#Featuring Nick Fury

[keycomicbooks]

Marvel Team-Up #83 (1979) Rich Buckler and Steve Leialoha Cover, Chris Claremont Writer, Sal Buscema Pencils, 1st Appearance of Virgil Ames & Maggie McCulloch, Featuring Nick Fury

#MarvelTeamUp #83 (1979) #RichBuckler and #SteveLeialoha Cover, #ChrisClaremont Writer, #SalBuscema Pencils, 1st Appearance of #VirgilAmes & #MaggieMcCulloch, Featuring #NickFury "Slaughter on 10th Avenue" Spider-Man lies on the snow-covered roof of the West Side Manhattan tenement where Nick Fury gunned him down a few hours before...  https://www.rarecomicbooks.fashionablewebs.com/Marvel%20Team%20Up.html#83 #RareComicBooks #KeyComicBooks #MarvelComics #MCU #MarvelUniverse #KeyIssue

[vanteguccir]

Hi! I love your fics and I was wondering if you could maybe do a dad!matt oneshot where they are like at a store and a creep like keeps staring at his daughter and he gets protective?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPROTECTIVE DAD * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Matt is protective over his daughter when a creep guy keeps staring at her at target

FEATURING　dad!Matt Sturniolo x reader x daughter

WARNINGS　::　creep guy

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The fluorescent lights of Target buzzed faintly as Matt, Y/N, and Stella strolled through the craft supplies aisle. Stella's face was lit with excitement as she combed through the colorful rows of markers, foam boards, and glue sticks.

"Do you think blue or green will look better for the background, mom?" Stella asked, holding up two sheets of poster board for Y/N to examine.

Y/N smiled warmly, tilting her head to consider.

"Green, maybe? It’ll make the other colors pop more. What do you think, Matt?"

Matt was standing a few feet away, scanning a shelf of decorative stickers.

"Green." He called over his shoulder, grabbing a pack of sparkly stars. "But you need these too. Every good mockup has stars."

Stella giggled, shaking her head in her mom's direction.

"Dad, I don’t think stars go with a science project."

"They go with everything. Your uncle says that all the time." Matt said, grinning as he tossed the stickers that Nick - and Stella - loved so much into the cart.

As he turned back to the shelf, something prickled at the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched - one that he had a big knowledge of, working for the internet for around 15 years. A sense of unease settled over him, and he instinctively glanced down the aisle, thinking that it could be just a fan.

But it wasn't.

His stomach tightened. A man stood at the far end, his gaze locked on Stella. The creep wasn’t even pretending to browse, his eyes were fixed in a way that made Matt's protective instincts kick in.

He moved closer to Y/N and Stella, subtly placing himself in front of his daughter. He grabbed a few random items off the shelf to look busy, all the while keeping an eye on the man. But when he glanced back, the guy was still staring.

"Y/N." Matt called quietly, his voice low but steady. He placed a hand on her waist and leaned in. "Take Stella to the next aisle."

Y/N’s brow furrowed, sensing the tension in his voice.

"What’s wrong?" She asked softly, already clutching Stella’s arm protectively, trying to look around but being stopped by Matt shaking his head.

"Just go." Matt said, his jaw tightening. "I’ll be right behind you."

Y/N didn’t argue, she knew that when her husband acted like that, something serious was happening. She nodded, her grip on Stella firm as she gently guided her toward the end of the aisle.

"Come on, sweetheart, let’s check out the paint pens."

"But I already-" Stella began, confused, but Y/N’s reassuring smile quieted her.

Matt watched them leave, his chest tightening with both relief and anger. He turned back toward the man, who was now looking at him with a startled expression, as if realizing he’d been caught. Matt didn’t hesitate. He strode down the aisle, his boots squeaking faintly against the polished floor.

When Matt stopped just a few feet away, his glare was sharp enough to cut steel. His voice was calm, but the fury simmering beneath the surface was very much there.

"Is there a reason you’re staring at my daughter?"

The man blinked, caught off guard by the confrontation.

"What? No, I wasn’t-"

"Don’t even try." Matt interrupted, his tone dropping dangerously low. He took a step closer, his broad shoulders and tall frame imposing. "You’ve been staring at her since we got here, and I don’t appreciate it."

The man stammered, his confidence visibly faltering.

"I-I wasn’t doing anything. Just looking around... For my-"

"Looking around?" Matt echoed, sarcastically glancing at his empty basket, his voice laced with disdain. "Then look somewhere else. She’s thirteen. You understand me? Thirteen, you sick son of a bitch."

The man shifted uncomfortably, muttering something incoherent before backing away. Matt’s gaze didn’t waver, tracking him until he turned and disappeared down another aisle. Only then did Matt let out a slow breath, his hands still clenched into fists.

He returned to find Y/N and Stella by the markers, Stella innocently looking at all her options, but Y/N’s expression tight with concern.

She placed a hand on his biceps as he approached, feeling the tension there.

"Is everything okay?"

Matt nodded, his jaw still set.

"It’s fine now."

Y/N squeezed his covered skin, understanding without needing details. She knew Matt would do anything to protect their family.

"Dad?" Stella piped up, holding out a pack of metallic pens. "Do you think these will match the green poster?"

Matt’s face softened instantly, and he crouched down to her level, brushing a stray strand of brown hair from her face.

"They’ll look perfect, Stell. Just like everything you do."

She beamed, and thankfully, the tension lifted. Y/N reached out, brushing her fingers against Matt’s, intertwining them before caressing his knuckles with her thumb.

As they moved toward the checkout line, Matt kept a watchful eye on the store, his posture still on high alert.

© vanteguccir

[ivyasproperty]

Light In The Dark.

wanda.m x fem!avenger!reader

summary — you've always had problems with your eyes, so why is it there's something, specifically someone standing so brightly in front of you?

warning(s) : idfk im too tired to check

word count : 2.1k

A/N : took a 2 month break bc i was lazy oops </3, i also didnt know wtf to call the aura so i called it spiritual powers teehee

You were born with a mysterious disease that not even the worlds best doctors could diagnose, you knew this since you were a a toddler, and yet, you couldn't help but get frustrated every time it passed your mind.

Your disease was special, it messed with your eye sight. Yes, you could see, but in your eyes, everything was in a darker hue. What was supposed to be the crystal blue sky on a sunny day, looked like a rainstorm during night.

So of course it made sense you were frustrated, your disease has affected your life is so many ways. You've lost jobs at café's or restaurants for not being able to see the menu, the pages being too dark to see the words written across it, you've lost jobs at business companies, bosses complaining your progress was too slow. Sure the glowing white light from the computer helped, but only slightly.

And so of course you were surprised when Nick Fury, founder of SHIELD, presented an opportunity for you to join the Avengers. You were hesitant at first, not understanding why they'd invite a person like you. But you were then informed that your powers, that being your hindered eye sight, could detect spiritual power. You were confused... spiritual power? How the hell were you supposed to detect that?

As if reading your mind, the one-eyed man told you that a person who possessed spiritual power would emit an aura that only you would be able to see. The more spiritual power that person had, the brighter the aura would be. He explained you would be a useful asset to recruiting more people, be it for the Avengers, or SHIELD.

You didn't like the feeling of being a tool to recruit more people, so you were about to decline, but then brought up the monthly paycheck you'd make if you were to accept. Well..... how could someone refuse THAT amount of money am I right? ( i imagine it to be maybe 10k-15k usd per month ^^ )

ᯓ★

Your first day on the job wasn't bad per say, but it was definitely hectic. The Avengers compound was so far away from where you lived, you had to wake up 2 hours earlier than you usually do to arrived at a reasonable time. It wasn't just that, the compound was so big, you had troubles navigating through the damn building, and with your shitty eye sight, you ran into multiple walls, causing you to rest for awhile and wasting even more time. Curse Stark and his big ass building.

After FINALLY arriving at the lounge room of the compound, you were surprised to see all members of the Avengers lined up in a line facing towards the entrance, as if waiting for you to arrive. Standing in front of them was a familiar figure, one you've come to recognise as Nick Fury.

As if sensing your presence, he turned around and gave what you think was a grin, you couldn't tell, all you could see was pitch black because of your disease.

Introducing yourself was another issue, even with the shiny blonde hair that Steve Rogers and Thor Odinsson had, it was hard to distinguish their faces. You had to squint your eyes to see if a person was standing in front of you or not.

After introducing yourself to Natasha Romanoff, the black widow, it was on to the next and final person, one you've heard on the news multiple times. Wanda Maximoff, also known as the Scarlett Witch. She was just a few years older than you, so you were expecting a shy girl, what you weren't expecting was a bright red light shining around her figure. You covered your eyes, wanting and needing to block out the light to not damage your already damaged eyes.

After getting used to the shine, you let your hands fall to your sides, her features were something you've never seen before, which was ironic since you could barely make out people's faces. She had emerald green eyes, scarlet hair and light freckles adorned her cheeks. She was ethereal, you thought.

You were about to let go of her hand after shaking it when it hit you. Did you just explain her features in detail? But how? You could barely see anything. You looked back up at her face, and your eyes widened at how normal she looked. Nothing about her was a dark color, it was basically your first time seeing colors so bright.

You didn't notice the poor woman getting nervous under your gaze, 'is there something on my face?' she thought to herself. But before she could ask the question that she recited in her mind, she saw Fury tapping your shoulder, affectively breaking you out of your stupor.

"Sorry.." you murmured, "I've just never seen a face with such bright colors before. You know, with my disease and all...." You hated how shy you sounded, it was as if you were a petite girl getting caught for sticking her hand in the cookie jar.

"It's fine!" she enthusiastically said, she felt at ease after finding out the reason for your blatant staring. "Your names Y/N right? I hope we can be good friends." You hoped so too.

ᯓ★

You were settling in nicely. After being here for around 5 months, you've realised a lot more things about yourself. Who would've thought you'd be so good at sparring? Well at least yo were when against Steve, you'd never be able to beat Natasha. And who would've thought you were able to work out complicated biotech with Stark? Certainly not you. Who would've thought your heart would start pounding whenever Wanda Maximoff was around? Who would've tho- wait what? Your heart pounds whenever Wanda is around? You stopped in your tracks after the thought came into mind.

'I like Wanda?' you thought to yourself, 'That can't be, sure I'm always flustered around her and always crave to be around her, but that doesn't mean I have a crush on her! Right?' you asked yourself. 'Right?'

"Right about what, malysh?", you'd recognise that nickname from miles away. "It's nothing wands, somethings on my mind is all." "Penny for your thoughts then?", you couldn't help but giggle at her words, yo don't know why. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Is it about your powers? Oh! Maybe about how you'd finally beat Natasha at sparring?", her words were filled with excitement as she asked you questions.

"Ouch, Wands. To be clear I've beaten Natasha before..... at everything except what she's good at. And no it's nothing you've listed." you replied.

"Whatever you say malysh, so what's on your mind? Let me guess! Let me guess! Uhm...."

You giggled at her excited tone, your lips instantly pulling up into a smile whenever she showed you this side of her. Wanda was still fairly new to the Avengers, sure she was friends with all the members but she was closest to you. You felt fluttering in your stomach at the thought.

But, what if she eventually finds out about the pathetic crush you have on her? You've noticed the way she looks at vision, you don't know what he has that you don't, because you can't even tell what he looks like. Is he good looking? Handsome? Cute? But you did hear Clint muttering something about him having red skin.....

Back on the matter, you were worried, worried about how she'd react, would she like you back? Or would a disgusted look be plastered onto her goddess like features?

Even in stressful situations like this, you couldn't help but find Wanda beautiful. Her face got brighter day by day, the aura surrounding her getting brighter and brighter, showing that she was getting stronger too. You admired her for that.

You looked back in front of you, trying to avoid Wanda's piercing gaze as she tries to guess what's on your mind. What you didn't know was that Wanda had read your mind. She felt guilty, she promised you she'd never do anything like that to you. It was an invasion of privacy. But your thoughts were so loud! They were practically spewing out of your mind!

She couldn't help the blush that rose upon her cheeks at finding out about your crush on her. She herself was also finding it hard to come to light about her feeling towards you. Yes, she felt an undeniable pull between her and vision but her heart pounded in a different way when she was in your presence. She felt the stress ebb away from her body when she was able to rant to you about your problems.

It wasn't until you finally reached your destination, that being your room, that you stopped Wanda's rambling. "It's nothing to worry about Wands, just figuring things out is all."

And just as you were about to close your room door after entering, Wanda hurriedly jammed her foot between the door and your doorframe, wincing at the pain that she had willingly put herself through. To say you were shocked at her action was an understatement. "Are you alright?!" you half shouted, "You could hurt yourself doing that!" "I'm fine malysh. I just.... I just need a moment with you." she panted between breaths.

'A moment? With me? Did something happen? What's going on?' . you pondered as you entered your room, Wanda following behind you. "What's wrong Wands? Your face is really red. Like, REALLY red. And you can tell it's bad when even I can see a color as bright as that.", your worried tone warmed Wanda's heart. 'All I want to do right now is kiss that worried face of yours away.' she thought to herself. Well atleast she thinks she did.

"Y-you wanna what to my face away?", you asked, bewildered at the fact she just said that aloud. "Hm?", Wanda was still oblivious, it took a few seconds for her to realise what had just happened, and of course, her face turned as red as a tomato, at this point it was hard to differentiate the color of her face and her hair, they were almost the same.

"I-I'm so sorry, malysh! It just slipped out! I didn't mean it— well I DID, but I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable!-", you could feel your heart pumping wildly against your chest, what does she mean she means what she said? Does she want to kiss you? No that couldn't be it, but then what could she mean? I mean if she did, you wouldn't be complaining.

"Malysh? Are you listening? You know what i'll get straight to the reason why I wanted to talk, I like you, okay? Y/N? Y/N listen to me!" You were still in your own world, asking yourself question when Wanda suddenly started shaking your shoulders and was repeating the same sentence over and over again.

"Wait, hold on a second Wands. You like me? You?" you asked incredulously, as if she hadn't said it a dozen times already.

"Yes, stupid! I like you! Are you gonna say anything? Y/N? God....", she felt frustrated, and rightfully so. Your mind was still trying to process what she said, and after doing so your face turned to what you think is a bright red.

"Oh! That's.... that's cool! Yeah! I... I just......", you were a stuttering mess under Wanda's watchful gaze, and you felt panic rise within you when you noticed an upset look spread across her face. Wanda had took your stuttering as you being uncomfortable, and tried to talk her way out of the topic at hand when you suddenly cut her off before she could even say anything.

"I like you too! Okay! I just, I have a hard time expressing it.... 'M just shocked is all....", the words finally left your mouth in a hurried sentence.

"Why would you ever be shocked, malysh?", Wanda was confused, did you not notice her liking towards you?

"It's just, you're like a goddess Wands. You're beautiful, cheerful and powerful. I don't understand why you'd be with someone like me, someone who can't even see things properly."

"Well you can see me perfectly fine, no?"

"That's different, Wands."

"How so, Y/N/N? I don't care if you have problems seeing, malysh. Hell, I wouldn't even care if you were blind! I like you because you're you. And I like you, okay?"

You were processing her words, still trying to tell if she was saying it for fun or not, but when you realised she wasn't, you wrapped your arms around her frame.

"Woah! Calm down there, malysh. Still need to breathe." she chuckled. But you couldn't care less. She finally liked you back. You finally got your girl. You finally got the light in the dark.

A/N : if im being honest, i fucking hate this. i thought that maybe if i went with the flow it'd come out okay but at this point its just nonsense, but anywayyy!!! hope you enjoyed this one! feel free to leave requests!!!!

[disneytva]

Marvel Comics Celebrates "Phineas And Ferb" Revival with New Variant Covers For June.

To celebrate the long-awaited new season of Disney Branded Television's Phineas and Ferb, premiering this summer on Disney Channel and Disney+, Marvel Comics will feature the characters of the beloved animated series in a new set of Variant Covers for issues of AVENGERS (2023), FANTASTIC FOUR (2022), and X-MEN (2024) hitting stands this June.

The three Phineas And Ferb VARIANT COVERS include artwork drawn by Phineas and Ferb co-creator and executive producer Dan Povenmire, as well as Eisner-nominated cartoonist Jacob Chabot, that reimagines Phineas and Ferb, their older sister Candace, their pet platypus Perry, and more as legendary Marvel super heroes. In fun recreations of the Rick Leonardi's NEW MUTANTS (1983) #50, Jim Steranko's STRANGE TALES (1951) #167, and John Romita's MARVEL TREASURY EDITION (1974) #2 covers, see Candace summon dark forces as the mutant sorceress Magik; Agent P embark on globe-trotting missions like his fellow superspy, Nick Fury; and Phineas, Ferb, Isabella, and Buford save the day as the Fantastic Four! This exciting collaboration that showcases Marvel Comics history through the imaginative world of Phineas and Ferb can be found at your local comic shop this June, perfect for fans eager to see the inventive step brothers’ latest summer vacation adventures!

[traveler-at-heart]

Cat's out of the (super) bag

Summary: Natasha doesn't like going on missions with you. Learning the truth might make her change her mind.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Big thanks to @soggy-wet-cat for hearing this idea before I wrote it :)

--

Fury was going soft.

That was the only way to explain your presence on most of Natasha’s missions.

Rogers, she gets. He’s a super soldier and as capable as Natasha is, it doesn’t hurt to have an enhanced individual around.

But you.

Always slow, always too relaxed for Natasha’s liking. Insisting you could do more, but last week you weren’t even able to pick a lock.

Not to mention how much you avoid hand to hand combat. Natasha suspects it’s because your skill level is very low.

“She’d do better out of the field” Natasha complains for the tenth time. Fury smirks. “This isn’t funny. I’m risking my neck to protect her and she’s not even worried about getting better. I’m not doing missions with her anymore”

“Now, hold on” Fury protests. “That’s not for you to decide. And I thought you trusted me”

“It’s her I can’t trust”

“Too damn bad. You have a mission. No Rogers this time. And I better hear it went well, Romanoff”

Natasha rolls her eyes and leaves his office.

It will only go well if she convinces you to sit and wait at the jet.

—

“What did you do to piss off Romanoff?”

“Morning to you too, Nick” you smile, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “I don’t know. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t like me”

“I know that. Have you done anything to upset her?”

“I barely speak to her and when I do she doesn’t answer” you shrug your shoulders, going back to every interaction you’ve had with the redhead. Her intense glare comes back to haunt you. “Do you think she knows?”

“You tell me. Did you screw up?”

“I keep a low profile. Like you asked me to” you nod, knowing how important this is for him.

“Better stay that way. You’re both leaving for a mission tomorrow” the man hands you a folder and you skim it. “Keep your head down and don’t make her angrier”

“Is that even possible?”

“You don’t wanna know”

—

It’s a mess from the start. You try to stay away from Natasha, but every time your attempts go in the worst way possible. Like when she’s walking down the jet, and you move aside so she has space. Except you end up pushing a few buttons on the console and Natasha has to come back and straighten the ship.

“Stay still” she mutters, glaring. You nod and sit on your hands, more concerned with the woman’s temper than about the mission.

“Wait here” is all she says after landing the jet.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a very simple mission” Natasha says, without looking at you, focused on adjusting her widow bites. “So, if you really want to help, stay out of my way”

“That’s not the plan. I’m supposed to watch the south entrance”

“They’ll never even noticed I inflitrated the building”

“You’re not my boss. Fury is. And if he wants me to stand outside and watch the south entrance, then that is exacly what I’ll do, Natasha”

The redhead finally turns back to look at you, surprised. This is the first time she’s seen you upset. You’re walking past her, not bothering to look her way… have you always been this tall? It always seems like you’re trying to look small.

“Hey” Natasha tries to make you turn, grabbing your arm. She’s surprised by how strong you are. “You better not screw up. Or I’ll make sure you’re on desk duty for the rest of your career, Y/L/N”

“Oh, now that’s funny. I’ve been here far longer than you” you lean forward, whispering. Natasha tries to understand what you mean, her eyes scanning your features for a sign. Aware of how close you are to her, you take a step back and jump out the door, ignoring the ladder.

Ridiculous, to think that you (you!) are an incompetent agent.

Maybe Fury was wrong for asking you to do this.

You’re kicking the ground, huffing every few minutes, still fuming at Natasha’s words. All this time, you thought she didn’t like you and though it sucked, you could live with that. But saying you were bad at your job when it was the exact opposite makes you see red.

“Y/N?” Natasha says over the comms.

“Here” you answer.

“A little help”

Those three words make your stomach drop. Natasha asking for your help?

This must be life or death kind of bad.

“Tell me where you are” you ask, breaking into the building.

“Intelligence room. Surrounded by at least 20 guards”

“Use the vents to go out and grab one of their vehicles. I’ll distract them”

“You’re gonna take down 20 people all on your own?”

“Just do as I say, Romanoff”

It feels good to finally use all your strenght. You practically rip open a door that sets off an alarm, and then you throw a couple of grenades around.

Now, all eyes are on you.

Sure enough, it takes them a few minutes to come find you, but you’re ready to shoot at the first guards, and when the second wave has gone through their ammo, you prepare for hand to hand combat.

“I’m out but there are two individuals after me. Towards the east, away from the jet”

“Got it. Gentleman” you turn to the man. “Change of plans. Let me go or die. Whichever is fine by me”

They laugh, until you send one of them flying across the room, his neck snapping.

“Who’s next, ladies?”

—

How could this mission have gone so wrong? Now Natasha is navigating the snowy road on a motorcycle, being chased by two of the guards and dodging their bullets.

The cold air is stabbing her hands and face but she has to keep going. She is too far away to communicate with you, but hoped you had the good sense of going back to the jet.

She’d find a way to survive.

Or maybe not, as she notices a third motorcycle joining the chase.

Through the rearview mirror, she sees the new person approaching one of the guards. A fight ensues and an exchange of shots. Next thing Natasha saw was the motorcycles colliding.

“Y/N?” she tries the comms, hoping you aren’t stupid enough to be knocking down people. Whoever those two were, the force of the hit was enough to kill them.

And yet, one of them begins to run after Natasha and the man still chasing her. The figure is fast approaching, which is ridiculous, considering Natasha was going 150 miles per hour.

The brute is clearly scared, as his movements become more erratic, trying to get rid of Natasha and the mysterious figure at the same time. He shoots behind him and then at Natasha, getting to one of the tires in her bike.

She tries to keep the handle steady, but can’t turn on the curve ahead of her. Natasha is sent flying directly to a river, the cold water making her momentarily paralized. The currents confused her, and she couldn’t tell up from down. She swam and swam, until her arms were too tired.

She began to drift, and the last thing she saw was a shadow hovering above her.

—

“Natasha? Nat?” you plead, doing CPR as gently as you can. You don’t want to add cracked ribs to her list of injuries.

Finally, after what felt like hours but were only seconds, Natasha lunges forward, coughing and throwing up water. You hold her head, helping her until she can breathe again.

“I’m freezing” Natasha complains, looking around. “Did we lose them? How did you…” she then turns to you and widens her eyes. “You’re bleeding”

“Yeah, he shot me. It’ll stop in a second. And yes, we lost them. Though I’m sure HYDRA is sending more people to track us down. Come on” you stand up, offering your hand. Natasha takes it and is once again surpised by how strong you are.

Your body is also warmer than hers, even if you dived to rescue her. On pure instinct, Natasha comes closer, practically melting against your body heat.

“You’re hiding something” she states and you chuckle.

“Now’s not the time. Come on, I’ll carry you. There must be a safe house close to the river”

Natasha climbs to your back, and as if she weights nothing, you walk down the river, trusting she’ll keep an eye for any place to hide.

Sure enough, after ten minutes of walking, the redhead gets your attention and points at the right. There’s a small cottage hiding between some trees.

“Here” you say as you kick open the door, not bothering to find a key. You set Natasha down and go around the place, looking for blankets and anything that will make her warm.

“Did it stop bleeding?” she asks, looking at your abdomen. You nod, placing a blanket over her shoulder and checking for other injuries. “Are you a super soldier?”

You smile, thinking that Fury will be up in arms. But technically, you didn’t tell Natasha. She figured it out.

“Yes”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knows?” Natasha says, pulling the blanket closer, as if it will help her cover from you as well. It’s clear she doesn’t trust you right now.

“Fury asked me to keep a low profile. He’s the only one that knows. I think he’s concerned about the integrity of SHIELD. You know him, keeping an ace up his sleeve”

“How long have you known him for?”

“Thirty years, give or take. My existence is top secret, and I spent some time away from the job. My father died, and he was the last person that I knew before everything, so… it was hard, I guess”

“I’m sorry”

“Me too. I didn’t like lying to you or pretending to be something I’m not”

Natasha kicks herself for not noticing sooner. It’s so glaringly obvious now that she has to roll her eyes at herself.

Your build, the fact that you never seem to be tired or catching your breath. Hell, the fact you never train with anyone else.

Natasha made an assumption and ran with it, instead of trying to see past it.

“Hey, you ok?” you ask, craddling her head in your hands. “Did you hit your head? Feel dizzy?”

“I’m just cold”

“We can’t start a fire” you regret, looking out. “Here” you pull her closer, your arms going around her shoulders. She tries to protest, but whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as soon as she feels how warm you are.

“This suit is all wet” she says, pulling away and taking it off. “Don’t look or I’ll kill you”

“Uh… what is going on?” your eyes dart to the ceiling, blushing. Then, you feel Natasha’s cold skin against you. “Jesus, Nat. You’re freezing”

You bury the both of you in more blankets, and feel her melting against your side. On instinct, your arms go around her waist and bring her closer, to which she responds by burying her face on the crook of your neck.

“So I can’t look but I can touch, huh?”

“Glad we understand each other”

—

“So…”

“So” Natasha says, landing the jet back home.

“Can we be friends? Friendly, at least?”

“No” she stands up, walking towards you. “Friends don’t look at each other the way you’ve been looking at me for the entire ride home”

“Can you blame me?” your eyes drift to her cleavage, remembering how she was practically naked and clinging to you as if her life depended on it.

“Wine and dine me, Y/L/N. And we’ll take it from there”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Am I interrupting?” Fury shouts from the hangar.

“Yes” you say, but Natasha leaves, glaring at Fury on her way out.

“I’ve known you for thirty years and you still can’t keep it together around a pretty lady. And now I’m in trouble too” Fury says, clearly displeased.

“Hey, at least you don’t have that problem with Rogers, huh?”

“For now, Y/L/N. There’s always some trouble waiting around the courner”

You laugh and clap his back, leaving the jet. His plan may have failed, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Not when you have a hot date waiting for you.

[perlelune]

Boadicea | Feyd-Rautha

You took the lives of his men. It's only fair to the na-Baron to have yours in return.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fedaykin! Reader, Fremen Reader, Forced Submission, Dacryphilia, Collars, Mouth Gag, Cannibalism, Knives, Death Fetish, Exhibitionism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Elation bursts through your chest as the dying gurgle of yet another Harkonnen soldier fills your ears. You grow even more satisfied when his body hits the ground. Another screaming bald-headed demon lunges at you. Fierce blows are exchanged. You wince as he nicks you in the flank.

The desperation to win explodes through your veins. You slam your head into his, disorienting him long enough to drive your crysknife right through his gut. Even as he falls across the sand, blood spilling from his gaping mouth, you don’t stop. Unrelenting, you keep stabbing him, fury and vengeance driving your blade. With each strike, more of his dark blood splatters over your face, adding to his slain comrades’.

A war cry rips from your throat when he stops moving. 

You rise on quaking feet, the exhaustion of hours of fending off the never-ending swarm of Harkonnen warriors crashing over you at once.

Your gaze swings across the battlefield. Horror surges within you.

It’s a slaughter. Fellow Fedaykin are burning right before your eyes. The Harkonnen artilleries rained death upon the Fremen troops the likes of which you’ve never seen before. The shock of sheer helplessness drills a gaping hole inside your chest. 

Cowards, you muse bitterly. Of course they will not face you on the ground. It is well-known one Fedaykin is worth a dozen Harkonnen soldiers. None in the known universe fight more ferociously than the Fremen. 

So they resorted to unleash heavy weapons from the sky. The sweltering Arrakis weather did the rest. 

You whirl to your little brother. Just like you, he’s covered in grime, dirt and the putrid ichor that serves as blood to the Harkonnens.

“Run, Kaleb, hide!” you yell in Chakobsa, urgency bleeding in your tone. 

You are lost. So is the rest of the Fedaykin army. But if your brother leaves now, he can use his hooks to call a maker and hitch a ride to safety.

A frown carves your little brother’s brow. “I can’t leave you,” he says.

You grip his shoulders.

“You have to. Get supplies at the village and go south with the others. Do you hear me?”

When he doesn’t reply, staring at you mouth agape, you jostle his slender frame.

“Do you hear me?” you repeat, louder this time.

He gives a shaky nod. “Yes!” 

You remove the cord around your neck to place it around your brother’s instead.

A look of terror distorts his features.

“No, I can’t take your water rings,” he says, his voice trembling.

Your forehead presses against his.

“You must.”

A single errant tear spills down his cheek and you swipe it with your thumb, pressing it between his lips so it reenters his body.

“Do not waste your moisture. Now go.”

Reluctantly, you brother scampers away. A surge of relief fills you as you watch him stand before a dune slope in the distance and plant his thumper into the sand. The drumming begins. The ground starts rumbling some minutes later to signal the arrival of a worm. You dive inside a cave, taking cover as a wave of rising sand crests above the horizon. The deafening familiar hissing of Shai-Hulud surrounds you.

You close your eyes and suck in a wide breath, soothing yourself with a common Fremen saying. 

The Uncleansed who have seen a crysknife may not leave Dune alive.

The screams of Harkonnen soldiers, unprepared for the sudden arrival of a sandworm, swell inside your ears as you settle in your hiding spot.

When the uproar dies, you ponder returning to the battlefield. However, whispers in the cave have you freeze in the rocky dint concealing your presence. 

You lean forward to steal a peek. Your heart bounces. 

Men in full Harkonnen livery stand beneath the vaulted ceiling of the cave.

Your eyes widen as you hear them idly discuss their plans to purge the remainder of the Fremen forces in the south. 

Your focus sharpens. You slow your breaths and dull your quickening heartbeats.

A wild, insane idea takes shape in your head.

If you could stay hidden long enough. Perhaps you could return to Sietch Tabr. Report back to Muad’ Dib. Warn them of the Harkonnens’ plan.

A word keeps pouring from the men’s lips, one whose meaning evades you.

Na-Baron.

Confusion knits your brow. 

As you continue trying to commit the conversation to memory, the chatter abruptly dies.

You go still, your mind buzzing.

The quiet deepens. Only the muffled sounds of the desert remain.

The blunt features of an Harkonnen warrior crowd your sight.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Before you can hatch an escape plan, you’re roughly dislodged from your hiding spot. 

You struggle against the arms that hold you, whirling to shove your crysknife into the man’s throat. He grabs his throat, choking on his own blood before his body finds the ground with a loud thud. 

More men lunge themselves at you.

You cut down five more Harkonnen soldiers before a swarm of them surrounds you, punching and kicking you until you tumble to the ground. You cough out a trickle of blood onto the ground.

After every hit, the men attempt to interrogate you. 

“Are there any more hiding like you?”

“Where are the others?”

Every inquiry thrown at you encounters a stubborn wall of silence. You will never betray the other Fremen. Though the prospect doesn’t thrill you, you’d much rather die. In fact, you’ve already embraced your inevitable fate. This is where your story ends.

You console yourself with one fact. 

That at least you won’t leave this world a traitor.

It takes three men to restrain you long enough to tie you up. You only let go of your crysknife when one of the bald-headed warriors stomps over your hand with his boot, snapping your wrist bone and forcing your palm open. An ear-splitting scream rips from your throat. Still, you do not cry, refusing to waste your body moisture for these monsters.

You’re forced on your knees, hogtied while your broken wrist throbs against your back. The corpses of the men you slaughtered are dragged away.

Voices from outside grow louder as you hear the echo of steps fastly approaching. 

“There is only one spy left behind. We couldn’t find the others,” one of the men says. 

A gravelly voice, like the scraping of a rock against a hard surface, lands in your ears. 

“They have gone south to hide in the storms,” it says.

Your pulse escalates, your gaze lifting slowly. There is something different about the newcomer. He’s tall, athletic, with delicate, aristocratic features that are unusual amongst the Harkonnen. An aura of authority hangs around him, every soldier’s stance stiffening as he enters the cave.

He must be the one in charge, you realize.

Someone hands him your crysknife. A tide of anger mounts within you at the sight. If you were free, you’d plunge it in his neck. 

He gauges the blade attentively, his fingertips caressing the bloodied edge.

“Send this message to my uncle,” the newcomer says. “The North is tamed and secured. Harvest spice at will.”

“Yes, na-Baron,” a man near him replies before taking his leave.

Na-Baron. You frown. So it is him. 

He takes sluggish, lithe steps towards you, the corner of his lips twisting upwards.

Your muscles coil, cold tendrils of dread clutching your insides. 

Even on the battlefield, as your life hung in the balance, you didn’t feel this creeping sense of imminent danger. 

The primal, gut-deep inkling that you should run…and never look back. 

“You killed six of my men with a single blade,” he says, a mix of surprise and admiration laced in his raspy baritone. 

“She won’t talk,” the man behind him says. “We even broke her hand but she still won’t say a word.”

He cocks his head, his tone bone-chilling as he casually states, “Tell her that’s fine. I already know everything I need to know.” A man near him hands him a flame thrower. You take a deep breath. You’ve witnessed Harkonnen soldiers use them to set ablaze corpses and catch runaway Fremen, burning them alive. There isn’t a hint of emotion  in the na-Baron’s voice as he points the flame thrower at you. “Only pleasure remains.”

You lift your chin. If death you must meet, you will do it with dignity.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you reply calmly, a wide smile spreading onto your lips. 

The na-Baron’s eyes bulge and narrow, his hands dropping.

He strides forward.

“What did you just say?”

“Just get on with it, will you?” You unleash a frustrated sigh. Shouldn’t you be a charred heap of smoking flesh and bones already? What is this na-Baron wasting time for? You are resigned to it now, having used the time before to accept your fate. “I’m eager to meet my ancestors and be freed of your foul Harkonnen stench,” you taunt, hoping your insolent tongue will hasten things along. 

You wait and wait, your defiant gaze never wavering. 

But the deathly flames that should lick the flesh clean off your bones never come.

Instead, the na-Baron tosses the flame thrower on the ground and barks an order to one of his subordinates.

“Take her back to my chambers in our base.”

The man casts you a disdainful glare.

“But na-Baron. That woman is danger-” A swift slash across the man’s throat from the na-Baron’s blade has the man choking on his words. Blood fills his mouth, his body twitching as it sprawls across the ground. 

He doesn’t spare the dying man another glance, his head slanting.

He leers at you, exerting no effort to disguise the lewd intent etched in his dark gaze. 

“And make sure to tell my darlings she’s not for them to have…but for me to feast upon later.”

Fear floods your veins. You readied yourself for death, not for…whatever the Harkonnen warrior has in store for you. 

“Yes, na-Baron.”

You’re hauled off the floor. When you refuse to move, one of the Harkonnen soldiers twists your broken limb to get you to lurch forward. You clench your teeth and blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You will not cry. You will not give them the satisfaction.

Tears are sacred. They are to honor the dead and nothing else.

Before you’re carried away, the na-Baron approaches you and frames your jaw.

“I hear Fremen do not cry, never squander their water under any circumstance. I wonder…” A sadistic smile unfurls on his pale lips, baring a glimpse of inky black teeth beneath. His thumb sweeps across your tightly pressed lips. “What will it take for you to shed a tear for me, pet?”

You shiver in the ropes as you watch the three Harkonnen women tear bloody ribbons in the male Fedaykin’s flesh with their claw-sharp black nails. The delighted purrs they emit while feasting on human flesh bounce off the black, sterile walls of the palatial chambers.

Your gaze is wide, horrified.

You’ve seen death. You’ve seen violence. But you’ve never laid eyes on such a ghoulish spectacle before. The na-Baron’s cannibalistic mates picking the meat off the man’s bones and digging their hands inside his gut. As if he were nothing but a heap of fresh meat to sate their hunger. 

You want to peel your gaze away… but you can’t. 

You’re paralyzed.

His lifeless blue eyes, a sinister mirror of your own due to the spice melange, send prickles through your spine. 

This could have easily been you. And it would have been…weren’t it for the na-Baron’s whim changing course as swiftly as a weather vane. Just like the apparel must yield to the fickle will of the winds, you must surrender to his.

When the women are done, one of them flashes you a broad smile. Shredded pieces of organs stick to her teeth and blood covers the bottom of her face, dripping down her chin.

A shudder ripples through your spine.

Their inky, whiteless stares settle on you. They discard the mangled corpse and inch closer to you. You retreat against the wall, fear gripping your throat. Ravenous expressions light up their pretty faces. 

You swallow through your aching, parched throat. Are you next? Will they do to you what they did to that poor man? 

They whisper in Harkonnen. The confusion about the words pouring from their tongues stokes the terror consuming you. 

Then they laugh. Strident, bloodcurdling, wicked laughs. You remain still, willing your heart not to beat so loudly. 

Dying on the battlefield is one thing. Being eaten alive is another, wildly different thing. The kind of needlessly cruel death you never envisioned for yourself. 

Despite the distress tossing your senses into chaos, you force yourself not to cry. No tears, you remind yourself. Not for them. Never for them.

One of them snaps her teeth in your face. Your lip quivers as blood drains from your head. Your reaction draws another round of laughter from them.

They tease you for a while, their threats disturbingly clear despite not understanding a lick of their coarse native tongue.

It’s in their hunched, predatory stance, the hunger twisting their pretty features. They could pounce on you at any time, rip you to shreds and you’d be powerless to stop them.

Their vicious taunting is still in progress when the na-Baron storms into his chambers. His arrival does nothing to alleviate your worries. 

A fond smile ghosts over his lips as he soaks the scene before him.

“I see you’ve met my darlings.” The women coo as he approaches them. He lovingly cradles each of their faces, planting deep, passionate kisses on their lips. The sickening display by your fellow Fedaykin’s slain form a few feet away makes your stomach wrench. “Darlings, meet my new pet.”

“I’m not a pet,” you snarl.

The women hiss at you in concert, sounding like snakes ready to strike. You flinch backwards. 

He cocks his head. 

“You are whatever I say you are.” He glides towards you slowly. Once he’s in front of you, he taps the booted tip of his foot into your bruised knee. His gravelly baritone scratches along your eardrums. “Kiss my feet. I’m your master now.”

You squint at him. 

“Fuck you.”

His plump mouth quirks lopsidedly. He then kicks you in the gut without ceremony. The searing pain knocks the breath from your lungs. You keel over, groaning against the tiles. 

He hunkers down and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head backwards. The sting in your scalp has you blink back tears before they can spill. 

“In time, pretty little pet.”

Steps echo from afar. A man enters the room. The na-Baron’s authoritative timbre whips across the stiff, sweltering air of the room.  

“Did you bring what I asked?”

“Yes, na-Baron,” the man replies swiftly. From the corner of your sight, you get a glimpse of metal. Panic sings inside your veins.

As your pulse soars, you’re shocked when the ropes around your frame come loose through a few nimble slashes of a knife. 

You jump to your feet.

Your shocked gaze locks with his. Amusement decorates his features. 

Layer after layer, he removes pieces of his armor. Until his carved alabaster, muscles are exposed to you, leaving him in little more than a thin strip of fabric hanging precariously over his tapered waist. 

A second long, curved blade is tossed at your feet.

Your eyes bounce from the weapon to him. Utter confusion wars with fright within you. 

When the guards begin to draw their weapons, he barks at them, “Don’t.” They place their weapons back in their sheaths. He opens his arms, the blade in his hand glinting in the dull light of the room. “Go on. This is your chance.”

You gawk at him. Is he truly baiting you to attack him? Does his life mean nothing to him? Is he a madman?

Your brows crumple. With every second, your confusion grows. 

He approaches you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. You rush to pick up the knife with your unbroken hand and point it at him. 

There isn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes as he inches closer, the blade grazing his bulging pec.

“Do it,” he challenges, a clear taunt in his haughty inflection.

Your mouth trembles. What do you stand to lose? You will never see Sietch Tabr or your brother again. You’re a war prisoner. You might as well be dead. You should be dead. In another life, you would already be.

You suck in a sharp breath. You move as quickly as your feet and dwindling strength allow. He matches each of your brutal, clumsy blows. You go for his head and he dodges with ease, grabbing your broken wrist, causing you to stumble. Your breath falters, throbbing pain exploding in your limb. Grinding your teeth, you whirl and deal another series of strikes. He parries each of them, a delighted expression etched on his slender features. Anger glows within you. He’s enjoying this. While you’re in agony, he finds pleasure in every brush with death.

You graze his cheek, leaving a long cut across his flesh. A demented, black grin breaks out on his face. The fight continues for a few more minutes, the clash of metal and his feral roars swelling in the room. 

It ends with him tackling you to the ground as he slams your wrists besides your head. The knife slips out of your grasp. You hold your breath, helplessness filling you as his muscular frame drapes over yours.

His lips skim against your temple. 

“You fought well, sweet pet. Better than most,” he whispers. You shudder when his cool tongue drags over your cheek. “But it’s time I claim my prize.”

Ice ripples through your blood. You struggle beneath him as he rips your stillsuit from your body. Every effort to fight against him is for naught. Soon, your bruised and battered form is completely bare to him. 

He drinks you in as your chest lifts and sags, lust sparkling in his dark gaze. He wrestles a collar around your neck and a ring-shaped gag on your mouth. The contraption forcing your lips apart makes you feel even more trapped than before. He tugs off the cloth covering him, revealing his massive erection, the pale tip already glistening with his arousal.

He hoists you up until you’re on your knees. His fist tangles in your hair, wrenching your neck backwards. Muffled moans of protest fly from your throat.

“I never wondered what a desert rat’s mouth felt like before. But now…” He pumps himself, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He slips his tip between your lips, nudging you closer when you try to turn your head. That mere contact has him purring in delight. You push against his thighs, desperation swelling as your palms meet unflinching bands of thick, corded muscles. Even the tip of him feels like too much, the corners of your mouth bursting at the pressure. You groan, completely helpless as he pushes more of himself in your mouth. 

He cradles your face, his grip firmer than before, and plants his feet in the ground. You gag on his length as he finds the back of your throat, the salty taste of his skin filling your mouth. Shame wells up inside you. Tears burn the back of your eyes as you choke on his size. 

Nearby, the cannibalistic women laugh at your torment, sharing words in Harkonnen you don’t understand. 

The na-Baron snickers, making you jolt as he shoves inside you to the hilt. The corners of your mouth ache, both from the device and his thick girth. 

“Yes. She does take me gloriously, doesn’t she?" He smirks. "Like a true warrior.”

Hatred burns in your eyes as you glare up at him. He seems to bask in the sight, moaning in pleasure as he starts thrusting inside your mouth. 

You’re left with no choice but to take his merciless assault. His eyes roll back as he bruises your throat and steals your breath. Stilted whimpers roll off your tongue.

Your eyes sting. You try your hardest to swallow every tear and sob, but as time goes on…your pride crumbles. In its stead, only despair remains. 

Tears swell in your eyes and make a slow descent down your cheeks. 

“Ah, there it is,” he rasps, collecting the droplets with his thumbs. 

As he brings one to his tongue, humming at the taste, you feel him grow harder on your tongue. 

The pit of your stomach sizzles. With humiliation. With defeat. 

Throaty moans pour from his chest, his head tossing back as he pounds harder into your mouth. 

Your body goes limp, his hands the only thing keeping you on your knees. Your vision blurs as you become nothing but a toy for the na-Baron, a vessel for his brutality. A tool to satisfy his basest needs.

“Perhaps, we shall keep that one. What do you think, darlings?” The women’s excited squeals land in your ears. He caresses your damp cheeks. “And if she ever bores us, well…” He licks his lips, a wide grin unfanning on his face. “We’ll make sure no part of her goes to waste.”

[ficnoire2]

A Little Oathbound Top 10 Selwyn Kane Moments *Spoilers Everywhere!*

Happy Gemini Season!  I could not let the month pass without showing love to my favorite grumpy sorcerer.  While he may have haunted the narrative this go round, there is no doubt that when Sel appeared on the page, he made it count.  Nick did not come to play in Oathbound, but Selwyn reminded us that he never does.  I managed to squeeze out yet another top 10 Selwyn Kane moments (just for you @ashalightwood).  Happy Gemini Season and happy reading!

10. Dear Mama

“I was five years old when they told me my mother died,” Selwyn states, his voice a crackle of electric anger. “I grew up thinking you were killed on a mission.  I thought you were dead.”

The moment in which Sel decides to speak to his mother was heart-wrenching.  When I think about this character and all that he has endured in his short life, this was another dagger aimed in his direction.  You can virtually feel the pain in everything he does not say.  The baring of his fangs, the studying of the physical changes his body has gone through, and the look he gives Natasia upon first seeing her after 13 years.

“When Selwyn truly saw me for the first time, his snarl faded.  His eyes widened.  I knew the exact moment he recognized me as his mother because when he did, confusion and hurt mingled on his features until they settled into disgust…and then fury.”

The two of them have an extremely long road to travel towards reconciliation.  This scene shows how much Selwyn’s reality has been altered, leaving him as collateral damage.

9. Scent of A Woman

“I smell her on you.” His voice has shifted into a guttural rasp that I’ve never heard from him before…

“He ignores me, pressing his face into the glowing bars and letting them burn his skin.  “I feel her on you.”

As a horror girlie, I loved how Tracy leaned into Sel’s darkness. It was unnerving, how feral he had become, how he was willing to burn to get to his source, to get to Bree.  He embodies all of the chaos, passion, sensuality, rage, pain, and desire that live within unbalanced cambions.  He wants.  Reading this scene was like witnessing a lion lock in on prey.  It was something not even Natasia was ready for. 

8. Sel Squares Up. 

“Selwyn chuckles darkly. "She is my Scion of Arthur."

"Your-" I stumble backward, shaking my head. "No, that’s…Bree can’t be.”

“Oh, but she is.” Sel prowls toward me.  “Briana is mine.  My Scion, My sovereign. My king,” Selwyn utters, lip curling.  “Just like her mother was yours.”

First of all, Sel letting his mother know the place that Bree holds within his being was delicious.  Over this series, he and Bree toyed with the idea of “mine” and “not yours.” In Legendborn, Selwyn makes a play to be hers, with “Cariad.”  In Bloodmarked, he reminded her that he would protect her like no one else, with “No other Merlin.” In Oathbound, he essentially tells his mother that there are no others after him.  She is his, and he is hers.  It is a proclamation.  One of the many hints that Selly is feeling himself and settling into his new form.

“Do not speak about Faye Matthews,” I call and forge my own aether staff to match his and make a silent promise that I will never forge a weapon against him that he does not forge first.”

The implications that Selwyn is down so bad for Bree, that even in demonia, he would whoop his mother’s ass was not something I had on my bingo card.

7. He Had Them Both

“When Sel leaned close, bringing his mouth to Nick’s ear, I saw the way Nick’s shoulders rose to his ears, then dipped, relaxing at Sel’s touch.  I saw the way he shuddered, the anguish still there, working through him…”

“Thank you for your assistance, William,” Sel said as he turned to face me, voice firm and formal.  “But I have it from here.”

“Bree needs-”

“I have them both,” Sel said, his golden eyes hardening, “and you’ve done enough. Please leave.”

If this series does nothing else, it will make your heart tighten.  William’s realization that even though he is the healer, he could not give the trio what they needed in that moment.  It showed that despite the tumultuous history the boys have, they love each other and can relate to one another like no one else.  Nick is full of fear and rage, but Selwyn is the one to touch him, to say the words that can unwind him a bit.  It shows the reverence and respect they have for one another.  The love between Bree, Sel, and Nick is something that anyone outside of it cannot intervene in, cannot break.  It has been hard earned, and I adore the softness and grace Sel afforded Nick.  It is something that I, as well as others who love this character, understood he had the capacity for, and there is nothing more human than that. 

6. Selly Knows How To Make An Entrance (Cat and Mouse)

“The clouds shift overhead to reveal the bright crescent moon hanging low in the sky.  And still we wait…”

“Then a cheery whistle splits the silence.  In the distance, a dark figure appears around the curve.  Selwyn ambles toward us, whistling, in a long dark coat.  Glowing green aether writhes around his hands and arms where they sway loose at his sides.”

Again, Tracy with the horror beats!  This scene is reminiscent of Hitchcock-level horror.  The symbolism of the crescent moon, meaning transformation, new beginnings, is chef’s kiss.  Plus, this is SOOO Sel.  Of course, he can’t just walk up and talk to two people that he knows like a regular person.  Of course not, he’s got to whistle in the dark and be a certified creep!  I love it!  It was a call back to his first meeting with Bree, speaking of which…

“He grins. Got you.”

“Got who?" I whisper.

Selly is nothing if not a bit nostalgic!

5. Never Make It Easy

“You can try to consume my root a second time,” I warn, raising my chin, “but you should know that I won’t make it easy…”

“He leans closer infinitesimally-throat pressing against Nick’s blade–and I suck in a breath.  Black blood beads along the silver sword where it cuts into his pale skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care."

"Please never make it easy.”

When the Incubus comes out to play, he comes out to play!  This line in juxtaposition to Nick’s “My blade is yours,” is the delectable duality that a girl can appreciate.  Selly is not demure.  He essentially says, “Make me fight for every bit of it, baby!”  It is the reckless tongue that we have come to know and love.  Throughout this series, he has dropped some cipher-level bars, and this was no exception.

4. These Are My Confessions

“Nicholas Davis and Selwyn Kane.”  Sel ignores Nick’s attempts to redirect him. “The sun and the moon.  You are the warmth and the light and I am the bitter deep cold, or so it has always appeared. But we know the truth, don’t we, Nicholas?”

During Selwyn’s monologue, we see the underpinnings of his pain in relation to Nick.  It parallels Nick’s confession at Penumbra. It is made clear that he has never seen himself as the light, that he has always stood in the shadow of the veneer the order has placed on Nick.  I liken it to a child who has been sheltered, only to get a taste of the world outside of their bubble and realize how ill-equipped they are.  Sel’s emotions are all over the place.  He wants the rage and hate and loathing leveled in his direction.  Despite Bree and Nick reassuring him that he is good and does not need fixing, he persists in his pursuit of pain.  He continues to punish himself because, even despite the power he feels, he does not feel that his existence is valid. He can hardly forgive himself for the things he has done to Bree.  It is child-like in that he tries desperately to gain a reaction from Bree and Nick to validate his feelings of inadequacy.  

3. Baiting A Knight

“Did Brianna tell you that she kissed me?...”

“Well, she did.  Pulled my face right down to hers, and I let her…oh, how I let her.”

This scene was equal parts hunger and Incubus realness.  Selwyn was not unlike Mikaelaz in his hunt for emotion. On some level, he wants Nick to feel as insignificant as he has in comparison.  He is quick-witted and smarmy, and Nick is not having it. He lays traps for both Bree and Nick to get them to react, but they refute him at every turn.  In fact, he is acting a lot like Valec when they first met at the Crossroads Lounge in that he tells Nick exactly how he sees Bree.

“She tastes like heat and danger and honey and,” Sel shudders, “power. Addictive, even without her root.”

Where Valec admired Bree’s looks and scent to taunt Sel, here he taunts Nick with how she tastes.  Nasty work! 

2. You Yo Daddy’s Son!

“You don’t seem to be healing very quickly,” Selwyn drawls.  “All those bodies to draw from, twenty centuries and all that, and a little hole in the chest is slowing you down?” He scoffs.  “Pathetic.  Maybe you should go back to being a Seneschal.”

I cackled at the disgust expressed here.  For all of Bloodmarked, Erebus worked overtime to make Sel look incompetent.  He went out of his way to be a ancient dick.  In fact, despite all of his power and prowess, he holds the title of deadbeat dad of the ages, who was thwarted by the very magical teenagers he tried to use.  It was high time Selwyn talked his shit to the main person who prayed for his downfall.  He choked him in front of everyone, tried to replace him, and put his loyalty and duty into question.  Chopping his hand off (Star Wars style) was long overdue. Sel got his lick back! The payback was delicious as Erebus was forced to scurry back into the otherworld and lick his wounds.  

1. Selwyn Kane Is Dead

“When the writhing, grasping streams of ink reach his cheekbones, Sel’s head snaps back–violently.  In a crack. In a snarl.  His spine arches.  Death slithers beneath his eyelids, slips between his teeth, then flows from his ears in raging black rivers.”

I don’t typically read the end of a book first, but a friend of mine always reads the last few pages first.  She urged me to do the same, and in this case, I’m glad I did.  My truck probably would have jumped the curb had I been listening to this while on my way to work.  The line, Selwyn Kane is dead has a dual meaning.  The Sel WE know is dead.  That version had to go through, in order to get to the point of self-actualization we will see in book four.  When you look back, everything about him is steeped in a person who walks the line between this world and the next.  The obsidian feathers tattooed on his back symbolize protection, balance, and transition, a death if you will.  His middle name, Emrys, means immortal.  His now green aether can symbolize peace, harmony, and tranquility (think William). 

Rules can change. Selwyn is finding himself, who he is outside of the order, outside of duty, outside of everyone and everything that has held power over him. He wears his crown like it has always belonged on his head, and I couldn't agree more.

“But here we stand and here we are.  A king, a knight…and a prince.”

“What…shall…we…do?”

I love this for him and cannot wait to see what he does with his newfound power and agency.

Even though Sel was not heavily featured in Oathbound, his moments were top tier.  I hope you enjoyed my second entry (the first is linked below).  What were some of your favorite Selwyn Oathbound moments?  Let me know in the comments.  Happy Gemini Season

P.S. I feel another ode to Bree Matthews coming on.

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked Top 10 Selwyn Kane Moments

[scholarlystarker]

Untitled Starker fic featuring appearance by Deadpool

Rating: Mature for language and content, rating will go up as the fic continues. Pairing: Tony x Peter (aged up, College student!Peter) Words: 2036 ***

Apparently, it was just going to be that kind of night. 

“This is… humiliating,” Peter whined, his face red hot below the mask. He tipped his head back as far as it could go within the tube created by his own webbing and felt the back of it hit metal. “Ow.”

“Hey don’t even talk to me about humiliation until you’ve been buck ass in Shanghai with at least two grams of— you know what? Story for another time. Where do those Avenger buddies of your stand on extradition bee-tee-dubs? No reason.” Deadpool was animated as ever despite all of his limbs being bound just as tightly as Peter’s currently were. He swiveled his head left and right. “How flame resistant are you? I might have something up my sleeve that could help us out.”

Peter fought back the urge to headbutt his companion just for a moment’s silence so he could think. He wasn’t wearing the fully upgraded suit tonight because the latest edition was back at the lab where he and Tony had been tinkering. 

It hadn’t really needed that holographic field display upgrade but Peter had a running fear that if he ran out of Spidey suits or other projects to throw at Stark, he might somehow lose the older man’s interest.Tony Stark’s attention span was notoriously limited, after all. It had been six whole years now since they started working together, off and on. Peter was no longer the impressive teenage whiz kid. 

Which was good, in a way, because he’d long ago lost that frazzled, starstruck feeling (most of it) and even made friends with most of the team. There was a standing invite for him to be an Avenger (whatever that meant these days) once he was done with college. He’d been on multiple missions, including off world, and Nick Fury once gave him a backhanded compliment that was very close to praise itself. There were contacts in Peter’s phone for Sam, Pepper, Clint, Bruce, and even Tony Stark, himself. Not that all of them would answer if he called or texted about anything more casual than a terrorist attack. Still, it was a pretty impressive roster for a broke-ass kid from Queens. 

Of course, at the moment Peter’s phone was useless to him since it was back home in a dorm with the rest of his secretly real identity. But he could ask Karen to put out some discreet feelers. There was likely an Avenger nearby who could swoop in for a second and cut through the worst of it. 

Peter wiggled again, his lower back suddenly itchy. “I don’t even know how you managed this one, man…” He sighed. 

Deadpool wiggled back, the roll of his hips feeling deliberately suggestive. “I just wanna be close to you, Spidey-buddy… in a ‘why do birds suddenly appear’ kinda way, ya know? Quality time?”

Peter scoffed, letting his eye roll reflect on the mask. “I meant literally how. I had this whole thing set up to catch the guy who has been doing fire escape break ins. And then you… and now this.” He tried one more time to press out against the binding but his own work held too strong, which he accepted with a mixture of pride and disappointment. “So now I’m gonna have to call for help like the… like someone who needs help. Which I don’t. Not usually. And then he’s gonna know I couldn’t. Ugh.”

“He?” Deadpool cocked his head to one side. 

Ignoring the question, Peter muttered some general non-urgent distress keywords for Karen, hoping against hope that maybe Sam or Rhodey was nearby. Hell, he’d take Natasha seeing him like this over…

“Holy shit it's Iron Man!” Deadpool practically vibrated against him in his excitement. 

“Fuck,” Peter muttered, his stomach full of lead. 

Iron Man hovered beside the fire escape where Spider-Man and Deadpool were lashed together by a veritable cocoon of webbing. 

“Do I want to know?” Tony asked, a hint of amusement obvious even over coms. 

Deadpool had no problem jumping in. “Oh you know, just blowing off some steam. Two guys in our tight lil super suits having a lil web-filled fun!”

“I was not having fun, Sir.” Peter interrupted, the embarrassment sinking into his bones as he felt like a schoolboy at the principal’s office. 

Six years of teamwork and lab time, late nights hunched over screens together, eating cold pizza as they vollied ideas the way some folks play table tennis, and Peter still couldn’t get a handle on it. This rush of feeling he got when Tony was around, the deep rooted desire to prove himself worthy of that great esteem. The fear that Tony’s favor had somehow been wrongfully bestowed and one wrong move would be all it took for the genius to finally figure that out. 

Everyone seemed to think that Peter put Tony Stark on a pedestal, all heart eyes and hero worship. While he couldn’t deny the heart eyes — seriously who wouldn’t have them around Tony??— Peter actually knew perfectly well that Tony was a flawed and fallible human. He liked the man so, so much more than the Iron. Or the Stark, for that matter. 

What no one seemed to see, save maybe Bruce (who saw much but said little) was the slippery edge of Peter’s very own pedestal. The one where he toed the line of independent adulthood versus a mentee who still desperately needed his mentor’s guidance and approval. Spider-Man or just… Kid. 

And sometimes he wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

Iron Man separated Deadpool and Peter’s bound bodies from the fire escape and carried them up to the roof where there was more space to stand. 

Meanwhile Deadpool was fussing at Peter. “Tattletale. I know you didn’t mind it that much. Totally felt you getting a lil chub earlier, Spidey. Don’t lie.” He rolled his hips again for emphasis. 

Peter, being a young man with heightened senses, could feel his body wanting to react to the stimulation and there was an unintentional note of stress in his voice as he called out; “Mr. Stark, please hurry?”

As Stark silently sawed through the webbing, both of the other men held still. But that did not stop Deadpool from running his notorious mouth. 

“Okay wait. You call your coworker mister? Or is it more than that? Is this, like, a kink thing? What did I get in the middle of and how do I get into the middle of you two specifically?” Deadpool turned to look at Iron Man as the webbing finally fell away. 

In response, Tony seized Deadpool by the throat, lifting him off his feet like a rag doll and proceeded to dangle him over the edge of the forty floor building. 

Deadpool gagged and struggled, holding onto Stark’s metal arm with both hands so he could breathe. 

“Shit okay. I get it. No more web pranks. Lesson learned. Coulda just spanked me or something. At least made it fun!”

Stark’s hand tightened slightly and he shook Deadpool bodily as Peter ran toward them both with hands out in a placating gesture. 

“Mr…. Tony! It’s okay. He’s not that bad. Really.” 

Stark’s voice was difficult to read this time, devoid of amusement but not exactly angry. It was almost colder than anger, precise and clipped. “He’s a vigilante and a predator. Not really a hardship, here. I heard he doesn’t die but this might put him outta commission for a bit.” 

Deadpool made a sort of noncommittal sound, swinging his legs. “Hey. Hey now  Look vigilante I'll take because it sounds cool. But predator? Pfffbbt. Hardly. Spidey here is a friend. A pal. Maybe with benefits if I get my way, sure! But I’ve never. Y’know.”

“I’ve seen the footage, Deadpool. You cornering him. Rubbing up against him. And tonight’s stunt? No. You need to learn some fucking manners. Boundaries.”

Footage? Peter paused, his mouth falling open. Hadn’t they turned off all of the cams except in case of emergency? 

“Wow. Boundaries. Iron Man in therapy or what?” Deadpool shot back, he gave Tony a long flat look. “Cause I don’t think it’s working.”

Taking a step sideways, Peter put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. On Iron Man’s shoulder. “Tony. Put him down. I can handle it from here.”

Deadpool looked down, his mask seeming to grimace. “You know, it’s not the fall that kills you. It’s the splatting organs all over the ground. Which won’t kill me either. Probably. But it will hurt like a bitch. So, I’d really appreciate it if you listen to the Spider?”

Tony’s head turned and Peter wished they could look at one another eye to eye but it wasn’t worth risking his identity. After another silence, Deadpool was hauled back in and dropped unceremoniously onto the rooftop. He scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his suit and complaining under his breath about bruises that were not ‘earned either of the fun ways.’ 

Iron Man was aloft once more, staring down at Peter in a way that implied he had more to say but he glanced at Deadpool and took off. 

Deadpool made a rude noise and flipped the bird at Tony’s receding back. “Y’know Spidey you coulda saved a guy a lotta trouble if just mentioned that your boyfriend was A. Iron Man and B. The Most Possessive Guy Ever. And maybe C. Goddamn Fucking Iron Man?!?”

Peter shook his head, cleaning up the webbing and dissolving it neatly now that he could access his tools. “Not my boyfriend.” He straightened and looked at Deadpool. “Which is not an invitation for you to keep dry humping me by the way. He was right about the boundaries thing. I mean. Don’t most people at least start with dinner and a movie or something?”

Deadpool touched his forefinger to approximately his mouth area. “Yeah I’m not gonna risk asking out Iron Man’s boyfriend.” He put his hand up, palm out to pause Peter’s reply. “Call it whatever you want but I’ve been dangled over a few roofs before and that guy was seriously considering dropping me.”

“He doesn’t see me like that,” Peter insisted, stubbornly pushing down that childish bubble of hope that arose whenever someone made this mistake. 

It had happened a few times in the last few years; people suggesting their relationship might be… more. Especially now that Peter was starting to look a bit less like a fresh faced kid, had the shoulders to fill out a real tailored suit. And yeah, he and Tony had their silly inside jokes, their movie nights (no longer weekly but at least once a month) and sometimes traveled to scientific conferences together. 

But Tony had been single since he and Pepper called it a final quits about a year and a half ago and he never once made a move. Peter was around more than probably any of the Avengers, since he’d stayed local for college. He spent enough nights at Stark Towers to have his own room, with changes of socks, underwear, and gym clothes. If Tony was going to hit on him, surely he’d have done it any of the countless nights they’d spent falling asleep on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn between them. Or over those sleepy mornings when everyone else was out and Peter and Tony sipped coffee at the breakfast island in comfortable silence. 

Just picturing it now made Peter ache a little inside. It was a foolish kind of self inflicted torture, really, to keep letting himself fall into moments of quiet domesticity with the man he… was very much not dating. 

Taking a full, deep breath and exhaling it slowly, Peter sat down on the ledge of the rooftop. “I need to go. You owe me some bad guys for making me miss the break-ins tonight.”

“Oh them? Please. I know where they fence the stuff. I’ll have ‘em tied up in a pretty lil bow for ya by the end of the week. So long as you tell your…Iron Man to lay off me?”

Peter nodded, absentmindedly. “Deal.” He shot his web and took off in the direction of Stark Tower.

[eschergirls]

Hi everyone! I hope everybody's okay. That felt like the longest February ever. ;-;

Recovery from surgery is taking a little longer than I anticipated but I'm almost at 100% now! There's not many site updates this month due to recovery, but I did restore and recover a bunch of old posts, including this one with "breathing" boobs that had a VINE embedded in it! I managed to find an archived copy of it and restored the Vine of all things.

Also restored are:

A Kiss of War video ad where you check out captured female prisoners like they're meat in a butcher's shop to decide who to rescue

A Wizard Magazine cover featuring Nick Fury and Yelena Belova

An old Marvel trading card featuring Black Cat in an extremely painful looking pose

A panel of Bobbi Morse in a very twisted attack pose

Two posts, one on Yelena Belova and the other of Natasha both in the same boobs and butt pose with glued on clothing

And Star Wars trading card art of Leia Organa with an extremely rubbery and twisted torso, and a t-shirt with the same design on it

The reason I have to fix up a lot of the old posts is because many were broken or formatted incorrectly when the site moved, also all of the older posts lack image captions (which weren't available on Tumblr in the past), and some have just been removed from Tumblr because the original submitter deleted their account or the image host was discontinued or Tumblr's algorithm flagged it as explicit. Also a lot of older posts lack sources or are in low-resolution. I replace the image with a higher res image, add alt-text, source it, and update the formatting to match the current standard I use. I also link the old posts to their Tumblr counterpart and fix up the Tumblr post as well. It's a lot of work but I hope it makes the site more usable for people looking through the archives. :)

I'm now adding "year" and "decade" tags to each post so people can more easily sort things by time period. This is something I should have done a long time ago but didn't, so it will be a LONG time before I can add this to all the old posts, but I'll try my best to work through it. All new posts will have them though and you probably already started to notice it.

I've also been going through my old inbox backlog in my email and Tumblr, so if you submitted something in the past and didn't see it you might see it soon! I deeply apologize for how long it's taken. ):

And now I want to give a huge sincere thank you to Escher Girls' February 2025 Patreon subscribers as well as those who donated on Ko-Fi! I really appreciate your support and helping to keep the site afloat as domain and hosting costs go up due to inflation. If you want to join my Patreon, you can here, it helps to pay for site upkeep and updates and helps to keep Escher Girls as an archive up even if Tumblr goes down or changes their policies again.

And now a huge thank you to the February Patreon subscribers::

Anne Adler Cat Mara Chris McKenzie Em Bardon First Time Trek Greg Sepelak Karrius Ken Trosaurus Kevin Carson Kim Wincen Leak  Manuel Dalton Mary Kuhner Max Schwarz Miriam Pody Morgan McEvoy randomisedmongoose Rebecca Breu Ringoko  Ryan Gerber Sam Mikes Sean Sea SpecialRandomCast  Thomas   

And also a very special thank you to JohnnyBob8 for their donation on Ko-Fi!

And thank YOU to everybody reading this and who read and comment and participate with Escher Girls in general <3 I honestly am glad that people still enjoy my site. :) I hope it helps to bring a small smile to people daily.

By the way, if you want to contact me outside Tumblr, you can at eschergirls@gmail.com, or on Fedi at https://urusai.social/@ami_angelwings.

I hope March is better for all of us <3

Ami

PS: As a reminder, we added a button that links to the Escher Girls Tumblr and to our RSS feed for those who want to follow that way. (For newbies, RSS stands for Really Simple Syndication and is basically a feed you can read using an RSS reader. Simply copy and paste https://eschergirls.com/rss.xml into an RSS reader and it will keep you up to date on Escher Girls!)

Make sure it is eschergirls.com and not eschergirls.tumblr.com, as that is Tumblr, and not the self-hosted site.

If you have any issues with the site or suggestions to improve it, please do not hesitate to contact me and let me know!

If you wish to support Escher Girls, you can subscribe to our Patreon at: https://www.patreon.com/ami_angelwings or donate through Ko-Fi at: https://ko-fi.com/amiangelwings.

[that-sudsy]

Bucky Barnes x Fem Agent Reader

Secrets in the Shadows

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or images used in this work, nor do I claim any rights to them.

Buchanan Barnes had always been a man of secrets, but the biggest one he carried was the relationship he had with you. For two years, you had been navigating the treacherous waters of love as agents, knowing full well that Nick Fury had strict rules against personal relationships within the team. But the heart wants what it wants, and your heart had chosen Bucky.

The rest of the Avengers had begun to notice Bucky's peculiar habits. He would often take long night walks, returning to the compound just as dawn broke, his demeanor always a little more relaxed, a little more at peace. Sam and Steve exchanged knowing glances, their curiosity piqued. They decided to set up a situation to draw Bucky out, hoping to uncover the truth behind his late-night escapades.

One fateful morning, Bucky left his phone on the kitchen table, oblivious to the fact that Natasha had been watching. As he rushed out to join Sam and Steve, Natasha seized the opportunity. With a few quick taps, she copied the files and text messages from Bucky's phone, her heart racing with anticipation.

Later that day, the team gathered in the common room, the atmosphere thick with tension. As they scrolled through Bucky's messages, their eyes widened in disbelief. Photos of you, laughing and smiling, filled the screen. Bucky had a girlfriend!.

and they had no idea who you were. The realization hit them hard as they dug deep into Your files you were an agent, a veteran, and yet, you had managed to keep your relationship with Bucky a secret. This caused the team to go suspicious.

Meanwhile, Bucky was oblivious to the storm brewing back at the compound. That night, he slipped out to meet you, his heart racing with excitement. He walked the familiar streets of New York, the city lights twinkling like stars. When he reached your apartment, he unlocked the door and announced, "I’m home."

You stood there, arms crossed, a serious expression on your face. "We’re in deep trouble," you said, your voice laced with concern.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, confusion etched on his features. "What do you mean?"

"I found out that your phone was tagged and opened," you explained, your heart sinking as you watched his expression shift from confusion to panic.

Bucky shrugged it off, trying to reassure you. "It’s okay. I’ll handle it." He pulled you into bed, wrapping his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. For a moment, everything felt right in the world.

But when his alarm blared early the next morning, reality came crashing back. he left your apartment like always to head back to the compound

He climbed through the window of the compound, hoping to slip back in unnoticed. However, the lights flicked on, illuminating the room and revealing Steve, Natasha, and Sam, all staring at him with knowing smirks.

Steve teased, "You went out to see Miss Sunshine, didn’t you?"

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise, caught like a teenager sneaking back home. "Alright, fine! Yes, I went out to see a girl."

Natasha leaned in, her voice dripping with curiosity. "Yeah, a girl that happens to be an agent?" She began narrating the information she had gathered about you, her tone serious.

Bucky felt a surge of anger. "You went through my phone?" he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

Steve tried to calm him down. "Why didn’t you tell us?"

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. "Because I knew you’d think she was a threat. But she isn’t!" He stood up for you, his heart racing with a mix of anger and protectiveness.

But Natasha’s next words shattered his resolve. "She worked for Hydra."

Bucky’s heart dropped. Betrayal washed over him like a cold wave, leaving him feeling lost and hopeless. He couldn’t believe it. The woman he loved, the one who had brought light into his dark world, was tied to the very organization he had fought so hard to escape.

Days passed, and Bucky stopped sneaking out to see you. The silence between you grew heavy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Worry gnawed at you, and you decided it was time to confront him.

You hopped on your bike and rode to the compound, determined to find Bucky. The guards didn’t let you in, but you had learned to navigate the security systems. You slipped inside, your heart racing as you made your way through the dark hallways.

Suddenly, you found yourself face to face with Bucky. He caught you off guard, pinning you against the wall, his metal arm gripping your neck. "How could you?" he hissed, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt.

Confusion washed over you. "What do you mean?" you squeaked, your heart pounding in your chest.

"You worked for Hydra! Why didn’t you tell me you were an agent?" His voice was a low growl, the pain evident in his tone.

You gasped, struggling to find your words. "I no longer work for them... I’m like you," you explained, desperation creeping into your voice. You began to enumerate your missions, hoping to jog his memory. "I never told you because I knew how you’d react. Please, James... I never intended to mean harm to you."

Bucky’s grip loosened slightly, but the hurt in his eyes remained. "I just wanted it to be a secret because I knew no one would trust me. Only you," you pleaded, your voice trembling.

There was truth in your eyes, and Bucky could see it. Slowly, he let you go, and you dropped to the floor, gasping for air. The weight of the moment hung heavily between you, both of you processing the whirlwind of emotions.

Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his heart aching with regret. "I’m so sorry, Doll. I didn’t mean to hurt you," he murmured, his voice breaking.

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "No, I’m sorry too for not telling you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in the air was palpable, and you both knew that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges.

Bucky reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and reassuring, You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his presence grounding you. "You won’t lose me, Bucky. I’m still the same person you fell in love with. I’ve fought against Hydra, just like you. I’m on your side," you reassured him, your heart racing as you spoke.

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "I need you to promise me that you’ll always be honest with me from now on," he said, his voice firm yet tender.

"I promise," you replied, your heart swelling with hope. "

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go. The world outside faded away, and in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The shadows of doubt and betrayal began to lift, replaced by the light of understanding and love.

As you sat there, tangled in each other’s embrace, you both knew that the road ahead would be difficult. But together, you were stronger, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The secrets that had once threatened to tear you apart now became the foundation of a deeper bond, one forged in trust and resilience.

REQUEST: OPEN MASTERLIST

[nerdby]

What's really interesting to me is that Valentina de Fontaine is basically just a gender bent Nick Fury cause if you read the comics or watch the older cartoons -- the pre-MCU cartoons -- Nick Fury is not a nice guy. He uses and manipulates the heroes and the mutants just like Valentina does. I would like to specify, though, that this opinion is based solely on what I've seen of Valentina in the MCU. Her character apparently dates back to 1967 in the comics, but I haven't read any books that feature her yet and that's something I want to change because I'm interested to know if she really is just a copy/paste of Nick Fury or not.

I do think it's really cool that the new MCU stuff is much more anti-establishment than some of the older MCU films. Because it's truer to the source material, but it also really makes me wish people had better media literacy.

Cause the last two Marvel movies literally said the CIA is evil and the president is a (super) villain, and people are still saying it's US imperialist propaganda?

Like at this point it's not even metaphorical anymore. The people at Marvel are saying straight up that the government is evil, and somehow people are still managing to miss it. The internet has fried yall's brains for real.

[noldsey]

sleep (600ish wc)

my boner got too hard so have a lil scribble of logan jorking it onto wade's face while he's. yeah. disclaimer i wrote and posted this entirely with my dick

dead dove warning: somnophilia, dubcon with noncon thoughts, perfectly healthy (/s) amounts of possessiveness

--

Wade is knocked out, however unbelievable that sounds. Some nasty villain injected some vicious bio-weapon into him and, even while awake, his monster cells can’t clear it out fast enough before it’s already multiplying again inside his body. So, Beast or Nick Fury or whoever he got that damn gig from sent him home with something to knock him fully out in order for his little cell friends to focus on the job.

And as for Wade’s big burly multicellular friend slash not-friend slash roommate, well, he’s also focusing on the job.

“Grk—fuck—”

By the job, I mean the handjob. Ha! Get it?

“Shit—”

And by the handjob, I mean the handjob Logan is impatiently giving himself while straddling Wade’s chest by the knees, hypnotized by Wade’s beautiful still body and face and eyelashes and slightly parted lips. Jerking off to his partner’s sleeping form, eyes sewn shut, body lying there helpless, not being able to resist?

What a fucking nasty dog. You know this is fucked up, right? This is fucked up.

This is fucked up, Logan.

“Haa—”

This is... fucked up.

Logan watches as a drop of precum drips onto Wade’s nose, dripping down the side, feeling like he has been bewitched.

Wade is so, so still. Had Logan not been able to hear the blood rushing through his veins, hyperactivated in order to kill the intruder in its body and save its more-dying-than-usual host, the cancerless mutant would’ve been fully convinced Wade is just gone. He would be digging a six-foot ditch to bury a body in right about now.

So still, deadly still. No jittery movements. No snappy comebacks and one-liners. No references to things that nobody else understands. Doesn’t easily wake due to vigilance honed by years of war. Still and quiet and vulnerable and defenseless.

He props himself onto the headboard for balance, hand gripping wood to the point of cracking as another hand starts stroking even faster, making the bed creak in awe. If he really wanted, he could even kill Wade right now. Do something even the universe couldn’t manage to do.

Logan registers the familiar tear of skin on his knuckles first before the sound of his claws digging into crumbling walls. The burn of flesh against adamantium stings stronger than usual, agonizingly taunting, provoking the already roused beast inside him with a hot poker.

Even if it ends up not being by Logan’s hands, both of them being practically immortal means no one else will likely get to see this sight of Wade so deadly still. Wade’s death is only his, to witness, to drown in the shock and loss of, to revel and savor, to be driven to madness by, to defy and avenge.

All of him is mine.

Logan groans, growls, lets his cock hover over that beautiful face as he keeps stroking. My power over him. My reign over him. My control over him. My possession of him. In sickness and in health. In unconsciousness and in death. Mine mine mine.

Heat starts to build up, down, pressing and tightening—he bucks into his hands, the thought of painting each one of Wade’s beautiful features with his fluids, drops of white all over those lips and eyelashes and only fucking mine to use and abuse and debauch—

—sending him over the edge, ropes of cum beautifully filling every space of Wade with Logan, covering, subjugating, conquering, violating. If Logan had his way, Wade could belong to nobody else, not even himself.

All of him is Fucking. Mine.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 16: It's A Miracle

Logan receives a call from Charles, saying the center needs to close. Little does he know his guardian angel lives under the same roof as him.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, it's sad and then it's not sad.

A/N: hello!!!!!!! see??? I promised you light at the end of the tunnel and there, you have it!!! though it's only the light, you're not out of the tunnel....yet.... In case you're asking yourself wait...this is super unrealistic, let me tell you I did some research and like 60% of whatever business is going on is real. don't come at me. it's a fan fiction. hope you like it!! enjoy!!!!! (p.s: yes there's nick fury, there, y/n's high school is just an entire mcu reference)

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part / Next Part

The dinner table was a lively mix of clinking utensils and Wade’s animated storytelling. Y/N sat across from Logan, catching his occasional glances but noting the stiffness in his posture. He had barely touched his plate, his fork tracing patterns in the mashed potatoes while Wade relayed his latest gig mishap.

“So then I said—wait, wait, hold on—” Wade waved his fork for emphasis, nearly flinging a piece of chicken across the table. “So this guy yells, ‘You suck!’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah, but only on special occasions, and definitely not for you.’” Wade smirked, pausing for dramatic effect. “Gotta keep the standards high, you know?” He chuckled at his own joke, but Logan didn’t react.

Logan’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the caller ID. His jaw tightened as he stood and picked up the phone. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping onto the balcony and sliding the door shut behind him.

Y/N and Wade exchanged puzzled looks. Through the glass, they watched Logan pace back and forth, one hand holding the phone to his ear while the other raked through his hair. The muffled sound of his voice filtered into the room, sharp and uneven.

“Already?” Logan’s tone was incredulous, tinged with frustration. “No, that’s not—dammit, this isn’t right. Not for them.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She couldn’t make out the specifics, but Logan’s fragmented words and tense body language painted a grim picture. Wade’s smile faded, concern clouding his features as he tapped his fork against his plate.

“Should we…?” Y/N whispered, her voice trailing off.

Wade shook his head slightly. “Give him a minute. He’ll tell us if he wants to.”

But as the minutes stretched on and Logan remained on the balcony, his pacing slowing to a halt, their worry deepened. Y/N couldn’t stand it any longer. She stood and carefully slid the door open. “Logan?”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his face shadowed by the dim balcony light. The usual strength in his eyes was replaced by an unsettling mix of anger and despair. He swallowed hard, looking away as if to shield them from his emotions.

“The center… it’s closing,” he said finally, his voice raw and barely audible.

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “What? They’re shutting it down?”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Charles just called to tell me. They’ve hit their limit. Too many students, not enough funding. They… they can’t even guarantee making it to the end of the school year.”

Wade stepped onto the balcony, his usual levity replaced with quiet concern. “Logan, that’s… that’s horrible, man. What are they gonna do about the kids?”

Logan let out a bitter laugh. “Find replacements, supposedly. Like that’s an easy thing to do. They need specialized care. They need consistency. This… this isn’t fair to them.”

Y/N stepped closer, her hand hovering near his arm. “Logan, I… I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, then softened. “No. Charles said it’s out of our hands. They’ve been barely holding on as it is. Apart from a miracle, nothing can save it now.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly looked away, blinking hard. Wade started to speak, but Logan cut him off with a raised hand.

“I need to…” Logan began, his voice faltering. “I need… I don’t fucking know.” He stepped back, brushing past them into the apartment.

Y/N followed, her heart breaking at the sight of his trembling hands as he grabbed his jacket. “Logan, please, let us help—”

“I can’t handle this right now,” he said, his tone distant. “I just… I can’t.”

Without another word, he pushed past them and went inside, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch.

“Where are you going?” Wade called after him, concern lacing his voice.

“To see Charles,” Logan muttered without looking back. “Maybe we can… I don’t know. Try to figure something out. Just—don’t wait up.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Y/N and Wade in stunned silence.

Y/N stared at the closed door, her chest tight with an ache she couldn’t quite place. “Wade, what do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wade scratched the back of his head, uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t know, but… he’ll come around. He just needs time.”

But Y/N wasn’t so sure.

———

The apartment was eerily quiet that night. Y/N lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene over and over in her mind. Every time she thought of the despair in Logan’s eyes, her heart ached all over again. She rolled over, checked her phone—it was nearly 2 a.m. Still no sign of him.

Just as she was about to give up and try to force herself to sleep, she heard the faint creak of the front door. She sat up instantly, slipping out of bed and opening her door just enough to peek out. Logan was back, his shoulders hunched as he trudged toward his room. He looked utterly drained.

“Logan,” she called softly.

He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. “You should be asleep,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Y/N stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. “So should you.”

Logan sighed, his hand pausing on the doorknob to his room. He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I… I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Or Wade. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re going through something really hard, Logan. We understand.”

Finally, he turned to face her, his expression weary but sincere. “It’s not an excuse. You’re here for me—both of you—and I treated you like shit. I’m sorry.”

Y/N offered him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Really.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. Logan looked like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he nodded and turned back toward his door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

As he disappeared into his room, Y/N lingered in the hallway for a moment, the weight of the exchange settling over her. The conversation had been brief, but it carried a depth that left her heart aching and her mind racing. She returned to her room, the moment lingering in her thoughts as sleep continued to evade her.

———

The next morning, Y/N sat at the kitchen table, absently stirring her coffee while Wade stared at the fridge, eating cereal straight from the box. The silence in the apartment was noticeable—there was no sound of Logan's heavy footsteps, no gruff "good morning," no sarcastic remark about Wade’s breakfast habits.

“He’s gone already,” Wade said, breaking the silence as he gestured toward the empty hallway with his spoon.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly. “He left before I even woke up.”

“That’s not like him.” Wade dropped the cereal box on the counter and turned to face her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “He’s avoiding us.”

Y/N sighed, setting her mug down. “Last night really got to him.”

Wade scratched the back of his head, his face creasing with concern. “Man, I don’t know what to do. He’s always been the guy holding everything together, you know? Now it’s like… we’re watching him fall apart, and I don’t…fucking know how to stop it.”

“Neither do I,” Y/N admitted, her voice heavy with worry. “But we have to do something. He can’t handle this alone.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. “Like what? You got some magic plan to save the center?”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly, feeling the weight of the situation. “I have no idea.”

Wade sighed, feeling helpless. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Y/N shook her head, overwhelmed by everything. Logan didn’t deserve this. His students and colleagues even less so.

———

By midmorning, Y/N was seated in her classroom, going through the motions of preparing for the day. But her mind wasn’t on her students or her lesson plan—it was on Logan, the center, and what she could do to help. The idea had been floating in her mind all morning, and finally, she decided she couldn’t let it go.

When the bell rang, signaling the start of her free period, she made her way to the administrative wing. Taking a steadying breath, she knocked on the door of the school’s headmaster, Mr. Fury.

“Come in,” his voice called from inside.

Y/N pushed the door open and stepped in. Fury looked up from his desk, his piercing gaze locking onto her immediately. “Y/N. What can I do for you?”

She hesitated briefly, gathering her thoughts. “I wanted to talk to you about something important. It’s about a local center for special education—one of my roommates works there, and they’re shutting down because they’ve run out of funding.”

Fury raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. She continued, choosing her words carefully. “They’re trying to keep things running, but it’s impossible without help. I was wondering if there’s anything the school could do to support them. Maybe a partnership, a fundraiser—anything to keep them afloat.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled. “And why is this something the school should get involved in?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush. “Because it’s more than just another organization struggling to stay afloat. This center provides critical support for kids who can’t thrive in a traditional school setting. If it closes, those kids won’t just lose a school—they’ll lose their sense of stability, of safety. Isn’t that worth trying to protect?”

Fury’s sharp gaze softened slightly, but he didn’t relent. “Look, I get where you’re coming from, but you know how these things work. The school board isn’t going to greenlight funding or support for a non-affiliated institution without a solid proposal and a damn good reason. It’s not as simple as putting a jar out for donations in the teacher’s lounge.”

“I understand that,” Y/N said quickly, trying to suppress her frustration. “But this isn’t just about money. It’s about showing support, using our connections to help them find resources they wouldn’t otherwise have. If we could just open a dialogue with the center, maybe we could come up with a solution together.”

Fury studied her for a long moment before sighing. “Alright. I’ll bring it up with the board and see if they’re even willing to entertain the idea. But you’re going to have to give me something to work with—a name, a contact, details about their situation. I’m not walking into that meeting empty-handed.”

Relief flooded Y/N, and she nodded eagerly. “I’ll find out everything you need and get it to you as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Fury said, leaning forward. “But don’t get your hopes up. These things take time, and time isn’t something you said they have a lot of.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly. “Thank you for considering it.”

———

As soon as she was back in her classroom, Y/N opened her laptop and began searching for contact information for Charles. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she pieced together snippets of information—articles about the center, mentions of his name in local education networks, and finally, an outdated press release with a phone number attached.

She hesitated only a moment before dialing.

The phone rang twice before a deep, familiar voice answered. “Charles Xavier speaking.”

“Hi, Charles. This is Y/N Y/L/N. I… I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at the center’s party a while back. I’m Logan’s roommate.”

There was a pause, and then Charles said warmly, “Of course I remember you. How can I help you, Y/N?”

“I hope I’m not bothering you, but I wanted to talk to you about the center. Logan told us about the situation last night, and I’ve been trying to think of ways to help.”

Charles sighed heavily. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do at this point. We’ve exhausted every avenue. The center’s closure feels inevitable.”

“Maybe,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “But I’ve spoken to my school’s headmaster, and he’s willing to discuss the situation with the school board. They might be able to help, but he needs details—how many students are at the center, what kind of resources are needed, anything that could help him make a case.”

Charles seemed surprised. “You went to your school about this?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I know it’s a long shot, but I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”

There was a pause, and then Charles said, “I can send you the information you need. I’ll email it over today.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, relief flooding her voice. “This could make all the difference.”

“I hope so,” Charles said gravely. “But don’t get your hopes up too high. I’ve learned the hard way not to expect miracles.”

“Charles…” she hesitated, chewing her lip. “Please don’t tell Logan about this— not yet.”

He paused. “Why not? He’d want to know someone is trying to help, especially if this someone is—”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, “but this is important to him, and if it works out, I want it to be about the center, not me. He doesn’t need to know where the help came from. At least not right now.”

Charles seemed to consider her words before replying, “You care about him a great deal, don’t you?”

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks but didn’t answer directly. “I just want to do what’s right.”

“Well,” Charles said after a moment, “I’ll keep this between us. Thank you for trying, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

As the call ended, Y/N leaned back in her chair, a mixture of relief and nervousness washing over her. She wasn’t sure how things would turn out, but for Logan—and for the kids at the center—she was willing to take the risk.

———

Nearly two weeks later, Y/N found herself standing outside the school board’s conference room. She smoothed her palms over her pants, trying to still the nervous energy thrumming in her chest. Through the windowed doors, she could see Charles Xavier seated at the far end of the room in his wheelchair. He noticed her and gave a reassuring nod. Y/N exhaled deeply, gathering her courage before stepping inside.

The meeting stretched on, filled with debates and discussions. The board members, led by Fury, analyzed every angle of the proposal, their questions relentless.

“How do we ensure these students get the same quality of education?” one member asked sharply. “A public school environment is worlds apart from a specialized center.”

Charles leaned forward slightly, his calm demeanor unshaken. “We’ve done this work for decades,” he said, his voice measured but firm. “I created the center with a dear friend of mine, Erik Lehnsherr, our goal was to provide a space where every child, regardless of their challenges, could thrive. We’ve guided thousands of young people through their education, often giving them opportunities they never thought possible. That mission doesn’t end just because the building’s doors close.”

Y/N glanced at Charles, momentarily caught by the sincerity in his tone.

Nick Fury folded his arms. “That’s an admirable sentiment, Professor, but sentiment alone won’t make this work. How do you expect us to handle the logistics of integrating students and teachers into an entirely different environment?”

“The key is collaboration,” Charles replied. “My staff will be willing to continue working with these children under your roof. Transition is never easy, but with the right programs and guidance, it’s absolutely possible. These children deserve the same chance as anyone else to find their place in the world.”

Another board member, a woman with sharp features and a skeptical gaze, spoke up. “Funding. That’s the other hurdle. We can’t take this on without significant financial support.”

Y/N cleared her throat, stepping into the conversation. “We’re already working on securing outside funding. Families, local organizations, and even planned fundraisers are ready to contribute. The school won’t bear this burden alone.”

The discussions continued, with tension rising and falling like a tide. Questions about infrastructure, sustainability, and the emotional impact on the students were debated in exhaustive detail.

At one point, Charles addressed the room with a calm yet impassioned resolve. “When Erik and I started this journey, we knew it wouldn’t be easy. But we also knew it was necessary. These children—and so many others like them—deserve a future where they can flourish. If this partnership can give them that, then I believe it’s worth every effort.”

Finally, after hours of back-and-forth, Nick Fury leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “All right. Here’s the deal. The school will manage the transition, integrating the students and staff into our facilities. Students can choose between new programs or continuing their current curriculum, with full support provided throughout the process. We’ll secure funding through your community partnerships and additional resources.”

Charles exhaled a deep breath, nodding in appreciation. Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her, though the reality of what lay ahead was sobering.

Weeks later, when the agreement was finalized, Charles requested a private meeting with Y/N. They met in his office at the center after everyone had left, the shelves lined with photographs of smiling children and proud teachers.

“Y/N,” Charles began, his tone warm and genuine, “I owe you a debt I can never repay. Without you, this partnership wouldn’t exist. The center would have been lost.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Y/N said softly. “I just… I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not for the kids. And not for Logan.”

Charles studied her for a moment, a knowing look in his eyes. “You and Logan remind me of Erik in some ways,” he said with a faint smile. “He was never one to stand idly by, either.”

Y/N tilted her head. “What was he like?”

Charles’s expression grew wistful. “Brilliant. Stubborn. Infuriating at times, but his heart was always in the right place. We built this center together because we believed in giving these children a chance to grow, to find their place in a world that so often pushes them aside. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we shared that vision. And for decades, we’ve seen the impact it’s had. Thousands of young lives changed for the better.”

“But he’s not here anymore?” Y/N ventured carefully.

Charles’s smile faded. “No. Erik left the center many years ago. His convictions… they took him down a different path. We haven’t spoken since.”

There was a brief silence before Charles continued, his tone softening. “I often think about what we could have accomplished if we’d stayed united. But life doesn’t always follow the paths we envision.”

Y/N nodded, touched by the weight of his words. “It sounds like you’ve already made a difference. This place—it’s changed so many lives.”

Charles smiled faintly. “And thanks to you, it will continue to do so.”

He leaned forward slightly. “When Logan finds out—”

“He won’t,” Y/N interrupted quickly. “Please, Charles. Promise me you won’t tell him, or anyone. This isn’t about recognition. It’s about saving something that matters to him. That’s all I care about.”

Charles hesitated, his brows furrowing. “You deserve to be acknowledged for what you’ve done.”

“It’s better this way,” Y/N insisted. “Logan’s been through enough. Let him believe it’s a stroke of luck or the community coming together. Just… not me.”

After a long pause, Charles finally nodded. “If that’s what you want, I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said softly, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

As she left his office that evening, the satisfaction of saving the center mingled with a bittersweet ache. Logan’s world would remain intact—but he could never know the lengths she had gone to for him.

———

A few days later, the apartment was quiet when Logan returned from work, his bag slung over one shoulder. Y/N was on the couch grading papers, while Wade sprawled next to her, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” Logan said casually as he walked in, dropping his bag near the door.

Y/N and Wade both looked up, exchanging a quick glance. He sounded… normal. Too normal.

“Hey?” Wade repeated, sitting up slightly. “What’s this? No broody silence? No existential sighs?”

Logan gave him a faint smirk and crossed the room, flopping down on the couch next to them. “What? Can’t a guy just sit?”

Y/N frowned, her pen pausing mid-note. She couldn’t remember the last time Logan had come home and joined them like this without carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

And she knew exactly why.

“How you doing?” Wade asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Logan leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “Good,” he said simply.

Wade blinked. “Good? Like, good good? Or good as in ‘don’t ask me any more questions’?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he bolted upright, startling both of them.

“The center’s been saved!” he blurted, his face breaking into the most uncharacteristically wide grin they’d ever seen.

“What?” Y/N gasped, standing up in ‘shock’.

“No way!” Wade exclaimed, springing to his feet. “Are you serious?!”

Logan laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound that seemed to light up the room. “Yeah! It’s official. They’ve worked out a deal—everything’s going to be fine!”

Before Y/N could react, Wade launched himself at Logan, wrapping him in a bear hug and yelling like they’d just scored the winning goal in a championship.

“Hell yes! I knew it, peanut! I told you it would work out!” Wade shouted, shaking Logan back and forth.

“Get off me, you idiot,” Logan said, laughing as he pushed Wade off.

As Wade released him, Y/N stepped forward, her heart pounding. She hesitated for a fraction of a second—partly overwhelmed by his joy, partly to keep her composure—then wrapped her arms around him. “Logan, that’s amazing. How? How did this happen?”

Logan returned the hug briefly before pulling back, his eyes shining. “It’s incredible. They worked out a plan to keep everything running. The students will transition to a new location, and they’ve found ways to secure funding long-term.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice warm, though her mind raced to maintain her act.

“You’re telling me,” Logan said, his grin widening. “But guess what?”

“What?” Wade and Y/N said in unison.

Logan’s smile grew even wider. “It’s all thanks to your school, Y/N. They came up with the plan, and they’re making it happen.”

Y/N blinked, leaning back slightly to sell her surprise. “What? My school?”

Logan nodded. “Yeah. They’re integrating the program into the high school. And get this…” He paused for dramatic effect, his gaze bouncing between them. “I’ll be working there too!”

“What?!” Y/N exclaimed, her voice a little higher than intended.

“Dude!” Wade shouted, grabbing Logan and spinning him around in celebration.

Y/N watched them, laughing and clapping along, her chest tight with a mix of relief and happiness. Logan hadn’t stopped smiling since he walked in, and seeing him this happy was worth every second of her scheming.

“We’re going out to celebrate,” Logan announced, brushing himself off as Wade finally let him go. “Drinks are on me.”

“Hell yeah!” Wade said, pumping a fist in the air.

Logan headed to his room to grab his jacket, leaving Y/N and Wade alone.

As Logan disappeared into his room to grab his jacket, Wade turned to Y/N, his eyebrows raised. “Alright, Miss Academy Award. Spill.”

Y/N froze. “Spill what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Wade said, crossing his arms. “You didn’t even flinch when he said your school made it happen. So... what’s your deal in this?”

Y/N’s laugh was light but forced. “My deal? I work there, Wade. That’s my deal.”

Wade narrowed his eyes, his suspicion deepening. “Uh-huh. And you just happened to have no idea this was happening? Come on, Y/N. How much of this was you?”

“None!” she said, her voice higher than intended. She winced and busied herself straightening her papers. “It’s just a coincidence. Schools do this kind of stuff all the time, I’m sure.”

Wade stared at her for a long moment before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh my God, it was you!”

“Shh!” Y/N hissed, darting a panicked glance toward Logan’s room. She grabbed Wade’s arm and pulled him toward the kitchen.

“Are you serious right now?” Wade said, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. “You’re the reason this happened?”

“Wade, keep your voice down!” Y/N whispered, her tone urgent. “And no, it wasn’t me. I just… I might’ve… encouraged the right people, okay? That’s all.”

“That’s all?!” Wade exclaimed, though he managed to keep his voice low. “Y/N, you saved the center! That’s huge!”

“No, I didn’t. The center saved itself. I just... helped things along a little. And Logan cannot know, Wade. Promise me.”

Wade’s brow furrowed. “Why not? He’d be over the moon if he knew you were behind this!”

“Because this isn’t about me,” Y/N said firmly. “It’s better this way.”

Wade stared at her in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable. You know that, right? Both of you are. Oblivious, self-sacrificing idiots. I hate slow-burns.”

“Wade,” she said again, her tone pleading.

“Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I won’t say anything. But you’re still an idiot.”

Before Y/N could respond, Logan reappeared, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “You two ready, or what?”

“Absolutely,” Wade said, flashing Y/N a grin as he threw an arm around Logan’s shoulder.

Y/N grabbed her coat, her heart pounding as she followed them out the door. Despite the tension of the moment, a quiet sense of satisfaction bloomed in her chest. This was her secret, her gift to Logan—and seeing him this happy made it all worth it.

XXX

[dearheartdont]

WIP (Definitely Not) Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @laiqualaurelote :)

The next time Charles slips is in 2004, outside an electronics shop, whilst trying to convince Edwin they should nick a radio for their office.

“We could listen to the cricket, and they still do serials on Radio 4,” Charles says. 

Edwin makes a considering noise.

There’s a line of televisions in the shop window. One is turned to the news. A new Conservative MP in Slough, the caption on the screen says. The footage shows the new MP shaking hands with the losing candidates. 

The face is familiar. Carmichael. A boy Charles thought was his mate, or whatever passed for it at St Hilarion’s. One of the boys that chased him into a lake that night. The night he died.

Carmichael still has that posh kid’s flush - wind-bitten cheeks from weekends hunting on a country estate back then; probably the after-effects of too many glasses of red wine now.

When Charles knew him, he was well on his way to a Cambridge place, with an invitation to the Bullingdon club and the free reign that membership granted to act the cunt for 3 years to follow. The kind of boy with the connections to land a job in the City or politics. That’s what had happened, obviously. His life completely unaffected by Charles’ death. 

A hand lands on Charles’ shoulder. Edwin’s. “You look … cold,” he says.

“It’s nothing, mate.” Charles feels a trickle of ice down his back, smells stagnant water.

“Are you— ”

“Just leave it,” Charles says, shrugs Edwin’s hand off and turns away from the window. Away from Edwin.

Charles’ hands are pale and shaking. His hair is wet and plastered to his head when he scrubs his fingers through it. He shivers.

Charles walks round the corner and down the side alley next to the shop. He curls into himself behind a line of bins and screws his eyes shut. Lets his breath heave and his teeth chatter, a cold fury spreading through him.

When he opens his eyes he can see Edwin’s neat, polished boots in front of him.

“I will not touch you, but neither will I leave you alone,” Edwin says. He crouches, a flash of distaste crossing his features even though there’s no chance of his coat getting  mucked up by the puddle he settles in.

“You are doing well. Breathing, though not needed, is a way to regulate the emotions of ghosts.”

“I know,” Charles says through clenched teeth.

“Yes, of course you do. I have always found you to be remarkably intuitive.”

Charles tries for a ‘what could be wrong if I’m teasing’ tone of voice. “Are you trying to butter me up? If you want a favour, now’s not really the time, mate.” The words come out wrong: a little sharp, a lot pathetic.

“That is disappointing. I have decided a radio for the office would be quite the thing, and I think you should assist in selecting it.”

“Just give me a minute.”

Silence, until Edwin says, “I was thinking back on the Case of the Vauxhall Vault.”

Edwin’s level voice recounts the story, and it feels like his voice is a line to follow back to safety, to normality. As normal as two dead boys running a detective agency can be.

The chill slowly recedes and settles back into that small knot at the centre of Charles that is always there, but can be ignored most of the time. 

[that-choir-girl]

Saint Anne’s Retreat — Zak x Reader

Requested: yes

Thank you @ghost-adventures-imagines for the request! I hope you like it!

This was, by far, the most brutal place that y/n and the ghost adventures crew have ever visited. You could feel the negative energy coming from the building alone, even after the psychic medium, Karen, had left, making the building almost too unbearable to enter.

As usual, Zak loved to provoke spirits, so that they could come through the other side. It usually made y/n nervous, especially since every great once and a while, she, Nick, and Aaron would realize that Zak would become possessed by a dark, evil entity.

This investigation, however, was no different. Luckily, Zak had instructed Nick and y/n to investigate one of the cabins and see if they could make contact with the spirit box. Y/n bit her lower lip nervously as the static white noise grated against her eardrums.

“Out of all of us, who is in the most danger on this property?” Nick asked. Y/n shot him a glare as her heart thumped nervously against her chest.

Silence. Y/n didn’t expect to hear anything that came out of the spirit box. Then —

“Gonna kill . . . . Zak.”

Y/n’s head snapped up to look at Nick, whose face had gone white. He immediately turned off the spirit box. In an instant, y/n made her way towards the door, ignoring Nick as he called after her.

“Y/n, Zak said that we had to stay here until someone comes and gets us!”

“To hell with that,” y/n answered breathlessly, her eyes wild with fright. “The thing said it wanted to kill Zak. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“He gets threats like this all the time, y/n, and nothing really happens. You’re just overreacting! Zak’s fine, I promise!”

Y/n only rolled her eyes and took off for the main building that Zak last told her he would be at. When they found him, he was pacing around with Aaron watching nervously, his eyes narrowed. Y/n could see that something was wrong, as she noticed an unexpected rage cross Zak’s features. She turned to face Nick, who was hot at her heels.

“You sure that he’s ‘fine’?” She seethed. Nick went quiet. Y/n nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“SHUT UP!” Zak roared unexpectedly, causing the three of them to go quiet at once. Y/n watched as Zak’s body trembled with unbridled fury.

“Zak, we just wanna help you,” y/n insisted, her voice quiet.

“I DON’T NEED HELP, Y/N!” He roared, causing y/n to stumble back slightly in shock.

“Zak, this is not like you!”

“I’M FINE!”

“Clearly, he’s not,” Aaron put in, but he wasn’t helping.

“SHUT UP, AARON!”

Tears began to blur y/n’s eyes. The last time she had seen Zak behave like this was at Poveglia Island in their third season of ghost adventures. He’d been nearly fine — until now.

“Dude, you’re scaring y/n!” Aaron defended, looking offended.

“DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE?!”

“She’s your girlfriend, Zak. This Zak would not be acting like this.”

Tears began to flow freely down y/n’s cheeks. Aaron took notice of this at once and he shielded her from Zak’s view. It was still hard to believe that the kind Zak y/n loved and knew would behave like this. All she knew was that this was not her beloved Zak. Aaron sighed, and shook his head.

“C’mon, y/n/n. I’m taking you back to nerve center.”

Y/n reluctantly allowed Aaron to lead her back to nerve center, which was located in another building on the property they were investigating. When they got to nerve center, y/n began to pace the floor, biting on her lower lip before facing a concerned Aaron.

“That was not Zak.” She wrung her hands together nervously. “We all know Zak at this point. He wouldn’t get upset like that on purpose.”

“We know, y/n/n,” Aaron reassured her. “Zak is a sensitive guy. We know he will come back and apologize before the night ends. You’ll see.”

And he was right. When Zak came back to nerve center with Nick, who guided him roughly by the upper arm. Y/n could see, at once, that Zak was beginning to return back to his normal self. The anger in his eyes had deflated, and he now looked tired and drained. And he also looked . . . . guilty. His eyes landed on y/n’s and his face paled when he saw her tear-stained cheeks.

“Oh, y/n/n,” he sighed, looking devastated. “I’m so sorry! Something got a hold of me in there! I didn’t want to hurt you, physically or verbally. I swear, I didn’t. I —”

He was cut off when y/n walked over and wrapped her arms around her best friend’s neck. He responded, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck, sending pleasant shivers down y/n’s spine.

This was the kind of Zak y/n had missed before something had gotten a hold of him in that room — kind, slightly intimidating, but yet still a teddy bear. She smiled softly to herself, running her fingers through his hair. The motion made Zak go weak in the knees.

“I know, Zak,” she murmured softly. “I know that wasn’t you. It scared me when you started randomly shouting in our faces. But I’ve got the Zak I know and trust, now. And believe me, I don’t feel scared any more, now that the thing is out of you.”

Zak smiled slightly, knowing that he had his girl back.

[sjsmith56]

The Duality of Nature

Complete

Summary: A mission gone wrong sends Bucky’s soul to another universe, leaving behind the soul of the Winter Soldier, as the only occupant of Bucky’s mind and body. As the Avengers try to recover Bucky, both entities must cope with their new reality.

Length: 29 chapters

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Nick Fury, other Avengers (including Tony Stark who survived his encounter with Thanos), Bucky’s wife and daughter (both named OC), Winter (the Soldier), the One (a sentient consciousness in the other universe)

Warnings: Fear of death, angst, Bucky and Winter questioning their existence, unrequited love, violence causing death. Very minimal smut but there will be sensuality.

Author notes: The bond between Bucky and his wife is explored. Winter, the former Soldier, learns to love and care for the people who become his friends.

Chapter 1 Regroup Chapter 2 Promises

Chapter 3 Return Chapter 4 Identity

Chapter 5 Layers Chapter 6 Clues

Chapter 7 Doubts Chapter 8 Surprises

Chapter 9 Contact Chapter 10 Trust

Chapter 11 First Day Chapter 12 Mission

Chapter 13 Feedback Chapter 14 Questions

Chapter 15 Currents Chapter 16 Faith

Chapter 17 Under Attack Chapter 18 Understanding

Chapter 19 Socializing Chapter 20 Existence

Chapter 21 Breakthrough Chapter 22 The Conversation

Chapter 23 Uncovered Chapter 24 Decision

Chapter 25 Thankful Chapter 26 A Request

Chapter 27 Celebrate Chapter 28 Reunion

Chapter 29 Gratitude

Novels Masterlist

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All MCU characters and certain plot features are the property of Marvel / Disney. The author claims ownership of any original plot lines and/or characters.