, specifically, astounds him. In the last few months, he's managed to talk her into training him. Weekly sparring matches beyond the watchful eye of the Spider where the only witnesses are their ghosts.  It's private - intimate - almost in a way he can't quite describe.

Glint likes to heckle him after each match and the Crow always smiles to himself. His little Light grounds him like no other and it's his ghost's voice that brings him back to the present now,  his eyes coming back into focus on the beams above him.

"You do care about her, don't you?" The ghost asks softly as he settles on Crow's chest. The Hunter lays on his cot, one arm propped behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling.

"I think so." He murmurs, looking down at the little Light-bearer, "She's...unlike anyone I've ever met before."

"You should tell her how you feel."

"I can't."

Glint shifts ever so slightly, tilting to the side, "Why not?"

"Because--" he starts to raise his voice above a whisper but one glance towards the doorway softens his tone, "Because she wouldn't be interested in an enforcer."

"But you're a Guardian, too, Crow."

"It doesn't matter." He starts to sit up and Glint alights from his chest, hovering near his face as the Hunter swings his feet onto the floor. "In all the ways that matter, we are incompatible."

"You don't know that for certain," Glint descends and holds a few feet away from his Guardian's face, "You like her, right?"

Crow hesitates before he nods cautiously.

"Then what's the worst that can happen? If she doesn't feel the same way, it's water under the Traveler."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Crow's mouth and he gently pats the top of Glint's shell, "I appreciate the sentiment, my friend, but--" the faint footsteps that echo down the corridor catch his attention and he falls silent, straining to listen.

"Ah! Guardian! My friend! Good to see you." Spider's voice echoes and Crow relaxes, his smile returning as he settles back against the wall behind his cot.

There is no sound from her, the Young Wolf never speaks after all and in all their time together, he wonders if she ever will.

"Come to request a favor? Or to drag my enforcer off for another escapade?"

Crow tries to force himself to stay on the cot. He really tries. But it's her. She's here and he longs to see her. It's enough that he pushes up from the dated cot and paces towards his workbench, trying to decide how best to look busy.

"Nothing to say, huh? Very well. He's holed up down the hall. Be careful, Guardian, he's moody today."

"Moody." Glint scoffs indignantly.

"Glint, it's alright," Crow assures him softly and the Ghost relaxes when he sees the smile on his Guardian's face. Both gazes dart to the door when the quiet clump of the boots stop.

Fully armored and silent as ever, the Young Wolf gives a small, friendly wave.

Crow tries to contain the warmth that floods his veins, the silent relief that washes over his features, the tension that drains from his frame.

He had needed to see her today. How did she always know when he needed her the most?

It's only after a subtle bump from Glint against his shoulder that he snaps to, flustered and scrambling all at once to greet her, "Hello, Guardian...I-I didn't know you were stopping by today."

"Smoothe," Glint shakes from side to side and Crow gives him a pointed look before shifting his gaze back to the Young Wolf.

One of her shoulders raise in a half-hearted shrug as her head tilts. It's so damned adorable and he fights back the stupid grin. But then he realizes for the first time - one of her hands hasn't emerged from behind her back. For a moment, there's a flash of apprehension and fear in his eyes, looking from the arm to the Wolf's emotionless helmet.

Had he missed something? Done something? Was she just like all the others--

He hadn't seen her move. His mind had been in such a whirlwind, he'd missed her stepping up to him and laying a gloved hand lightly on his shoulder, head tilted as if in concern. It grounds him. Gives him the assurance that he is safe and she isn't going to hurt him.

Her grip tightens, dragging his gaze to where her eyes would be beyond the visor. She'd stepped closer and his breath hitches for a fraction of a second.

"I'm alright," he manage at last, smiling down at her softly. "It's...just been a long day."

She nods slowly, her hand falling away from his shoulder before gesturing to his cot.

He lingers for a moment, aching for her touch before he takes a seat, staring up at her curiously.

She gestures for him to close his eyes and he quirks an eyebrow before doing as he's ordered. He hears the rustle of her cloak and he stiffens when her hand lightly grips his wrist. She seems to notice as her thumb brushes over the small patch of exposed skin between his sleeve and his glove and he relaxes. The Young Wolf gingerly rotates his hand so its palm up before there's something warm and box-shaped placed in the palm of his hand.

She pulls back and Ghost speaks for her. "You can open them! Happy Dawning!"

Crow slowly opens his eyes, looking down at the neatly wrapped package in his hand. The sweet scent of butterscotch fills the room as he undoes the ribbon and he smiles at the stack of cookies.

"Thank you--"

"Don't thank us yet! How do they taste?"  Ghost floats closer excitedly.

Crow picks one up cautiously. It feels as though it's going to simultaneously crumble in his hand and perhaps deal enough damage to an Ogre to kill it in one hit. How she'd managed to get that consistency, he dares not ask. He carefully takes a bite, his initial conclusion of the cookie crumbling being the most correct and it falls apart in his mouth.

It-it's not good, but her hands are clasped under her chin and he can read the anxious excitement in every inch of her frame. He swallows slowly, giving his best convincing smile to veil his disgust.

"So? How is it?" Ghost presses.

"Delicious," Crow assures her and she does a little dance.

For being an Old Light, she has the soul of a child - and the mannerisms to match.

Crow sets the cookie back in the box and replaces the lid, "I'll save them for later."

"So, what brought you two all the way to the Tangled Shore? Just a cookie delivery?" Glint asks, hovering near Crow's shoulder.

"Well, we figured since we hadn't been able to visit for awhile, this would be the ideal time to drop by and check in," Ghost supplies.

The Young Wolf nods in confirmation.

"Well, with all the Wrathborne, Spider has been keeping us busy overseeing the hunts." Crow says softly, gesturing to the spot on the cot beside him.

She takes a seat without any hesitation, fluffing her cloak out to avoid sitting on it.

"Xivu Arath has been busy," Ghost remarks.

"It's only a matter of time before we catch up to her," Glint returns.

"And we'll be ready when you do," Ghost assures them as the Young Wolf rests her hand on Crow's shoulder as if in sync with the remark. It never ceases to amaze him how coordinated the Young Wolf is with her Ghost, how easily his words seem to replace her own.

Will he ever reach that point with Glint?

A subtle shift of one of her fingers draws him back to the moment and its then that the full weight of her touch registers.

Every nerve ignites, a warmth flourishing down his arm and into his chest. For a moment, his mind drifts back to his conversation with Glint. It's as if his little Light could read his mind when he nudges him again even as the ghost speaks.

"I'm sure you two have talked enough about bounties and hunts to last you awhile. We should talk about something else."

He's giving him an in. But Crow doesn't want to chance things. Her hand is still on his shoulder and he can't deny the flutter in his chest.

"Like what?" Ghost asks and Crow notes the subtle tilt of the Young Wolf's head.

"...like the Tower!" Crow interjects pointedly, ignoring the the bump against his shoulder from his companion.

"What about it?"

"What's it like?"

The Young Wolf looks toward her Ghost as if mulling over what he can tell him before giving a nod.

"Well, it's on Earth. We call it the Last City. It's really quite the sight, you have a clear view of the Traveler! Whenever we're there for a night, she'll take us up to the highest wall and watch the sunset." Ghost settles into his Guardian's lap, her hand resting lightly on his shell.

"It sounds nice."

"It is. The sun sets around the Traveler and - we should take you to see it sometime." There's an edge of excitement in Ghost's tone and Crow looks to the Young Wolf to see if the sentiment is mutual.

She nods her agreement, two swift downward tilts of her head in rapid succession and it's all the answer he needs.

"Maybe one day we can?" He offers hopefully and she touches his forearm with a subtle spark of lightning. Nothing painful, but there's an odd sensation dancing over his nerves. He's noticed she only ever slips up when she's extremely excited and it sparks a smile at the corner of his mouth. Gazing over at her, Crow notes how there's a warmth to her touch detectable even through the leather of her gloves and there's an almost golden glow around the Solar Hunter's frame.

"Guardian--" Ghost shifts to look up at her and the glow ebbs with a sheepish rub at her neck.

Crow can't help but chuckle softly, "It's alright, Spider's lair could use some more light."

If ever a Guardian could visibly blush behind a helmet, Crow thinks now might be the time.  She shifts, glancing around almost awkwardly with another whisper of gold around her helmet and hood. It's adorable and mesmerizing all at once. A light like a star and yet, dimmed as if intended to protect those around it.

"Perhaps, we should get going? Before she lights the lair on fire." Ghost says, only halfway joking and the Young Wolf looks almost indignant as the light sputters out as quickly as it appeared.

"It'd be an improvement. Trust me." Glint supplies as the Young Wolf stands.

Crow almost reaches for her, almost pulls her to him but he forces himself upright and offers a soft smile, "Thank you for the cookies."

She tilts her head and nods. He imagines she's smiling beneath her helmet and some part of him longs to see that - one day, perhaps.

"Safe travels, Guardian!" Glint surges forward a short distance before retreating back to Crow's side.

"See you two soon!" Ghost returns as the Young Wolf leaves and Glint bumps against Crow's shoulder.

"I think that went very well."

"I suppose it did." Crow returns softly, still staring after her with a sort dazed smile.

"...are you okay?" Glint darts up to hover in front of Crow's face and the Hunter jerks back ever so slightly.

"O-of course. I'm fine."

"Uh huh," Glint returns smugly and Crow huffs as he looks towards the cookies she'd left, "You're not actually going to eat those, are you?"

"No. I appreciate the thought, but, I don't think I can eat those. I'm sure the Eliksni here will appreciate them more. They love that sort of...crumbled, burnt taste."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Crow rubs the back of his neck.

"Guess you'll be in charge of cooking then," the Little Light bumps up against his shoulder again.

"Glint," Crow chides with a soft chuckle as he returns to his cot.

"Just an observation."

"An unnecessary one."

"Says you."

Crow lays down on the cot with a content, yet lightly exaggerated sigh, "Goodnight, Glint."

Glint settles onto his chest, "Goodnight, Crow."

Crow allows his eyes to sag shut, listening to the soft hum of his Ghost as he drifts off to a peaceful rest.

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

A/N: Hey folks!

This fic will be slow to update, I’m more or less trying to follow Bungie’s canon timeline for Crow, so as his story unfolds to its full extent, this fic will follow. :) I’m already working on Chapter 2 which starts off with Crow’s newfound freedom!

Stay tuned!

~ Phantom

CHAPTER 2 (DIFFICULT ADJUSTMENTS)

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @genken64 @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6

#the crow #crow destiny #destiny crow #glint #glint destiny #the young wolf #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #destiny ghost #destiny hunter #destiny 2 hunter #the dawning #the spider #crow x guardian #crow x young wolf #phantom writes

[asciendo]

It’s Time

Chapter 22 

Jean was the cocky bastard that walked around like he owned the place. Y/N couldn’t stand him so when the time came that you were his sparring partner, you couldn’t wait to teach him a lesson.

Little did the both of you know, that sparring match would be the start of your unexpected relationship with Jean Kirschtein, that will change your life, and the rest of the Scout Regiment forever.

Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4/Chapter 5/Chapter 6/Chapter 7/Chapter 8/Chapter 9/Chapter 10/Chapter 11/Chapter 12/Chapter 13/Chapter 14/Chapter 15/Chapter 16/Chapter 17/Chapter 18/Chapter 20/Chapter 21

Tag list:  @empty-glass-full-of-emotion @dai-tsukki-desu @usernamehere91@princess-peaches1 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag

It was your 9th month into your pregnancy and all you wanted was the baby to finally out of you. Your mood swings and cravings were unbearable, and you wanted your old body back.

"How's Y/N?" Connie asked Jean as they lounged in the dorms. You and Jean had moved into a shared room now that you were pregnant. The baby was almost due so Hange decided it was best to keep you and Jean together so it would be easier to care for the baby once it was born.

"Moody as always." Jean grunted. The past two months, your hormones were driving you insane. One day you were all sweet to Jean, asking him if he wanted massages and making food, other days you couldn't stand to see him blaming him for the pain you were experiencing during the pregnancy.

"I can't do anything right! I bring her all the food she wants! She craves for fucking pickles at 3 in the morning and I run over there to get them for her!" Connie chuckles as Jean plumps back down on the couch.

"That's what you get for not being careful." Eren states from across the room which causes Jean to shoot up.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP JAEGER—" Connie pulls Jean back down before he could finish.

You and Sasha enter and sit in the couch across Jean and Connie. Jean picks up an apple from the table and as he's about to bite, you look at him with puppy dog eyes.

"What?" He asks and you smile. "Can you get me some soup?"

"B-but I was just about to eat!" Jean whined. But as soon as he saw your eyes, those puppy dog eyes that he could never refuse he grunted and stood up from his seat into the kitchen. Smiling proudly at yourself you grabbed Jean's apple and continued to eat it.

Jean came back with your soup to find you munching on his apple. "Seriously?" He sighed as he dropped the soup in front of you.

"This is so entertaining." Sasha chuckled and you laughed as well.

Your smile instantly dropped when you saw the exhausted look on Jean's face. You felt guilt overwhelm you on how hard you were being on him. You felt like everything was happening to you and forgot he was going through this too. How he told you how anxious he would be whenever they had a mission and would have to leave you behind. How you would feel his hid rest on your stomach at night while you were asleep, checking if the baby was okay. You cursed yourself for being terrible and inconsiderate towards him and wanted to let him know how much he meant to you.

That night in your shared room, you were lying on the bed while Jean was reading a book by the window. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes and regretted asking him to make you something during your late-night cravings.

You stood up from your bed and knelt in front of him.

"What is it now?" he grumbled as he continued to read his book.

"I'm sorry." You sighed, but Jean continued to read his book. "Jean...can you please look at me?" He sighed and finally met your gaze.

"I'm sorry for being...such an ass to you the last few months," you started and he dropped his book to his lap.

"I felt like I was the only one going through this and I didn't take into consideration how you must be feeling—I know it's scary for you too and I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Jean...you mean the world to me, and I don't want to ever make you feel like I take you for granted." Jean looked away from you, so you continued.

"I know you're tired. I know you do everything you can to make me feel as comfortable as I can be, You're going to be a good father, and I know I am so lucky that you are going to be the father of our baby." Jean suddenly looks at you and his face softens.

"It feels good to hear you say that." He smiles lightly.

"That I'm sorry?"

"No...that I'm going to be a good father." You look up at him and you sigh. You could see him fumbling with his hands and you grab them. "I always knew you were going to be a good father, that was the only thing I was sure of this whole pregnancy." Jean smiles at you and you take his face in your hands and kiss him.

"Wait...I don't forgive you yet..." He said teasingly and you pull away. "What?!"

"You have to make it up to me." Jean smirks and you roll your eyes. "I'm nine months pregnant, Jean." You back away but he pulls you closer. "I know there are other ways you can make it up to me." He teases and you smile seductively at him

You lower yourself down to his crotch and unzip his pants. You look up at him and he already has his head leaned back. "I love you." You say, and he raises his head once more. "I love you too." He replies and you begin to show him how much you love him with your mouth around his cock.

***

The next week, you were alone in your room as the rest continued to train. Suddenly, you felt something wet between your legs and your eyes grew wide. The baby was coming.

You make your way over to the training field and spot Jean sparring with Connie.

"JEAN!" You yell but he ignores you. You roll your eyes and call him once more, "JEAN!"

"WHAT!" He yells as he continues to grapple Connie's head. "IT'S TIME!"

"TIME FOR WHAT?! Y/N I'M BUSY—"

"Such an idiot." Mikasa sighs next to him. Before she tells him what's going on you scream at him with so much anger as you start to feel contractions.

"JEAN, THE BABY IS COMING AND IF YOU'RE NOT HERE IN 10 SECONDS I AM GOING TO KILL YOU MYSELF!" You yell and everyone freezes. Jean doesn't move but Connie is suddenly pushing him towards you.

Jean bruns to you and grabs you hand and attempts to run.

"SHE CAN'T RUN, YOU IDIOT!" Sasha yells as the rest follow you and Jean to the infirmary. Jean suddenly picks you up and begins running.

"How do you feel?" Jean pants as he carries you.

"I FEEL LIKE I'M GONNA DIE!" You yell and Jean tells you to calm down.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP!" You tell and Jean whimpers in panic.

You and Jean burst into the infirmary and as soon as the nurse sees you, she rushes to get a stretcher.

Jean lays you down on it and the doctors grab the stretcher from him.

"Wait I want to be there—"

"Leave them Jean. You'll just be a distraction." Levi announces from behind and Jean slowly nods as he watches you get rolled away.

Your entire squad is there including Levi and Hange. Hange was bouncing up and down until Levi reprimanded her.

"If it's a girl you should name her Sasha!"

"Shut it, it's going to be a boy and I know Jean will name him Connie!"

Eren rolls his eyes at their banter while Armin giggles. Suddeny, Jean feels a figure sit next to him.

"How are you?" Mikasa asks. Jean's fingers are trembling as his leg bounces up and down.

"Not good..nervous."

"Don't be. You're a good leader, Jean. You'll be an even better father" Jean smiled back up at her and she smiles at him as well. There was a time all Jean could think about was Mikasa but ever since you came into his life, his mind and heart have all been you. He still respected her though, so hearing her say that meant a lot to him.

Before he could respond, the doctor's doors burst wide open and everyone stood up.

"Jean...come in." The nurse smiles but Jean remained frozen.

Mikasa nudged him and Jean began to walk forward. Looking back at everyone, Hange was shaking with joy, Connie and Sasha were giving him a thumbs up, Mikasa and Armin were smiling, Eren nodded and even Captain Levi had a small smile on his face.

Jean walked in the room and saw you holding a tiny baby in your arms. You were glowing. He thought he's never seen anyone that beautiful in his life and he smiled.

"Come here." You looked up at him. He could tell you were crying but it was happy tears.

"It's a boy." You beamed and Jean's smile grew wider. He slid in next to you on the bed and he wrapped his arms around you and your baby.

"I'm so happy..." he whispered as he caressed your son's cheeks.

"Here, hold him." You looked at Jean but he froze for a bit before taking the baby in his arms.

"I promise...I'll protect you. My whole life I won't stop..." Jean begins, and you lean your head against his arm.

"I've never felt this way before..." You smile at him and observe his loving gaze towards your son.

"What do you want to call him?" You ask Jean. His brows furrow for a bit, trying to think of a name that would suit your son.

Out of nowhere he smiles and you giggle.

"What? Don't name him something stupid." He chuckles at your reaction but places a chaste kiss on your lips.

"Marco. His name is Marco."

#attack on titan imagines #aot #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #armin arlet #eren jaeger #sasha braus #connie springer #marco bodt #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #anime #jean x you #jean x reader #jean imagine #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein

[softcallofdutyimagines]

How Do I Love Thee? | Knight!Weaver x Princess!Reader | Medieval AU | Chpt. 1

Summary:

The day has finally come. Your bodyguard, the man you've trusted with your life since the day you were born, has reached the age of retirement. Being the only child of your royal parents, the King and Queen are quite keen on keeping you safe, so naturally a new one must be selected. When the dust of the tournament settles, a champion is chosen, one far younger and stronger then the last...

In an age full of tales of handsome men in shining armor and chivalrous heroes of great courage and honor, could you be in for a forbiden love story of your own?

Tags: Slow burn

Warnings: None, except for a small fight scene involving mentions of blood

“Goodnight my Lady”, your lady in waiting bows her head politely as she exits your chambers, closing the heavy wooden doors behind her with a soft thump. Her footsteps recede off into the night down through the thick stone corridors as you lay awake in your downy bed. Two sconces glow faintly in the night, providing just enough light for you to navigate the large, dark room.

Once you’re sure you’re alone, you grab your small candle and pad across the cool stone floor to steal some light. It catches quickly and you’re off once more to your desk. You pull out your poetry books and studies to retrieve a small leather bound notebook. It contains all sorts of things like sketches and sonnets that you've penned, but most of all it’s filled with your musings of the day.

You tap your quill on the edge of the inkwell and set its point to the parchment.

Today has been a rather sad one indeed. Your old guardsman has retired from your father’s service, the very same man who’s protected you and your person since you were but a little girl. He’s much like a grandfather to you in a way, and it pains you very deeply to see him leave you. Your father has tried to comfort you with the promise that a tournament will be held the very next day to get you a new guard as soon as possible, but the absence of a knight isn’t what troubles you.

You sniffle, a tear threatening fall from your eyes as you pause, recalling a lifetime of memories and yet being forced to let them go. Gathering your strength with a deep breath, you write the final words you old guard left you with:

“Be brave, my little Princess. I know you can”

At last you write that you are not looking forward to tomorrow and that you expect to be quite beside yourself. It’s all you can write before the despondency overcomes you again.

Being the Lady that you are, you retrieve one of your ever present nearby handkerchiefs and dry your eyes. You set your journal back into it’s hidden home and restore your books to keep it safe. With the desk returned just as it was, you tiptoe back to bed and blow out your candle. Moving aside the velvet drape, you think one last time on your faithful old guard, remembering all the memories of your childhood you shared as you climb back under the sheets.

Tomorrow is a new chapter for the both of you, you suppose. You hope his story ends sweetly.

---

The tournament begins with much fanfare and ado as the festivities kick things off. You’re sitting pretty in a lovely silk gown between your mother and father, both equally dressed up. There’s games and feasting and music and dancing… All the things something of this magnitude should include.

And, as you predicted, you’re quite bored indeed.

As yet another jaunty reel plays from the minstrels, you can’t help but roll your eyes and look onwards. Past the castle grounds, past the village, past the fields and farm lands… Way, way out in the distance to the forest and mountains.

That’s where your soul lies.

Being the Princess is all well and good, but in truth, your heart yearns for nothing more than to simply be free. Even if all that’s out there is more grass and trees, just as there is all around you, oh what you’d give for the chance to see it. To touch the grass and leaves you’ve never seen before. To feel and smell the wind in it’s wild, untamed stomping grounds. Some days you dream of just running away, but…

Well, your guard would never allow it. And, here you are, getting assigned yet another figure to keep an eye on you in the name of your father.

A blast of trumpets shatters your daydream as your attention is called back to present. The royal scribe stands on a podium, announcing the main attraction at last. He reads off a long, tiresome list of names “Sir this and that”, “Lord ho hum”, ugh… At least the fighting should be entertaining, you suppose.

There are several rounds and three main competitions: Jousting, Dueling, and Archery. Score will be kept and knights slowly eliminated until a final two are left, at which point, the two will engage in a duel and may the best man win.

Admittedly, you tune out for the first several rounds until the riff raff and washed up old timers are sorted out. Not as though you have any say in the matter, but you pick a few favorites and follow their progress through the competition. Although in all honesty, you pick said favorites by their horses and the colors and patterns of their coat of arms.

However… One knight in particular has caught your eye both in skill and trappings.

His coat of arms features a fierce looking tiger and swords, the style of which tells you his family hails from somewhere out east, and his horse is a lovely dusty grey. Even you must admit, his skills so far aren’t bad either. He’s coasting through the competition with little difficulty and, even with the few close calls here and there, by the time he’s made it up to the final rounds you would almost dare to say you have your heart set on him.

Silently you root him on as he tiredly batters through opponent after opponent, somehow maintaining strength and endurance up until the very last man. A few breaks have been called in between rounds up until this point, but now the last two will be taking a long recession before the final fight.

Food and drink and dance is had once more for peasants and nobility alike while each knight gathers their strength, but you can’t keep your mind off the excitement of the final duel...

When at last, the time has come, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Once more the scribe’s voice rings out over the silent crowd as the two men ready themselves in opposing corners of the muddy sparring ring, “Fighting for the honor of being named the new protectorate of the Princess, Sir Weaver and Lord Fletcher will face each other in armed combat! The rules are as follows-”

The scribe's voice fades away, and immediatly your mind begins to wander.

Sir Weaver…

The name rolls off your tongue as you watch him pace and stretch in his corner of the ring. He’s armed with a sword and shield, classic weapons of the heroes of old, just like in your books and sonnets… His shield is tall and rectangular, with that very same tiger proudly emblazoned on its front. He gives his sword a few test swings and even from here you can hear the ringing of razor sharp steel.

His opponent wields a smaller shield and a rather nasty looking mace, a classic for smashing heads and armor alike. Thankfully you won’t have to bear witness to such violence should Sir Weaver lose, but you don’t much fancy the idea of such a savage weapon anyway. It may have its place in battle, but it doesn’t seem very… Heroic.

After far too much more courtly addresses, a trumpet sounds to begin the fight.

The Lord charges the Knight, mace raised to strike, as Sir Weaver stands his ground like a tower of strength. He deflects the blow easily, as well as the few more that come after it. A smart tactic, you observe, letting the opponent come to him and tire himself out. Lord Fletcher seems to believe that he can smash right through the great steel shield as that’s where most of his strikes end up landing. Sir Weaver’s tiger is quite battered, but holds out well.

All the overhead motions of the mace swings prove to be a disservice soon enough though, as the knight stabs his way through chinks in the armor here and there as the Lord slowly grows more and more weary. His movements become sluggish and desperate, a lethal combo, and before long the mud is mixed red with the wounds of the mace wielding Lord.

To his credit, he fights to the bitter end, but the duel is called before too much blood is shed.

A roar of approval goes up from the crowd. Amidst the cheering and the fanfare, Sir Weaver bows politely before the royal family and makes to exit the arena. You cock an eyebrow. Curious, you would’ve expected more of a show given the grand odds he just overcame.

Regardless, you clap politely and watch the two men exit the ring. It’s nearly night by now and there’s still more to do. Tomorrow your new knight will be sworn in and given his orders and hours and so forth… But for now, you have many things to tell your journal tonight.

---

The next day begins as it always does. You wake up at sunrise. Your chamber maid helps you dress, pick out your outfit for the day, and style your hair. Finally, you’re ready to join your family and the court for breakfast. A few questions come your way asking about whether or not you’re excited to meet your new knight and what you thought of the tourney yesterday, but otherwise you’re ignored as usual.

When breakfast passes, the court moves on to the throne room. It’s easily the most illustrious room in the palace, save for perhaps a few that suit your particular tastes. Small windows sit high above near the vaulted ceiling, raining in sunlight and fresh air from far above. Giant chandeliers hang proudly, holding a dizzying host of candles. The walls are blanketed in gorgeous tapestries, some of which you’ve had the honor of assisting in the weaving of. They’re laced with threads of gold and silk, and when they catch the light just right, they give off an ethereal glow, bringing the stagnant scenes to life.

The typical court proceedings will begin shortly, but first the matter of your new bodyguard is to be addressed. Soon enough, Sir Grigori Weaver of, so on and so forth… is announced to the court. Finally, something interesting for the day. You sit up properly in your throne and take in the sight.

He’s dressed in an appropriately fancy set of gambeson and hose, clearly his armor is off to be under repairs. His one arm hangs freely, the other rests on the pommel of his sword, and he takes a brief look at his surroundings. He carries himself with purpose and a serious air which could almost take a turn for intimidating given a closer look. His face is rough with prickly stubble contrasted by a long, smooth mustache and hair combo. Between the two lies no feature of note aside from a grizzly scar running across a cloudy white, useless eye.

Sir Weaver nods towards you and your mother, then offers your father a proper bow, “My liege”

Your father smiles, and you can already tell you’re about to be stuck with this man whether you like it or not. He tells the knight to rise and after a brief exchange of greeting, Sir Weaver is sworn into your service complete with the whole ceremonial nonsense.

You rise and come forward, standing just a few steps above him on the throne platform. He hands you his sword and kneels before you. Without the help of any prompting, you lead him through the oath phrase by phrase and at last you tap either of his shoulders with the flat of the blade. To seal it all, you extend your hand with your signet ring.

“Thank you, my lady”, he takes your hand softly and kisses your knuckle, “I am yours”

He rises and accepts back his blade while you return to your throne. Your father makes arrangements for a whole new suit of armor to be commissioned for your knight, after all, his safety is your safety, and so forth. But for once, you don’t mind the droning on of court business.

It gives you some time to hide your blush.

#call of duty #black ops cold war #grigori weaver x reader