#...Iron Heart could fill that team function.

[josephinekhawaja]

These 2 are gonna be the death of me. I should temper any expectations of shipping success for Phase 5, but I still keep tossing theories down here like pennies in a well.

(...Jonathan Majors pic taken from this post, and Kathryn Newton pic taken from the Facebook page of Marvel.)

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I'm having a lot of feelings in the wake of my trip to the ER again this week and like. I don't really have the capacity yet to fully flesh it out but at least part of it is: I have watched national stage trans rights orgs categorize my home state as increasingly dangerous and hostile to my trans existence and while I don't doubt the metrics they're using to assert this, it also doesn't escape me that my life here has been the safest amd most accepting (of ALL of me, not just of my gender) I've ever experienced despite a lifetime of living in "Blue" states.

It was a hospital in "Blue" Portland, Oregon thaf barred my step mother from my room on the ward even with my mother's and my explicit consent because Oregon refused to recognize my parents' marriage license and so they didn't consider her family.

It was a "Blue" district in "Blue" Northern California where my mother used to wake me in the middle of the night and crawl with me to the bathroom to tuck me into the porcelain and cast iron tub there because it was a room at the center of our house with no windows or external walls and there were armed skinheads outside again.

It was a "Blue" township in "Blue" Massachusetts where cops near on broke down our living room door and hauled my wife to jail in handcuffs at 9pm on a Saturday night because of a missed traffic court date, leaving us both traumatized and fleeing a home we'd lived in for two years because of the legal consequences and continued frightening encounters with the arresting officers who worked at the police station a block away.

It was in the heart of Smith College territory where my wife had to sleep with a an automotive wrench near our bed for six months because of domestic disputes with roommates the police literally told her they would arrest her for defending herself within, where near on every person we met would look at me while talking to my wife because they LITERALLY COULDN'T LOOK A BLACK TRANS WOMAN IN THE EYE

Meanwhile, my time in a "Red" state has been filled with people who remember my wife and chat with her at the local coffee shop, where my transition and hers have been fully supported and accommodated by our care teams. Where people have welcomed us and treated us like community and visibly stood quiet watch over us whenever they knew someone was in the vicinity who might wish us harm. The racists here who harass my wife do it in the shadows where they think no one else will see because they are more afraid of the judgement and reaction of our neighbors than they are motivated to humiliate or harm her. The transphobes who give me shit here won't do it unless they think no one will overhear because they know that I have family in the area and that makes them TERRIFIED of angering community members they respect. I have never experienced this kind of safety in any of the so-called progressive spaces I spent my life in.

I have continued to experience safety and welcome and coexistence here in ways I simply do not and have not in places that prided themselves on being on the right side of history. It is therefore difficult for me to watch the world I just left, a world that has ALWAYS failed me, a world that fundamentally prefers prescriptivist morality to practical or functional morality, demonize this genuinely very loving place.

Some conversations happened among us ER waiting room patients, every one of us poor, every one of us desperate for ourselves or someone we loved, every one of us exhausted from having literally waited until after business hours on a Friday night to get medical care because we all instinctively knew we could not afford to be hospitalized during the work week. They were.......sensitive and vulnerable, and were had with full throats and no fear, nothing but a shared solidarity and desire to understand our own community through the people that make it up. We were clearly all of us at different points on the political spectrum, and whenever someone dipped into dogwhistle that rankled someone else, we would all pull back, rephrase with our own words, and immediately the tone of the conversation would settle and shift and continue. We moved through so many different topics, all of them "politically controversial" from homelessness, to public health policy, to the economy, to education. And in the end, we.....we all agreed. Not just on what we wanted, but on HOW we wanted it to happen. It turns out that if you put a dozen people who are in community with each other alone in a room where they are waiting to have their needs met, they will talk about those needs, and it turns out that most of them all need the same things in the same ways and KNOW that they need those things but have learned others DON'T. The reminder, human and staring them in the face, that every human being needs those things, is often enough.

Like I said, none of this is coherent right now, and I definitely don't have a point. But there's something in the experience of it all for me that matters.

[ronearoundblindly]

The Stark Legacy (22)

Tony Stark's daughter (OC) x Bucky Barnes epic slowburn

Failure, finale of Book II: Mind (see previous or series)

Summary: Samantha Stark helps Bucky while Tony gets in the way. Who will help Sam? Can she be helped at all?

Warnings for description of injury and amateur medical assistance. Rated Teen/15+ ONLY, please. WC 3.5k

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—February 2039

The sound of her blood pumping rang loud as a siren while Sam bounded down the corridors of the palace. She heard it all when Missy tapped into the team’s comms. That amount of electricity…she didn’t know what his new arm could truly endure attached to original tissue. Sam planned for the worst when she snagged vials from her room, yelling at Missy to go ‘ultra dark,’ as she called it. To think there was evidence on Missy of an obvious mistake, something she’d missed, Sam was too ashamed; Missy would have to hide it, and she was programmed to erase herself if it wasn’t Sam who returned. With any luck, and a little faith in her own intelligence, that would never happen.

Several prominent members of Wakandan nobility and other staff stared as she barreled past, clutching a small velvet pouch. She had to get outside to the landing pad as quickly as possible. Just as she skidded around the corner to the great gallery, the one offering a view of the concrete pad and the fields beyond, Iron Man landed with a thud, indelicately dropping Captain Barnes onto the hard ground. For a moment, Sam hesitated at the door. If she couldn’t fix the malfunction in Bucky’s arm, her father would be right there to witness it. Her chance would be over, and it may have already been gone if this had cost them their fight.

This might be her entire legacy: ruining a soldier’s body and poisoning her own. That’s all Tony Stark would ever know about her, and Bucky would never forgive her. Sam’s arms shook when she pulled the grand door open enough to squeeze through. Shuri’s medical team hustled across the pad from a different direction, so Iron Man stood facing away, calling out what had happened.

The wind took half of his words. “—arm is stuck in—looping the strike—of Thor—” Tony’s suit seemed to jump awkwardly, moving too robotically to be functioning properly. Sam took her chance. While the medics babbled in confusion, unable to get Iron Man to understand or turn around, she jumped over to Bucky’s left. The residual charge had dissipated; he didn’t shock her. She started trying to unbuckle his strapped jacket. Bucky jerked around, muffling screams for a few seconds before letting out a growl, then stuffing what noise he could back behind excruciating, jagged breaths. Sam’s weak fingers stalled on the thick leather and icy metal from his high-altitude transport.

“You have to stop flailing,” Sam tried, “I have to get to the shoulder.” Bucky rolled away, pushing her hands and arms off of him. “Hey, it’s me,” she tried again, leaning farther over his bulky form to grab his face, “it’s Sam. Please let me fix it, ok?” Bucky’s cold, blue gaze landed on her with a ferocity that stopped her heart. He looked at her as if she were sticking a white-hot poker into his shoulder, letting loose a howl that froze her further. Sam knelt back on her heels, terrified.

“You,” Tony’s mechanized voice said behind her, “move away.”

The velvet was soft in her twitching fingers. She had to. Sam looked up to hold Bucky’s gaze long enough to see some recognition and then went back to furiously undoing the top buckles. The leather snapped against her delicate fingers, and she felt her nails bend backwards when she pulled at the clasps. She peeled away the thick fabric to reveal another shirt.

“Really?” Sam breathed, but she grabbed the neckline as hard as she could and pulled until she could she the dip between his collarbone and humerus.  Syringe and needle in hand, she leaned her weight to steady him. “Youwe ill fill uh foo…” she started, holding the cap in her teeth, but the rest was too garbled to translate.

“That’s all vibranium. Your needle won’t go through—“ Iron Man explained walking back towards his charge while the medics shuffled around him. Tony maneuvered the suit to see around Sam, getting a glimpse of pale flesh. “What the hell, Barnes?!”

Over the series of small injections around the edge of his left shoulder and pectoral muscle, Tony could see Bucky’s veins glow lightly. It took a moment for him to realize there was no metal at all. Bucky’s legs stopped scratching beneath him, and his shifting lessened. When Sam finally pulled the needle away, she reassured Bucky with a half-smile, smoothing his long hair out of his face. After a few more seconds, his pinpoint pupils relaxed.

Sam sat back on her heels, relaxed this time. “Ok,” she huffed, “it’s okay.”

Several medics stood or knelt around them now, watching, arranging different implements from their cases, or shouting orders to others left by the doors.

Iron Man bent down to rip the black leather glove from Bucky’s hand—a real, skin-covered hand—then the red and gold face looked up to see her face pointed to the sky, panting. “Sam?” Tony stuttered, taking in her short hair for the first time. “What happened!”

The suit twitched quick bursts of audio and motion. “What did you do? What is that? It looks—are you serious? Did you do that to him? We could have DIED!” 

She tried to stand and back away, but as she rose, Iron Man latched his glove onto Sam’s arm. Sam squirmed against the suit pathetically. The medics ignored them, heaving Bucky onto a hovering table and collectively leaving to care for his recovery.

“Sam,” Tony yelled, clenching in his shock and outrage, but the connection cut in and out. Her name was cut short the second time, and the iron hand shut hard above her left elbow, the same spot that healed after her bike accident.

The snap of her bone was audible. Her eyes widened, and she fell onto boney knees that ached. Iron Man released her arm to let it fall, limp, to her side. Sam hissed in agony. The suit said nothing more. Mark XLII walked methodically back inside to its closet.

With a tickling precision, the hair on the back of Sam’s arm stood on end, a small shiver crawled up her neck, and the pad in front of her shimmered. Sam jumped out of the way as fast as she could before the Bifrost cracked and burned its design into the concrete. And just like that, Thor stood, arms outstretched in smoldering, rainbow glory.

“Victory,” the god of thunder bellowed, golden hair flying in triumph.

The Dora Milaje moved to chant congratulations, and the bystanders turned towards the Asgardian long enough for Sam to sneak away into the tree line.

Tony ripped the headset off and slammed it against the wall. The durable screen only cracked, making it the least broken thing held by Tony Stark. He’d heard it clear as day, a different kind of snap, one that he couldn’t take back, one he’d never forget.

“Boss,” Friday asked, concerned, “are you alright?”

Tony felt entirely disconnected from reality. As many times as he had controlled an XLII, he had mostly been on Earth, once from orbit, never hundreds of thousands of miles away. That was the first time he had even been with his own daughter inside the suit, and you broke her goddamn arm, asshole. He kept replaying it over and over. Bucky knew her well enough to let her handle him. His little girl jumped on top of a soldier to shove a syringe into him. What the hell would she know about treating him? Why the hell was his shoulder covered in skin? Was it made of flesh? What the hell was Shuri playing at? Did the Wakandan Princess, genius that she was, recruit Sam into this madness? Sam was at Harvard, doing what, Tony had no clue, but she was at Harvard Medical…so she would know—

She would know how much force he’d used on her arm in order to break it; Sam would blame him. In fact, Tony could not be sure it wasn’t his fault that the suit gripped that hard. He wanted to blame the connection or the suit, but he knew full well that no lag in connection would let the suit move outside of his mimicked motion. At very least, the suit would never do a more violent movement than instructed to execute. The lag would cause a weakened response, not an increased.

“Friday,” he huffed, “get us home as fast as possible. Whatever it takes.”

Bucky walked quietly over the packed earth between trees in the forest behind his hut. The rough guess was that Sam had wandered out past the goats’ grazing fields, but only Shuri had spoken to him about Samantha’s involvement at all. The commanding scientist had seemed particularly upset by security footage, threatening to raid Sam’s room for information if the girl wasn’t found quickly. Only after all that formality did Shuri lean closer to Bucky and explain that Sam might be hurt. She did not believe the reclusive Sam would let any guard help, and while Shuri was intrigued by the soldier’s new appendage, she sent Bucky off after a few quick checks.

“Just don’t die, and don’t let her either, until I can figure this out,” the princess demanded. “Get going, Barnes.” 

So he jogged off to make up the head start his weak, injured prey had. Since this wasn’t a mission in which he anticipated contacting firepower—or anyone other than Samantha Stark, an eighteen-year-old science nerd—Bucky held no weapon and stayed fairly relaxed, letting his mind wander during his trek out past his home.

 What would the metal of his weapon feel like without the glove? Would the rapid-fire barrel be hot to the touch? Other than the force of Thor’s lightning, would things be painful, different than his ‘natural’ side? Normal things like airflow, fabric, even his own fingers brushing his palm distracted him. He took on a slower pace, obsessed with the touch of bark on the trees and the smoothness of leaves. Bucky had spent so many decades feeling nothing in his left arm that the sensations made him feel heavy, lopsided with the attention demanded by new neurons. He could feel the rolling of muscle fibers over bone when turning his wrist, the gentle friction of prints when rubbing fingers together, and smooth, flat nails when making a fist. He had skin, layers of malleable material over tough fibers and hard bone. Perhaps he should refer to those as a close approximation to flesh, since he knew it wasn’t strictly flesh. He did not understand the science, but this was the first ‘improvement’ given with his permission and not explicitly to make him stronger, deadlier, or more controllable. Sam had worked tirelessly to make him feel more human. Not only had she asked him, but Sam waited for his decision.

Years of the Avengers constantly rushing to add more weapons and protections had left Bucky feeling as if he was being poured into Steve’s old mold of Captain America. Of course, Steve got the benefit of being a pacifist at heart, so his improvements and upgrades were mainly costume enhancements. The Winter Soldier was solely born to kill; it was the one stigma of that past that never washed away. Bucky just killed for the good guys now, or as Tony told him to think about it, “evil suppression.” The Avengers made a lot of assumptions about him in the long run. Whether he really wanted to or not, Bucky was made into too good of a soldier to retire, ever. 

Bucky slowed as he heard crackling twigs ahead. Silent as a ghost, he advanced to see Samantha dragging her feet in an exhausted shuffle forward, scraping mounds of leaves up with her toes. He crept closer. She looked like a zombie, wandering alone without any of her own kind. Sam no longer held her arm in front of her. Unlike the security footage Shuri had shown him to track what direction Sam ran off in, her broken arm hung limp at her side. She walked so slowly that it would only take a few paces to reach her side, and he could see her clutching a small package to her chest with her right hand. Her focus did not find him. She seemed to have no focus at all.

Mid-step, Sam collapsed.

Bucky hurtled forward when he saw Sam’s limp body hit the dirt. When he made it to her, he spread her across his lap, but her eyes were closed. He tried to revive her, smoothed his new hand over her face, her hair, calling her name softly. She didn’t wake.

It took thirty-five excruciating seconds for Sam to regain consciousness. He checked her pulse and breathing. His pleas became commands. Seeing blood on the inside of her broken arm, he searched for where to place a bandage. He smeared crimson back and forth with his gloved hand, but there was no wound to find. He patted Sam’s face to bring her around, leaving bloody marks on her cheek. Her eyes opened slowly, like chocolates unwrapped with care and anticipation.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered. “Stay with me. Tell me what to do. I’ll help.” No bruising showed. Her skin looked a fresh, pink beige. She didn’t look sick, but one bicep swelled to twice the size of the other. She still slumped like a wet rag while he held her.

“Please don’t,” Sam quietly rasped back, “it hurts like hell.”

Bucky gave in to a small smile, though she remained looking off into the sky. “Now will still be better than later, I promise.” He looked around. This was going to be one of the more F.U.B.A.R. medical procedures he would be part of, but there was no better option. She had walked too far into the woods to carry her back without losing too much time. It was also probable that Sam would need some sort of surgery after the break was realigned. Bucky would get Sam stable enough to get to the palace infirmary and Shuri.

“Just do it,” Sam caved, weak but steady. Her breathing caught, labored, and Bucky knew she would pass out again soon. If he couldn’t see what was going on, he needed her awake to tell him.

He laid Sam down as gently as he could, unfolding his legs from under her, and stretched her flat across what was as tidy a patch of dirt and leaves as any other. He climbed over to crouch at her left side. He tried to hold her gaze to see if she was ready, just as she had done for him earlier, but Sam remained fixated on the branches above them. Even in pain and danger, Starks were stubborn as ever.

Relieve some pressure first, he thought, then move the bone back into place. He reached back into his leg holster for a serrated knife. This was going to get messy.

He took a deep, steadying breath and exhaled. Once he started this, Bucky would have to ignore protests and screams until everything was settled, and he did not look forward to the amount of hate about to spew his way. Natasha was one of the only women he’d ever patched in the field; she was battle-trained and tested yet still let loose a venom he’d rarely experienced. That was her way of coping, Bucky supposed, but Sam was a desk jockey at best. This would get gruesome.

The point of the knife found the top of the swollen bulge in her arm, sliding in easily enough, and there was little more than a whimper from the patient—at first. The force with which blood spat out of the wound pushed her slippery arm right out of his grasp. It spewed everywhere. By the time Bucky got his grasp back around her elbow, the cut was sealed again.

“You just had to experiment on yourself, didn’t you?” he groaned in frustration, wiping blood away where he could.

“It helped Sam, didn’t it,” came a quiet reply between pained breaths.

Aw, hell, she’s talking in the third person now. We are really screwed. The next slice would have to be bigger and faster. He may even have to hold it open for a moment, if her skin would allow it. So that’s what he did, as fast as he could. 

The terrified, piercing shriek from Sam’s lungs tore at his gut and eardrum alike, and instinctively, Bucky shoved his hand over her mouth, forgetting flesh was susceptible to teeth. Sam’s jaw clamped down on the soft corner of palm just above his wrist. Suddenly, Bucky fought a scream, more in shock than unbearable pain. She let go after a long exhale. He had to cut her twice more before the excess pressure released, when the cartoonish sprays of blood stopped to become trickles. Each time her skin sewed itself back together quickly, evenly, with no sign of puncture. The only signal Bucky had as to the toll all this took on Sam was her jaw relaxing and her gaze slowly lolling off to the canopy of the woods.

“Just do it,” she whispered. Her free arm scuttled and groped through the leaves beside her; probably trying not to take a swing at me, Bucky thought.

He settled his knee into the dip of her chest beside her shoulder. He grabbed Sam’s arm above the elbow and ripped it to the side. The sharp crack sounded good, in a way, effective. Great, she can punch me with this one soon. Bucky felt Sam’s chest press his knee to rise beneath him, so he moved back to her side. The bulge of swelling returned, and he made another cut with his knife. 

This wound, however, did not heal right away, allowing blood to ooze out with a slowing pace. It took a moment for him to understand. When Bucky’s eyes shot back to Sam’s face, her eyes were blank, her whole face lax. His brain exploded into expletives. She’d done so well; he never thought…

He looked over the disastrous, bloody scene beneath him. Sam’s right arm stretched out at an awkward angle with her palm down as if still grabbing for something. A few inches away, tumbled in the dirt and leaves, sat the little velvet pouch, its flap open enough to reveal the cap of another syringe.

Bucky scrambled across the dirt. Now his heart pounded for them both. It could be a pain killer, which would do Sam no good now, or it could be the same serum she’d given to him earlier, which might revive her and might not…

…or it could be more…

He needed it to be more. For the first time in years, he pleaded with himself, with some power beyond himself, anyone or anything, for this to be more.

Bucky tried to slam the needle into Sam’s neck, hoping the pressure remaining might carry whatever was inside far enough into her system to make a difference, but the needle snapped off before it penetrated. The skin there wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell,” Bucky huffed. We do not have time for this, Sam, he screamed internally. No one had ever made such a fuss about staying alive. Of course, he wanted Sam to be alive, desperately so. Sam made him feel human. Sam had him dreaming again, dreaming about dancing and holidays and birthdays. He actually felt more because of her, and not just in his arm. The idea that Sam would never speak to him again felt crippling. We could be having our first argument right now. You just have to wake up… Why did he not ask her more? He hadn’t told her how amazing it was to have his very own feely, fleshy arm back. She didn’t understand how miraculous that was—she was—for doing that, for giving him that. All she had ever mentioned wanting in return was a little recognition. She wanted to be a part of the family she was born into. Sam would want to keep going, to keep working. Wouldn’t she? Or was that his choice?

Even with the broken tip, Bucky pressed the syringe into Sam’s cut arm, beginning chest compressions with his other hand. He moved it to the other end of the cut to empty the rest, hoping somewhere in there was a vein to take the medicine through. He didn’t know how long to keep compressions up. Every second felt too long and not long enough.

Bucky grabbed Sam’s chin, tilted her head back, closed her nose and blew into her mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. As he returned to chest compressions, her arm caught his eye: no cut. He checked at Sam’s throat and found a weak pulse. 

In that instant, he couldn’t stop to think; Bucky scooped Sam into his arms and ran. He ran past his own hut as the sun set behind them, the goats bleating in encouragement and indifference.

In the dark, Sam’s arm glowed a deep, vicious orange, and it was getting brighter. Only in those last strides towards Shuri’s lab within the tower did Bucky begin to fear what he had done to Sam, if he’d made the right choice, if it would even be Sam who woke up…

End of Part II: Mind

[Book III: Cryo]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[imjuanita]

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[landinoandco]

An Unlikely Grand Prix

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

Warnings: flufffff

Word count: 2.1k

Requests are open :)

The Belgium Grand Prix was one that was highly anticipated - not only did it mark the end of the summer break and start to the second part of the season but it also promised some quality racing with its high speed corners.

You and Daniel were sitting in your hotel room on Sunday morning, a drink of coffee in your hand and a vitamin smoothie in his, your laptop open in front of you as you made some edits to the latest version of your book. You were an author and about to finish the final edit of your new novel.

“Have you seen the weather forecast for today?” He asked, leaning onto his forearms. You looked over your laptop lid and nodded, taking off your glasses.

“I have, you better be careful. It was bad enough in qualifying yesterday - “ You paused, saving your work and closing your laptop down. “I don’t care what people say - wet races always make me nervous. They shouldn’t have sent you out in Q3, it was hard to watch.”

A silence fell between the both of you, Daniel watched with a softness in his eyes. He knew exactly how you felt and he loved how supportive you were of him. You were his biggest fan and he could not be more thankful for it - you were there for him every weekend through rain and sunshine and through good races and bad races. You knew him better than anyone.

“I will be as careful as I can -” He reached across the table and took your hand in his. “I really feel like I’m getting somewhere though - P4.” He exclaimed, a smile flashing across his handsome features. You brushed your thumb over his hand.

“It was a really good lap - especially given the weather.” You agreed.

You moved your gaze to the window - the steady sound of rain hitting the hotel window filled the room.

“It’s definitely going to be a tense one.” Daniel muttered, pushing his chair back and getting up. You followed and made your way to the door, shrugging on your coat as you went.

The rain was pouring down as though the heavens above had opened - Daniel held an umbrella above both of you, sheltering you from the downpour. Members from different teams raced around the paddock to dry shelter - the buzz of conversation could already be heard from the grandstand in front of the pitlane. You admired the dedication of the fans; it was far from just a shower and for those exposed without even the slightest of cover would be drenched to the bone even by now and the grand prix was far from starting.

You looked over to Dan, his eyes twinkling and a spring in his step told you that he was looking forward to today’s race. His eyes flickered down to meet your gaze, bumping his shoulder into yours causing you to chuckle.

It was incredible to think about all of the things you two had managed to fit into 3 (going on 4) years. You met each other on the top of Table Mountain in Cape Town, you were there plotting for your next novel and Daniel was there hiking with his friends…

You were sat on a rock, looking out to the city of Cape Town tucked away under the mountain range - you were out in South Africa on an escape from the cramped conditions of London. You had a deadline quickly approaching to come up with a plot for your next book and as of that moment you still weren’t any closer to coming up with the next bestseller. Sure, you had ideas but they were yet to set a light a fire of motivation in you.

You had zoned out, your gaze attached to a bird soaring across the landscape ahead of you when a sudden voice pulled you swiftly out.

“Whatchu’ writing about?” The man asked, his tone was bright and as you looked over at him you saw the beaming smile stretched across his features. His eyes showed a confident but kind manner, brown curls stuck to his forehead and the beginnings of a beard covered the bottom half of his face.

“If I knew, I would tell you.” You quipped back, turning to face the man in order to see him properly. He had a muscular physique, no doubt a sportsman - you had thought at the time - an explosion of colour seeping out from his shorts caught your eye as you clocked the tattoos; they weren’t the only ones either as little drawings were littered over his hands and arms.

“Nice tattoos.” You complimented, nodding over to him. If it was at all possible, his smile grew larger and he put his fist out.

“I’m Daniel, by the way, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The rest was history - an adventure packed history. One filled with enough adrenaline to last you for the rest of your existence. The introductions had also prompted your next plot idea so the following week when you had returned to London you turned it into your agent - who had immediately loved the outline you had presented.

A few hours later and the start of the Belgium grand prix was approaching but still the track was resembling more of a spa - ironically - than a safe and functional track. Dan walked in from the drivers parade and shivered - his coat having provided no cover.

Frowning, you got up and handed him a towel, “What are the conditions like?” Nerves laced your tone. Dan sat down, shrugging, “They���re what we expected them to be like but it’s really rough. If we can even see 6 feet ahead it would be a miracle.”

A miracle was something they were all desperate for and before they knew it the race had been red flagged - deemed too dangerous to race so all of the teams were in their garages coming up with ways to entertain themselves.

You had made your way out of the McLaren garage to join Daniel who was wandering up and down the pitlane looking for a way to cause havoc.

You crept up to him and grabbed his shoulders and shouted: “boo,” in his ear causing him to jump up in shock and scream. You and many witnesses were doubled over in laughter as the Australian held his hand to his chest.

“I just came to say -” You started, “That you looked like you were about to do something mischievous and I wanted in on whatever your plan was.”

Dan looked at you with complete adoration in his eyes, a lopsided grin formed on his face. At that moment, he had never loved you more. It was a strange feeling that he couldn’t quite describe - it was just one he felt warming up his entire body. One thing he had always adored about you was the way you understood him - at the beginning of the relationship he knew you had found it hard to deal with his childish, devil may care attitude. As soon as you relaxed more around him, you two became more comfortable with one another - you decided to try his way of living. Letting fate take you to your next adventure and enjoying the unpredictability of it all. From your first adrenaline seeking adventure Dan had managed to persuade you to join him in - he knew he had found his partner in crime. Most importantly, Dan had taught you a way of living that was more enjoyable, a way of living that allowed you to get more out of life and push your comfort zone right to the limit.

“I have a few ideas.” He smirked, then grabbed your hand twirling you around as though you were ballroom dancing.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, the corners of your eyes crinkled as he pulled you into his chest, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder as he grasped the other in his and held them up as though you were dancing the waltz; finally placing his hand on your waist.

“I don’t suppose you would have seen it but in 2015, the American qualifying was cancelled due to rain and to pass the time I danced with my teammate. I figured I would make a tradition of it.” He explained, twirling you around again.

“Did Lando not want to dance with you?” You questioned, the corners of your lips quirked up. Daniel stopped and took a step back. For a moment you thought you had said something wrong but then a spray of water splashed up the front of your coat. Gasping, you wiped the water from your face and Daniel’s smug smile came into focus. You looked down to where he was standing and saw a gaping hole that had now filled up with water.

“You little-” You had begun, a smile betraying you entirely as it crept upon your features. You wanted to pretend to be angry but he had caught you off guard.

“I thought that you would be a nicer dance partner - but apparently not.” He retorted, biting down on his lip in an attempt to stifle his laughter at your facial expressions. You looked at him and then down at the puddle, back at Daniel and then decided what your next move would be; before you could however he had picked you up over his shoulder, spinning around happily.

“Daniel-” You protested, having to close your eyes to avoid feeling motion sick. You heard him chortle then give in as you felt your two feet touch the ground once again. You pouted at him, strands of hair now stuck to your forehead - it was a sight to behold. Daniel’s heart skipped a beat, his breath becoming shallower as he brushed the loose strands of hair from your face. He had decided at that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, he was ready to start the next chapter of his life with you. It would be a brand new adventure and probably the scariest yet.

“Marry me.” He mumbled, brushing his thumb over your cheek. He froze, an idea sparked, turning on his heel he fled in the direction of the McLaren garage.

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion, your heart thumping against your ribs. Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you glanced around you only to realise the whole of the pitlane and grandstand of fans had fallen silent - watching on in anticipation. Had they heard what he had said? How could they have, Daniel had muttered so quietly even you had struggled to hear the words that tumbled from his lips. Little did you know, a camera had caught every moment and you were now the sole focus as you waited for Daniel to come back.

Moments later and he was running out of the McLaren garage, something in his left hand. You squinted to get a better look, from where you were standing all you could see was a flash of blue - but as he came closer you realised what he was holding was in fact a Haribo packet.

Your hands flew to cover your mouth, you knew exactly what he was about to do. You were fighting back tears of joy as he opened the haribo packet and pulled out a gummy ring, got down on one knee and said: “Marry me. Our new adventure, just you and me. My partner in crime.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you nodded fervently, words appearing to fail you. You flung your arms around his neck. There was an eruption of cheer from around you, as fans whistled and clapped and fellow teams called out in congratulations.

You placed a hand either side of Daniel’s face, tears shone in his eyes. To most a gummy ring would seem immature - laughable even but to you, it confirmed to you how much you loved the man standing in front of you. The gummy ring he had presented to you meant so much more than being a Haribo. It represented you both as a couple. A love that was unconditional and would never get old and yet whilst you both would age - the love you had for one another would stay youthful, unpredictable and exciting.

You were more than ready to start the next chapter of your adventure with the man you loved most.

[13uswntimagines]

Leave the Cooking to Me (Sam x Rose x Reader)

Request: Sam x rose x reader. Where R was a part time chef so she’s always cooking their meals and the team is jealous of the good food

Author’s Note: Special Thanks to @literaryhedgehog. We had way too much fun doing this one and spent way too much time looking up random food things. Gotta say that we are both a sucker for writing for Sam. 

Sam and Rose were lucky and they would tell that to anyone who would listen to them. You weren’t just the sweetest human being they had ever met, or the most thoughtful. You were all of those things, and you knew how to cook. Not just recreationally either. You were the full fledged winner of Top Chef season 19, and the Sous chef at one of the hottest restaurants in Washington D.C.

“How can you make such good food dressed like that?” Sam asked, leaning over the island and resting her chin on her hand. 

“What do you mean?” You raised your eyebrows at the woman, continuing to run your knife along the onion without looking at it. 

“Don’t all of your skills come from your chefs coat?” Rose asked, sliding up beside you, her hand trailing under the back of your shirt. You shivered at the cold hand touching your skin. 

“I’m not Iron Man. I can function without an outfit,” you said, rolling your eyes, as you grabbed an egg. You happened to like wearing an oversized pajama shirt and short-shorts while cooking. You never felt bad about spilling anything on them, since you didn’t exactly wear them in public. “Sam, since your hands aren’t literal icicles-” Rose stuck her tongue out at you playfully “- can you hold this and warm it up to room temperature while Rose helps me hold the pastry?” 

“Ohhh what kind of pastry? Why is that filling purple?” Rose squealed. You knew how much she loved when you baked for them (especially considering those croissants you made them for special occasions). She pulled the bowl closer to her, and scrunched her nose when she saw the contents. 

You may have had a good track record, but that color was crazy. 

“It’s Spanakopita, but we’re going to experiment just a little bit. If you don’t like it you have to eat it anyway,” You shrugged, rolling out the dough onto a cutting board, and positioning Rose’s hands right where you wanted them. 

“If you make it, we’re going to like it.” Sam snorted, and Rose raised her eyebrow at her. 

You bit you lip, wilting just slightly. “I just got inspired, cause the beats are going to look so good in the risotto for the Arancini,”

“If it’s anything like that curry you made last time you got inspired, I think we’ll be ok,” Sam said, kissing your neck with a grin while you worked. You squeaked a little and jumped, hip-checking her to keep her away from accidentally touching the food. 

“It’s just a shame Valentine’s day already happened,” Rose said, looking at the three bowls of filling in their various places on the counter or in the fridge, “Pink, red, and purple dishes would have made great themed appetizers for your restaurant!” 

You snorted and shook your head. “I wish, we could do anything this interesting.” The arancini, maybe. The other two would probably be avoided like the plague for fear of any garlic or other lingering spices. “People are too bougie to enjoy the simple things like strangely colored foods.” 

“Good thing we’re not!” Sam smiled broadly, stealing a piece of orange-colored pork from the bowl to your right. 

“Yeah, we get all the sass and none of the class,” Rose giggled, barely avoiding your slap at her hand as she also stole a piece of pork. 

Just then you heard singing from the couch. “We are family,” Sam stuffed the piece of pork in her mouth and jumped up to grab her phone from where it was wedged between the cushions. “I’ve got all my sisters and me.”

“Tha’s Kwsten,” She spoke through her mouthful then swallowed. Do you mind if I go take this?” 

“Go for it, we’re about to stick this stuff in the oven anyway,” You nodded, giggling when she tripped over a chair on her way to grab the phone. “Make sure you swallow before you answer,” 

“Took you long enough. What were you doing, trying to find your pants?” Kristie’s voice rang through your apartment the second Sam answered the call. You smiled when your girlfriend’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. 

“No, Y/n is cooking. She’s so good with her hands Kris, it’s not fair,”  Sam said shaking her head. 

Kristie snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at the woman. “I’m sure she is,” 

“Stop trying to turn everything I say into a euphemism.” Sam groaned, sending a glare at Rose who was cackling like a madwoman. 

“But you make it sooo easy,” Kristie teased, “I mean what was it you said last time, ‘she kneads aggressively?’”

“Bread, Kris. She was making bread. And you’re supposed to do-I mean knead it aggressively, that’s how gluten develops.” 

“Stop trying to explain it babe,” Rose sang, her voice bubbling with suppressed laughter.  

“You’re just making it worse,” You nodded along. 

“You know, I’m not this mean to you when Emily and Lindsey pull this shit with you. I was even sympathetic with the Sketchers thing,” Sam pouted. 

“We agreed to never mention that again,” Rose said menacingly, but Sam was distracted as you handed her a plate with the Spanakopita.

Sam’s pout melted off her face at the sight of the plate. “Ooo goodies. Thanks babe,” 

You kissed her cheek and waved to her sister on the phone before heading back to the kitchen to finish the next set. 

“What is that?” 

“Just course one of the amazing appetizers lunch my wonderful girlfriend is making for me.” Sam bit in and rolled her eyes at the taste, holding up the other half of the Spanakopita so she could see the gorgeous and delicious purple filling. 

“For both of you Sammy. Don’t leave Rosie out, that’s mean,” You called out, your tongue poking between your teeth as you stirred the pot on the stove. 

In the background of Kristie’s call, Sam could see other teammates gathering around the phone to see her food. She stood and walked back to the kitchen, turning the facetime camera around so they could see the two trays out of the oven and then you stirring at the stove. You waved your spoon but stayed focused. The rice was just at the point when it was most likely to burn and you needed to make sure the texture didn’t go from delicious to goopy. Risotto wasn’t for the faint of heart. 

“Look at how fluffy this Bao is!” Sam said, slowly tearing one of the dumplings in half in front of the camera. Sisterly torture went both ways- her sister may turn half of what Sam said into sex jokes, but Sam could rub the delicious food in Kristie’s face. 

“Why is it so orange?” Emily asked, piping in from behind the older Mewis sister. 

“Some awesome Indonesian spices that Y/n thought would be good,” Sam said, taking a huge bite out of the bun. 

“Tamarind and Turmeric in the mix,” you called out from behind her.

“It’s not fair that your girlfriend is a literal chef who enjoys cooking in the weekend,” Emily whined, followed shortly by a “shut up Sonnett” from Lindsey and a thump. 

“Experimenting apparently,” Rose said, mischievously. 

“Not helping dear. Anyway, what were you calling about Kris?” Sam said pointedly. 

“We just wanted to know what you eta for camp was?” Kristie asked. 

“Um, the flight leaves tomorrow at what time was it again Rose? 8 am?”

“Try 4:30 am Sam,” You rolled your eyes. It was going to suck, but you were going to make sure to pack some tasty overnight oats so no one was grumpy on the plane. 

“Ugh. That’s bullshit. Anyway, takeoff at god-awful early in the morning, and then we’ll see you when we land!” Sam said. She hung up the phone and moved back towards the counter. 

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll schedule the flight next time,” You leaned up to kiss her cheek. “Now how bout you help me roll some balls?” 

*****

“I don’t know what we did wrong this time?” Kelley said, poking the overly pale cinnamon rolls that had just come out of the oven. Then she turned the roll over to see a crisp black scorch on the base. “It looks like we took them out just in time though?”

“They’re pale on the top and burnt in the bottom,” Rose whined, tapping the middle of one of the rolls experimentally. 

“Kind of line you Rose,” Sam laughed, patting her shorter girlfriend on the back. 

“Haha, at least they’re not hockey pucks like the last batch,” Rose grumbled. 

How they had let their teammates talk them into this, she didn’t know. What she did know was that cooking with you was way more fun than doing it with this bunch. At least with you everything turned out tasty in the end. And if she accidentally messed something up you always knew how to fix it. 

“Stop that,” Kelley swatted Alex’s hand away from the bowl of icing. “That’s unsanitary. Let us drizzle it on the rolls first and then you can clean the bowl.” 

“But then what are we gonna do with this caramel you insisted I stir?” Emily asked, looking up from the pot in front of her. 

“It’s for the next batch. You put it in the bottom before you bake,” Sam answered, beginning to roll out the next set of cinnamon rolls. 

“And technically, we didn’t insist you do anything Sonnet. We mentioned our idea to make caramel for the cinnamon rolls and you jumped up and said “I volunteer as tribute”” Rose grumbled. “You didn’t even let us suggest a recipe.”

“Which considering the success of the other recipes you picked, might have been a good idea,” Emily said, frowning slightly at the bubbling mixture in front of her. She was stirring but the bubbles weren’t going away like they did with pasta. Maybe because it was thicker? She stirred faster to compensate.  

“Hey guys, what are you-... oh shit,” You raced over to the stove, nearly barreling into Emily as you grabbed the practically overflowing pot of molten sugar and moved it off the heat, praying you had gotten to it before it was too late. You really didn’t want to have to explain to the trainers why you and Emily had third-degree burns if the pot exploded. 

You spun towards the group of older players, glaring at them. “Who let the child do the most dangerous job?” 

“Dangerous?!?” Kelley and Rose sputtered. Sam just blinked at you

You shook your head and pinched the space between your eyes. “If it crystallizes and you don’t take it off the heat it can explode. You don’t stir sugar,”  

“Oh. Well. At least there’s still icing?” Sam grabbed one of the better rolls and gave it a hearty helping of icing before handing it to you.

“What did you use, because Alex is vegan and she’s been eating it?” You narrowed your eyes at the offered plate, glancing sideways at a set of very pale rolls and a set that were very burnt and flat. 

“Flaxseed and applesauce instead of eggs and oat milk instead of milk. And margarine instead of butter.” Kelley said, automatically. She and her fiance had been making vegan substitutes for a while now, and while they might not have been traditional cinnamon roll ingredients, she knew the measurements by heart, so that’s what they had used. 

You bit your lip and squinted your eyes as you reached out and swiped a bit of frosting from on top of the bun and put it into your mouth. 

You gulped when the salty substance hit your tongue, trying and failing to conceal your wince after the flavor. Your girlfriends were a lot of things, but apparently good cooks wasn’t on that list. “Hey, what container was the powdered sugar that you used for this in?”

“Um, this one?” Kelley said, sliding you a container. 

Your eyes widened at the blue-lidded container. You had been experimenting for a new dish at the restaurant and had gotten a hold of some micro powder salt flour for it. You thought it would give the new cracker-jack-themed desert a better taste, and help to balance out all the sugar from the Caramel ice cream. 

“That’s not sugar,” you said weakly. 

Alex dipped her finger into the bowl and tasted it, gagging. “It’s salty!”

Sam frowned down at the plate in her hand. She hadn’t wanted to do this, to begin with, but the team had insisted. Assured her they knew what they were doing and that you would love the surprise. Instead, Emily had almost burnt down your kitchen and everything was a mess. 

“Is none of it alright,” Rose asked softly from behind you, her lip jutting out. 

You scanned the kitchen, looking from the still ominously bubbling ooze on the stove, to the cinnamon rolls so undercooked you could catch salmonella from them to the icing, then finally to a glass on the counter. You grabbed it and took a large swig of vanilla oat milk. 

“Your milk tastes great!” you said enthusiastically, as the others started laughing. 

Sam and Rose just wilted further. You sighed, wrapping your arm around your taller girlfriend and holding your hand out to Rose. “It’s the thought that counts guys. And I love the thought,” 

“That’s what your parents tell you when you give them shitty presents so you don’t feel bad,” Rose grumbled, and Sam nodded. 

You sighed, unable to keep your lips from tipping up in a smile. It was just. It was so bad it was funny. “Maybe next time start with something a little easier? I’d love some scrambled eggs and toast!”

 Sam sighed. “You hate eggs,” 

You laughed again. “But I love you, even if you two can’t cook,” 

You leaned up to kiss under Sam’s chin and over to Rose’s cheek. You loved them and would remind them that their skills were on the field. They should leave the kitchen stuff to you. 

[astaroth1357]

The Obey Me Cast on a Camping Trip (Part Two: The Undateables)

This post is split in two due to length (I had too much fun again…) For the Brothers, please click HERE!

Intro:

Another day, another team building activity between the demons and the exchange students. It was Diavolo’s idea to go on a camping trip to the human world (because of course it was), and there were very… mixed responses. That sentiment wasn’t helped when he refused Lucifer’s insistent pleas to just purchase cabins for everyone to stay in. Oh no, the Demon Lord wanted to rough it out in the wilderness, and now everyone else was getting dragged along with him…

Wonder how that turned out?

Diavolo

He was soooo excited to get to experience camping! He had been asking the MC about human camping trips for about a week before making the announcement and he was pumped!!

Barbatos chauffeured him to the campsite in his own car (of course) but he insisted on taking every roadside, touristy stop they came across which doubled the drive time considerably…

He wanted to help everybody set up the camp but Barbatos and Lucifer were having none of it… So he took pictures and offered moral support instead! Good work everyone! 😁

He had his own tent about the size of a small house (ngl it took Barbs and Lucifer about a half hour to set the whole thing up). Barbs even somehow managed to pack a collapsible desk in there for him so he could still work… greeeat…. 🙄

Diavolo wanted to try everything. Literally everything. The man even traded his uniform out for full on outdoors gear, right down to one of those floppy fishing hats with the tackle stuck to it.

Politely insistently asks that Lucifer does things with him. The MC could come along as well (and in many cases Luci begs them to do so) but he wants to get some bonding time in with his best friend!

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Diavolo would get sidetracked quite a lot… Which is how he ended up having to physically steer his Lord out of harm's way more than once…

At one point while hiking, Diavolo was so distracted by taking pictures that he nearly walked right into the path of a passing bear and her cubs. Lucifer had to tackle him down into some bushes until they went away... His brothers teased him mercilessly when they heard about...

Dia also loved the camping food quite a bit. He's never gotten the chance to cook his own food before, even if it's just marshmallows over a fire, so it was all a brand new experience for him! S'mores are now declared a human world delicacy.

Man had the time of his life! He'd love to do it again, hell, maybe even make it a yearly event! (Few of the brothers share his sentiment, but hey, it pays to be King 😏)

Barbatos

If his Lord orders it, then he follows. He'll just have to double check that everyone is prepared for the occasion…

Drove Diavolo there with the patience of a saint (while also, like, being the exact opposite of that). Had it been anyone else in the car, they might have told him, "No, we can't stop for pictures of every moose you see," but Barbs is as accommodating as he is loyal.

It was pretty much all on his shoulders to direct the others when setting up camp. Lucifer would claim it was his, but let’s be completely honest here, Lucifer can't order Barbs to do shit. 

Naturally, he had his own tent close to his Lord, more modest in comparison, but big enough to hold a majority of the belongings and gear Diavolo had requested.

He also managed to bring a almost fully functioning kitchen setup for him using magic, minus a working oven by Diavolo's instruction. If he wanted a heat source, he had to use the campfire and he found the challenge intriguing…

For once in his extended life, Barbs had to do some trial and error in the kitchen. As it would turn out, fireside cooking can be a little difficult to master, but by the end of the trip he could still somehow dish out four course meals without so much as a sweat (according to the MC the secret was tinfoil and cast-iron cookware… who knew?)

When he isn’t prepping their next meal (which let’s be honest, with Beel on the trip that’s a constant activity) he’s guarding the food from Beel and Solomon…

The sorcerer wanted to help, but Barbs has already learned the hard way that if he so much as pokes a dish its flavor is ruined… It’s enough to make him wonder if it was a curse laid on him at some point…

Watching Barbatos deny Solomon becomes a pretty funny routine in and of itself. He’s not above just smacking the man’s hand away with a wooden spoon if it gets too close. Barbs doesn’t play in his kitchen. Back off. 😠

Barbatos is happy with the trip so long as the young Lord enjoyed himself. If that’s the case, and it was, then he’d happily do it again if asked… not that he’d have much of a choice anyway.

Simeon

Simeon was familiar with the concept of camping, he’d written about it in his stories, but he’d never actually done it himself… He had hoped it'd be an interesting experience! And uh… it was that from the very start… 

Purgatory Hall got its own car and Solomon was put in charge of driving… But no one mentioned that he drives like a complete maniac. Speed limits, stoplights, even the ROAD ITSELF be damned. Solomon drives in a straight line from point A to point B and if there’s anything in the way he’ll just use magic to get around it…

It’s safe to say that by the time he and the others got to the campsite (which was significantly quicker than the rest) the angels weren’t in the emotional state to pitch tents… He and Luke just waited for the others to catch up while praying and praising the solid ground beneath their feet…

He shared his tent with Luke and didn’t mind at all. It was probably for the best anyway because the little angel was scared of human world predators like bears and wolves coming for him in the night… Poor boy…

Simeon took to hiking quite a bit. Going out and exploring the area around the campsite made him feel invigorated! The forests were beautiful and it gave him ideas for a bit of a guilty pleasure he's been debating on writing, "The Tale of the Lonely Prince." 🤭

It was on one of those trips that Simeon discovered human world creatures love him. Pretty much all of the wildlife gravitates towards him like he's a Disney Princess.

At one point he came back to camp riding on a moose with birds chirping on his new friend's antlers. He offered to take the MC out for a ride, but the brothers threw a fit about it…

He WAS able to get a couple more wrangled for Diavolo, who naturally dragged Lucifer along (though he clearly didn't want to touch the thing). 

The three ended up getting into a mooseback race because Diavolo wouldn't let Lucifer take the lead. He was glad to see Luci enjoy himself for a change! (It helped a lot that he won of course 🙄😏)

All and all, Simeon had a great time. Maybe he should ask the MC to show him more human places… But he's never getting in a car again. Pardon his language, but fuck those things!!!

Luke

He doesn't know what's worse… being out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of demons or the absolute insanity that was the "drive" down… 😣

He spent the entirety of Solomon's Magical Ride of Nightmares clinging to Simeon or the armrests for dear life. He swore his entire life flashed before his eyes, can angels even have heart attacks???

Stayed right next to Simeon when they finally pulled themselves together enough to leave the car. He was so happy that Michael didn't see any of that… Who knew human transportation was so horrifying…???

His saving grace (literally) was getting to share his tent with Simeon… After Solomon told him that bears sometimes get curious and ransacked campsites, he clung onto the older angel like a protective charm.

...Whiiiich he wasn't too off about actually after he saw Simeon playing (yes PLAYING) with the human wildlife… Simeon had to introduce him to some of the nicer animals for him to eventually get over his fear and venture out past the campsite.

Luke loved to swim in the lake or river with MC and the others. The MC found a sturdy branch where they set up a rope swing and the little guy amused himself for hours!

Sometimes he'd watch Barbatos prep and cook using the campfire… He didn't even know you could make lasagna in a Dutch oven…

At one point the MC convinced him to go with them and the twins on a particularly long hike…

He got tired halfway through and Beel offered him a piggyback ride, but of course he'd NEVER let himself be that close to a demon!! (Just kidding, poor boy was so tired he climbed onto Beel's back and held on the a kola until they got back. Then he jumped off to save face)

He had a better time than he thought he would, but still doesn't want to go camping with demons ever again. (He and Simeon also begged Lucifer to drive them back instead of Solomon so the brothers' van was pretty much a clown car on the return trip).

Solomon

Solomon hasn't been camping (for enjoyment) in quite a while, so when the prospect came up to do it with the MC and the other students he was intrigued...

When Simeon asked he knew how to drive, he said yes. He knows how to start a car, put it into motion, steer, and then come to a stop. That's all driving is really. 🤷‍♀️ You can't blame him for not memorizing all the rules, he's been traveling by portal for decades!

Was pretty confused why his angel friends fled the car so quickly... He got them there in one piece, after all. 😕🤷‍♀️ He put up their tents himself since they were too busy thanking their father then made a magic barrier around the site for protection purposes.

He and the MC both have their own tents, of course his is enchanted to be a lot bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, but he's only let the MC in on that little secret in case they want to visit… 😏

When everyone else finally arrived, Solomon was happy to help the MC introduce the wonders of the human wilderness to their companions! Including the breathtaking vistas, beautiful flora, bitter temperatures, man-eating predators, waters filled with disease… Hm? Oh, Luke won't leave the tent now…? Whoopsie.

Solomon kept himself occupied on the trip the best way he knew how… relentless trolling (particularly of Asmo and Barbs because they're used to his shit).

He'd alternate between poking fun at Asmo for the almost ritual length routines he was going through to try and save his looks to genuinely trying to encourage him and downplay the severity of the downgrade...

Meanwhile he was bound and determined to serve at least one of his own dishes during the trip (but Barbatos had banned him from the "kitchen," the food tent, and even the spoons...)

Diavolo, nice guy that he is, eventually made Barbs relent and let Solomon cook for ONE night… It went as well as to be expected. (They sent Solomon to grab more supplies then everybody took turns washing their mouths out with lake water... Diavolo apologized profusely, he had no idea...).

Solomon was confused why the angels would rather squeeze themselves in with the brothers than ride with him back but he wasn’t upset about it. That meant he could make a few extra stops without anyone complaining! He knows a guy in New Orleans he’s been meaning to see again… Luke and Simeon can wait a little for their stuff, right?

Click HERE for Part One. Check out my Masterlist for more!

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

hey there! If you’re interested in writing it, could you write something about Taichi dealing with asthma and having the support of Shirabu / the rest of the Shiratorizawa team? Either platonic or romantic is fine—and only if you’re interested in this prompt at all, of course! Thanks so much for generously accepting requests, and I hope you have a great day :)

Hello there!! Poor Kawanishi, I feel bad for hurting him a second time hahah... I hope you have a great day too!!

TW: asthma attack.

1.2k words, Gen.

ーーー

"Hey there, you doing okay?" 

Kawanishi nods, coughing into his elbow, cheeks flushed as he tries to soothe the itch in hia throat, to no avail. Shirabu doesn't look quite convinced.

"Did you catch a cold, Tai?"

"N-no." he manages, and coughs again, "S'probably the dust."

"Ah. Are you allergic?"

"I'mー"

The captain yelling at them to start running cuts Kawanishi off. He sighs, and starts running, pace slow but sustained. 

The boy is fully acquainted with the symptoms he's experiencing, but he doesn't want to alarm anyone. After all, two of his classmates have fallen sick with colds in the past week, so Kawanishi is not entirely convinced that the cause of his discomfort must necessarily be asthma.

He's been asthmatic since birth, but after years spent inhaling corticosteroids and being dragged to the beach whenever his parents had a free weekend, his doctor had decided that he was fit to practice sports, provided that he'd always carry an emergency quick-relief inhaler with him.

And Kawanishi does, to this day, have his. It's in the back pocket of his backpack, new and functioning, ready to be used. The young player only uses it occasionally, maybe once a week, when the train is cramped and the air is thin and, most importantly, when his teammates are out of sight.

It's not that Kawanishi is ashamed of his asthma, per se. He just doesn't want anyone to know. Coach Washijou probably knows, and so does Coach Saitou, since they both have access to his medical files for safety reasons. Still, none of them are present today, so Kawanishi prays that he'll make it to the end of practice without further incidents.

Which, of course, isn't the case.

He's been running for about three minutes when his vision begins to swim and grey, head pounding, lungs tight. He stops.

Fuck. Okay. Calm down, Taichi. Stay calm, man.

His hands shake, fingertips blue, coldー he's learnt to recognize the symptoms, he's been trained to. Kawanishi's ears seem to have gone deaf, the only sound he can hear being the incessant, increasingly-fast hammering of his heart.

He can't breathe. Shit, he can't breathe.

Distantly, he hears some kind of muttering, drowned out and foreign. His head pounds, light, and he doesn't even feel it as his body plummets to the ground, his back taking the brunt of the fall as something prevents his head from smacking against the floor. Not that he realises that.

"...ichi, Taichi, hey! Taichi!" someone above him shrills and oh, only now Kawanishi realises that he's lying down. Which is absolutely terrible.

Someone quickly drags him into a sitting position, and Kawanishi briefly wonders if there's a mind-reader among the team.

Tendou. It must be Tendou. It's always Tendou. Definitely Tendou.

"...mbulance?"

"I don't know, heー"

And Kawanishi recognises that voice. "K-Kenjirou?" he wheezes, blind eyes trying to make out the shape of his friend.

"Yeah, it's me." he says, and Kawanishi swears he can perceive a hint of relief in his voice. "What's happening? Can you talk to me?"

And he wishes he could, but he can't. He coughs, punctuating that thought. His lungs burn, starved, and his throat is surely bleeding by now, copper filling his mouth, sour on his taste buds. He coughs and sputters, weak, eyes bloodshot and watery. 

Panic seizes at his chest, already too tight, and suddenly he's on a whole new level of oxygen-starvation. He pants, blinking the tears away, his wrapped index finger frantically pointing in the vague direction of the locker room.

"Ambulance will be here in five!! They said to ask him if he has asthma, they think that may be it!!" 

God bless you, Goshiki. Eternal joy and fortune to you.

Kawanishi nods fast, still coughing and wheezing, and his arm lowers inevitably. His body feels heavy, lungs filled with lead, throat burning and oozing crimson. 

Dark-grey eyes inexorably start to close, eyelids fluttering, consciousness slipping away. That is, before a pair of strong hands grips at Kawanishi's shoulders and shakes him awake, abruptly, insistently.

"No no no, don't pass out, idiot." Shirabu hisses, worry seeping through his words, "Hey! Do you have an inhaler here? Taichi! Yes or no? Do you have it!?"

Kawanishi groans, coughing. He opens his mouth, the air he inhales harsh against his sore throat.

He coughs again. "B-backpack..."

"Backpackー backpack!! Get his backpack, quick!!" Shirabu barks, and Kawanishi manages to spot an unusually frantic Ushjima sprinting towards the lockers. If he had any strength left, he'd smile.

It's not even twenty seconds later, spent sputtering and gasping for oxygen, that Ushijima rushes back inside the gym, skidding against the floor as he empties the contents of his friend's bag. Shirabu, against whom Kawanishi is propped up currently, extends a hand and starts to search the pockets.

His face lights up as he feels the object, quick to extract it from the pocket and press it against Kawanishi's mouth.

"There you go, come on."

It's not that easy, actually. Kawanishi wishes people knew.

But he tries. He tries and fails once, twice, three times, before he manages a shallow inhale that leaves him reeling, the sudden rush of oxygen making his head spin, dizzy. 

"One more time." Shirabu instructs.

"You're going to be okay." Ushijima adds, calm façade crumbling slightly.

Tendou nods in agreement. "Yeah, you got this, buddy!!" he says, squeezing his knee.

Kawanishi tries to ignore the fact that his teammates are gathered around him like vultures waiting for a prey to exhale its last breath.

Ironic imagery, he thinks, mildly amused.

He breathes the medication in, lungs opening ever so slightly, letting more sweet air rush into them, his muscles relaxing at the welcomed presence.

The boy isn't sure how, but Shirabu manages to send everyone but Ushijima away, out of the gym, with a silent stare. He admires the man, that's for sure.

"You idiot." 

Okay, he wasn't expecting it. "Wh-wha'?"

"You. Idiot. Why did you think that keeping your asthma a secret would be a good idea? Thanks for the trauma, man."

"S'rry. S'my files."

"I don't have access to those, idiot!!" Shirabu seethes, "Next time, I'm letting you die."

"Didn't ya wa-want toー" he wheezes, "to become a doctor or s'mething?"

"Yeah, but I'm not your doctor."

"You sh-should cure everyone."

"Not you. You're on my blacklist!!"

Kawanishi laughs at that, regretting the action when his head spins and his ribs shift. 

Ushijima stays silent, but his presence is reassuring, calming, grounding. That's why Shirabu had wanted him to stay, Kawanishi thinks.

"Dun need a' ambulance. M'okay." he says, weak, voice rasped and thick.

Shirabu frowns, unamused. "Too bad. You're letting the EMTs check you over and if they say you need a hospital, you are going. Or I will make you."

"G-geez, so vi-v-violent..." he grins.

The other does, too, after a second. Ushijima even cracks a tiny, crooked smile, but it lasts too little for Kawanishi to decide if it's real, or just a vision courtesy of his blurry eyes.

Soon enough, there's sirens blaring in the background, and EMTs rushing through the door. 

Kawanishi, to be fair, isn't a fan. But his friend's hand in his as he's loaded onto the stretcher is enough for him to finally take a deep breath.

ーーー

Hope you liked this!!! Let me know. As usual, please anon, warn me if you have an ao3 acc and wish for this fic to be gifted to you there.

September 4, 2021.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 2

I didn’t expect to get such a crazy response to the first part of this. Here’s part two! I’m always open to continuing this, I love hero/villain whump. Thanks for reading! I hope you like it.

Find part one here.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, environmental whump (kinda), hypothermia, hospital setting, death mention, delusions, torture mention, pet whump mention (but not really)

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

Villain’s fingers burned.

It was quite paradoxical-- a caveat of the confusing structure of organs known as human anatomy. When cold got great enough, the nervous system somehow interpreted it as intense heat. Tricking itself into believing that warmth might finally be coming, maybe.

Villain knew that such a wish was hopeless. Warmth was a far off memory, as far as they were concerned.

They tucked their knees closer to their chest, pressing their forehead against them and shoving their hands in their pockets, for whatever minimal heat it would provide. As their teeth began to chatter, they gritted them together and closed their eyes. The shelf they leaned against dug into their spine.

“Take stock, and understand your situation.” The brief training they had been provided at their former place of employment sprung into their head, stupidly cheery voice and all. “A level head is more important than any weapon.”

Stupid voice, stupid seminar, stupid job, stupid heroes.

Villain did their best to take a deep breath-- though it did little but fill their lungs with frigid air.

Take stock. Understand your situation. Keep a level head.

The computer in the next room over chipperly reported that they had been in their current predicament for just over five minutes. Five minutes, thirteen seconds, twenty-two milliseconds, and six hundred eight-six nanoseconds, to be slightly more precise. That was the time that had passed since the Heroes had chased them into their own freezing cold tomb.

The moment replayed again in their mind; a series of panicked moments and thoughts, all kaidoscoping into a brilliant moment of word association. That was what had landed them here. Their own stupidity. Not that it wouldn’t have been a problem if the Heroes hadn’t chased them in the first place! Why did they even care about the Serum?! What was it to them?!

Why did Villain have to die for it?

They didn’t know exactly how long it would take for the cold to kill them. The computer beeped and spat out all the medical facts it could, but the fact stood that hypothermia affected everyone differently, dependent on a thousand different factors.

That wasn’t the real question. They knew that. They didn’t care if their last breath would be in five minutes or a hundred. All that mattered was that, in all probability, dying of cold would be quicker than dying at the hands of the Heroes.

In their pockets, they balled their fists. They didn’t notice they were crying until a tear dripped onto their neck, sending a horrid shiver through them.

It was just a stupid bottle. A stupid chemical. It was that fucking chain of atoms that had left them here--between a rock and a hard place. Between dying of cold and being tortured to death. Hell, both ways were torture! Everything was!

Why could nothing ever go right?!

With a coordination they didn’t realize they had, Villain shot to their feet (though it wasn’t exactly a graceful movement.) The tears brimming in their eyes didn’t help their vision, but they didn’t need to see. They didn’t need anything! What was the point, if they were just going to die?!

A sweeping hand aimed itself at one of the wall-high shelves, sending a line of bottles crashing to the ground and shattering in an explosion of glass snowflakes. Their contents spilled out on the tile, and whatever remained of their containers was quickly smashed under Villain’s shoe. They whipped around, attacking another shelf in the same way. Again, they reached for their next strike, but found only steel shelving. Another paradoxical burst of strength sent the whole shelf careening to the ground, sending a blizzard of shattered glass into the air.

Villain unballed their fists, panting, their lungs gasping in the frigid air. Their adrenaline rush finally wore off, sending them to the floor.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leader’s words were cut off by a resounding crash.

They whipped around, sputtering out a last few unintelligible syllables as their attention focused on the steel door. Nerves glittered in their gaze as they clenched their jaw.

“Shit.” They muttered. “Medic?”

“Sounds like one of the shelves fell.”

“Dammit. I suppose they’re not quite sedated yet, then.”

“Cold isn’t the quickest.” Medic shook their head. “At this temperature, real hypothermia shouldn’t set in for about five more minutes.”

Leader sighed, turning back to the rest of the group. There weren’t many of them-- just Leader, Medic, Hero, and Counselor. The rest had been dispatched, on Leader’s orders, to the rest of the hospital, ensuring that none of Villain’s accomplishes had accompanied them. Regardless, the four of them would be more than enough to overwhelm Villain, when they came out.

“You’re saying they can only make it five more minutes in there?” Hero asked, their hands fidgeting at their sides. Small sparks of power appeared along their fingertips-- a surefire sign of their nerves.

“No.” Medic deadpanned. “In approximately five minutes, hypothermia will start to set in. It won’t be fatal for quite a while. I’d say we have an hour, at least.”

“Villain will give up before then.” Leader reassured. “I’ll...”

They swallowed and approached the steel door separating them from their captive. Captive? Was that the right word? Maybe. Villain had, in all truth, sealed themself in the cold storage. There was no lock on the outside. They could leave whenever they so chose. Right into the Heroes hands, of course, but still.

Leader hadn’t exactly expected Villain to stay in the room. They had expected them to turn around as soon as they entered, to keep up the chase. Yet, they hadn’t.

They had to give up soon. They were surrounded. They were stubborn as all get out, but they weren’t stupid. It was death by hypothermia, or surrender. The better of the two was pretty damn clear.

Taking a sharp breath in an attempt to raise their own confidence, Leader knocked on the door.

The response wasn’t verbal. Rather, it came in the form of a panicked yelp, and the scrambling of someone backing away.

Leader exhaled. They supposed that they would have to do the talking, here.

“Hello? Villain?”

A muffled swear came from the room. That was all the greeting they had really expected.

“You’re going to need to come out of there, before you’re in danger. You’re not equipped for those temperatures, you know that. No one is gonna hurt you.”

Leader nearly fell backwards at the sudden crash of an object against the other side of the door. It seemed that negotiations weren’t going to go very far, just yet. With a sigh, they turned back to their gathered team.

“Hero, go get some blankets. One of those electric ones, if you can. This isn’t looking good.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Pourquoi pas niquer le sérum si tu l’aimes ainsi.” Villain swore under their breath.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds and- and who gave a shit. They’d been stuck in this damn room for fifteen minutes.

The shivering had only started about three minutes ago. It was nothing like normal shivering-- that incurred when waiting for a bus in the cold. The tremors were far more violent than that, shaking their body. They felt their mind to be knocking around their head with the sheer force of it.

The chattering of their teeth had become normal to them, normal, though it was just as violent and just as uncontrollable.

Outside, their killers spoke in hushed voices. Villain wasn’t sure if they even wanted to know what they were talking about. Probably about how to torture them first. Knives, or fire, or electricity, wouldn’t that be ironic! Jokes on them, dammit! They wouldn’t get the chance. Nope, no, no chance for them... no chancy chancy.

Without thinking about it, or hardly even noticing, their blue-tinted fingertips fumbled at their jacket’s zipper, until they were finally able to undo it. They slipped the garment off, throwing it across the floor.

Much better.

Still, why did they feel so hot...?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Will this be enough?” Hero appeared from around a corner, nearly giving Leader a heart attack with just how suddenly they appeared. In their arms was piled a heap of blankets. They were thin, just enough to keep a patient warm as they fell under anesthesia, but Hero must’ve had at least ten of them.

“I sure hope so.” Leader nodded, gesturing for them to put the pile down. As Hero did so, Leader turned back to Counselor and Medic.

Medic cleared their throat, continuing their throat from before Hero had scared everyone half to death with their appearance.

“Hypothermia is generally thought to occur in three stages. The first is the most mild-- consisting mainly of mild shivering and numbness of the peripheral digits. Stage two is when things start to get... dangerous. Shivering becomes violent, and the patient may be unable to perform finer motor functions. It’s at this stage that the cold begins to affect... mental capabilities. Irrational behavior is common. Hallucinations and delusional states aren’t unheard of. And stage three...”

They hesitated for a moment, until Leader raised an eyebrow.

“Shivering stops. The patient will generally fall into a coma before their heart gives out.”

“We can’t let that happen.” Counselor’s voice sounded as though they were on the verge of tears, which was a very real possibility. Still, the determination in their tone won out over any fear. “Can I talk to them?”

“Be my guest.” Leader nodded.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Villain?”

The tone was quiet. Soft. Whimsical and moving and whisping like a... like a whisper.

Villain looked up. Their cell was tiny-- an eight foot by eight foot construction of corrugated steel. A chain hung limply from the ceiling, from which a light had once hung. That’d been removed, after Villain had made it explode upon their Trainer. Their cot had gone with it, leaving the room bare, with nothing but four walls, a floor, and a ceiling.

“Villain, I’m Counselor. I don’t know if we’ve really met. I know you’re scared, and I can’t blame you. But if you stay where you are right now, you could get really hurt. I know I can’t force you to come out, but... what are you worried about? You can talk to me. I won’t even tell any of the others, I promise.”

The door opened, flooding the room with light. Villain scrambled backwards, hitting a wall that wasn’t where it should be. The two figures that entered were blank-- their faces featureless, nothing but expanses of skin, lacking eyes or anything of the like. One clipped a leash to the ring hanging from Villain’s collar, while the other lifted them from under their armpits.

“Please no I don’t want to go please I’m still healing please I can’t go for that long again I’m still healing. I won’t be of any use please just give me a bit more time.”

That was what they had meant to say, at least. The words came out in a stream of nonsensical syllables.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. Do you speak English? Um... Voulez-vous un traducteur ? Un traductor ?”

Villain struggled to their feet, lacking any other choice with the tight grip the figure held upon their leash. The tiles clicked beneath their feet, which didn’t make much sense, as the floor of their cell was made of steel.

The figures led them outside of their cell, into the wider facility. Other figures hurried around, faces equally blank. Preparing for a mission, Villain could only assume.

Someone called out to the figures escorting them. They turned. They felt the grip on their leash loosen.

Their heartbeat drummed in their head at the realization. The facility was so busy. Everyone was so distracted... what other chance would they get?

Villain took the risk.

A quick jerk of their neck sent their leash flying from the figure’s hands. They turned to run, but found something blocking their way. They couldn’t see it, but they felt something in their hands...

“Yeah! Come on, Villain, that’s it. Just turn the lock. It’s gonna be okay, alright? Just turn the lock.”

Turn the lock. Turn the lock. Behind them, the figures were already shouting. For a moment, their fingers fumbled around at the contraption, before, at last, they did it. They turned the lock.

The door burst open, and a gust of freezing air with it. Counselor was practically thrown backwards with the sheer force of it, sending them stumbling.

Before Villain, three more of the faceless figures approached, seeming as though they had been in the middle of something. Within a moment, they had turned to them, grasping desperately in a flurry of hands.

With clumsy strikes, Villain did their best to bat them away, but found a pair of strong hands pushing them to their knees, and then onto their face.

Why was everything so white? No, the facility didn’t look like that. It was so bright. They blinked. Where were they? With an absentminded hand, they reached to their neck, feeling for their collar, only to find nothing but frigid skin.

Just as quickly, their hand was pulled behind their back, along with their other arm. The cuffs were soft, fabric, rather than the biting hold of metal. A moment later, more fabric was piled on top of them as a blanket was draped over their shoulders.

Where were they?

Again, they blinked, only to find the facility replaced with a bright, sterile hallway. Where had they gone. Had they gone unconscious? They tried to struggle, but found themself unable.

“It’s okay.” The voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away. “You’re okay. The doctors are going to be here any second. Just hold on. Hold on. It’s going to be okay.”

It didn’t make sense, but right about now, nothing did. The screeching wheels of a rapidly approaching gurney were the last thing Villain heard as they collapsed into blackness.

[capstoverogers]

A Soul for a Soul - Chapter 2

Pairings: Past Natasha Romanoff/Black!Reader, Eventual Carol Danvers/Black!Reader

Genre: Grief/Angst

Warnings: Mention of Characters' Death, Cursing, Lots o' Sad

Word Count: 3,016

Chapter 1

-----

There was a party raging on the battlefield, because no one didn’t know what else to do, except you all knew Tony would want you to celebrate. But maybe everyone just wanted to put off mourning till morning, didn’t quite yet want to deal with the consequences, for better or for worse.

It was an easier concept to swallow when Thor and his pretty warrior friend with the flying horse disappeared for a moment, then came back in minutes with as much Asgardian beer and liquor as they could manage (which, between the two of them, was a whole damn lot). A friend of Rocket’s - Star Lord - then took the charge, cracking open the first beer and finishing off half it in a single gulp before blasting some mix tape of 70s tunes from his space ship that soon turned the battlefield, this graveyard, into an all-out function.

The largest fire you’d ever seen raged where the compound once stood, courtesy of Zoey, and bodies started to move under the moonlight, freely to the music, helped of course by the copious amount of liquor that helped bury down any sense of sadness in favor of this celebration.

You couldn’t focus, though. You still hadn’t managed to find Nat in this swarm of familiar and strange faces, and she was the only one you wanted to see. Once you had her in your arms, then you could let yourself celebrate - or at least you could try. Even as everyone slowly started to let loose, there was this permeating sense of sadness, as prevalent as the cascades of smoke soaring upward from the fire, as no one could escape the thought of the sacrifice that allowed you all to celebrate like this.

It was like everything was in the way, though, and you supposed you could give a few minutes to these friends who you hadn’t seen in years before you found your wife.

“I can’t believe you’re married!” Zoey was gushing as you stood in a small circle with Bucky, Sam and Steve; the superpowered were wielding Asgardian drinks while the rest of you eyed their bottles enviously. You couldn’t help but grin, showing off the simple, but sleek vibranium band on your finger as Sam pretended to squeal like a valley girl with a hand to his chest and Bucky shot you a simple grin as he held out his metal arm.

“We match.”

You beamed at him, though not with the fervency of Steve, who hadn’t pulled his eyes from the Winter Solider for a second since the battle had ended. Well, except to urgently meet your eyes, seemingly desperate to pull you away for a private moment. You didn’t know why - didn’t know if you wanted to know why - and found yourself avoiding his gaze as it drifted to the crowds of people, hoping to catch the one face you wanted to see above all else.

“I feel like I know no one,” Zoey murmured beside me, also taking in all the people around her. “It’s weird to think that it’s been five years. It felt like…a malfunction. One second I was gone and the very next second, I was here, like nothing happened. Like the world had just…glitched.”

“Like a blip,” Bucky said knowingly. Zoey nodded with a frown, then perked up when the Jackson 5 started blaring from the speakers. She turned eagerly to you, already drifting to where Star Lord had started up a makeshift dance floor.

“We gotta dance!”

Sam was nodding fervently, a little grin playing at his lips as he started to move easily to the beat. You grinned a little, but you were still so distracted, especially as you could sense Steve about to interject, his eyes once again set on you, and you couldn’t get caught in a conversation with him. As much as you truly loved him, they tended to be endless.

“I’ll meet y’all out there,” you assured, backing away before their protests could fully reach your ears. “Gotta find Nat.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve started, but Zoey beat him to it as she nodded with a grin.

“Oh, I bet you do,” she said, eyebrows waggling ridiculously, and man, you missed this. You laughed heartily, then turned away, starting to feel desperate the deeper you got in the crowd. It had been over an hour - where had she been?

You finally caught a glimpse of Clint, who had seemingly changed into his civilian clothes, your heart spiking when you saw that he was talking to someone who his body mostly obscured, but you could tell it was a woman shorter than him. Of course your best bet would be to find Nat with Clint; she’d probably got caught up in the crowd and reunion just like you did, but just like he’d promised before he left, Clint was still looking out for your girl.

Before you could make my way over to them, though, you found yourself colliding straight into Peter’s strong chest. He stumbled back, the profuse apology already tumbling off of his lips, only slowing down when he noticed it was you. All thoughts of making your way to Natasha fled from your mind as you took in your friend’s red eyes, half-empty bottle of aged Asgardian liquor in his hand and the sway in his step.

“How are you, Pete?” You asked, stepping close so he could hear your voice, soft with compassion and concern.

“Drunk,” he hiccuped with a brief, bright smile that reminded you of the fifteen year old boy you had met years ago before it quickly faded. “And sad.”

Peter was always the type to wear his heart on his sleeve - one of the things that hadn’t changed about him, along with his forever gentle and earnest brown eyes. Even as he sprouted up - shoulders broader and jaw firmer and covered in the scruff he hadn’t gotten a chance to shave off yet - he was still Peter. Just a wearier, more mature one, but still always filled with a hope that had helped fuel you all.

As much as your own heart hurt over the loss of Tony, it hurt even more seeing clearly how it was affecting Peter. You’d never seen him drunk before. Granted, it took a lot of Earth liquor for someone like him to even get a buzz, but the way his words slurred off of his tongue was telling.

“I’m sorry, Pete.”

He shrugged, eyes glazing over for a second before his attention drifted to the music. He perked up slightly.

“Hey, is that Zoey?!” He smiled a little in wonder, eyes honing in on The Flame as she figuratively burned a hole in the makeshift dance floor. She had attracted the attention of a drunk Star Lord, who was laughing as she showed everyone up. “Wow. I haven’t seen her in…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he struggled to count.

“Five years,” you supplied, your smile more soft than mocking as he turned back to you with an eager nod. “You go say ‘hi.’ She’ll like that. I’m gonna find Nat.”

“Okay!” Peter chirped, seemingly drunk and distracted enough by Zoey to let his sadness fall to the wayside, at least for a moment. He began to stumble towards her, but stopped, something pensive crossing his gaze. “It’s not weird anymore.”

You furrowed your brow at him, “What’s not weird?”

“If me and her went out. S’not weird anymore ‘cause I’m grown up.”

You chuckled fondly at how ironically boyish he sounded. Peter’s crush on Zoey back in the day had bordered on infamous with how completely obvious it was, but of course she had seen him as nothing but a little brother, with the nine year age difference and all.

But you guessed that was a four year age difference now.

“Better get on it before that Star Douche dude does,” you said, nodding to how the aforementioned space punk was dancing a little too closely to Zoey in a way that was almost rhythmic and would have maybe been charming if you weren’t already decidedly Team Peter Parker. You clapped Peter on the back, and you grinned at each other. He started to sway towards the dance floor, his shoulders bouncing to the beat, and you watched him for a second.

“Hey Peter?”

He looked at you curiously over his shoulder. You offered him a small smile.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you said. “I know it doesn’t really feel like it now, but…we’ll get through this too.”

You were happy to see his smile sincere, no matter how small it was. He nodded once, then turned back towards Zoey and the dance floor, finally leaving you to make your way to Natasha.

Except as you got closer to Clint, you realized that he wasn’t talking to Nat, but his wife, who he must’ve fetched from their home - along with their kids - and brought back to the celebration. You furrowed your brow at how even from across the way, you could notice how red his eyes were as his shoulders seemed permanently slumped. Tony meant a lot to everyone, but you hadn’t expect to see Clint that affected.

“(Y/N)!”

You let out a sigh as you recognized Steve’s voice from behind. In a second, his long steps led him right in front of you, this striking mix of urgency and tragedy saturating his blue eyes as he gazed down at you.

“I need to talk to you,” he said in a quiet, serious tone. He took ahold of your wrist, firmly but gently, and you knew you had no chance of pulling away from his grip.

“Can it wait?” you pleaded, your head started to crane around again. “I just really want to see Nat.”

When you looked back at him, something had completely crumbled in his gaze as he stared down at you, and you knew immediately. You think you knew the second you’d stepped foot on the battlefield and hadn’t seen her, hadn’t felt her, but had buried the feeling down deep, because it couldn’t be true.

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you tried to step back, though Steve’s tightened grip held you in place. “Steve, no.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Your voice stretched and cracked as your eyes started to sting. This wasn’t happening. You were misreading this. Nat was about to come up to you at any second, wrap her arms around your waist, assure you that she was there, that everything was okay.

“To get the soul stone, it required a sacrifice,” Steve said, voice strained and eyes pained, and slowly you started to feel everything crumble around you. “A soul for a soul. Clint tried to stop her, tried to give his life, but you know Nat…”

He tried to smile; it didn’t hit.

You did know Nat. How she always felt like she wasn’t doing enough. How she never felt like she had fully atoned for the darkness of her past. How big and noble her heart was, how she would do whatever it took to complete the mission, if it meant it would save you all.

It’s why you loved her so much.

It felt like your chest was about to collapse on itself. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see through the mess of tears streaming down your face. This couldn’t be real.

You could feel Steve’s arm start to come around you, but you pulled away, shaking your head as he stared at you helplessly. He was one of the greatest heroes Earth had ever known.

But there was nothing he could do about this.

-----

One shot of Asgardian liquor, and you were done. Thor wasn’t kidding about that shit.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Could’ve been ten minutes. Could’ve been three hours. You sort of wished that it was the rest of your life, that Thanos would’ve managed that snap before Tony snatched the glove away from him - then you wouldn’t have to feel.

The next best thing, though? Being fucking drunk. The ache was there, but it was more numb. Your head unconsciously swayed to the music, fainter from where you sat in the dirt, yards away from the party. You fingered your wedding band and felt so fucking empty, but somehow it was okay, because you were drunk.

You wanted to kill Clint. He told you he’d look out for her. You trusted him to fucking look after her.

Then you remembered how broken he looked when you’d caught a glimpse of him and realized that if there was anybody who could understand how you were feeling, how you were trying not to feel, it was him.

You were rooted to the spot, though. Maybe you’d never move again. Why did it have to be Nat who went to that dumb planet to get that stupid stone? It couldn’t have been anyone else? No one knew what you’d have to lose in order to win?

You heard footsteps approaching, and usually your reflexes were sharp (you hadn’t climbed your way up the S.H.I.E.L.D. hierarchy by being slow, after all. You wondered what your job would be now that Fury and Hill were surely back. You wondered if you’d make it past this night), but it took you a long second to pull your head up from where you had been staring at your ring.

You squinted at the strong-stanced blonde hovering carefully a few feet away from you. Her figure was imposing, but somehow you could tell that her eyes were soft.

“Hey,” you coughed up a hiccup, “hey, Carol.”

She looked amused and pitying at the same time as she nodded, taking a slow step closer.

“Hey (Y/N),” she said softly. She glanced down at the bottle perched in the dirt by your feet, chanced a small smirk. “I don’t think that stuff’s made for people like you.”

“You mean us mere mortals?” You slurred with a stupid, bitter sort of grin followed by a hollow chuckle.

Her own grin was drowning in the pity now.

“Yeah. No offense.”

You shrugged. You didn’t care. Nothing like spending the past decade with a bunch of super-humans to make one deeply confront their own mortality. You’d reckoned with your normalcy a long time ago, the fact that you’d never be as great as them, no matter how hard you tried.

“How about sad people?” You said after a moment.

Her brow furrowed, puzzled.

“Sad people,” you reiterated with a slur. “This shit made for sad people? ‘Cause I’m…” You frowned for a moment. “Not sad. ‘Cause sad’s a feeling, and I don’t think I have those anymore.”

You were kind of confused by the understanding in Carol’s eyes, and you realized you knew next to nothing about her. You knew she’d saved Tony, Peter and Nebula from space five years ago, and she was possibly the most powerful being you’d ever seen. You knew she’d known Fury since you were a child and that you liked her. She felt safe without trying, was witty and to-the-point and was really easy to get along with. She’d swing by the compound to check in, every few months, and it was always nice when she did.

“I heard what happened.” You don’t know when, but suddenly Carol was sitting next to you, and you think she was trying to drown you in sympathy as she looked intently, but gently at you. “I’m sorry.

You peered at her for a long second, then shook your head.

“You can say her name, you know,” you announced, strangely angry at the vagueness of her statement, like you were fragile, like your entire childhood hadn’t been marred by loss and struggle. “Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff to us dumb Americans.” You gave a laugh that came out more as a hiccup. “Black Widow. My wife.”

You ran your fingers across your wedding band as Carol watched quietly. You couldn’t really read her gaze, didn’t really care to, but she’d stopped looking at you like you were the most pathetic creature in the world, so that was nice at least.

The two of you were silent for a moment. You kept playing with your wedding band. You and Natasha had been married for one month, two weeks, three days. You thought you’d have forever. Everything burned. Your eyes, your throat, your chest.

“I lost a wife too.”

Your head snapped up. Carol was staring off towards the party, the fire still going strong.

“The same one, three different times,” she continued with a dry chuckle. “I won’t lie, it’s different than your situation, but…”

She shrugged, turning her head towards you with a slight smile.

“I know what it’s like, feeling like your entire life has been ripped away from you and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m the biggest bad ass in the universe,” she gave a self-aware smirk, and it actually made you grin a little, “but I still couldn’t get her back.”

Helpless. That’s exactly how you felt. You’d always been able to get what you wanted, even against the most seemingly insurmountable odds - you had grown up an orphan in the hood, for Christ’s sake. But now there was this, and you knew you couldn’t get what you wanted this time. As hard as you tried, as much as you worked, what could you possibly do in the end?

You wanted to cry. You just hiccuped instead, then appraised Carol curiously.

“She didn’t die three times, though,” you said with drunken certainty. “Your wife.”

“No. Just the last time,” Carol said simply. Her words surprised you; you’d assumed maybe Carol’s wife had been snapped away but was back now. “I lost her a long time before that, though.”

There was steadiness, a resignation to the sadness that tinged her otherwise cool voice.

“Oh.” You shifted a little. “Sorry.”

She shrugged, meeting your eyes again.

“Me too.”

Taglist: @afuckingshituniverse

[goonandfightme]

Numbers Pt.1

After a particularly horrifying case involving a serial killer starving his victims, Spencer Reid of the BAU relapses into old habits as past trauma resurfaces. The team slowly catches on as Reid falls further into his eating disorder and addictions but will they be able to help him before it's too late?

Pt.1 Concentrate

Trigger Warnings - EDs, drug use and addiction, child abuse.

Spencer Reid knew he has a problem at age 10. He had a routine, and once Spencer Reid had a routine it became part of him. He would wake up at 6 am, ensure his mother was asleep, pick his outfit for the day. His messenger bag would be packed with textbooks, notes and pens. He would brush his teeth, shower, then get dressed He went through this mental checklist, these motions were fluid, practised and precise. The clock would read 7:30 am, he would leave the house to grab the bus to go to school. High school. He was two years short of graduation, his mother had insisted on it, he was smart, he was special, he could be anything he wanted, he could have anything he wanted.

He would leave his lunch behind.

He would get picked on, laughed at, kicked, bruised all too easily, then go home. If his mother was lucid, he would have a proper meal, if not, whatever he could reach from the cupboards. He was malnourished, the corner of his lips cracked from b-vitamin deficiency, the rims of his eyes white from anaemia, his hair messy and breaking. People only knew him as his shadow of himself, no concerns were raised.

He would complete his homework, lay on his bed, his heart would palpitate, his world would spin. No one noticed, his grades hadn’t slipped, he never participated in sports. No one noticed.

His alarm sounded; it was 6 am. He started again; his lungs screamed, his heart pounded, and his headache came back, he always had a headache, but Spencer Reid had a routine, and he would stick to it. He went to check on his mother.

--Present Day--

It was six-thirty and Reid was getting ready for his day at work, removing his pyjamas while he waited for the shower to heat. The top came over his head easily, it was baggy, it was more than a couple of months old, it didn’t fit him anymore. He looked forward towards the full body mirror, tossing the clothes into the hamper, his face was thin, as it always had been, even when he was a healthy weight he’d always struggled with his figure. Brushing his hair out of his face he looked closer running his fingers over his features, saw how his eyes were more hallow, he pulled the lower lid down the reveal the ghostly white colour it had become, his cheekbones slightly more pronounced and painful to press against, his jaw slightly sharper in contrast to how he felt. His hand dipped and traced over his ribs, he could count them all, name them if he wanted, then his hand lowered to his wrist. His thumb and middle finger enclosing the joint, measuring how far he could raise it, whether it would come past his elbow, would it fit past his bicep. It stopped just after his elbow and he squeezed as if trying to rip his flesh after, from the bone, the white marks lingered across the already pale limb.

“White marks that last after applying pressure to the skin suggest poor blood circulation, common among those with anorexia nervosa.” There was no one there to hear him but when he was alone, he liked to talk aloud it helped him think through things slower, it helped keep him calm. “It also causes the exterminates to become cold and discoloured,” he looked down towards his feet. He removed his trousers, the shower warm and producing a numbing white noise as Reid continued his routine. Checking how each bone moved under his skin, thin, grey and translucent. He had so much more to lose.

“Grey skin indicates poor blood oxygenation, which can be caused by anaemia, a low level of iron within the blood that prevents red blood cells from delivering oxygen effectively. A common symptom of malnutrition.” He breathed out slowly to calm himself as he turned on his heel to enter the shower, it was much warmer than his apartment, the floor cold and unwelcoming, he was always cold anyway. He made quick work of scrubbing down his body, no longer wanting to look at it, feel it. He spent longer on his hair, it no longer sat right, it would always fly away as it became more brittle, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the longer-haired look but it suited him, made his face slimmer, so he kept it.

Reid turned the tap off and jumped out as quickly as his legs would let him, he swiped his towel off of the rack and placed it on his face, holding the weight in his hands as his head stopped swirling, then used it to finish drying himself off. He walked back into his bedroom where his clothes laid neatly. He placed on his underwear socks and trousers, a cream shirt and striped tie, a thick soft orange jumper to go with it, then blazer, then belt, he tightened and placed it through the newest punched hole. It was a nice belt he didn’t want to get rid of it. Checking that the apartment was in order and that everything had been done, everything he needed was in his bag, he picked up his keys from the dish and left after briefly sorting his hair in the hallway mirror.

It was another day at the BAU for Reid. Walking over to the staff space he started the kettle and placed his bag down, he retrieved his favourite mug and placed three teaspoons of coffee in. Once the water was boiled he filled his mug and let the thick scent waft through the air, he grabbed the sugar and poured, originally he would have counted the spoons of sugar but decided that cutting out the middle man would save time, he was slightly late as it was. “Want some coffee with that sugar?”

“Had a long night, need something to keep me functioning” Reid retorted as he turned to face Morgan who stood behind him placing his lunch in the fridge. “Nice one pretty boy, what was she like?” Morgan smiled. “Not that kind of long night,” he picked up his bag and walked towards his desk before Morgan had a chance to reply. He slouched down into his seat while taking another sip of his coffee and reached down to grab a file from the bottom of his desk drawer and after rummaging for a while he found it. A wave of nausea hit and Reid lent forward over the desk to stop his stomach from protesting, his body wasn’t used to this level of starvation. He’d lowered his intake from 700 to 500 yesterday, it was taking time to adjust.

The BAU hadn’t had a case for over two days so the team was catching up on all paperwork that needed doing, anything that had been shoved in draws to be forgotten was to be finished and filed.

He opened the file and glanced over the first page, thumbing over the papers to spread them out. Emily Moore, aged 25, died of malnutrition after a serial killer had starved her to death. Reid placed his right hand beneath his chin and ran his thumb over his mouth as he traced a finger over the outline of her body and closed his eyes. That was four months, two days and three hours ago that case started, and it was four months, two days and three hours since Reid had relapsed. He could see them still so vividly, all of them hung up like puppets, so skinny and frail. He still couldn’t bring himself to finish the file.

“Reid?” Hotchner asked, Spencer, opened his eyes to see the team filling into the meeting room as Hotch stared at him from across the room. Reid quickly snapped the file shut and followed behind everyone else, Hotchner joining the line afterwards. Spencer enclosed his hand around his wrist to help his heart stop beating as fast. It calmed him down, he didn’t even realise he had done it. Hotch was absorbed in his paperwork.

Reid sat down next to Morgan in his unassigned assigned seat as Gideon began the brief and Reid for one of the first times since he had met Gideon, didn’t listen to him.

I shouldn’t have had that much sugar, how much did I have, right, the coffee cup was about 5cm in diameter so that means the area of the cup was five multiplied by pi, then to find the volume of sugar the cup raised about 1cm.

“The victim was found face down lying in a pool of her own blood.” Gideon turned to the board displaying pictures of the woman.

The volume of sugar would be 15.7cm squared, which equates to about 25 grams of sugar which is 80 calories.

“Nothing was left at the crime scene, but her hands were bound with what appears to have been some sort of rope shown by the burn marks.”

“Could have suggested the killer was physically weak, needed to restrain her to get his way” Elle interjected. “Judging that the unsub took the rope it probably means he also brought it, premediated, definitely an organised killer,” Morgan added.

Why didn’t I just measure it out it would have made this so much easier, I’ll round it up to 100 just in case.

“Local police teams have already sectioned off the scene,” Hotch added, “alright but why call us, nothing about this case seems extraordinary, seems like a run of the mill homicidal rapist,” Elle questioned while looking to Gideon. “Well,” Gideon started.

If I can get home by 8 pm I can burn off that coffee, wait no if I run home then I can leave later but still burn it so if I have the 500, well now I can have 420 no 400, then I can-

“Right let’s go, the jet leaves in half an hour.”

With that the team all stood up abruptly, creating a whirlwind around Reid that made him snap out of his thoughts, his head and eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what was happening. He jumped out of his seat to follow everyone out but was stopped at the door.

“You alright Reid?”

Spencer spun back round to face Gideon who was looking at him, seeming to expect an answer. “Sorry, what was that?” Gideon's face became stern as his eyebrow slightly lifted along with his chin, he was not just looking at him, he was analysing. “I just wanted to know if you were alright?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine” Reid frantically looked across the room trying not to meet the other man’s gaze, “I’m just going to go grab my stuff” he stated while starting to walk backwards out of the room, pointing behind him with his thumb. “Uh yeah, see you on the plane,” he turned almost bumping into JJ “sorry JJ I uh didn’t see you sorry,” and with that, he took off to go grab his bag.

JJ turned to Gideon with a questioning look. “Keep an eye on him” was all he said before also going to grab his bag. Gideon wasn’t a man to say anything unless he was sure unless it was important, but he was worried. His intuition was screaming at him that something was wrong, but Reid would be at least three steps ahead if he didn’t want anyone to know. Damn profilers.

They had all swarmed into the jet and had taken their seats. Reid lay in the long seat reading a book, but not at his normally inhuman speed, it was slower, only just noticeably. Hotch sat next to Gideon reading all the information they had on the case thus far again, making sure nothing was missed. Gideon watched. They were sat at the other end of the plane with Reid’s back to them, the other team members preoccupied with their activities.

“Something’s wrong with Reid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look at him.”

Hotch looked up from his papers and looked towards Reid, Gideons line of sight hadn’t wavered since he sat down. Hotch looked back from Reid to the man next to him. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s anxious, jumpy, overreactive,” Gideon still looked over to the boy and Hotch joined back, “I asked him this morning after the brief, he didn’t turn his back to me once until he was out of the room.”

“He was being defensive, wouldn’t turn his back on the perceived threat,” Hotchner added, “he knew the answer but couldn’t tell you, he looks at you as a father figure you know, he doesn't want to disappoint you”

Gideon paused, “he probably does, he doesn’t know much about his father,” he said shaking his head, they sat and observed in silence.

“He’s not turning pages as quickly as he normally does,”

“He’s not turning pages as quickly as he normally does,” Gideon repeated, “how’s his paperwork?” he finely looked away from the younger man. “Still exemplary, maybe a little less than normal but handed in on time, it hasn’t suffered any more than anyone else’s while we’ve been busy.”

Gideon nodded “somethings eating away at him, I just don’t know what.” There was a pause.

"There was one file I never got back."

[dollymadness]

Hello. Shoto falling in love with a villian (with tragic back-story). At first he's very bothered by his feelings but later on he finds out their story and he understands the villian's side however villian hates his father and wants to murder shoto to avenge his family who were abandoned by endeavor during a house fire.

Pro hero Shoto x villain NB reader

hey loml !! sorry, this took me too long

Villain quirk: Fierce Snake - they can shapeshift into a full fierce snake or only incorporate the animal senses (which includes venom, highly sensitive skin, improved chemosensory...) on their human form.

You can choose the particularity of the snake that suits better on the situation.

The drawback is the short time you have on the full form, or when you are using more then one sense.

You are the ambicious type, with a indeed charming nature. A person that woudn't hesitate on sacrificing everything and yourself to reach the main goal.

But you are sure such extreme attitude won't be needed at all, due to your clever and logic brain. One thing, out of all that you are sure, is to overanalyse each move, every little step is calculated.

Shoto is a highly rated pro hero, on his prefered area. He isn't the biggest fan of the front line, the battle and the caos. Instead, he choose to live in the shadows, working successively suceed stealth missions.

Todoroki is the best type of spy, he is polite, cool-headed and extremely smart. The man is even more effective than Hawks was, he is changing this behalf of the heroe society to be more straight to the point, functional.

However, is not always that easy to find the needed information. After all those years, the company decided to try again an old strategy.

"All i have to do is go there and say i want to join? Sir, with all the respect, but-" Even being the CEO, Shoto is always respectful with his co-workers, even giving them power and space to desagree with him and openly point it out.

"Sir, i'm telling you that this will work. If you want, i can show the presentation again, and all the points to prove it's the best change we have."

There were rumors that the villains are planning something big against the top heroes, however they can't get even a small clew. All the pre-existing methods had failed on them and the team suggested to Shoto to infilter, alike his precursor.

It's a big and, on Shotos concepition, dumb step to make. The villains woudn't feel on the same trick two times, would they? "So many time has passed since then..." His co-worker argument was valid too. "You can easily scape if it goes wrong." Obviously he can. He would be the number one if wasn't for his area of action.

He is scared, but doesn't let it show on his expression when he agree. After all the discuss, they get out of the company with a well thought plan, step by step.

On the other side, the delinquents were also working on their main scheme. They wanted a war, as the LOV once did, but they needed a strong weapon to realize such, they wanted something better than the nomus, maybe an item to potentialize their individualitys. Still, they didn't have a clear direction.

Mei is the big brain, the scientist. Is she an inventor from the heroes side? Yes. Does she give a single fuck to the motivation besides just creating insane "babys"? No.

And she isn't getting anywhere with her "basic creations", in their masters word. All the villains can do by now is mess with hero society as much as possible and wait to their weapon to come to life.

Shoto is getting his job done. He putted himself into the ghettos and patiently waited. "Hey, hey, hey! What do we have here?" The elastic masquerade man curls on the walls next to Sho. "How can i serve you, your majesty?" He sneers, while the hero keep his face emotionless.

Todoroki then explains his will to join the villains, with the excuse of the hate of his on father and all the abuse he did to him, that part was not enterely a lie. He even managed to split out that he never wanted to be a hero, only doing for parental pressure.

The criminal listened with boredom filling his face, taking Shoto inside.

"Oh, if it's not our royal highness! Tell your dad i said hi." The Mastermind proceeds to talk by the moment Shoto walks in.

"Hello, sir." He started politely, lowering his head to show respect. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but i came here to offer my help to your crew."

Again, he gave the same excuse he'd gave minutes ago.

"I see. But don't think that i'm going to accept a filthy rat like you that easily... those who don't learn with the history are complete fools. You know are i'm talking about, don't you?" His voice was so low, barely audible and it send shivers on Shotos spine.

"Yes, sir, but i'm willing to prove my worthy." Todoroki could hear his voice cracking, the moment isn't bringing good memories.

His father was the one who used to put him in such a humiliating position.

"You can start by begging. If you want it, you will do anything, is that correct?" He watches as Sho silently gets on his knees. "And stop with that 'sir' thing. 'Master' will do." A big smirk appears

"Yes, master." He was starting to feel disgusted by himself, but didn't back off. "Please, let me join this league. I'm begging, Master, please." Hate on the most pure form runs throught his veins while he stay still, looking to the ground as it is the most interesting thing on earth.

"Tsc. I don't know if that erection you getting me is enough. What do you think, Y/N?" You suddenly emerges from the back of the empty dark room and joins in.

"Give the guy a chance, if he is bad we can just cut his head off." You see Shoto fighting his urge to look up and see your face, and it steals a laugh of your part.

"As you seem like having so much fun with this worm here, now he is under your wing. Test him as much as you want and if he fucks everything up, i'll blame you. Understood?" The Mastermind now shows that he's harsh to his allies to.

"Understood!" The man walks away, letting you and Shoto solve this new problem you both got into.

"So... what do you'll like for me to call you, peasant?"

"Shoto is enough."

"Okay, call me Y/N, i don't need all this formality that Master likes... get up." you order and he hops up in a second.

"Endeavors son is under my wing... a bit ironic, don't you think?" laughing to yourself, he eyes you as you clingy around his shoulder.

"You know what? This is going to be fun..." You shift into a snake, curling up on his neck, as Todoroki jumps in fear.

"So, Shoto, how you're going to prove me that you aren't faking this shit?" You turn into human again, only to shift again on his arm. "Huh?" Again, and now he is getting used to it.

"I-i don't now, 'boss'. You are the one to tell me this, right?" You finally stop, feeling pure joy while the young man has fear all over his face, body tense and eyes about to jump off.

"Yes, darling, i am. Trust me, if this is a setup, you will regret." You threat biting his neck, laughing as you walk away.

You put Shoto in all possible kinds of difficult situations...

He had to share confidential information about his hero friends.

Let the villains take a building filled of civillians.

And he had to help on the secret missions all along. You would curl on his neck and move for the extension of his shoulder, just to remember him that all his moves are being watched.

Shoto is skillful, and it's not hard to notice. In a short amount of time, he is already a pro on the wickedness. Slowly turning himself into a cold-hearted villain, and doesn't seem to hate it.

"Sho!" You two were leaving another building, with some items that Hatsume required. "You think that's funny?"

You try to play mad, but end up laughing with him. Shoto had freezed you just to mess around, and is now using his quirk to creat a beard on your face.

"I do." He complains, moving away to have a good vision of the scene he created.

"Of course you do, bastard. Set me free now!"

"Or what?" He teases.

"You know i can do it by myself, but i'm giving you the chance to redeem before i kill you." The playful tone don't make it less ominous.

"Make me." As the words drop out his mouth, you shift into a snake and get out of the ice, shaped to your human form.

You crawl till him, turning back into your normal form and quickly choking him. "Now we are talking."

"Any last words before i make you regret?" Your nails are sinking on his soft skin.

"I was couting on it." He smiles.

.

.

.

There will be a part 2 soon !! :)

[ronearoundblindly]

The Stark Legacy (22)

Tony Stark's daughter (OC) x Bucky Barnes epic adventure

Failure, finale of Book II: Mind (see previous or series)

Summary: Tony finds out what Samantha's done to Bucky and accidentally goes too far. Bucky tries to help, but can he make it to Sam in time?

Warnings for mention of blood and injury, mildly graphic description of medical intervention. Rated Teen/15+ ONLY, please. WC 3.5k

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—February 2039

The sound of her blood pumping rang loud as a siren while Sam bounded down the corridors of the palace. She heard it all when Missy tapped into the team’s comms. That amount of electricity…she didn’t know what his new arm could truly endure attached to original tissue. Sam planned for the worst when she snagged vials from her room, yelling at Missy to go ‘ultra dark,’ as she called it. To think there was evidence on Missy of an obvious mistake, something she’d missed, Sam was too ashamed; Missy would have to hide it, and she was programmed to erase herself if it wasn’t Sam who returned. With any luck, and a little faith in her own intelligence, that would never happen.

Several prominent members of Wakandan nobility and other staff stared as she barreled past, clutching a small velvet pouch. She had to get outside to the landing pad as quickly as possible. Just as she skidded around the corner to the great gallery, the one offering a view of the concrete pad and the fields beyond, Iron Man landed with a thud, indelicately dropping Captain Barnes onto the hard ground. For a moment, Sam hesitated at the door. If she couldn’t fix the malfunction in Bucky’s arm, her father would be right there to witness it. Her chance would be over, and it may have already been gone if this had cost them their fight.

This might be her entire legacy: ruining a soldier’s body and poisoning her own. That’s all Tony Stark would ever know about her, and Bucky would never forgive her. Sam’s arms shook when she pulled the grand door open enough to squeeze through. Shuri’s medical team hustled across the pad from a different direction, so Iron Man stood facing away, calling out what had happened.

The wind took half of his words. “—arm is stuck in—looping the strike—of Thor—” Tony’s suit seemed to jump awkwardly, moving too robotically to be functioning properly. Sam took her chance. While the medics babbled in confusion, unable to get Iron Man to understand or turn around, she jumped over to Bucky’s left. The residual charge had dissipated; he didn’t shock her. She started trying to unbuckle his strapped jacket. Bucky jerked around, muffling screams for a few seconds before letting out a growl, then stuffing what noise he could back behind excruciating, jagged breaths. Sam’s weak fingers stalled on the thick leather and icy metal from his high-altitude transport.

“You have to stop flailing,” Sam tried, “I have to get to the shoulder.” Bucky rolled away, pushing her hands and arms off of him. “Hey, it’s me,” she tried again, leaning farther over his bulky form to grab his face, “it’s Sam. Please let me fix it, ok?” Bucky’s cold, blue gaze landed on her with a ferocity that stopped her heart. He looked at her as if she were sticking a white-hot poker into his shoulder, letting loose a howl that froze her further. Sam knelt back on her heels, terrified.

“You,” Tony’s mechanized voice said behind her, “move away.”

The velvet was soft in her twitching fingers. She had to. Sam looked up to hold Bucky’s gaze long enough to see some recognition and then went back to furiously undoing the top buckles. The leather snapped against her delicate fingers, and she felt her nails bend backwards when she pulled at the clasps. She peeled away the thick fabric to reveal another shirt.

“Really?” Sam breathed, but she grabbed the neckline as hard as she could and pulled until she could she the dip between his collarbone and humerus.  Syringe and needle in hand, she leaned her weight to steady him. “Youwe ill fill uh foo…” she started, holding the cap in her teeth, but the rest was too garbled to translate.

“That’s all vibranium. Your needle won’t go through—“ Iron Man explained walking back towards his charge while the medics shuffled around him. Tony maneuvered the suit to see around Sam, getting a glimpse of pale flesh. “What the hell, Barnes?!”

Over the series of small injections around the edge of his left shoulder and pectoral muscle, Tony could see Bucky’s veins glow lightly. It took a moment for him to realize there was no metal at all. Bucky’s legs stopped scratching beneath him, and his shifting lessened. When Sam finally pulled the needle away, she reassured Bucky with a half-smile, smoothing his long hair out of his face. After a few more seconds, his pinpoint pupils relaxed.

Sam sat back on her heels, relaxed this time. “Ok,” she huffed, “it’s okay.”

Several medics stood or knelt around them now, watching, arranging different implements from their cases, or shouting orders to others left by the doors.

Iron Man bent down to rip the black leather glove from Bucky’s hand—a real, skin-covered hand—then the red and gold face looked up to see her face pointed to the sky, panting. “Sam?” Tony stuttered, taking in her short hair for the first time. “What happened!”

The suit twitched quick bursts of audio and motion. “What did you do? What is that? It looks—are you serious? Did you do that to him? We could have DIED!” 

She tried to stand and back away, but as she rose, Iron Man latched his glove onto Sam’s arm. Sam squirmed against the suit pathetically. The medics ignored them, heaving Bucky onto a hovering table and collectively leaving to care for his recovery.

“Sam,” Tony yelled, clenching in his shock and outrage, but the connection cut in and out. Her name was cut short the second time, and the iron hand shut hard above her left elbow, the same spot that healed after her bike accident.

The snap of her bone was audible. Her eyes widened, and she fell onto boney knees that ached. Iron Man released her arm to let it fall, limp, to her side. Sam hissed in agony. The suit said nothing more. Mark XLII walked methodically back inside to its closet.

With a tickling precision, the hair on the back of Sam’s arm stood on end, a small shiver crawled up her neck, and the pad in front of her shimmered. Sam jumped out of the way as fast as she could before the Bifrost cracked and burned its design into the concrete. And just like that, Thor stood, arms outstretched in smoldering, rainbow glory.

“Victory,” the god of thunder bellowed, golden hair flying in triumph.

The Dora Milaje moved to chant congratulations, and the bystanders turned towards the Asgardian long enough for Sam to sneak away into the tree line.

Tony ripped the headset off and slammed it against the wall. The durable screen only cracked, making it the least broken thing held by Tony Stark. He’d heard it clear as day, a different kind of snap, one that he couldn’t take back, one he’d never forget.

“Boss,” Friday asked, concerned, “are you alright?”

Tony felt entirely disconnected from reality. As many times as he had controlled an XLII, he had mostly been on Earth, once from orbit, never hundreds of thousands of miles away. That was the first time he had even been with his own daughter inside the suit, and you broke her goddamn arm, asshole. He kept replaying it over and over. Bucky knew her well enough to let her handle him. His little girl jumped on top of a soldier to shove a syringe into him. What the hell would she know about treating him? Why the hell was his shoulder covered in skin? Was it made of flesh? What the hell was Shuri playing at? Did the Wakandan Princess, genius that she was, recruit Sam into this madness? Sam was at Harvard, doing what, Tony had no clue, but she was at Harvard Medical…so she would know—

She would know how much force he’d used on her arm in order to break it; Sam would blame him. In fact, Tony could not be sure it wasn’t his fault that the suit gripped that hard. He wanted to blame the connection or the suit, but he knew full well that no lag in connection would let the suit move outside of his mimicked motion. At very least, the suit would never do a more violent movement than instructed to execute. The lag would cause a weakened response, not an increased.

“Friday,” he huffed, “get us home as fast as possible. Whatever it takes.”

Bucky walked quietly over the packed earth between trees in the forest behind his hut. The rough guess was that Sam had wandered out past the goats’ grazing fields, but only Shuri had spoken to him about Samantha’s involvement at all. The commanding scientist had seemed particularly upset by security footage, threatening to raid Sam’s room for information if the girl wasn’t found quickly. Only after all that formality did Shuri lean closer to Bucky and explain that Sam might be hurt. She did not believe the reclusive Sam would let any guard help, and while Shuri was intrigued by the soldier’s new appendage, she sent Bucky off after a few quick checks.

“Just don’t die, and don’t let her either, until I can figure this out,” the princess demanded. “Get going, Barnes.” 

So he jogged off to make up the head start his weak, injured prey had. Since this wasn’t a mission in which he anticipated contacting firepower—or anyone other than Samantha Stark, an eighteen-year-old science nerd—Bucky held no weapon and stayed fairly relaxed, letting his mind wander during his treck out past his home.

 What would the metal of his weapon feel like without the glove? Would the rapid-fire barrel be hot to the touch? Other than the force of Thor’s lightning, would things be painful, different than his ‘natural’ side? Normal things like airflow, fabric, even his own fingers brushing his palm distracted him. He took on a slower pace, obsessed with the touch of bark on the trees and the smoothness of leaves. Bucky had spent so many decades feeling nothing in his left arm that the sensations made him feel heavy, lopsided with the attention demanded by new neurons. He could feel the rolling of muscle fibers over bone when turning his wrist, the gentle friction of prints when rubbing fingers together, and smooth, flat nails when making a fist. He had skin, layers of malleable material over tough fibers and hard bone. Perhaps he should refer to those as a close approximation to flesh, since he knew it wasn’t strictly flesh. He did not understand the science, but this was the first ‘improvement’ given with his permission and not explicitly to make him stronger, deadlier, ormore controllable. Sam had worked tirelessly to make him feel more human. Not only had she asked him, but Sam waited for his decision.

Years of the Avengers constantly rushing to add more weapons and protections had left Bucky feeling as if he was being poured into Steve’s old mold of Captain America. Of course, Steve got the benefit of being a pacifist at heart, so his improvements and upgrades were mainly costume enhancements. The Winter Soldier was solely born to kill; it was the one stigma of that past that never washed away. Bucky just killed for the good guys now, or as Tony told him to think about it, “evil suppression.” The Avengers made a lot of assumptions about him in the long run. Whether he really wanted to or not, Bucky was made into too good of a soldier to retire, ever. 

Bucky slowed as he heard crackling twigs ahead. Silent as a ghost, he advanced to see Samantha dragging her feet in an exhausted shuffle forward, scraping mounds of leaves up with her toes. He crept closer. She looked like a zombie, wandering alone without any of her own kind. Sam no longer held her arm in front of her. Unlike the security footage Shuri had shown him to track what direction Sam ran off in, her broken arm hung limp at her side. She walked so slowly that it would only take a few paces to reach her side, and he could see her clutching a small package to her chest with her right hand. Her focus did not find him. She seemed to have no focus at all.

Mid-step, Sam collapsed.

Bucky hurtled forward when he saw Sam’s limp body hit the dirt. When he made it to her, he spread her across his lap, but her eyes were closed. He tried to revive her, smoothed his new hand over her face, her hair, calling her name softly. She didn’t wake.

It took thirty-five excruciating seconds for Sam to regain consciousness. He checked her pulse and breathing. His pleas became commands. Seeing blood on the inside of her broken arm, he searched for where to place a bandage. He smeared crimson back and forth with his gloved hand, but there was no wound to find. He patted Sam’s face to bring her around, leaving bloody marks on her cheek. Her eyes opened slowly, like chocolates unwrapped with care and anticipation.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered. “Stay with me. Tell me what to do. I’ll help.” No bruising showed. Her skin looked a fresh, pink beige. She didn’t look sick, but one bicep swelled to twice the size of the other. She still slumped like a wet rag while he held her.

“Please don’t,” Sam quietly rasped back, “it hurts like hell.”

Bucky gave in to a small smile, though she remained looking off into the sky. “Now will still be better than later, I promise.” He looked around. This was going to be one of the more F.U.B.A.R. medical procedures he would be part of, but there was no better option. She had walked too far into the woods to carry her back without losing too much time. It was also probable that Sam would need some sort of surgery after the break was realigned. Bucky would get Sam stable enough to get to the palace infirmary and Shuri.

“Just do it,” Sam caved, weak but steady. Her breathing caught, labored, and Bucky knew she would pass out again soon. If he couldn’t see what was going on, he needed her awake to tell him.

He laid Sam down as gently as he could, unfolding his legs from under her, and stretched her flat across what was as tidy a patch of dirt and leaves as any other. He climbed over to crouch at her left side. He tried to hold her gaze to see if she was ready, just as she had done for him earlier, but Sam remained fixated on the branches above them. Even in pain and danger, Starks were stubborn as ever.

Relieve some pressure first, he thought, then move the bone back into place. He reached back into his leg holster for a serrated knife. This was going to get messy.

He took a deep, steadying breath and exhaled. Once he started this, Bucky would have to ignore protests and screams until everything was settled, and he did not look forward to the amount of hate about to spew his way. Natasha was one of the only women he’d ever patched in the field; she was battle-trained and tested yet still let loose a venom he’d rarely experienced. That was her way of coping, Bucky supposed, but Sam was a desk jockey at best. This would get gruesome.

The point of the knife found the top of the swollen bulge in her arm, sliding in easily enough, and there was little more than a whimper from the patient—at first. The force with which blood spat out of the wound pushed her slippery arm right out of his grasp. It spewed everywhere. By the time Bucky got his grasp back around her elbow, the cut was sealed again.

“You just had to experiment on yourself, didn’t you?” he groaned in frustration, wiping blood away where he could.

“It helped Sam, didn’t it,” came a quiet reply between pained breaths.

Aw, hell, she’s talking in the third person now. We are really screwed. The next slice would have to be bigger and faster. He may even have to hold it open for a moment, if her skin would allow it. So that’s what he did, as fast as he could. 

The terrified, piercing shriek from Sam’s lungs tore at his gut and eardrum alike, and instinctively, Bucky shoved his hand over her mouth, forgetting flesh was susceptible to teeth. Sam’s jaw clamped down on the soft corner of palm just above his wrist. Suddenly, Bucky fought a scream, more in shock than unbearable pain. She let go after a long exhale. He had to cut her twice more before the excess pressure released, when the cartoonish sprays of blood stopped to become trickles. Each time her skin sewed itself back together quickly, evenly, with no sign of puncture. The only signal Bucky had as to the toll all this took on Sam was her jaw relaxing and her gaze slowly lolling off to the canopy of the woods.

“Just do it,” she whispered. Her free arm scuttled and groped through the leaves beside her; probably trying not to take a swing at me, Bucky thought.

He settled his knee into the dip of her chest beside her shoulder. He grabbed Sam’s arm above the elbow and ripped it to the side. The sharp crack sounded good, in a way, effective. Great, she can punch me with this one soon. Bucky felt Sam’s chest press his knee to rise beneath him, so he moved back to her side. The bulge of swelling returned, and he made another cut with his knife. 

This wound, however, did not heal right away, allowing blood to ooze out with a slowing pace. It took a moment for him to understand. When Bucky’s eyes shot back to Sam’s face, her eyes were blank, her whole face lax. His brain exploded into expletives. She’d done so well; he never thought…

He looked over the disastrous, bloody scene beneath him. Sam’s right arm stretched out at an awkward angle with her palm down as if still grabbing for something. A few inches away, tumbled in the dirt and leaves, sat the little velvet pouch, its flap open enough to reveal the cap of another syringe.

Bucky scrambled across the dirt. Now his heart pounded for them both. It could be a pain killer, which would do Sam no good now, or it could be the same serum she’d given to him earlier, which might revive her and might not…

…or it could be more…

He needed it to be more. For the first time in years, he pleaded with himself, with some power beyond himself, anyone or anything, for this to be more.

Bucky tried to slam the needle into Sam’s neck, hoping the pressure remaining might carry whatever was inside far enough into her system to make a difference, but the needle snapped off before it penetrated. The skin there wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell,” Bucky huffed. We do not have time for this, Sam, he screamed internally. No one had ever made such a fuss about staying alive. Of course, he wanted Sam to be alive, desperately so. Sam made him feel human. Sam had him dreaming again, dreaming about dancing and holidays and birthdays. He actually felt more because of her, and not just in his arm. The idea that Sam would never speak to him again felt crippling. We could be having our first argument right now. You just have to wake up… Why did he not ask her more? He hadn’t told her how amazing it was to have his very own feely, fleshy arm back. She didn’t understand how miraculous that was—she was—for doing that, for giving him that. All she had ever mentioned wanting in return was a little recognition. She wanted to be a part of the family she was born into. Sam would want to keep going, to keep working. Wouldn’t she? Or was that his choice?

Even with the broken tip, Bucky pressed the syringe into Sam’s cut arm, beginning chest compressions with his other hand. He moved it to the other end of the cut to empty the rest, hoping somewhere in there was a vein to take the medicine through. He didn’t know how long to keep compressions up. Every second felt too long and not long enough.

Bucky grabbed Sam’s chin, tilted her head back, closed her nose and blew into her mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. As he returned to chest compressions, her arm caught his eye: no cut. He checked at Sam’s throat and found a weak pulse. 

In that instant, he couldn’t stop to think; Bucky scooped Sam into his arms and ran. He ran past his own hut as the sun set behind them, the goats bleating in encouragement and indifference.

In the dark, Sam’s arm glowed a deep, vicious orange, and it was getting brighter. Only in those last strides towards Shuri’s lab within the tower did Bucky begin to fear what he had done to Sam, if he’d made the right choice, if it would even be Sam who woke up…

End of Part II: Mind

[Chapter 23: Cryo]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[unsettledink]

Comfort (Re)Reads Recs

It's been a rough couple of weeks, both personally and just *waves hands around* you know, everything. I found myself going back to some of my comfort reads again and again and thought – you know, I bet other people are in serious need of that too.

So here's a handful of some of my favorite comfort reads across a bunch of fandoms. Most are pretty long, or series. Everything has a happy ending, but I like h/c so plenty have some hurt or angst on the way. I put the ones that have the most near that bottom.

For all of them I'd suggest looking at the author's other works too! And if you liked what you read, please tell them that it made your day a bit better. I'm off to do so myself.

Leader Of The Free World, @copperbadge

Marvel (MCU) - Steve/Tony, Bucky/Clint, 15k

Summary: Clint Barton's presidential campaign started as a joke. It didn't end that way, except for Steve.

Sixpence In His Shoe, @scifigrl47

Marvel - Steve/Tony, 100k

Summary: Steve and Tony should really read the fine print on what they're signing. Then again, some mistakes are not really mistakes.

Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl, lightgetsin

White Collar - Neal/Elizabeth/Peter, 21k

Summary: Summer, 1998. Neal Caffrey robs the gallery where Elizabeth O'Dell is working late, and comes away with a lot more than art. Agent Burke has no idea what's about to hit him.

Take Me Out,    @setepenre-set

Megamind – Megamind/Roxanne, 10k

Summary: The Metro City Wolverines are the worst team in the MLB. So Megamind, using the disguise watch to manage the stadium’s illegal betting pool, is understandably shocked when Miss Ritchi (at the stadium on a ‘date’ with Metro Man…and his mother) wants to place a bet that the Wolverines can win against the best ranked team in the league. But then, maybe the luck is turning for all of Metro City's underdogs…

My Heart Comes Tumbling Down, @devildoll

Teen Wolf – Derek/Stiles, 5k

Summary: "This is a casual, adult relationship based on sex, and it is awesome." In which Stiles and Derek have a great time buddyfucking until a burrito ruins it all.

Technical Support,    @astolat

Person of Interest – John/Harold, 13k

Summary: The IFT Plaza security team wasn't what John would have called the brightest stars in the firmament. (Written for the tech support AU prompt.)

From Thy Bounty, @ibby-writes​

Marvel (MCU) – Tony/Peter, 30k

Summary: Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

Gift of Choice, @everysecondtuesday

Marvel (MCU) – Tony/Peter, 11k

Summary: Tony Stark had a thing about giving Peter stuff.

Feels Like Something, Maybe It Fits, @learned-foot

Marvel (MCU) – Tony/Peter, 7k

Summary:  Peter’s still not used to hearing that voice. Four months, and part of him thinks it’s a lie every time.

Better Than, unsettled (yup, it's mine. It feels weird to include it? But it was the comfort reread that set this off, so)

Marvel (MCU) – Tony/Peter, 40k

Summary: Maybe there isn't really a fixed point where it starts, where any of it starts, nothing Tony can point to and say, there, there is where I made my mistake, there is where I could have stopped this, there is where I can stop it from happening again. Maybe it shouldn’t have been something Tony tried to stop. (or: the one where Tony is going to be responsible for once, ok? He is!)

The Swear Jar, @allthemarvelousrage

Marvel (MCU) – Clint/Laura/Tony, 12k

Summary: In the last three months, she’s seen Tony go through a lot of mood changes and shifts of introspection, but she doesn’t think he’s ever been close to leaving. Then again, she doesn’t think he’s actually aware of how intertwined his life’s become with theirs, because half the time, he’s exhausted from Avengers business or exhausted from engineering binges, and the other half of the time, he’s either trading one-liners and witticisms with Clint or coloring with Lila or building things with Cooper or letting Nathan crawl all over him.

This, You Protect, @vmohlere

Marvel (MCU) - Steve/Bucky, 64k

Summary: The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

have you heard, peradi

Star Wars - Finn/Poe, Finn/Poe/Rey, 42k

Summary: "I heard FN-2187 was a Stormtrooper."

Transfigurations, Resonant

Harry Potter – Harry/Draco, 71k

Summary: Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.

Something Blue, Lapin

The Hobbit – Bilbo/Thorin, 34k

Summary: Thorin marries Bilbo after the Battle of Five Armies, a marriage of convenience, not love. Slowly, they must come to make the best of it, Bilbo resolves. After all, he's a Hobbit. They make the best of things.

Nothing Gold Can Stay,  @bilboo

The Hobbit – Bilbo/Thorin, 296k

Summary: Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Like a Comet Streaming On, @sineala

Marvel (616)– Tony/Steve, 32k

Summary: Tony escapes Afghanistan with a functioning Iron Man suit and a perfectly normal heart. He even manages to bring Ho Yinsen home safely at his side. But he may as well have lost everything... because his wolfbrother is dead. Six months later, the Avengers find Captain America, frozen in ice, miraculously alive. Everything and everyone Steve has ever known is gone -- except his wolfsister, the recipient of the lupine version of the super-soldier serum, who was frozen in his arms. Tony has everything but his wolf. Steve has only his wolf. This is how their lives fit together.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare, @firethesound

Harry Potter – Harry/Draco, 149k

Summary: Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

The End Where We Begin, @ingu

Man From UNCLE (Movie) – Illya/Napoleon, 21k

Summary: Illya kills an American spy in Zurich. Three days later, he’s staring into the face of a dead man standing in his hotel room.

A man turns around., spqr

Marvel (MCU) – Tony/Steve/Bucky, 6k

Summary: Liver failure or a lone assassin with a long-range weapon will get him eventually. He doesn’t think it will take too long, now that he’s retired. He wishes death would hurry up. If happiness were coming his way, it would’ve gotten here by now. All that’s left to do is wait. Languish in the "later life" section of his Wikipedia page. Wake up in the morning and go to bed at night. Exist, until it’s over.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs “Preparations.”

I’m getting ready for an interesting new arc, I think, so we shall see. I never know what my brain is going  to want to write. 

“Lieutenant, command is yours. Keep the ship operational till I get back. I want low orbit just in case we have to bail out quickly.”

“Yes sir.”

Boots clattered on metal as Commander Vir clattered down the stairs and moved quickly down the hallway. A small entourage of figures walked at his back, “I’m not sure I like this commander.” One of them was saying, “It could more than easily be a trap.”

He sighed, “I know, but the GA wants it done.”

“I would much rather do reconnaissance for a while-”

“And so would I, but the chairwoman made it very clear that we needed to speak with them as soon as possible. I’ve already tried establishing radio contact, and nothing. The only way to go now is the old fashioned way.”

They took a sharp corner, “Tell the council to meet me down in the docking bay.”

“Yes sir,” They scampered off leaving another subordinate to fill their place.

Most of the council was already there when he reached the docking bay. Dr, Krill, Sunny, Dr. Adric, Ramirez Narobi etc. etc.” He paused before them, hands clasped behind his back.

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Came the first announcement.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, which means I want at least six marines, and a group from the diplomacy team. I know I’ve been taking lessons, but I don’t trust myself nearly as much as I trust them.”

“Are we sure it needs to be you at all?” Krill pointed out getting to the heart of the issue on first try, as was usual for him.

Commander Vir turned to look at the little doctor on the spot, “The Kree have demanded a high ranking representative.”

“Then lie to them, send down someone not important and pretend,” Krill said 

He crossed his arms, “We aren’t going to lie. Starting out diplomatic relations with a lie would destabilize the entire foundation of what we are trying to build, no we need proper protection is all.” He turned to look at the others, “Any objections? If so raise your concerns now?’”

Sunny raised a hand, “You're Not going unless you bring proper weapons, otherwise, I say we shouldn't meet them.”

“I agree….. And I have an idea.” The group looked nervously around at each other, “No, you are very much not going to like it, and you will probably argue with me.” He turned to Dr. Adric, and motioned hi to follow, “Ramirez get your marines and-”

“Already done commander.”

“Nice and fast of you.” He turned to look at Ramirez one last time placing a hand on his shoulder, “Are these the marines that have…. Uh…. trained with the new equipment?”

Ramirez  nodded enthusiastically, “Yes sir.”

“Good.” “New equipment?” Krill wondered rather suspiciously.

“Yep you're going to hate that too.” Commander Vir announced knowing that he was going to argue and knowing that people would assume his decision was poor. But he had talked it over -- seriously -- with Ramirez, and they had both agreed it was too good a strategic advantage not to. Ramirez had then talked with the requisitions officer and so on and so forth until the package had been loaded onto the ship not a few days before, but that he thought he might be able to get away with, it was this next thing, they were going to hate.

Floating at the back of the group Conn knew what he was thinking, “They’re going to lock you up.”

“Are you exaggerating, or is that seriously what they are going to do?”

The starborn kept silent  leaving hi on edge as he moved forward and into the equipment room. He knew where it was, they had hardly hidden it as well as they thought they had, and he could tell by the nervous movement of the rest of the crew that they knew too.

Ight as well not keep them waiting.

He walked over to one side of the room, pushed a rack of guns out of the way, reached down and dragged the large silver box onto the open floor.

Immediate uproar.

“No!”

“Not on your life!: “What are you thinking!”

Commander Vir crossed his arms, planting himself before the box with feet spread wide. He let them continue to rant, sunny even tried to pull hi away, but he ducked past both of her arms and stepped back, so he was now standing on the box.

“QUIET ALL OF YOU!”

That made them shut up, at least for the moment.

“Commander, we won’t let you.”

“I know.” 

“Than why even bother bringing it up.” Sunny demanded 

Even Ramirez was looking a little put off..

He turned to look at Dr. Adric, “That is why he is here. I know for a fact that I can do it, and not cause harm to myself. I’m healthy enough mentally to manage, but if the good doctor decides that I am wrong, than I will put it down and stp arguing.”

Below him, the Iron eye logo glinted in the yellowed overhead lights.

Dr. Adric looked on in concern, “What is this about?”

Krill and a few of the others turned to protest, but commander Vir stopped them with a raised hand turning to look at the doctor, “You are aware of my time in operation steel eye?”

He nodded.

“And were you aware that I put the armor back on for the burg war not some months ago?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know about the project.”

He laced his hands together before him, “I published a paper on it. I know that it was a volatile experimental pice of technology that the government attached  directly into the spinal columns and muscles of the forty surviving soldiers. Each machine was powered by the steel eye prosthetic which contained the suit’s power source. I know that they used drugs to stop the excruciating pain, and that they added amphetamines to cause aggression and allow the soldiers to stay up longer…. And I know that more than three fourths of those soldiers are dead now and only have of that fourth is….. Operating functionally as people.”

Commander Vir smiled, “Yes, than you do know. IT took me years to recover from the suit, than I went and put it on again, and that caused a relapse in y mental health to a degree that I almost got myself grounded and , likely, discharged. However, during that time I also spoke to a group of people who were working on a similar project, operation Iron eye.” There was a nervous shifting around the room, “ITs the same thing as stell eye, though it requires no drugs, and no pain. The Trade off is, I had to go in for surgery because the attachments are permanent.” 

He turned around and pulled down the collar of his shirt so Dr. Adric could see the first port just below the base of his skull, “I had these done at a time where I honestly shouldn't have, but I thought this was my only option.” He turned back around, “I am well aware that is not true, but what’s done is done. I have the implants, they cannot be removed, and I have the suit. I might as well use it to protect myself. That is the point? To protect myself and the rest of the crew?”

There was silence for a moment.

“We can’t let you do this.” Dr Katie was saying.

Narobi was shaking her head emphatically .

He turned to look at Dr. Adric, “I leave this decision up to you doc. If I’m not mentally healthy enough to handle it, than I will stop, but you are the expert here and the most unbiased among us.” Dr Adric shifted on the spot nervously. He could see where this was a problem. The unhealthy associations that soldiers were bound to make after an experience like that was…. Horrible to imagine, but the Commander seemed calm, so he supposed there was no issue with trying.

He was a bit nervous about all the eyes that his decision caused. Sunny looked like she was about to beat him to death with her spear, and Dr. Krill seemed intent on poisoning his drink the next time he had the chance.

They took the Iron eye box back to the medical bay, and The three doctors observed the process.

Commander Vir was feeling pretty good as he slid back into the box listening to the connections click into place. Were there some bad memories? Yeah, sure, but he could handle those well enough.

Dr Adric kept a close eye on him as he stood the whirring of hydraulics accompanying his movement. He flexed his fist inside the iron eye suit and turned to look at the others.

Krill was frowning. Sunny was glowering , Dr. Katie wouldn't even look at him. Ramirez looked very, very nervous.

Dr. Adric walked over and checked his pulse, asked a few questions, but finally decided there was no reason to tell him no. 

That pissed off almost everyone else in the room, but commander Vir pulled on the specially made iron eye gear, “You wanted me safe, and this is as safe as I can think of being, and I trust Dr. Adric’s judgement.” With each footstep, metal clattered against metal, and the soft hiss of the hydraulics accompanied him up the hall.

THe others followed in concern and anger.

The crew turned to look their eyes wide looking nervous.

They expected him to do something stupid.

What they didn’t know is that he actually had a practicing mental health professional on his side now, and truth be told, he didn’t feel anything really. Yes he could just as easily compare the experience to the steel-eye suit, but without the pain, the experiences were too different.

Reaching the docking bay for the second time. The marines were already waiting as were the diplomacy team.

Dr Krill cursed, “You arent serious.”

“Krill, I appreciate your opinion as a doctor, but in areas of equipping marines, I trust Ramirez more.”

The line of marines saluted as he drew nearer, their bodies covered by their combat ACUs, and each one wearing a matte black painted jetpack.

He turned, just in time for Ramirez to step forward with another, mounting it to the back plate on the Iron- eye suit, where it clicked satisfyingly into place.

Krill and Sunny both looked as if they were about  to have a conniption. 

He withdrew something from his pocket, “Don’t worry, I did my homework, and read the manual. I don’t plan on even using it if this all goes well.” he looked at the group of them seriously, “This isn’t for fun, everyone, this is for the safety and protection of myself and others. I have a panic button ready in case anything goes wrong, and I will have two more teams of marines on standby in low orbit in case something decides to happen. I have the diplomacy team to speak when I don’t know what to do, and I have the marines for a firefight if it comes to that. THe first sign of trouble and we fly out if we have to.”

He stepped forward a bit, looking around at the concerned and angry faces, “I understand you all are worried, but I have thought this through. I have taken your suggestions, and I am doing everything I can to stay safe.” He looked up at Sunny, “I will be equipped in the way that you suggested.” he turned to Krill and Katie, “We have the medical supplies that you ordered in the bags that were placed in the ready room.”

He turned to Narobi, “You sent in one of your best people to service all of the equipment days ago. I, and these men are as safe as we can be.” 

Maybe one day he wouldn't have to explain his actions to these people, but he understood that, in the past he had made a bunch of poor decisions. This time would not be that time. He had thought of everything, and he had talked to everyone else to consider things he hadn’t thought of. He was listening to his crew, and differing to the knowledge of experts. He didn’t pick the team, he didn’t pick the equipment, and he was going to allow the knowledge of others to carry through this time.

Yes, one day he would be able to make a decision without explaining everything, but today was not that day.

He looked around, “Are there any objections?” He held up a hand to cut Krill off, “On the basis of logic and not being angry at me?”

Krill shut his mouth.

One of the floor technicians jogged up, “The shuttle is ready commander.”

He nodded and turned to the marines, “Load up!” He then turned and ordered a second pilot onto the ship so as not to leave it unmanned when they were gone.

In the confusion, he turned to head towards the ship, but something caught his hand.

He turned and looked up to find Sunny’s golden eyes staring down at him. He could tell she was mad, displeased, and even a little hurt, though she didn’t say any of that.

The one day he thought he had made no mistakes…. And he had.

He looked around quickly, and seeing no one paying attention, he took one of her other hands.

The Iron eye armor impeded a good connection but it would have to do, “I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

SHe remained quiet.

“I know…. I should have told you, and you can kick my ass later, ok?”

His smile fell from his face as she continued to glower.

He squeezed her hands, “Back before you can say Adam is a dipshit.” He squeezed one more time and let go turning towards the shuttle and flexing his shoulders with a hydraulic hiss , the iron eye clattering hungrily with every movement

[tra-sh]

Mine to Hold (Bucky Barnes ABO)

Bucky comes back from Wakanda and you feel different around him. What's your solution? Avoid him until it goes away. This doesn't go over well with him.

Sometimes, on days like today, you find yourself staring out over your surroundings and wondering: how exactly did you get here? When people you where you work, you would answer “Stark Industries,” and nothing more. When those same people inquired who you work for, they would receive a tight-lipped smile, and perhaps a “Tony Stark,” laced with sarcasm. After all, how could you explain to the public that you worked for the Avengers? It was much easier and less exasperating to give a little white lie. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the hoards of fans who would follow you to work or try to convince you to slip them a photo of a sleeping Thor.

You'd long forgotten how you had ended up in this position, but you couldn’t imagine working anywhere else. You spent most of your time working with Dr. Banner, helping in the lab, and performing first aid on missions. Of course, you'd needed combat training, which the team was more than happy to provide. You had been afraid when you presented as an Omega a few years back, but nothing changed in the tower dynamic. No one treated you as if you were a fragile little doll, ready to break with the slightest touch.

You felt as though you were going against your biology and stepping out of the pack mentality-- and hell if it wasn’t thrilling. However, the doting and motherly nature of the Omega would often rear its head in regards to your team. The longer you worked with everyone, the more protective you felt over them. You would flit about nervously if one of them was on a dangerous mission, and launch a frenzy of panicked questions while checking them for injuries upon their return. It wasn’t too bad with the Alphas (Natasha, Steve, and Thor), but you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying over Clint and Bruce (Betas), and Tony who was the only other Omega in the tower. When Peter Parker began to visit, You'd guarded him almost immediately. You would coo over him and dote on the boy, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Peter had yet to emerge into a class, but You secretly hoped he would be an Omega like you and Tony. The tower was constantly full of competing Alpha pheromones and it was very overwhelming at times.

Yes, it was times like these where you looked at your current life and smile. You felt so at home here, and the Avengers were nothing more than family to you.

You walk into the living room and laugh softly at the group that had congregated in front of the TV. Tony was showing Thor the movie Wall-E, and the others had most likely filed in one by one and sat down. There were also times when you felt like a glorified babysitter. You step down into the living room, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. In addition to working the med-bay on missions, you often helped Pepper with the more official side of Stark Industries. You couldn't help but feel bad for the overworked Beta and assisted her as often as you could. She'd learned rather quickly that Tony listened to you more than her anyways.

“Tony?” You ask quietly. You rest your hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

Tony’s head lulls back, his eyes still trained on the cartoon robot in front of him. You roll your eyes and snort.

“You have a meeting today at 6:00? New York Times interview, remember?”

Tony made a strangled heave as if signaling to you that he didn’t want to go. “I know you don’t want to, but this is the one we’ve rescheduled three times already,” you point out. Tony groans as his head falls back to hit the couch. “Can’t they find some other superhero to interview? How about Ant-man? He has nothing better to do,” Tony offered. You shake your head and sigh. “I’m absolutely telling Henry you said that, and they specifically want to do an article on Iron man,” you remind him.

Tony was about to protest when F.R.I.D.A.Y interrupts. “Sir? James Barnes is at the entrance.” You can't help the fluttering in your stomach as you resist the urge to look at the elevator. Bucky is back?

Tony shot up off the couch grinning ear to ear. “Oh darn! I forgot our dear little soldier's mission ended this week! Guess we’ll have to cancel that appointment?” He feigned disappointment, shooting you a pleading look. You glare at him but eventually give in with a sigh. “You can explain to Pepper why I’m canceling. I’m not taking the fall for this one,” you mutter and pull out your phone. Tony cheered as he sauntered out of the room, presumably to greet the new guest. You hold your phone up to your ear and crane your neck as subtly as you can manage to try to catch a glimpse of the winter soldier. "Hello?" Pepper's voice carries through the speaker, catching you off guard.

"Oh! Hey, Pepper, sorry if I'm interrupting," you apologize quickly. "Not at all. Is something going on?" Pepper asks. You don't usually call her unless there's bad news coming. You spare a glance over to the elevators. "Yes, I'm afraid Tony is very adamant about not going to the New York Times interview today," you explain. Pepper makes a strangled sort of noise over the phone. Uh oh, she's really pissed. "And why exactly does Tony not want to go this time?" Pepper asks, trying to mask the edge to her tone.

Before you can answer, Tony strolls back into the living room with a very shy brunette in tow. Nat and Steve are the first to welcome him back. You feel your throat clench as you stare at him. To say Bucky was an attractive man would be a deplorable understatement. While his body language was very closed off and introverted, he dripped Alpha pheromones. Stupid Omega brain, you think to yourself. You and Bucky were fairly good friends, you'd say. You two would sit in comfortable silence with each other when he wasn't on missions, reading books or making small talk. You knew Bucky was put off by the social ranks, and you were scared for a while that he would avoid you after you presented an Omega. But your relationship stayed fairly stable much to your delight.

When Bucky's scent filled your nostrils and you felt a soothing calm wash over you. He smells like freshly ground coffee, cinnamon, and something earthy- like sage or myrrh. As embarrassing as it was to admit, his smell made you feel grounded and safe. "Hello?" Pepper wondered. 

"Right! Sorry, Pepper, actually Tony is here now if you'd like to speak with him," you offer, turning back towards him. Tony blanched and began to shake his head vigorously. You grin deviously at him before thrusting the phone in his hand. "You're the worst- Hey Pepper!" Tony quickly switches to his charming personality, making a beeline out of the living room so no one can hear her yell at him.

You laugh and turn around to look back in the living room. Bucky turns to look at you and gives you a gentle smile, making your stomach perform flips. He lumbers over to where you stand, looking down. "Hey, doll," he greets quietly. You can't help the smile that ghosts across your lips as you stare up at him. Were his eyes always that blue? You try to shake the thought from your mind. "Hi, Buck," you reply. "How was your mission?" You ask quickly, trying to maintain the conversation. Was it always this hard for you to talk to him? "Not too bad," he mumbles. "Shuri says hi."

You perk up at this and beam at him. "You saw her? How is she? Is everyone doing okay?" You can't stop the ramblings as they spill from your lips. Bucky laughs and you feel a hot blush creep up your neck. "Too much?" You ask cautiously. He shakes his head and rests a hand on your shoulder. "Just enough," he says. Your stomach clenches as you look at him. His peaceful smile, the way your skin tingles under his grip. You felt strange and it was beginning to poke and prod at your fight or flight response. "I have to go help Doctor Banner," you say quickly before excusing yourself from the room. Your heart was beating fast and your face felt hot. What was happening to you? Bucky watched you leave, a frown tugging at his lips.

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Bruce asks after a while.

Your head snaps up and you stare at him. "What?" You ask dumbly. He scoffs and places his coffee mug down on a nearby desk. "You reek," he points out. You flush and realize he's right; you're putting out distress pheromones. You sigh and move to sit down on the small lounge chair Tony had brought into the lab. Bruce often worked well into the night, so the lab also functioned as a living space.

"Bucky's back," you say hesitantly.

Bruce sits next to you quietly, urging you to continue. "It feels different," you tell him. "Like, before I could ignore his scent and everything and be close you know? But now it's like my brain wants me to jump his bones," you prattle off, your face growing redder with each confession. Bruce listens patiently, waiting for you to finish. "Well, it sounds to me like you've chosen Barnes as a potential mate," he says. You feel your body go rigid as you stare at your friend in shock.

"What?"

Bruce leans back on the couch, deep in thought. "Sometimes Omegas will seek out and choose a mate out of a group of Alphas," he explains. "It's not uncommon, although today you don't really see Omegas taking the initiative. Your body is trying to claim Bucky."

You shoot up from the couch, stumbling away from Bruce as he speaks. "No, no no-- I can't claim Bucky!" You shrill. Bruce sighs and walks over to you. He puts his hands on your shoulders in an attempt to calm you down. Betas weren't as commanding as Alphas, but his presence still helped to decrease your heart rate. "I'm afraid it's not up to you," Bruce says quietly. "Your brain chose Bucky and it's not going to let go of him unless the Alpha rejects the claim."

Your body shivers at the idea of Bucky rejecting you. Why does it make you so sad? Despair rolls off you in waves, making Bruce flinch. "I'm sorry, kiddo," he adds. "Is there something you can do? Raise the dose of my suppressants?" You ask hopefully. Bruce sighs, dropping his hands. "That's too dangerous. It could make you miss your heat for a prolonged amount of time, which would only make matters worse," he explains. You look at the ground and feel your eyes sting with unwelcome tears.

What were you supposed to do now?

Over the next few days, you fall into a carefully planned routine. You've discovered that if you only see Bucky in short bursts of time, it's easier for you to suppress the Omega instincts. You sit with him and talk to him for a few moments at a time, before finding some excuse to leave. Although you try to convince yourself it's the right thing to do, it gets progressively harder and harder for you to leave.

Everyone in the tower has noticed your behavior; especially Bucky. He saw through your excuses almost immediately, and it made his stomach sink. He couldn't help the ill-placed thought that you no longer wanted to be around him. He was the only one in the tower that you would avoid and he didn't like it. He almost growled when he saw you train with Sam instead of him. Since when were you so close to Sam?

Bucky didn't realize he was sitting on the couch pouting until Steve came over. "Jesus, Buck," Steve said. "It reeks in here." Bucky's lips pulled into a snarl as he glared at Steve. The blonde super soldier raised a brow at his friend's actions. Since when did Bucky act like this? "You're acting like a lovesick pup," Steve points out. Bucky grumbles something under his breath, looking away.

Why was he acting like this? He wasn't even sure. Bucky feels so on edge like the slightest movement will set him off. It's unfamiliar to him, and he hates it. "I know," he sighs after a moment. "I don't know why." Bucky looks up to Steve with an exasperated expression. Steve hums quietly and sits on the chair across from the winter soldier. "It wouldn't have anything to do with the Omega you're so close with, would it?" Bucky's grip on his metal arm tightens.

"She's avoiding me," Bucky mutters. Steve looks away, his eyes scanning the living room for any unwanted ears. He's noticed your new attitude towards Bucky, but Steve wasn't as naive. He knew mating behavior when he saw it, considering how Tony had acted before they claimed one another. "Have you tried asking her?" Steve wonders. Bucky scoffs and his grip gets tighter. "She won't stay long enough for me to try," he growls. The more he thinks about you and Sam the angrier he gets. Steve smells the anger and tries to suppress his Alpha instinct to fight. He clears his throat, looking at Bucky. "Buck, you need to talk to her. You can't just sit here and stink up the place. You're not the only Alpha in the tower," Steve reminds him. He gets up and leaves the living room quickly, trying to clear his head. Bucky sighs, looking down at his feet.

How would he talk to you if you wouldn't stick around long enough to get a word in?

Bucky stands outside your door, hesitating. He's been in here before, sure. But that was before you'd started avoiding him. He debates turning around and leaving. The last thing Bucky wanted was to fuel your hatred toward him. He felt something in his chest tighten at that thought. Did you hate him? He pushed the thought away and steeled his mind, trying to focus through the Alpha thoughts telling him to find you and take what's his. He knocked softly at the door and waited. No response came, making Bucky frown. Were you still in the gym? He chewed his lip nervously. Were you with Sam?

Bucky felt a possessive surge in his brain at the thought of you training with Sam for over two hours. He pushed his way into the room and looked around. His eyes fell on the bed and he froze.

He stared at the nest of fluffed pillows and clothing on your bed, placed in such a way that there was a little divot in the middle for you to curl up in. He felt something snap in his brain as he looked at the nest with white-hot anger.

Whose clothes had you taken? Who were you nesting with?

He stormed closer to the bed until a familiar scent hit him like a wall. He blinked, staring at the mound of pillows before him. Were those... his? He stared at a familiar pair of sweatpants and a balled-up t-shirt. Did you bring his clothes into your nest? Your safe space? This realization made Bucky's chest flutter. His scent was all over the pillows and sheets, and it made his pride soar. You wanted him in your safe place; he was comforting to you. Bucky couldn't help the smug grin that danced across his lips. Well, now he knew you didn't hate him at least. But why would you avoid him? Bucky decided at that moment that he needed to talk with you- whether you wanted to or not.

Bucky paced around the tower, brows knit together in concern. No one had seen you for a few hours. Where had you gone? Did you leave because of him? To make matters worse, you weren't answering your phone.

Bucky glanced around anxiously. He debated running around the city to look for you, but where would he even start? F.R.I.D.A.Y didn't even know your location. Why was no one else panicking? The elevator in the middle of the floor dinged and Bucky immediately looked up. You walked into the tower looking down at your phone in shock. '23 missed calls from Jon Snow'. You felt your face grow hot as you try to ignore the fluttering in your chest. Why did Bucky call you 23 times? He never used his phone unless it was for emergencies. You look up and freeze in your spot. Bucky is standing in front of the elevator, staring at you like a man in the desert would an oasis. You felt your knees grow weak at the desperation in his gaze. "Bucky?"

He's about to question you when an unpleasant smell wafts through his nose. You shrink back at the anger that settles on his features. Was he upset with you?

Bucky glares at your neck, where the unfamiliar smell is coming from. Why did you smell like an Alpha? Had someone scented you? It didn't smell like anyone he knew and it made his blood boil. "Who did it?" Bucky growls after a pause. Your brows knit together in confusion. Who did what? You wrack your brain for what he could be upset about when suddenly it clicks in your mind. "Bucky, it was--" Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky whisks you away to the sleeping quarters. A started noise leaves your lips as he heaves you over one shoulder effortlessly.

Bucky carries you swiftly into his room, dropping you on the bed like a rag doll. "Bucky," you begin again only to be interrupted by the Alpha crawling over you. He pins you down to the bed and brings his head to your neck. You shudder and present your scent gland to him almost immediately. Bucky preens at this and happily marks you. He does it over and over until your own smell is barely a whisper. You know you're practically dripping in Bucky's scent, and something in your brain sighs happily as if to say, 'more!'

He seems satisfied with his work and looks up to your flushed face. You can't help the purr that slips out of you as you look at the proud Alpha above you. Your body feels light and airy as if you're floating. A languid smile drifts across your lips as you stare at Bucky. He sits up, dragging you forward so you rest on his lap. "My 'mega," he mutters under his breath. You preen at the claim, nuzzling your nose against his cheek.

"If you've gotten that out of your system, can I explain now?" Bucky nods begrudgingly, making you chuckle. You lean forward and place a soft kiss on his forehead. "I was with Pepper at a meeting for a new Stark Industries internship program," you begin. "One of the interns was nervous and accidentally scented while I was next to him."

Bucky frowned. If you were with Pepper, why didn't anyone tell him? "Who knew you left?" Bucky asks, rubbing his chin on your shoulder absentmindedly. "I told Tony," you say, pausing to think. "Tony and Steve."

Bucky curses under his breath. This was probably Steve's way of making him talk to her. You look at him, your heart swelling in your chest. Had he been worried? Why did that make you so happy? Bucky pulls away and you whine at the loss of his warmth. "We need to talk," Bucky says finally. You feel a rush of dread pool in your stomach but you manage to nod.

"You've been avoiding me." You look away and bite your lip. You knew he would notice eventually, but it still made you nervous. "I know," you whisper. You feel guilt settle in the pit of your stomach and you sigh. You should have told him sooner but you were just too afraid of what he'd say.

"I saw your nest," Bucky adds.

Your face flushes as you look at him in shock. "You did?" You squeak. Bucky nods, looking you in your eyes. "Why were you avoiding me?" He asks. You look down and sigh softly. "I, um," you fumble over your words as you try to think. "I might have-- unknowingly-- claimed you?" You say awkwardly. Bucky feels his stomach flip at your confession. "Did you not want to?" Bucky whispers. "No! I do!" You say quickly, before realizing your words. Your face turns pink as Bucky raises a brow at you. "I know you weren't exactly thrilled about the classes, and I was afraid you'd reject me," you murmur. "Oh, doll," Bucky sighs, leaning forward. He places a kiss on your cheek and you feel his stubble scratch against your skin. "I was worried that you wouldn't like me as an Alpha," he admits. "I didn't want you to think I was just some knot-head looking for a rut." You're quick to shake your head and look up at him with a reassuring smile. "Bucky, I could never think that about you," you say quietly.

He hums in appreciation and peppers your face with light kisses. Your chest flutters at the affection and you turn your head to nuzzle his face with your own. A pleasant silence falls over the room, and you swear you can hear your heartbeat pounding away. Bucky's arms tighten around your frame, holding you close. You reach up timidly and rest your palms on his chest. A small smile ghosts over your lips when you feel his heartbeat speed up at your touch. Bucky leans down and places a gentle kiss on your shoulder, closing his eyes. "Mine," he whispers.

You feel your chest swell with pride and you can't help the grin that takes over your features. You plant a loving kiss against his hair and wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders.

"Yours."