#Metal Hangar Building

[coastalsteelstructures]

100% Customer-Centricity: Where Your Experience is Our Priority

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[almahills]

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[just-aake]

Flustered Crushes

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The Black Widow does not get flustered. So why is it that Natasha can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of you?

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2795

At the edge of the bustling hangar bay, Natasha leans against the cold, metallic wall, her arms folded tightly, a faint frown etched across her brow as her sharp gaze observes the scene unfolding before her. 

Near the base of the Quinjet’s ramp, you are engaged in animated conversation with Carol Danvers, who happened to arrive at the compound for a quick visit precisely when you returned from your mission.  

You've been with the Avengers for a few months now, a former SHIELD agent seamlessly adjusting to the team dynamics. 

Over time, you've connected with everyone—including her. 

So, Natasha’s made an extra effort to help you feel welcome. 

Clint often teases her about her behavior, insisting her attentiveness borders on something more personal, something like a…crush. 

Natasha dismisses his comments each time with a roll of her eyes. 

She’s just being nice. 

After all, it's only natural to want a solid, dependable relationship with a new teammate, especially someone she'll be working closely with.

That’s the only reason why she came to greet you when you return from your mission.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands there, alone, on the sidelines…not with you. 

Natasha watches Carol say something that makes you laugh, causing her faint frown to deepen.

The flash of amusement in your eyes as Carol grins back makes Natasha roll her eyes and look away, unable to take the sight anymore as a pang of irritation tightens in her chest.

She tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t disappear.

After all, it’s not like she got here an hour before your scheduled return and waited to see you…just to end up watching as the blonde space beauty swoop in, effortlessly captivating your attention.

Deciding she’s had enough, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, preparing to leave.

However, her abrupt movement catches others around her off guard, and she ends up bumping into a passing cart loaded with tools and equipment. 

A clattering sound echoes across the hangar as wrenches and bolts spill onto the floor. 

Natasha curses softly under her breath, a mix of pain and embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she drops to gather the scattered items, apologizing hastily to the technician she collided with before quickly exiting the area.

In her haste, she doesn’t notice your gaze, the subtle smile tugging at your lips as you follow her with amused eyes, tracking her every flustered move across the hangar bay, even as she slips away without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So, how’s it going with your crush?” Clint asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches Natasha.

Natasha shoots him a warning look that would strike fear into the most fearsome of villains.

Without a word, she grabs the coffee pot, filling his mug before pouring some for herself. She replaces the pot with a decisive click.

“There is no crush,” she states firmly, taking a sip as though punctuating her denial.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks skeptically before continuing, “Whenever Y/n’s around, it’s like you lose all of your charm and coolness.” 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed glare. 

“Really? Coolness? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Clint smirks, raising his mug in mock salute.

“Ask me again after I finish this coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her mug close, feeling the warm comfort seep into her hands.

Just as she brings it to her lips, the doors swing open, and Tony strolls into the kitchen, spotting them with their drinks. 

“Oh, coffee! Pour me a cup, Romanoff.”

“Pour your own,” Natasha mutters, savoring her next sip. 

Tony feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. 

“FRIDAY, remind me, who owns this building?” 

“You do, sir,” the AI replies smoothly. 

Tony gestures upward triumphantly at her before pointing towards the kitchen. 

“So, technically, that machine is mine, the beans are mine, and...oh, right, that pot of coffee is also mine.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes but eventually reaches for the pot, lifting it begrudgingly.

Tony holds out his mug with a victorious grin. 

But just as she hovers the pot above his cup, she stops short.

“A ‘please’ once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he gasps in exaggerated disbelief as Natasha raises a brow in expectation.

Huffing, he mutters, “Can I have some coffee, please?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha quips with a smirk, preparing to pour him his coffee.

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal you, fresh from your morning workout, dressed in your training gear.

You walk by the kitchen, spotting the other Avengers gathered around. 

A delighted smile spreads across your face. 

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some, too?” 

Natasha’s response is instant. 

“Sure, I’ll make you a new pot.” 

Her tone is warmer than usual, surprising even herself.

You beam at her, and Natasha feels herself pause, momentarily captivated by the sight. Distracted, she almost misses your following words. 

“Thanks, Natasha! Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

You slip through the doors, leaving Natasha blinking, still trying to regain her composure. 

Tony watches with raised eyebrows. 

“Wait a second—she didn’t even say ‘please,’ and you’re making her a whole new pot?”

Natasha’s eyes narrow as she holds the pot just out of reach of Tony’s mug. 

“Do you want coffee or not?” 

Tony grumbles before muttering a grudging “Yes, please.” 

Satisfied, Natasha pours the coffee, keeping her focus steady. 

“Natasha?” your voice catches her off guard, and she glances up to see you poking your head back into the room. 

“Yes?” she replies a little too quickly, immediately focusing on you. 

Both Clint and Tony fall silent, watching the two of you with curious eyes. 

“Steve’s got a mission tomorrow,” you explain. “Would you mind if I train with you in the meantime?”

Natasha’s mind races for a moment before she steadies herself to answer.

“Uh—yeah, sure. Anytime you want.” 

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before glancing worriedly at the counter. “I think that’s enough coffee.” 

Natasha follows your gaze, eyes widening as she realizes Tony’s cup is overflowing, dark liquid pooling across the counter. She yanks the pot away with a muttered curse. 

“Oh sh—!”

Tony steps back just in time, glaring down at his soaked countertop.

“Really, Romanoff? This is a new suit!” 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grabs paper towels, unruffled by his dramatics. 

“Calm down, it barely even touched you.”

You let out a small laugh. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, shooting her a smile as you exit.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her attention lingering on the door.

Clint chuckles as he takes another sip, eyeing her knowingly. 

“You’re right, Nat. It’s not a crush,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “It’s way worse.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha flashes one of her most charming smiles, leaning just slightly forward as the receptionist fumbles through her files, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue under Natasha’s intense gaze. 

“Here you go!” the receptionist says, her voice soft as she hands over a key card. “I’m sorry again for the mix-up.”

Natasha’s fingers rest lightly over the receptionist’s hand as she accepts the card, her eyes warm and a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

“No problem at all,” she replies, her tone smooth. “I don’t mind the delay with such lovely company.” 

The receptionist blushes deeply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giving Natasha a flustered smile. 

Natasha’s confident smirk grows as she watches her charms take effect. 

Quick and efficient, she slips the USB drive from the computer, seamlessly hiding it under her palm as it rests over the key card. For a moment, she feels pleased with herself, effortlessly pulling off her usual charisma.

See, she thinks to herself, Clint has no idea what he’s talking about—she’s got plenty of charm.

“Nice job, Natasha,” your voice suddenly crackles in her earpiece, startling her. 

Her hand slips in surprise, almost knocking over the items on the counter. She turns it into a casual adjustment, but not before the receptionist gives her a curious look. 

Natasha quickly smiles, grabbing the key card and offering a polite nod before walking away toward a secluded corner of the lobby.

Pressing a finger to her comms, she mutters, “Y/n? Where’s Clint?” 

“He had to step out for a minute,” you answer. “He asked me to take over. Is that okay?” 

“No–I mean—yes, of course,” Natasha says, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly. 

She straightens, running a hand through her hair as she tries to regain her composure. It’s not like she hadn’t expected you to assist with missions, but the thought of you watching her…

She tamps down the sudden flutter in her chest and forces herself to stay focused.

“Your next target is on the same floor as the key card you just picked up,” you continue, your voice warm and steady in her ear. 

“Got it.” 

“I’ll explain what you’re looking for.”

Natasha nods and begins striding toward the elevators, hoping her sudden focus will drown out the distraction of your voice in her head. 

She tells herself it’s just a mission—professional, routine.

But now, with you guiding her through the next steps, each word falling from your lips makes it harder for her to maintain her usually calm, steady demeanor. 

Her heart beats a little faster, and her cheeks feel a bit warmer than they should. She brushes off the thoughts and keeps walking, determined to stay cool and collected.

“Um…Natasha?”

She stops mid-step. “Hmm?”

“You’re…going the wrong way.”

Natasha freezes, blinking in surprise. She glances around, realizing she’s heading in the opposite direction from the elevators.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over her as she lets out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Right,” Natasha says, turning with as much dignity as she can muster, her face heating as she finally heads in the correct direction.

Oh, she thinks to herself, she’s definitely going to kill Clint.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha steps out of her room, her leather jacket slung over one arm as she adjusts the zipper. 

Your voice calls her name from down the hall, catching her off guard and making her slam the door shut in a startled motion. She spins to face you, only to be tugged back by an unexpected resistance.

Natasha looks down with a sigh, spotting her jacket sleeve caught in the door. Tugging at it proves ineffective, as it stays firmly wedged in place.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Natasha hastily shoves the jacket behind her back, trying to appear composed. She leans casually against the door, hoping the awkward moment has gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile as you reach her.

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha replies, attempting a relaxed tone.

You eye her with a hint of curiosity. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Natasha says quickly, forcing a casual smile. “Just, um, examining the door. Thought it could use a closer look.”

Your brows raise in amused surprise at her peculiar explanation, but you let it go. 

“Well, once you’re done with that,” you say, playing along, “I made a reservation at that new place downtown. I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

“Just the two of us?” The words slip out before Natasha can stop herself. 

A flicker of excitement and amusement crosses your face as you nod. 

“Yeah, just us,” you say softly.

Natasha’s heart gives a small flutter, but she maintains her composure. 

“I’d love to,” she says, a smile slipping through despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“Great, it’s a date,” you say, grinning. “I’ll meet you in the garage.” With a playful smirk, you add, “After you finish your ‘inspection,’ of course.”

As you walk toward the elevator, Natasha watches you with a lingering smile.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally frees her jacket and heads to the garage a few minutes later, finding you waiting by her motorcycle.

You hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist in a snug embrace. 

The warmth of your presence makes her feel a fluttering sensation in her chest she can’t shake. Distracted, Natasha blindly reaches for her helmet and slips it on—only to be met with complete darkness.

With a soft sigh, Natasha’s head drops to her chest, realizing she put it on backward. 

The chuckle that escapes your lips behind her is quickly muffled as you clear your throat, your hands reaching to help her. 

You gently remove the helmet, your fingers brushing her cheek as you pull it off.

When Natasha glances back, she catches the playful look in your eyes as you bite back a grin.

Seeing this, Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Can we just pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen and start over? I swear, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laugh, unable to hold back anymore. 

“Oh, I know all about the smooth and charming Black Widow,” you say, your gaze warm and teasing. “But I think this side of you is pretty cute too.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks at your words, and Natasha takes the helmet, this time slipping it on correctly, with a soft smile she can’t quite hide anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s another one of Tony’s famous parties, where glittering lights reflect off polished floors and music pulses softly through the spacious hall. 

In the middle of the dance floor, beneath the warm glow, Natasha sways with you, her hands resting gently on your waist as you move together to the rhythm of the soft melody. 

You wrap your arms around her neck, leaning in and drawing her closer until your lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. 

Natasha smiles softly against your lips, and as you pull back, she rests her forehead gently against yours, eyes half-closed in a moment of quiet contentment. 

Even as the music fades into the background, her hands remain firm on your waist, as if she has no intention of letting go.

“Why don’t we get something to drink?” you suggest, glancing over at the bar lined with sparkling glasses.

Natasha only pulls you closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the small of your back as she murmurs, “Or…we could stay right here and have another dance.” 

Her voice is a soft suggestion, and she leans in slightly, her green eyes filled with warmth and alluring charm.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across your lips. 

“It’s cute how you’re trying to be smooth.”

Natasha’s expression shifts, feigning innocence. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though the faintest blush colors her cheeks.

With a playful glint in your eye, you tilt your head at her in challenge. 

“How long has your bracelet been stuck to my dress?” you ask, giving her a teasing look.

Natasha glances away, the blush deepening as she realizes she’s been caught. She’s spent the past few moments subtly trying to free her wrist from your dress, but to no avail.

“In my defense,” she murmurs, attempting to deflect, “you distracted me with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You chuckle softly at her excuse, reaching up to pull her even closer. With a playful grin, you press a gentle kiss to her lips before leaning in to whisper against her ear.

“Think of the bright side—if you can’t get it loose, I’m sure you could just rip this dress off me.”

Natasha’s breath catches, and for a split second, she’s utterly still, her mind stalling at the suggestion. 

You pull back just enough to watch her expression, and a delighted smile grows on your face as she stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly caught off guard.

It only takes her a moment to catch on, her eyes narrowing in realization as she shakes her head with a playful huff. 

“You’re trying to embarrass me on purpose,” she accuses, a hint of a smile breaking through.

Unashamed, you bite back a laugh and nod. 

“It’s nice to see the calm and collected Black Widow all flustered for once.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smirk as she pulls you flush against her, her free hand sliding up your back, fingers grazing along your spine. She leans in, her lips just a breath away from yours, the warmth of her gaze intense.

“Only for you,” she murmurs, her voice a hushed promise before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes you forget the world around you, the room fading away as you melt into each other’s embrace.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a short fluff with a soft Natasha that I had finished some time ago. after everything that has happened yesterday and today, I wanted to give some kind of happier distraction, even if it may be only a temporary escape from everything. I’m still going between disbelief, sadness, and anger myself about the situation while also trying to be prepared to continue on. But hopefully, this was able to bring some of you some sort of break from everything else.

[keferon]

TexAid - Vortex has taken First Aid as his pilot. First Aid claims Vortex as his mech.

--------------------------

There's a rumbling in the distance as First Aid crawls out the darkened hatch of Vortex's escape chute.  The hangar is a wreck of collapsed walls, twisted metal pipes, and broken wiring shooting up sparks. 

First Aid pushes himself to his feet, stands back, and uses the flashes of light to take stock of the situation. 

This is…not good. 

He counts a dozen cuts and bruises across his own aching limbs before abandoning the effort.  He is satisfied at least that he is intact, alive, and functional.  All his injuries will heal, given treatment and time. 

Time he may not have.  Because Vortex on the other hand is not so lucky – lights off, systems silent, frame crumpled on the ground.  A slow trickle of oil leaks from the mecha, swirling into one of the many pools of alien ooze scattered around Vortex's frame along with chunks of the aliens' flesh.

The battle had been fierce, Vortex's fighting the fiercest Aid had ever seen against the many enemies.  But for the first time, it hadn't been enough.  The mecha suddenly going dark – collapsing under the strain of overtaxed systems even as the last of the monster's fell.  Leaving First Aid truly alone in that cockpit of horrors for the first time.

Another rumble sounds in the distance, shaking First Aid from his reflection.

He refocuses on the present, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards Vortex's head.  He raps his knuckles against the glass of the visor, shouts at the mecha to wake up. 

Nothing.

Vortex has gone dark.

This is not good.  He is dead.  They are dead, if Vortex cannot wake.  Because those distant rumbles are definitely not friendly.

No human has survived fighting the aliens without a mech.  And first Aid is a medic first.  Vortex is the fighter – the killer – of their strange partnership.  First Aid doesn't know what the aliens do to the mecha and pilots that go missing from the battlefield and are never recovered.  And he doesn't intend to find out.

But he does know what the science team will do with Vortex – a billion dollar prototype gone wrong – out of control and now offline.  They will take the mecha apart, dissect him, strip him down to his basest components to find out where it all went wrong.  And when they're done, what's left will be scrap – pieces repurposed into other mecha repairs.

They might build a new prototype top-of-the-line killing machine 2.0.  But is won't be Vortex.

First Aid hates that.  Because he should hate Vortex, after all the other has put him through.  But he doesn't.  Because before all that, Vortex had saved him.  Vortex chose him – kept First Aid alive and safe, even as he's shown countless times just how easily he could destroy Aid.

And Vortex is…was…could be alive – a mecha with a consciousness all his own in a way First Aid had not believed until he experienced it first-hand.

Out of ignorance, out of fear, out of hate, or simply because of the harsh realities of war – the others will kill Vortex (if he isn't already dead; please don't be dead) and never realize what they have done, because they never recognized that he was alive to begin with.  Never saw him as anything more than a glitch, an aberration in their perfect war design.

First Aid has a duty to save lives.  He cannot – will not – let that happen.  Vortex is his.  In death as much as in life.

The rumbling grows closer, close enough First Aid can imagine he hears the slithering of tentacles along walls underneath it. 

He will not let any other – alien or human – take Vortex from him, not while he still lives.

The cables on the ground throw up another flurry of sparks – casting eerie shadows across Vortex's frame.  First Aid's eyes fixate on the light, tracing the path of the wiring from where it snakes across the floor back up to the housing on the wall.  A broken main charging cable for a mech.

Maybe…just maybe…

It's a terrible idea.  So many things could go wrong – electrocution, a gruesome death, ending up a mindless shell on life support for the rest of his days (not so different from how Vortex already is now).  Pharma or Ratchet or any other medic would tell him as much.  They would tell him that there's almost no chance of powering on a mecha once it's gone fully dark, that it isn't worth risking himself too (and particularly not for this mecha).

For anyone else that might be true, but by now First Aid is used to a little risk.  Risk of electrocution and death?  Just another average day on the job.  No different than what Vortex puts him through every time he straps into the pilot seat.  The only thing that's different now is that Aid is choosing to take the risk.

Because there is a chance.  And First Aid is going to take it.

The rubber insulation of the cable is already in his hand when he looks down, his body having carried him to it as his mid was busy shutting out the doubts every other medic would have said.

Something bangs against the collapsed wall blocking entry to the hangar, sending a shower of dust outward.

First Aid hefts the cable over his shoulder, careful to keep the sparking end far in front of him, and begins the trek across the warehouse.  His shoulder burns from the extra weight on an already stressed joint and his legs protest as he forces them to twist and jump to avoid the pools of fluid that would cause instant electrocution if they came into contact with his body and the cable.

The aches don't matter.  He is a medic.  He can carry his own weight and still have the strength to lift up others.  He can do this.  He will do this.

First Aid is gasping for breath by the time he reaches Vortex again.  His sides ache, lungs burning with each breath.  He mentally adds checking for the possibility of bruised ribs to his catalogue of injuries, then shoves the pain aside to focus fully on Vortex's frame.

First Aid eyes the power node at the back of the mecha's neck and before he can think twice, shoves the broken power cable into it.  Sparks fly around the junction and Vortex's frame jolts, lights flickering briefly, then stills.  First Aid pulls the cable away, then hits Vortex again.  And again.  And again.  Lights flicker.  Sparks fly.  Dust showers around First Aid.  Electricity jolts through Vortex's frame.

"Come on," First Aid mutters as Vortex's lights stay on a full second after he pulls the cable away before stuttering out again.

He takes a deep breath and throws the cable directly into the center of Vortex's chest, where the mecha's primary batter is housed.  Sparks fly across Vortex's frame, lights flicker, flash bright white, then stabilize to a dim red glow.

First Aid's momentary relief shatters as Vortex moves and he feels a gust of air from a cold metal blade passing just over his head.  There's a dull thunk, and then fluid is pouring down on First Aid, coating him in a thick sludge of blood from the alien that First Aid reckons was looming just behind him, judging by the bright green eyeball that falls from above to land in a spatter at his feet.

First Aid looks up at Vortex looming over him, gloving red light pouring out from the maw of the cockpit and laughs, shaking hysterically as a hand reaches down to scoop him up from the ground.

They are alive.  He is Vortex's.  Vortex is his.  They are alive.

D-dont. Don't make me even more feral about them than I already am. Don't. I was GOING TO SLEEP BUT NOW MY BRAIN WON'T STOP WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME HOW AM I GONNA PRETEND TO BE NORMAL NOW WH

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[buckets-and-trees]

Prepare For Takeoff

Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warnings: vaginal fingering, dubious existing engagement

Logistical Notes: Another piece early in the days of the I'm Your Man AU.

Author Note: I started this AU when I was at an airport, and my recent trip had me thinking of these two again, and it had me wishing I were Andy's to spoil.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

While you aren’t used to being chauffeured to every aspect of your life (nor did you want to get used to it, the driver and vehicle yet another element that Andy insisted on in the new life he inserted you into), you know a security checkpoint where your driver had to stop and speak to someone else is not part of the typical route back to the palatial Barber Estate. You sit up straighter in your seat, looking first to the men in the front, but neither of them give anything away, your bodyguard Shep’s face is the same stoic expression as ever, and your driver Mark only glances into the rear view mirror to meet your eyes briefly.

Your brows furrow and you look out the window. You can only see large white buildings on either side of the SUV, and the overwhelmingly industrial feel has you at a loss for guessing the where and why of your location.

That is until you reach the end of the building and the car pulls around the corner. Now you see these large white industrial walls make up the sides of a row of aircraft hangars. While your jaw doesn’t drop, your mouth opens slightly. The jaw dropping moments as a character in the life of Andy Barber are so frequent, but you are starting to control your reactions a bit more.

The SUV pulls up smoothly to the side of a private jet, sleek and black, the late afternoon sun shining off its metal sides. Mark stops the vehicle, and as Shep opens your door, you are not surprised to see you are stepping out exactly onto a long, blue carpet that leads from the SUV to the bottom of a set of white stairs. At the top of them, Andy emerges from the plane, nodding to you. You smooth down the front of your clothing and glare up at him.

“What is this?” You call up loudly.

“You know what it is.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away for the weekend. Now, don’t be difficult, sweetheart, you’re going to love this.”

You feel a sting in your eyes but quickly blink it away.

You hate this because you know he is right.

Yet again he will undoubtedly give you exactly what you want and go beyond what you could even imagine for it, but because he wants to, not because you want any of it.

That is the constant curse in this relationship.

Everything you want, but all your choices stolen from you before you can make them.

You concentrate on taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase, mustering the strength that you will need for this. You have to armor yourself against his charm and his cunning. Every moment with him is dangerous.

“I thought it was time to take you away, make you forget the everyday. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress.”

You blink, open your mouth, then shut it again. He is the source of the stress, but you don’t trust what would happen if you said that.

He smirks, then sweeps you into a kiss that immediately sends tingles all through your body, from where his lips press insistently against yours, tongue teasing into your mouth, to the hand he plants possessively onto you hip and the other on your back, pressing you flush against him, down to your toes, legs feeling unstable as he takes your breath away. You are helpless but to cling to his shoulders and kiss him back, because your traitorous body willingly surrenders to him, damn near craves him.

He finally lets you breathe again when you tap against his chest and turn your head, gasping for air.

He kisses your cheek, then your neck just beneath your ear.

Getting your breath back, you give a small huff. “So, what? I don’t even get to pack? You just have whatever I need for the flight and when we get wherever we’re going, I’ll just arrive to a closet full of new clothes and accessories?”

“Naturally.” You can feel his smirk against your skin for a moment before he bites at your delicate flesh.

“This is insane.” You push away from him and step through the open door of the jet.

“It’s not insane,” he says, stalking close behind you.

The interior of the plane is sleek, minimal, but the flavor of the furniture and decor evoke the same feeling as the common spaces of his estate with lush leather and dark wood.

The fact that there’s furniture…

“It’s not normal.”

Hand to your back, Andy ushers you further into the plane. “You’re never going to be subjected to normal again in your life.”

“But what if I liked normal?”

He sits on a leather loveseat and pulls you down immediately next to him, nearly in his lap. He counters, “You liked needing to get to the airport early, check your bags or haul them through security with your three-ounces-or-less limit on liquids, take off your shoes, and trek through the terminals to your gate?”

You sigh and look straight ahead.

He chuckles and beckons over a gentleman who offers a tray of drinks.

“Bourbon or champagne?”

“Thank you,” Andy says, and takes a glass of the dark bourbon.

“No, thank you,” you decline.

“The captain says we are clear for take off on your word, Mr. Barber.”

Andy nods. “Wheels up then. We’ll take dinner in ninety minutes. You can leave us until that point.”

“Call if you need anything, sir.”

You hear the click of a door as the man disappears. Andy takes a slow drink, then presses the glass to your lips, forcing you to take a sip before he sets the glass aside.

You feel the jet begin to move and then turn toward the runway.

“You deserve more than normal,” Andy says, eyes on you, returning to your conversation from moments before.

“Andy…” you hedge.

“I will whisk you away anywhere in the world. I’ll give you everything you want. You’re mine to spoil. You’re going to live a beautiful life with me.”

“Andy,” you start again, but unsure how to counter.

He growls your name and yanks you abruptly into his lap. He cuts any argument you were about to launch into by biting at your lower lip and grinding you down onto his hard bulge.

You whimper and throw your head back.

Andy assaults your bared neck with heated kisses. He knows he’ll have you a pliant mess for him to slake his lust in a matter of moments.

You know it, too.

And you know he’ll overwhelm you with pleasure of your own, never a selfish lover even though every other bit of him is selfish.

His fingers slip under the fabric covering your core without hesitation, and he strokes your labia, gathering more and more of your arousal as the plane picks up speed. Slow strokes back and forth, back and forth. The pad of his forefinger circles your clit and you bite back a whimper.

“Mmm, you know I love those noises you make.” He circles your bundle of nerves again, this time with his thumb, letting two of his fingers dip just slightly into your slick channel. “Give me what I want,” he coos, coaxing with another circle, and another, and you finally break, moaning openly for him.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me know how good I make you feel.”

He pumps his fingers full into the knuckle now, and not like anyone else you’d ever been with intimately before. It’s only been a few weeks, but Andy has taken every opportunity to become a master of your body and coax and command pleasure out of every inch of you. He knows just how much pressure to apply when fucking you with his fingers, and he pushes into that spongy spot at the front of you walls insistently, repeatedly as the jet leaves the ground, making you cry out and shake on an abrupt orgasm.

You sink forward, hanging your head on his shoulder, but it’s only the first orgasm he plans to ply from your body on this flight. He draws your left hand to his mouth, and hums as he places a kiss first against the band of your engagement ring on your finger and then into your palm, before trailing his lips to your wrist. He eases you down to the floor, and you lay back and watch as he shucks off his pants above you before descending down to sheath himself inside you next, demanding more.

And as he fucks you there, then on another of the chairs, then takes you back to the sleeping quarters for yet more, you bend to his will and his demands and his lust, overcome with everything he is and everything he makes you feel, lost in the complexity of what he’s confined you into. His spoiled and ruined sweetheart.

go to the next part: DON'T LOOK TOO FAR I'm Your Man Collection Masterlist

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[callsign-mayhem]

take my breath away (b.b)

Part two of the sequel series for Heartbreak Feels So Good!

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 1.7k CW: Heavy makeout sesh, use of Y/N

FIND THE ORIGINAL SERIES HERE!

Bradley struggles to keep his feelings in check during a morning training session. A stolen moment in the hangar leads to an intense confession—and an unexpected interruption from another member of The Dagger Squad.

The early morning light cut through the hangar, an energetic hum building as the base slowly came to life. The air was warm, and the scent of metal, jet fuel, and saltwater hung in the breeze. Pilots chattered animatedly while their jets were prepped and fuelled for the new training course being undertaken that day.

Bradley stood by his jet—his pride and joy—watching you move across the tarmac, adjusting your helmet with sharp focus. Of course, you were suited up in your flight gear, looking every bit the professional.

A force to be reckoned with. 

You could’ve been wearing a bin bag and he’d have found it endearing, but this was his favourite look on you. It was hard not to stare, but he caught himself before anyone noticed—your relationship still wasn’t out to the rest of The Dagger Squad. 

You moved almost effortlessly—graceful but with an edge that demanded attention. 

Bradley wasn’t sure why it was hitting him harder this morning, but seeing you there—standing tall, the sun catching the contours of your face through the visor of your helmet—he realised just how hard he’d fallen for you. It wasn’t just your skill in the cockpit or the way you carried yourself. It was more than that. It was how you made it seem as if nothing could shake you, even though he knew it was sometimes an act. 

What with your traumatic breakup and newfound love with Bradley, you’d been doing so well lately. He’d been patient, expecting things to be complicated. While there’d been a few bumps—as every new relationship had—it had been much smoother than he’d expected. Loving you was easy, and being loved by you was even easier. It was like standing in the sun and feeling the warmth from every angle. Your adoration made Bradley feel like he could take on the world. 

Hondo appeared before him, his usual lazy grin on his face.

‘Earth to Rooster.’ He teased. ‘You good, man?’ 

Bradley smiled easily. Since the Uranium mission, he’d gotten very close with Hondo. 

‘I’m good. Who’s flying first?’

In response, Hondo moved to the side so Bradley could see you climbing into the cockpit of your jet. 

God, that flight suit.

The world around you became a blur as the jet roared to life. Bradley swallowed hard, trying to focus on his own pre-flight checks which were happening around him. Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen you fly, but today something was different. The admiration he had for you was more prominent than before. So much so it hurt his chest. 

You were incredible, gorgeous, and talented, and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

And the suit. Well, it clung to you in all the right places.

Your jet roared to life, engines screaming. It was almost too much. Even as the training began, he couldn’t get you out of his head. He was in the air not long after you. The flight was intense—tight manoeuvres, precision testing, pushing the boundaries—another day at the office. But all through it, Bradley couldn’t help but steal glances at your aircraft. He was entranced by the sound of your voice over the comms. You were a natural, graceful and fierce all at once, and it made something inside of him tighten. 

Once the training session eventually wrapped up, the jets landed in quick succession. Engines winded down, and Bradley took a moment to breathe, watching as you climbed out of your plane. It was hot as Hades, and he was severely dehydrated. As he climbed out of his own cockpit, he thought about taking himself off to get a drink, but then you met his eyes amidst the small crowd, and everything seemed to slow down. 

Bradley didn’t wait for the crowd to clear. He moved fast, cutting across the runway and heading straight for you. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached you like it was the first time he’d ever been this close. Before he could even process his actions, he had a hand on your arm, gently pulling you towards one of the empty hangars, away from prying eyes. 

‘Y/N.’ He breathed, voice low but full of urgency. ‘I need to talk to you.’

You blinked up at him, caught off guard but not unwilling. There was something between the two of you waiting to be broken open. 

Bradley stepped into the shadows of the hangar, and you followed. 

The only thing he could focus on was closing the distance.

Bradley didn’t give you much chance to speak before pulling you towards him, his lips crashing onto yours. This kiss was sudden, fiery, a release of everything he’d been holding back. It was messy and urgent at first, but it deepened as he held you tighter. Gently, he threaded one hand through your hair while the other rested on your back, pulling you into him.

For a moment, you were both lost in its intensity. Bradley’s thoughts were a swirling blur, centring on how much he wanted you, how much he could feel this thing building between you two, and how good it felt to act on it now that Elijah was gone. 

He pulled away just enough for the two of you to catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was rough as he struggled to say the words: ‘You’re incredible, Y/N. Do you know that?’

You smiled. ‘I think I do now.’ You breathed, voice soft but full of warmth.

Bradley’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, and then, with a little smirk, he kissed you again—slower this time, more controlled. Although it still carried that same intensity. His hand came to rest on your hip, pulling you close enough that the space between you no longer existed.

Nothing existed outside of this moment. 

The sounds of your heartbeats and the urgent kissing were drowned out by the hum of engines on the runway. That sound, this place, and you. It was an equation that could only equal home to Bradley. 

When you eventually pulled away again, Bradley’s swollen lips curved into a smile. ‘You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.’

You looked up at him. ‘Me too.’

‘I don’t wanna go back out there.’ He admitted.

You giggled almost deliriously and jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You’d never gone this far before. Bradley couldn’t believe how great it felt to have you in his arms, legs tightening around him. He wanted to feel you tightening around him in other ways, but this wasn’t the time or place. 

You kissed him again, tongue dipping into his mouth. He wanted to taste you everywhere. The thought of it alone had him groaning into your mouth. 

He was so wrapped up in you that when you suddenly jumped down and stepped away from him, his eyes remained closed for a beat or two. It happened so fast.

When he did open his eyes, he wished he hadn’t.

‘Well, well, well.’ Fanboy smirked. ‘What do we have here?’ 

You and Bradley immediately stiffened. The playing teasing in his voice was unmistakable, but so was the surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting this. 

‘Didn’t think anyone would catch you two in the act, huh?’ He laughed, brow raised.

Bradley rubbed the back of his neck, face flushing. ‘Fanboy,’ he croaked, voice still hoarse from the burning intensity of that makeout session. ‘We don’t want this getting out yet.’

Bradley shot you a look to make sure you were okay. He was shocked to see an amused grin on your pretty face. 

Fanboy couldn’t help himself. His grin widened as he took a step back. ‘I knew there was something between you two,’ he said dramatically. ‘The way you look at each other—it’s like a romance movie, but it sucks ‘cause I never get any popcorn.’ 

You laughed, the sound echoing through the hangar and Bradley’s whole body. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to do a lot more than kiss you. 

‘You’re not gonna say anything, are you?’ You asked.

Fanboy placed his hand over his heart. ‘Say anything? How could I not? This is big news!’ He teased, voice rising an octave or two in excitement. ‘You two are so cute together. Y/N, I was waiting for you to figure out that Rooster has been head over heels in love with you for months.’ 

Bradley shot Fanboy a warning look. ‘Mickey.’

Fanboy held his hands up. ‘I’m just kidding. But not really.’ You raised a brow, and Fanboy started back peddling. ‘Kidding about telling everyone. Not about the other thing.’

He winked, and Bradley didn’t have the heart to be upset with him when you laughed again. Fanboy tilted his head, studying the two of you as if trying to gauge the seriousness of the relationship. 

‘You two are good for each other,’ he said, his tone softer now but still teasing. ‘You know that, right? Like, I was waiting for the ‘big confession’ or whatever, but honestly? This whole vibe? It’s perfect. I just wanna see you two kiss again.’

Bradley snorted with laughter, quickly trying to cover it up with a cough. You bit your lip to hold back a laugh as well, but it was impossible. 

‘Alright, you’ve had your fun.’ Bradley said, shaking his head with a grin. ‘But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I swear—’

‘I won’t, I promise. I’m not that cruel.’ Fanboy was holding his hands up in mock surrender. ‘But seriously, if you guys need help making this official, I have the perfect playlist…’ 

You and Bradley shared a quick, amused glance, and the world felt lighter for a moment. This was how it was going to be. 

‘Thanks, Fanboy,’ you said. ‘But I think we’ve got it covered.’ 

‘One more thing.’ He grinned. ‘Next time you’re gonna make out, put a tie on the door or something.’

And with that, he winked at you, heading back onto the runway. You took a deep breath, glancing at Bradley, who was trying to suppress a smile. ‘Well,’ you said, leaning closer to him. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

Bradley shrugged with a grin, his eyes sparkling. ‘Maybe we should keep the making out to a minimum at work? Or at least find a more private place?’

‘I think you're probably right. How does my place, after work sound?'

Thanks for reading the next part of the sequel series for heartbreak feels so good! It was just something small to start the year off, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

Taglist:

@crowdedimagines @sadgirlgiselle @sleepy-writersblock @lovelyygirl8 @my-therapist-hates-me @primroseluna @eloquentdreamer @sgt-barnesveins @daybleedsintonightfa11 @constructivejudger @honey-and-bi

[enigmatist17]

Okay okay okay I haven't seen any Mirage/Hound in the Mecha Pilot/Universe AU by @keferon (if there is I apologize I haven't seen every post) so here :)

Also I'm sorta kinda mashing together my version of this mecha AU, as there really isn't a sort of "canon" version of things (I have written Ratchet both as human and bot, so there ya go) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---

Henry was a simple guy who had lived a pretty (in his view, anyway) simple life. He had served in the military, got out when he had done his time, and had become a wildlife biologist for what was supposed to be the rest of his life.

Then they came, and his simple life was gone.

Xenobiology quickly became what he was known for, he and so many others using what they had learned to try and help the fight against the invaders go smoothly. He supposed it could have been worse; the mecha program was a far more brutal face than his dime-a-dozen lab, a lot of pilots dying more from their machinery than the aliens themselves. Jazz, the first pilot who seemed receptive to his friendly attempts to befriend those in that group, became one of the few Henry could call as a friend as they strived to protect Earth.

He even accepted the nickname Hound, the name a second skin Henry wasn't even aware he had been missing.

Then Jazz went missing, Hound there for his grieving brother as a mecha was merely put in Jazz's place, marking the first to leave. Ratchet retired (sort of, they knew he'd be dragged back eventually) shortly after, having grown tired of the constant death and overall burnout, promising that Hound could come to visit whenever he desired. The little guy First Aid stopped showing up in common areas after his whole Vortex incident, and as much as Hound was concerned for his friend, oddly enough, he did not question the haunted mecha that seemed to lurk when Hound visited his hangar.

Still, he persevered in helping to stop the threat to Earth, even when he started having breakdowns at the nonstop death. He couldn't jump fast enough when the MECHA program eventually offered him an off-site lab with housing, the buildings far enough away from their biggest main facility to be out of sight, but close enough where reinforcements could be sent out to protect their investment scientist in case of an attack. It helped to be surrounded by nature again, the smell of oil, metal, and all sorts of blood replaced with fresh air and as many plants as he could cram into the space. Sure, he was still dissecting alien biology and working on finding more weaknesses and potential uses, but it helped to be away from the worst of it all.

Maybe that break stops Hound from having a full-blown freakout when Jazz suddenly returns through some weird sort of portal, flanked by other mecha's that turn out to be alien sentient robots.

"Hound!" The pilot jumps out of his mecha and onto the hand of one of the robots, placed down on the grassy surface as Hound stares in awe. "It is so good to see you man!"

"Jazz?!" Hound drops the gun he (regrettably) used for protection as the pilot sprints over, the two falling back and onto the grass at the force of Jazz's impact, hugging the smaller man just as tight as the other was hugging him. "Holy shit you're still alive!"

"You know me, I'm too stubborn to die." Jazz's voice is bordering on hysteria, but Hound says nothing, freezing when one of the other mecha leans over them, its head tilted as glowing eyes slightly narrow. "U-Uh..."

"Prowler, ya gotta relax yea?" Hound stared as Jazz pulled back, craning his neck up with a grin at the massive alien, using the clawed finger(????) offered to get to his feet, one hand held out to Hound. "This is my buddy Hound I told you about, he's good me-people."

"It can understand you?" Hound took Jazz's hand and got up onto his feet, the other aliens crowding closer in curiosity as Jazz stepped on the offered palm, completely unphased as he was lifted into the air and set on a metallic shoulder.

"He, and they can! Hound, I'd like ya to meet my main mech Prowl to start with, he's the reason I made it home." The one, Prowl, stared down with a blank look, the two staring at each other for a beat before the mech nods his head, his doors (wings? They look like wings, which is really interesting) twitching when Jazz bonked his helmet against his cheek in a way that had the biologist doing a double-take. "What?"

"...did you get a boyfriend? Botfriend? Oh no that sounds so stupid." The former soldier slapped his hand over his face as Jazz started to cackle, the alien's own laughter that rippled through the crowd sounding as alien as it did almost human. "Forget I said that."

"Oh, never." The pilot only looked amused as he looked down at his friend, the air seeming to ease as the aliens loosened their stances, save Prowl. "To be fair, I tried that out too, and it does sound so stupid."

"Who are your other friends?" Hound rolled his eyes, eyeing the group with uncertainty. "Um, you all do understand me, right?"

"Of course, Jazz taught us your Earthen language." The second to shortest bot spoke up, their blue and white coloring catching Hound's interest. "I am Mirage, it is a pleasure to meet a friend of Jazz's."

"It's nice to meet you, Mirage."

---

Mirage did not understand this planet Earth, more specifically, why his fellow Cybertronians seemed to adjust to the planet with ease.

It was covered in organic matter, no matter where you looked.

While his attitude toward organics changed when Jazz was revealed, the person who practically forced the former noble into becoming a trusted friend, it did not mean he enjoyed dealing with organic nature. It usually meant they were in a place the Quintessons wanted, and he could see why Jazz and his people created shells to fight in; his planet was filled with more resources than he could have imagined. The latent feeling of energy (and for some reason energon, something to be investigated later) practically hovered in the air, and the Quintessons could feast for many years if they succeeded in getting a foothold.

Something these small organics had stopped, keeping a foothold despite being so fragile.

"You're brooding again."

"You know that I still do not know what that means."

"Sorry, it just means you're...lost in your thoughts, and judging by the frown on your face..plates? You seem upset is what I'm saying."

"...I am confused." Mirage had been idling outside of a market while waiting for Hound to do his shopping, his new alt mode gathering more than a few optics by the time the human had returned. Little protoforms had touched his side paneling before Hound had returned, and he could still feel their touch as he began to drive back to Hound's home. Once they had returned, Mirage had transformed to look at the small smudges on his arm plating, perched on one of the large rocks that littered the property until Hound had sought him out with a bucket in one hand. "I do not understand how my fellow Cybertronians are not...distressed by this constant organic matter."

"Well, I'm not really sure how to answer that." The organic looked up at Mirage with a servo on his hip, a friendly smile on his face. "Would you like me to help get those smudges off? Figure it's the least I can do."

"Very well." Hound worked in relative silence after Mirage transformed, the small cloth and polisher cream doing its job of removing any trace of a smudge. The human was humming as he worked, occasionally speaking to local wildlife that appeared not to understand his language that wandered nearby, a little whistle and movement of his hand sending them scattering. "Why do you speak to the wildlife?"

"Um...good question!" Hound chuckled as he carefully polished one of Mirage's door handles, making sure the inner part was just as clean as the outer. "Helps me pass the time, makes me feel like I'm not alone I guess. Don't you talk to uh, cyberbirds or something?"

"....Cyberbird?" Hound nearly started at the amused rumble Mirage's engine made, his face plate taking on a red hue Prowl had explained was a "blush". "Not as such, no. The closest animal I have seen you interact with that was similar to Cybertron was a turbo fox, albeit a lot less elegant."

"Aw, we might not be all fancy metal an' tech, but every animal can be elegant if you give them enough credit." Hound knelt down to get the last of the smudges on one of the wheel rims, using some bottled water to rinse off some sort of sticky residue. "I'd love to see what your wildlife looks like, your planet too."

"Perhaps one day, Cybertron is still very much a warzone that had not recovered enough from our own personal War."

"Mhm, we've got places like that here too." Hound sighed, dabbing some more polish on the smooth metal. "Part of why I left the military, I only want to help the planet, not destroy it. What's the point of fighting, only to have rubble and the dead to greet you when you're done?"

"That is a question I have asked myself for many vorns. When we were Autobot and Decepticon, I had been called a sympathizer merely because I wanted to try and end things peacefully, not with weapons and near extinction of our race." His spark pulsed painfully at the deaths that occurred before Earth was most likely even a planet, still a painful memory despite the time that passed.

"I'm sorry to hear that, you don't seem like that sort to me. Nothin' wrong with trying to use words instead of steel." Satisfied, Hound got up and onto his feet with a slight stretch, eyeing Mirage's frame with a smile. "There we go, as organic-free as I could make ya."

"It was very kind of you to do so." Mirage transformed in one fluid move, eyeing his plating with his first genuine smile. "I have not had such a thing done to me out of kindness in a very long time."

"Well, consider it me helping out a friend." Something squeezes his heart at the confused look that crosses Mirage's face for a moment, before he carefully kneels down and extends a finger (digit?).

"It is not a "handshake", but it is the best I can do." Mirage doesn't twitch when he feels the warm hands that wrap around his digit, Hound doing a mock shake, his EMF field cautiously reaching out to drape itself around the human.

"You're doing great, Mirage."

They both lie awake that night, wondering what was coming next.

---

He doesn't know what happened, only that one moment, a Quintesson was about to use its staff to stab Hound right in the chest, and the next, he's ripping its head from its body.

Safe/Confusion/Fear/Resolve

Where is Hound? Where is Mirage? Where are they?

A blast rockets past, and they react, HoundMirage lifting an alien gun to fire, a clean headshot taking out the Quintesson before them.

Something isn't right, he's not a pilotmecha, he's not a soldierspy

No, they're both and yet not, sparkheart beating as one as they fight, driving back the attacking force that had tried to take out the city that Ratchet was based out of these days, its denizens weirdly unsurprised about the new "mecha's". Jazz joins them in the fight until the last one is dead, his mecha holding its handsservos up as he regards them, HoundMirage itching for any more threats as optics flick around the now empty battlefield.

"Fellas? You alright?"

"YesNo, confusedscared?" A processor is halted by unfamiliar emotions, and a servohand reaches for their chestchassis, the outer armor opening to -

Mirage cycles his optics, shimmering out of sight when he feels something close, too close to the small thing trying to intake in his servos. Nothing can harm them, nothing would harm them, and it takes his processor a few klicks to realize the voices calling out to him were friendly. Jazz was in front of him with his servos still up, just spouting anything and everything while Bumblebee watched from just out of sight, making sure nothing was actually going to attack them despite looking in awe.

"Jazz?" His vocalizer sounds off, and he resets it as Jazz gives him a thumbs up. "What happened?"

"No idea, but you and Hound pretty much went berserker and took out most of the Quintessons. Henry, you alright there man?"

"Ask me when everything stops spinning." Hound wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but being in his bot's hands were really doing wonders, so he stayed where he was. "I don't normally talk like this, but what the fuck was that?! I thought you weren't mechas!"

"They're not." The pilot shrugged, Mirage remerging into view when Prowl clicked in warning. "C'mon, we've got to go before the lookie-loos start asking questions we can't answer."

"You're too late on that fact, son." Everyone looks down to see a lone human approaching them with an annoyed look on his face, pointing a wrench at Jazz's mecha. "Also when the hell were you goin' to tell me you made it back to Earth? Cybertron isn't exactly a hop and skip away."

"....what?" All of the alien mechs stared at the grumpy-looking human as Jazz cackled, Hound only amused as he watched Ratchet almost immediately get into an argument with a stunned Prowl.

A weird way to end what was shaping up to be a very weird day.

[therocketeer0501]

Emptiness Machine

Transformers X Mech Pilot AU

Author notes: (Wowza I didn’t expect such a positive reaction to my nonsense! Here is a blurb to test the waters. See what y’all think! Let me know if you want more. 👀)

TW: (needle mentioned briefly, mention of alcohol to describe a feeling, reader cusses a little bit.)

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you only half hear the blaring alarm. You stare at the ceiling for moment, trying to get your brain to wake up enough to process the announcement over the loudspeaker.

“Decepticon activity coordinates delta seven, bearing nine. Threat level Magenta. Pilot SERAPHIM to the launch bay.”

The words repeated as the red overhead lights flashed. No one could sleep through this, you thought as you rolled out of your cot. Feet hitting the cold floor you let your training take over. Autopilot was the only way to operate on days like this. Despite not being out late or having anything to drink the night before, you felt hungover and woozy. The Energon micro-infusions you and the other pilots received must be to blame. Donning your pilot gear and clicking your mask into place you finally start to feel whole again. Being outside of your mech felt like hell. Exposed like a nerve and vulnerable. Feeling so small, you shake your head trying to figure out how you ever lived without that soul connection to your machinery.

You grab your communicator, linking it to your headset and running out the door. Hallways bustled and noise reverberated through the massive metal building as soldiers and Autobots alike made their way around the base. You dodged around giant peds, apologizing when you almost knock right into Hound. The bot putting up his hands and giving a startled whoa as you bolt towards the hangar doors. This was home. The metallic smell of oil and energon hit you as you ran up the ramp to your mech. She was beautiful. Orange and teal accents over ivory plating. The wing and eye insignia on her shoulder alongside tally marks of all the victories you had won. Her optics offline and her lines hooked up to refuel, she looked lifeless. An empty machine.

You smiled remembering the first time you had met a Cybertronian. They were appalled to learn that the mechs they fought alongside weren’t Cybertronian, but were in fact piloted by humans. The bots now compared you to a spark within your mech, your consciousness becoming that of the metal behemoth you piloted. You yelled a greeting to your launch officer as he walked through the protocols and commands before helping you into the chest of your mech. Settling yourself into the gel seat made just for you, you feel the sting of the needle inserted into the back of your neck. Your eyes roll back and the familiar sensation of falling tugs at your limbs. The micro amounts of energon in your bloodstream prickle as your nerves switch to feeling cold.

Optics coming online and flickering as your consciousness links up with your mech. Your servos twitch, testing your movement slowly via the launch officer’s commands. Rolling your shoulders as the energy lines disconnect and the link is complete. The HUD is always a bit disorienting, vitals and stats crowding your vision as it adjusts. The tiny body your consciousness left is nestled snug in your chest. You reach for your weapon where it was leaned, charging next to the bay. A familiar voice to your right makes you turn.

“Ready there Sera?” Your vocal apparatus crackles to life as you reply.

“Had to get my bearings Bee. Consciousness transfer never gets easier.” Energy thrums through your lines and you feel whole once more. You worked alongside the Bumblebee as a fellow scout. Your mech being a lighter class helped with the stealth aspect of intelligence gathering. Most of the other pilots were male, making you one of the few female pilots to survive the initial testing. You felt proud of your accomplishments since the war for energon began.

“What is our mark.” You ask following the yellow bot out onto the launchpad. A ground bridge was already open and humming ominously. He had an alt mode but you didn’t, your mech not able to transform. Using a ground bridge was the only way to get your mech anywhere far away fast. It wasn’t your favorite way of travel, personally you favored the jump jets your mech was equipped with. Something about soaring through the sky was the most liberating feeling you had ever experienced.

“We’ve got a high level threat. At least three cons attacked one of our mines in Australia. I heard Shockwave had some dangerous experiment. We’ve gotta do some reconnaissance before we go take it back.” He smirked before shoving at your shoulder making you stumble a bit. “Try to keep up this time.” You smile at him as he disappears into the swirling light. Something about this mission seemed off. Everyone seemed a little too stoic for this to be a routine take back. Shrugging off the seed of doubt you lift your ion cannon and mount it to your shoulder. Calibrating your weapons and getting ready for whatever fresh hell awaited you.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

In Space

Masterlist

Pairing: Cal Kestis x (f)reader

Tags: Dark, inquisitor Cal, fear, eventual smut

You hadn’t had many run-ins with Jedi - certainly not since the execution of Order 66 - but you’d heard about the tragedy that swept the galaxy. When your home planet was raided by the Empire, led by the Inquisitor Kestis, you and all the other engineers across your planet were offered one choice: your lives, in exchange for your service aboard their warship.

"It’s a good thing we’re smart," your bunkmate muttered the first night.

You’d nodded.

People often confused "smart" with "useful." The only reason you knew how to fix and build was because you’d been doing it since you could walk. You had no choice as an orphan who was taken in by a mechanic for an extra pair of hands to help run his shop. In the galaxy, life had nothing to do with knowledge or ability, only with what you could provide those in power. Either way, your skills saved you. Though looking around the cramped quarters and sterile showers, "safety" didn’t feel like much of a luxury.

One day, while on your way to the hangar, a flicker of movement caught your eye. The hallways were filled with the usual noise of boots pounding against metal floors. Troops marched and staff rushed past each other on their way to stations.

Glancing to your right, you noticed a large glass wall separating the corridor from a training chamber. Inside, Inquisitor Kestis stood poised, saber in hand, ready to strike. Opposite him was another figure, perhaps another Inquisitor or Sith, holding a lightsaber of her own.

Gone was Kestis’s imposing black hood, traded for something more practical for training. His robes were fitted and sleek, dark fabric wrapping around his torso and leaving his arms bare and free to move. The material looked thick, expensive. Designed to protect him without hindering his agility. The kind of fabric that could likely withstand a blade or, at the very least, a brush with heat.

You glanced down at your own uniform, a jumpsuit that had clearly belonged to someone else before you. Stretched seams, covered with stains that never washed out, no matter how hard you tried. The material was thin, offering little protection if something sparked or went wrong at your station. You tried not to think about how envious you were of his armor, his privilege. While he could charge into battle, cloaked in armor that would shield him, you worked with the constant chance that a minor mistake could mean serious injury.

Kestis’s focus was deadly, his stance sharp, as he charged forward. The hum of lightsabers clashing vibrated through the glass, and you felt the intense heat even from your distance. Sparks flew. You winced as the woman’s saber cut a streak across his arm, leaving a burning red graze.

What a weapon, you thought, marveling at the display of power. Jedi weren’t the only ones capable of wielding lightsabers, but they were the only ones allowed. Surely, though, someone built them- engineers, technicians. What went into their construction? Perhaps a flint, or even gunpowder-

A hard nudge interrupted your thoughts, nearly causing you to drop your toolbox. A trooper barely glanced at you as he shoved past, his voice bored. "Quit gawking and get to your station."

You swallowed, casting a final glance at the training grounds, and turned away - only to nearly collide with a figure standing in your path. Yellow eyes, framed by freckles and red hair, met yours with an intensity that stopped you cold.

Your breath hitched, and you flinched, dropping your toolbox this time. You braced for the inevitable crash, but none came. Peeking down, you saw the box hovering inches above the ground. Your eyes widened when you realized you were witnessing the Force in use. Inquisitor Kestis’s open palm was extended toward it, his expression unbothered, like he barely had to try.

You’d heard that using the Force could exhaust the jedi, but Kestis stood there, not even breaking a sweat. His gaze shifted from the box to you, unreadable - a look that held pain, fear, and something even darker beneath it.

"Enjoying the view?" His voice dripped with a quiet menace, as though you were being interrogated. Yellow eyes locked onto you, a jarring contrast against the freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks - features that, in any other life, might have softened him. Those eyes, once rumored to be kind, now burned with a cold amber glow, radiating something far darker, something deadly. His gaze held you in place, dissecting every twitch, every flicker of unease.

You swallowed hard and shook your head, then realized that might seem offensive. "I mean - I just…"

"You were watching me train." His voice dropped, almost curious, as he raised the toolbox with the Force until it reached his hand. "Jealous of my clothes. Wondering if you could make one of these yourself?" He lifted the saber in his other hand, the metal glinting ominously.

You took an instinctive step back, eyes drawn to the unlit saber. How many people had lost their lives at the end of it?

Then, a chill ran down your spine. How did he know you were thinking about building one? Could he-

"Yes, I can," he said, a deadly serious look in his eyes. "Be careful what you think around me."

He held the toolbox out to you, his gaze steady. You forced yourself to take it, your fingers trembling slightly. "Th-thank you, sir."

"I’d get moving if I were you."

"Right. Long live the Empire." Your voice was barely a whisper.

"Long live the Empire," he echoed. You could have sworn his tone was mocking as he turned away.

The salute must have seemed a twisted joke from someone who once fought against the very regime he now served.

Your pulse quickened as you hurried down the corridor.

[warnersister]

Show Me The Way Home, Honey

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Summary: The men at top gun love a bit of sweetness, turn out a bit of helicopter honey was just the right amount.

Warnings: mentions of injury, head injury, parental death, angst, allusions to smut, fluff, parental fighting, plane crashes, it's a happy story i promise.

Flashbacks In Italics -> not my gif

All the aviators were gathering by the pool table, each wondering why their peers from years before surrounded them at the Hard Deck. Hangman had just taken a shot against Coyote before standing up, having recognised a familiar head of hair.

“Well if it ain’t Honey!” You stood at the bar, chatting with Penny while sipping on your second beer. You were famous at top gun, being Beau Simpson’s daughter after all. You were training at top gun around the same time as the rest of the pilots in the room, however flying the Air Ambulance and mountain rescue helicopters.

You turned around to the unforgettable voice, the face you were expecting stood before you, smirk adorning his tanned lips. “Hangman, you got old.” A few laughed at your remark but he just chuckled, pulling you into a hug as you embraced him tightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here, darlin’.” He hummed. “Could same the same for you, Jake.”

Your fame here in California wasn’t necessarily due to your father’s rankings, but the name you had made for yourself. It was your own decision to join the Navy, despite your fathers wishes to keep your feet safely planted on terrafirma - away from the dangers of the sky. But after almost a decade of your adamance and training, you were off, deployed on battleships or costal air bases - send to retrieve wounded or stranded fighter pilots when their missions had been unsuccessful.

God it must’ve been a decade since you’ve seen everyone, but these naval aviators couldn’t forget a face that easily - at least not yours.

You were 24, fresh from your required nursing training and now ready to earn your wings. You were accompanied by your father on your first day, getting a prologued lecture that you had yet to start paying attention too. “And watch out for those fast jet pilots. Don’t take no shit off of ‘em.” You raised a brow. “Why what’s wrong with fighter pilots?” You queries, your walk nearing to a close. “Long story short, the think with their dicks.” You scrunched your nose. “Jesus, dad couldn’t you have phrased that better?” He just shrugged and turned your shoulders to face him properly. “But I’m serious, if they try anything come tell me.” You nodded, a small smile on your lips. “Have a great day sweetie, I love you.” He kissed your forehead and gave you a big hug. “I’m starting pilot training, not kindergarten - I’ve been through two years of naval training and six of nursing.” You laughed, just still reciprocated. “I know, but your still my little girl, the only person I got.” Your mum died a while back, it still stung but you both knew you could always rely on the other. “I know, Cyclone.”

You started walking towards the hangar, but heard behind you “it’s admiral to you, lieutenant.” You shook your head, and headed for your first day - the first step into the rest of your life.

The hangar was decorated accordingly, at least ten sparkling and fresh F-18s sat, just waiting for their aviator to fly it. You continued walking, silently passing an ongoing lesson as you spotted your own adjacent to the helipad.

The clicking of boots was loud against the floor, echoing off of the metal of the hangar - the curious minds of the navy’s best fighters looking behind them to find the cause of the sound and god, they weren’t disappointed. There you walked, a stern look on your face, hair trailing gently as a slight breeze blew through the build, aviator glasses sitting atop of your head, and eyes glittering with adoration as you examined the aircraft.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was one of those watching you, a low whistle exerted his lips. “What have we here?” As he said that, Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw lowered his glasses to get a better look than he was already getting. “Now she is mighty fine.” Hangman continued, but Rooster couldn’t say anything, the only thing leaving his mouth was a trail of drool - he wasn’t alone, quite a few of the trainees now distracted, rather than listening to their instructor.

There were three of you training to fly the copter. A girl called Darla and a boy named Simon were both in your shoes. Your first day you were taken for a ride by your own teacher, Hurricane.

You had heard a few of the students mention a nearby bar that was overly friendly to the top gun pilots, so you assumed it wouldn’t hurt giving it a once over that evening. “Penny?” You asked, and the bar hostess turned around at the sound of her name, eyes lighting up when she spotted you. “Oh my god I haven’t seen you since-” She trailed off when she ran over to hug you. “My mum passed, yeah… been off training I’m officially an aviator now.” She raised her brows. “Beau Simpson allowed his daughter to join the navy?” “Not really, but not got much’ve of a say in it now!” You laughed. “Make sure those fast jet pilots keep it in her pants.” She raised her brows. “Damn are they really that bad? Thought my dad was just being dramatic.”

Penny swung back around the busting bar and asked what she could get you. “Just a beer, please.” “Coming up, sweetie!”

You took your drink and headed to the juke box, opting for ‘you've lost that loving feeling’ by The Righteous Brothers. You always loved that song, your dad playing it you when he spoke about when he himself was a top gun graduate. “You lost that lovin’ feeling, sugar?” You heard from beside you. There stood a tanned man, broad shoulders and toned arms that he was definitely flexing, a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of aviators to accompany the moon beyond the windows. “Ain’t lost it just yet.” You replied, taking a drink from your glass. “Names Bradshaw, call sign Rooster.” He offered his hand. “Simpson, call sign Honey.” You took it but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Mhm, sweet light honey, I get the name.” You laughed at the man. “Good to meet you, Bradshaw.” “Whatcha flying?” He asked. “How’d you know I’m flying?” “Saw ya in the hangar.” “Stalking me now?” “Always been drawn to the gorgeous ones.”

You eyed him, before replying. “Helicopters. I’m a nurse, you?” “F-18s, honey.” These were the ones you were warned about, the fighter pilots. But still, you were your fathers daughter - never one for really listening to instructions. “Using my call sign now? Could've at least bought me a drink first.” “Ain’t a call sign more like an observation. PENNY! ANOTHER FOR THIS MIGHTY FINE GAL, PLEASE!”

“How ya been?” He leant his arm against the bar, trapping you slightly. “I’m good hangman, I’m very good, you?” He chuckled and hummed in agreement.

you had been a member of top gun for a few weeks now, and you were enduring a PT session, courtesy of Hurricane. "Up, down." Push ups were gruelling after a full day of strength training, you'd been training so long even some of the fighters were calling it a day. through your peripheral you noticed someone perch beside you and you could only guess who it was when they started doing push ups at double the rate that you were going. "Give it up, Hangman." you huffed, pushing yourself down again. "Come on honey, double time!" and he nudged his hip against your own, sending you off balance. "JAKE! FOR GODS SAKE!" you groaned, keeling over and hitting him.

"Stay away from my pilots, jet boy." Hurricane grunted. "You're dismissed Honey, great work today." "Thank you, captain." Hangman offered his hand once you had gotten your breath back and you took it, heaving you up. he pulled you so close that your chest smashed against his. "Woah if you wanted to kiss you, just had to say darlin' after all, you're looking mighty fine." You rolled your eyes and pushed him off - "In your dreams, Seresin." "You're certainly in my dreams." He slung an arm around your shoulder and winked at you, escorting you to the showers before he had to leave you.

"You finally shake off the leach?" A woman also in the showers asked, a sarcastic smile on her lips. "Only thing stopping him was the female sign on the door." You replied and both shared a laugh, "Phoenix, you must be the famous Honey." "That's my name," You grinned. "You gonna be down at the Hard Deck tonight?" You thought for a moment. "Sure, see you there."

"Well how-howdy little, lil lady!" A voice exclaimed from behind you and you spun around at the voice. A little boy wearing a small pair of western boots, belt wrapped around his waist about three times to hold up the flared jeans he was wearing, vest and a pink Hawaiian shirt hanging open. He tipped his cattleman hat, and lowered his aviator glasses that were about a hundred sizes too big for him, almost falling off of his nose when he moved to rest his hands sassily on his hips. You knelt in front of the boy and gasped, raising your hand and fluttering your eyelashes as you feigned flattery. "Well hello handsome, don't you look nice?" He dropped his facade and giggled, stomping his little feet. you grabbed the boy as you stood up and sat him on the bar, keeping your hands on his waist so he didn't fall.

Hangman cleared his throat. "Who's this?"

you were stood at the pool table playing against Coyote while he was actively trying to flirt with you, just humming when he was bragging about some trip himself and hangman had managed to pull off on their flight today, before you were saved by Phoenix brining you a drink over. 'Life saver' you had mouthed to her, and she just nodded with a wink, pulling you away when you had won the game, Coyote much too busy trying to swoon you to realise the eight ball had already been played. "Hey, darlin'!" You turned to see Rooster, smirk adorning his face as he approached you. "Hey Brad," he began to engage in conversation before everyone's attention was drawn to where Penny's voice directed. "Beau, didn't think I'd see you anytime soon!" He laughed and hugged her, "Still human Pen, just getting better pay." All top gun members throats went dry, their relaxed evening seemingly turning into a drill session within seconds. he looked at the group and waved you over with a smile, everyone's jaws hanging open when he pecked your forehead and started up talk. "Hey dad!"

"Holy shit." Payback groaned. "Simpson, of course." Bradley said. "Well, you know what they say - get the father to like ya, get the daughter." Hangman said as he began approaching the two of you. "No one fucking says that, Bagman." Phoenix remarked, but he was away before he could be stopped.

"Admiral!" Hangman laid a hand on your shoulder and grinned at his superior, your fathers eyebrows shooting up as he looked between the two of you. you did a small eyeroll before shrugging the hand off of your shoulder and looked on, amused as he tried to sweettalk your dad.

you were soon distracted, though by a sweet tune emitting from the bar's ancient piano. you looked to see Bradley playing the starting chords to an infamous Jerry Lee Lewis song and you ran along to join him, pushing across the bench with your hip to simultaneously sing.

"GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!"

"What'd I tell you about fighter pilots? They're bad news." Your father grumbled under his breath as he drove you back to your temporary home. "They mean well." you hummed, but turned your head against the head rest to look at him. "I'm also not stupid- humouring Hangman is just funny." There was silence for a moment. "What about Rooster?" "What about him?" "I've seen those eyes he looks at you with." "What eyes, dad?" You scoffed with a laugh. "You know, those ones." You turned back to face the darkened road. "They're the only eyes he's got."

Before you could respond to Hangman, the boy groaned loudly. "Mama, I'm thirsty!" He thumped his boot against the bar slightly with a pout at those quivering lips. "Hey, what'd I tell you about stomping?" You hummed, tone gettng sterner. "Don't stomp the foot unless i want a boot in the but." He giggled at the final word. You smiled at him, glad he listened to you at his little tantrums. "You're just like your daddy." You rolled your eyes. "Now what can i get my little cowboy to drink?" "Orange juice please, mama!"

"Mama?!"

After thirty weeks of aggressive training, you had finally been out on several 'dummy' rescue missions. "So today, pilots we'll be focusing on-" The siren which had laid dormant since you arrived at top gun started bleating loudly with an iterative red beacon, accompanied by a female voice overing the neighbouring intercom. "Requested: lieutenant Simpson, Honey, lieutenant Pierce, bear, lieutenant Shirley, Temple, two F-18 fighter jets down at Toro Canyon Park, immediate medical backup required." The Captain looked at you guys. "Show time pilots, show me what you've got." And before you knew it, you were in the air and navigating your way towards the billowing smoke. You landed just off of the treeline, and managed to find the wreckages rather quickly - but it wasn't the planes you were concerned about, it was the pilots.

Two parachutes 100 feet away from one another, seemig like a collision below the allowed guidelines, you were guessing a mock dog-fight, "I've got this one." You ran towards one of the victims and your peers headed to the other, each carrying your medical bag.

you peeled to parachute away from them, and gasped when you saw a knocked out Rooster laying motionless on the grass. "Bradley!" You shook his shoulders, seeing no signs of response so moving him into the recovery position. After checking there was no obvious nor outstanding damage to his head, you removed his helmet to see a nasty gash bleeding right above where his helmet had cracked. "Brad," You kept talking, attempting to make him conscious. "Stay with me, Bradley." you began to apply pressure to where the bleed was, making a make-shift bandage covering the top of his skull until you could get him back to base.

"Hey Honey" you heard his voice rasp as he attempted to raise to his elbows but you pushed him back down. "Hi Roo, just gotta stay there for me, got a nasty gash on your head here." You explained, resting his head against the ground. "You're fuckin' gorgeous." He giggle, looking at your eyes with a dreamily-dazed expression. "Okay, Brad seems like a concussion." "No, no, you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen, wanna marry ya." He continued to blurt out. you tried to ignore the fluttering of butterflies in your gut, just shaking your head. "You don't know what you're sayin' Brad, just gotta stay still for me." You secured a neck brace. "No i know what i'm saying, i wanna take you out and propose and fuck ya so hard that you scream, then ill make love to ya so we have our own little Bradshaw-" He continued to mumble. you breath faltered and your heart skipped a beat at the thought. "There you go, Bradley. Ready to get you home." You secured him as Temple came over to help you, heaving up the other end of the stretched, and moving back to the helicopter, Bradley shutting his eyes in the meantime.

"Who was the other?" You asked. "Hangman" she replied with a scoff mixed with a laugh as you joined her. "Shocker. He injered too?" You asked and she shook her head no. "Was sat up awake when we got to him, damaged ego but nothing else - still taking him to medical to get a once over though." You nodded in response, giving the thumbs up Bear when Rooster was secured. Hangman took a sip of his complementary water, "Hey, Honey" You nodded. "Hangman" "What's up with Bradshaw?" "Concussion, head trauma, need to get back to medical to confirm anything else." he leant forward and placed a hand on the centre of your back and surveyed Rooster. "Back off, Hangman." He raised his hands with a chuckle, before moving backwards and allowing you to work.

You'd worked some overtime that day to wait with Bradley and make sure he could get discharged that evening so that's why you were sat beside him, having just replaced his glucose drip feeding into his arm. The clocked ticked over to eight but you didn't mind, you were move than happy to watch the sunset outside of the window in silence, especially beside Bradley - even if he's knocked out cold.

A sudden cough withdrew you from your thoughts as Rooster's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, sweetheart." "Don't you dare sit up." You warned with a glare, noticing the way his arms shifted below him and he relaxed again with a small smile. "Now this is a view I could wake up to everyday." He said. "Yeah, the sunset's beautiful-" "No, I mean you, I could wake up to you everyday." He spoke softly and cut you off, looking at you with a gentle stare.

"How are you feeling?" You ignored his statement. "I'm okay, seriously, just a bit tired." You smiled. "I stitched up your head, so no flying because you also suffered a concussion-" "I meant what I said." You stopped talking and gave him a questioning expression. "I'm in love with you." "Bradley-" He reached up and kissed you softly and you relaxed into it. "You been growing a moustache, Bradshaw?" "Do y' like it?" You hummed as you nodded. "Good 'cause it's stayin'."

"Yes, I'm his mom, aren't I baby?" You pinched his cheek and asked Penny for an OJ "Oh my! I didn't realise there was a big scary cowboy in my bar, here's your juice box, sir." Penny curtseyed at your son. "Much obly-obul- oby-lysed obliged, ma'am" He smiled, blowing bubbled into the carton through the small straw.

"Who's his dad-" "Nick! Buddy, what'd I tell ya about running from the truck!?" voice bellowed from the doorway, you turned to your husband, who's eyes softened at the sight of you when he removed the aviator glasses from his face. He walked over and grabbed you waist, pulling you flush against his body and leaning down you kiss you lovingly. "Oh I get it, you saw a mighty fine lady and decided she was more important than sticking with your poor old dad, I get it." He said to your son, nipping at your neck with his teeth.

Hangman gritted his teeth and forced a smile and acknowledged you husband, "Rooster."

You spent the next three months sneaking around with Bradley, hidden winks, ghost-like touches, stolen kisses, and honestly a few on-base fucks. All secret until one day your dad had decided to visit your medical station, where you were laid on the bed against Bradley's shoulder while he left kisses in your hair and drew shapes on your hips. "Hey hon-" You father walked in and the two of you immediately jumped off of one another. He froze in the doorway, "What the fuck!" He about-turned on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him before storming off. "Oh god-" You stood up, but was pulled back by Bradley. "He was gonna find out eventually," "He's gonna disown me, Brad-" You had never seen you father that mad before.

"Bradshaw." The group heard from behind their lesson. "Admiral," Rooster turned to see him, and the group hollered like a group of school-kids teasing the man as he was lead away from the hangar and towards Admiral Simpson's office. They sat in silence momentarily, Cyclone staring out of the window and taking deep breaths, assumingly trying to calm himself.

"What're you playin' at, Bradshaw?" He asked after a while. "Excuse me, sir?" He turned towards Bradley - crossing his arms over his chest. "My daughter, seriously?! My only fucking daughter?" His tone of voice rose with every syllable. "With all due respect, sir-" "No, you do not get to talk. My daughter if the only thing I have in life and the only thing I can really protect her from now she joined the navy is scum like you." "Scum?" "You fast-jet pilots are all the same. Can't keep your dicks in your pants, well I'm telling you now - you stay the fuck away from her-" Bradley cut him off. "If I'm not mistaken, you were once, too a fast-jet pilot and that means you lived up to your own assumptions, and I know she's the only one you got because your wifes's gone," "Shut your mouth Rooster, and listen-" "No-" Rooster stood up, his chair being shoved abck against the wall behind him. "You listen. We may not've been together that long, but I fucking love her and I wanna marry her whether you like it or not, maybe you should look at yourself as a fahter, she's been stayin' with me, balling her eyes out for the past week 'cause the only person she's got left ignores her calls and pretty much disowns her! That's your fuckin' problem, now if you dont mind, Admiral, I'm goin' home to the love of my fuckin' life and you have absolutely no authority to stop me." Bradley spat with venom, slamming the door shut behind him and heading home to you.

Cyclone gained a lot of respect for Rooster, that day.

"Hello," Your dad walked into the hangar where you were with Bradley and the two of yours conversation end quickly as you look towards your father with a blank and unreadable expression. "Sweetheart I'm so sorry," "I don't want your apologies, dad." You grunted. "Want me to leave, hon?" Bradley asked, but your father answered him instead "no, i need you here too." "Look since your mom died your the only thing I have I'd live in rags on the street if it meant you were happy, i couldn't stop you joining the navy and i was so scared, what if something happened to you? And i knew from working here for nearly a decade what the aviator reputation was. When i saw you with Rooster i felt I'd failed the last part of you i could protect. but i know, you're not a little girl anymore and I shouldn't have reacted that way, I'm sorry."

You said nothing, but stood up and hugged him tightly, tears apparent in your eyes. "It's alright, sorry for going against your wishes." You reciprocated, "You are a Simpson after all." You both laughed, and your father held out an arm. "Come on Bradshaw, I can deal with you as a son-in-law, I guess."

"Bagman." You husband nodded, mouth pursing into a thin line. "He yours?" Bradley grinned, cockily. "He sure as hell is, aint ya, Nick?" "Yeah, dad!" The boy giggled.

"Er, I think Coyotes callin' me." And he walked away, to absolutely no one as Bradley chuckled victoriously and snaked his arms around you. "You scared him off, Brad." "Good, shouldn't even be lookin' at ya, you're all mine." He pecked your cheek, pulling yourself and your son along with you, and towards the piano, still sat in its spot in the Hard Deck.

It was graduation day, all the top gun graduated gathered to celebrate, Bradley raising his trophy above his head smugly, showing it off to his fellow pilots and the accompanying civillians.

"Bradshaw, congrats on getting top gun." Cyclone approached him. "Thank you, Admiral." He thought for a moment. "Can I have your blessing?" Cyclone looked at him, confused. "Can I marry her?" He was nervously sweating, gulping on his saliva and pulling at the collar on his neck. Your father immediately smiles and shook Bradley's hand. "Of course you can."

Your wedding day was like no other, a runway close to the ocean, a flyover from Phoenix and a few others from Top Gun, your dress was gorgeous, Bradley cried as you walked down the isle, when your father gave you away, when you said your vows, he never stopped crying. God, he was over the moon happy. "I love you, Honey." "I love you, Rooster."

even your honey moon was pure bliss, although the resort was gorgeous you hardly left the hotel room, Bradley too busy fucking you into the sheets and trying to put a baby to you just like he had promised when you had recovered him from that botched training exercise.

Now here you were, perched on the leg of your husband, your four year old son singing along to the tune as Bradley sang to him, playing the piano simultanous to circling your waist.

"GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!"

and Nick had called it a night, you and Bradley said goodbyes to your friends at the bar who had also been called back to top gun, you saying goodbye to Maverick when your husband wasn't looking, you headed to the truck. "How about we get home and I fuck another baby into ya'?" Bradley asked against your lips, between desperate kisses. "Take me to bed or loose me forever, Rooster." "Show me the way home, Honey."

And the men all stood there in silence, sickened to their stomachs, their sweet Honey stolen away by no other than Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw. Damn.

[coastalsteelstructures]

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[almahills]

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[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Kind of a dumb request but how about team DEFY + any girls you want with an s/o who somehow managed to build a mech straight out of Armored Core? Insanely maneuverable, loads of guns, can fly, etc and s/o built it in a garage with a box of scraps lol

(GFL/Genshin Impact) Task Force DEFY, Amber, Jean, Fischl, and Yoimiya's S/O building an Armored Core Mech

(Video Source: Pongsifu on YT) Luckily for you, I have been binging Armored Core 6 for the past month, and will hop on ANY request to talk/write about anything Mecha related.

12 stared at the giant 10 meter mechanical behemoth that had suddenly made its home inside Griffin's Hangar.

(AK-12) "...We didn't always have that, right?"

The machine's chest slowly opened and revealed a cockpit containing S/O, waving hello from the seat.

Apparently, they had constructed the mech out of spare parts lying around.

(AK-12) "Impressive...But, why exactly did Griffin have that many parts lying around? And how did you find guns that big?"

On the battlefield, she watches the mech fly around at almost breakneck speed, watching them zip around and eradicate one base after the other.

Kicking tanks and shooting helicopters out of the sky, it was far more effective to watch them fight instead of having to do anything.

(AK-12) "Hm. We'll be out of a job at this rate."

94 knew this was going to happen.

T-Dolls would only last so long on the battlefield before they were replaced by the next best thing.

However, she sure as hell wasn't expecting S/O of all people to surpass her, with a mech constructed out of junk parts no less.

It was honestly awe-inspiring what humans could engineer for the sole purpose of destruction.

And it was also physically impossible. Something that size should not be quad-wielding miniguns and moving that fast.

(AN-94) "...How has your machine not collapsed from the Earth's gravity?"

94 is more confused than anything.

15 was impressed more than anything.

She knew S/O was an engineer, but to construct a mech out of the parts they had was nothing short of a miracle and logic-defying technical prowess.

(AK-15) "How does your machine constantly reload the missiles while on the field? It is the only weapon you seem to have, and no one constructed missiles that large, even during World War 3."

She can't help but wonder why DEFY was even needed if Griffin had engineers like S/O around.

Well, at least S/O was on their side.

(RPK-16) "I wonder if humanity will wipe itself out faster with these new machines."

16 is fascinated by the human desire to make machines to wipe out life faster.

Granted, Griffin usually just fought Sangvis which consisted nothing of machines, but it would only be a matter of time until everyone else had their own version of S/O's mech.

And probably not one constructed out of junk either.

(RPK-16) "I must ask, S/O. How can you be in the cockpit of that thing and not reduce yourself to jelly? Surely the G-Force alone would kill you?"

Well, it's not the first thing that humans have done that confused her.

(Angelia) "Hmph. Why did they even bother calling us if they had you here? And could you have done that this entire time?"

Angelia is impressed and annoyed.

If S/O could create a hulking machine of death before, why did they only decide to do it now?

She both dreads and admired S/O's tenacity. To make such an effective machine out of junk took a hell of a lot of elbow grease.

Angelia doesn't question it, seeing that it's working alright so far, but she definitely wants to look into upgrading it.

(Angelia) "S/O, with me. We're painting DEFY's logo on it."

(Amber) "THAT IS SO COOL!"

Amber could create Baron Bunnies with a lot of yarn, but S/O could make a machine that dwarfed Ruin Guards with some random pieces of metal!

(Amber) "You have got to teach me how to do that! And lemme ride it too!"

Amber demands to fly with S/O, even though she can't go nearly as fast as they can.

She watches as S/O wipes out entire nests of monsters before leaping away with its mantis-like legs to the next location.

Honestly, it made her feel jealous.

(Amber) "Heeey, can I ask one of those for my birthday! I bet it'll make flying around Mondstadt a breeze!"

Though as the outrider, she kindly asks S/O not to park the giant machine weighing presumably hundreds of tons in the city.

For obvious reasons.

The color on Jean's skin fades when she heard Klee helped S/O build a brand new toy.

One that put her bombs to shame.

And seeing it park itself next to the cathedral, waving hello to her as she was standing at the entrance-

She was about ready to faint.

(Jean) "S/O! Get down from there right this instant!"

Jean gives S/O and Klee an earful for making such an absolute monstrosity that could potentially damage the land and city!

But seeing it in action and fast it disposed of a Hilichurl camp, it filled her with pride and dread.

Pride for her S/O's creative ingenuity, but absolute fear for what S/O and Klee could make next.

Especially considering how fast S/O's machine moved, and the weapons it had.

Where did Klee find the gunpowder for quad-cannons mounted on it?!

(Jean) "I pray that it won't blow up the city on accident..."

(Fischl) "...WHAT?!"

Fischl completely breaks character upon seeing the giant machine staring at her.

(Fischl) "How did...Why...?! Get down from there and tell me how this mechanical monstrosity came to be!"

(Oz) "You just want to ride the machine yourself, Mein-"

(Fischl) "SILENCE!"

...But yes, she constantly nags S/O to let their Prinzessin give the machine a try.

She finds it so friggin' cool, and desperately wants one of her own, in purple!

She watches with some kind of morbid satisfaction watching S/O's machine wipe out their enemies in electrical explosions.

(Fischl) "I hereby dub your steel horse…Raven, of the 621th star!"

(Oz) "…Why 621?"

Oh, that's where all of Yoimiya's spare fireworks have been going into.

(Yoimiya) "HOLY CRAP! What on earth did you make, S/O?!"

The machine seemed like it leapt from another world!

Especially with how fast it moved, honestly she was amazed S/O wasn't vomiting their guts out as soon as they exited.

While it seemed like it would do massive damage, instead they used it for something even better.

As the machine soared above the skies of Inazuma, the cannons on the arms and shoulders fired toward the moon, the starry night exploding into hundreds of beautiful colors!

They had transformed their machine into a firework powerhouse!

And with how fast it moved, it was able to provide a show from one island to another!

(Yoimiya) "Next festival, you're letting me ride with you! I want to see the work we've done up close!"

[imawreck]

Soldat

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Original Character

Summary: Max is rescued, but she isn’t the same… and she makes a hard choice.

Warnings: Graphic like always, mentions of hospital stuff, mind manipulation, cliffhanger (sorta), scars

Word Count: 4,656

Tony-

I couldn’t figure out how it’d happened. How Bucky had went all Winter Soldier without his trigger words, or why Friday hadn’t immediately notified us.

He must’ve tricked her, but that still didn’t answer what caused the switch. Those answers would have to wait until after I wasn’t staring down the barrel of a gun, though.

Bucky spoke in Russian, and I couldn’t understand what he was saying to Rumlow. Whatever it was, the man had gone paler than a ghost in the clutches of Bucky’s metal arm. Steve shifted his weight on his feet anxiously beside me, like he wanted to intervene, but the guy was beat up as hell.

And frankly, I didn’t think anything could stop the man in front of us.

Not with the way the rage shone in his eyes, the way it rolled off of him like he could barely contain himself.

Bucky’s head snapped towards me, beckoning me forward with the nose of his gun. “Escort us to the hangar. If anything gets in my way, I’ll kill you and everyone in this building.” I took a hesitant step forward, feeling Steve’s worried gaze on my back. Bucky’s eyes snapped to Steve, “You too.” Steve limped forward, holding his ribs.

Bucky’s hand still clenched around Rumlow’s throat as he turned back to him. I watched as he set his feet back onto the floor only to kick his knees out from below him and exchange his neck for the front of his shirt. He jerked his head towards the door, eyeing Cap and I, “Elevator. Now.”

Bucky began dragging Rumlow’s struggling form towards the elevator as he kicked and screamed.

“Friday,” I said shakily, and Bucky paused at my words. His whole body tensed, cold blue eyes boring into me. I knew that if I said one single word out of line, this would be where I died. “Don’t engage alarm system. Keep us incognito.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a fraction before he was back to dragging Rumlow after us. We crammed into the elevator, both Cap and I putting as much distance between Bucky and ourselves as we could as he forced Rumlow to his knees in front of himself, metal fingers gripping the nape of his neck to force his head down.

Bucky’s gravely voice bit something out in Russian, and Rumlow shuddered. “S-she’s alive, I swear,” Rumlow answered in English, “I saw her myself.”

This seemed to both assure and infuriate Bucky. Another rumbled Russian sentence was spoken.

I watched as Rumlow’s throat bobbed, and fear leaked into his eyes as he stared at the ascending floor of the elevator. “She was undergoing an operation when I left,” he swallowed, “but she was alive.”

Again, a growled question on Russian.

“I don’t know! I was just there t-to…” It seemed Rumlow had thought better of what he was going to say, and his jaw clamped shut.

Bucky gripped the back of his hair and slammed his face into the elevator doors hard enough to dent the steel. There was a sickening crunch and a garbled cry.

“Ready a jet. Weapons, fuel, everything.” Bucky didn’t look back at me as he spoke, only kept staring down at Rumlow’s mangled and bleeding face.

I nodded, muttering for Friday to do as he asks.

When the elevator leveled out, Bucky kept us pinned with the gun as he dragged Rumlow towards the jet that was already running, fully stocked and prepped for takeoff. It was a single person jet for solo missions, nearly imperceptible if it weren’t for the tracker embedded in it.

Just as I had thought it though, he tore open one of the side compartments by the door and yanked out the wires, tossing the small tracking device to the floor and crushing it under his boot.

He leveled us with a gun one last time, eyes wild. “Don’t follow, and don’t send anyone.”

I honest to God don’t know why he hadn’t killed us already. Maybe it was because he hadn’t truly been triggered, but I didn’t know. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever the reason was, I was grateful when he lowered the gun and hustled into the jet, Rumlow shouting as he was dragged into the hangar.

Cap and I both watched as the jet lifted off and disappeared into cloud cover. It wasn’t long before Cap spoke.

“We should send a team after him. He’s not in his right mind.”

I scoffed, “No shit. But if we do, there’s no telling what he’d do. He’s unpredictable when he’s like this, and we don’t know if he has orders…” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Bucky had only one mission in his mind.

Get Max back. And I don’t think he really cared what it cost to achieve it.

—————

Max-

I had somehow managed to fall asleep, albeit fitfully, after doing as much as I could to mend my mangled body.

I felt heavy, and my stomach growled loudly in hunger. My mouth was dry, and I honestly couldn’t remember the last time they had brought me rations. Maybe they didn’t plan to. Maybe this was it.

Giles hadn’t even showed up since he dropped me the meager medical box, and I didn’t know how long it had been since then. It could’ve been hours or days—I couldn’t keep track.

I shifted, hearing the clicking at my back and fighting the urge to claw at it. I hated it, whatever they’d done. It was annoying and loud, echoing in my skull whenever I moved. The lack of knowing what it was really haunted me, but I didn’t have the energy to panic about it. Not when I had more important things to focus on.

Hunger, thirst, pain.

I was wearing thin, and I think Giles knew it. He knew he was close to breaking me, and I wanted to make him hurt for it. I wanted to tear him to shreds, wanted to make him hurt the way I had for all those years. For stealing the sliver of peace I had been able to hold onto for the short time I was with the Avengers.

If I lived, I would spend every waking second hunting him until he was wiped clean from this world.

I closed my eyes, cheek pressed to the cold concrete with the intention of trying to sleep once again, when I felt the vibrations. A constant thundering, like a stampede was heading towards me.

My eyes snapped open, locking on the door as the grew more apparent. Shouts, all Russian and very panicked, echoed towards me.

“Protect the asset!”

“Don’t let him- he’s through the first blockade!”

Bullets thunked into the walls outside the door, pinging off metal and burying themselves in the concrete. The stomps still thundered, growing closer with the shouts and screaming men.

The door flung open a moment later, and a flurry of men in uniforms poured in. All of them wore worried, frightened expressions. They cleared a table, the contents atop it clattered to the floor as they hauled it over to block the door. They surrounded me, guns raised towards the door.

None of them seemed too concerned with me. Whatever was outside that door had scared them shitless.

Then the screaming started. Sharp and grating, just beyond the door. I could hear strangled yelling, thumping, and bullets continuing to puncture their targets.

I could sense the foreboding that settled into the soldiers surrounding my cell. I would’ve laughed if my throat wasn’t so dry I thought I’d choke.

Suddenly, all of the commotion outside the door stopped. The air stilled, and not a soul moved.

There wasn’t a sound when the figure appeared in the foggy glass window on the cell door. Tall, looming, and utterly still. The glass was old and covered in so much grime you couldn’t see in or out of it.

That didn’t seem to settle the men around my cage. They shook, bodies trembling and hearts pounding.

The figure moved fast, an arm coming up to shatter the small window and thrust something through it. The metal hit the ground, and a hissing filled the air.

I covered my face with my arm, holding my breath as gas filled the air and choked the soldiers. They struggled to yank gas masks from their belts, and I eyed the nearest soldier to the cell.

Shoving up from the ground, I gripped his tac vest and yanked him against the bars with as much strength as I could muster. He thudded against it, shouting, and dropped his mask to the floor. I yanked it into the cell, pushing myself to the center and out of reach as I fumbled with it. My lungs stung for a few moments before I jerked it over my head and set it in place.

I took a clean breath of air as they began to slump over. Dead or asleep, I didn’t want to know. I sucked in another breath, my eyes finding the door once more.

I wasn’t prepared to see his face, wasn’t prepared for the way it froze me in place and stalled my heart. Flashes of memories or hallucinations—couldn’t tell the difference anymore—barreled through my head. I couldn’t fight the knee jerk reaction to flinch away, to clench my eyes shut and push myself into the corner of my cell.

I couldn’t watch him die again. I couldn’t see his blood on my hands again.

The door scraped open, kicked in by his heavy boot. I heard the table screech across the concrete, and bodies slumping to the floor. Still, I didn’t look up.

I heard the shuffle of his clothes, the softest scuffs of his boots on the floor, saw his shadow block the light behind my eyelids. I knew he was right there. I knew it was him, and yet I couldn’t stop the dread from suffocating me.

It was too much stress for my abused mind, my tired body, and I felt my mind go dark just as the door opened.

—————

Steve-

Bucky- or rather the Winter Soldier- returned to the tower with Max two days after holding Stark and I at gunpoint on the landing bay.

Max was in critical condition when they arrived, and Bucky was still not Bucky. But he wasn’t completely the Winter Soldier either. Not in his actions, anyways. He’d broken into the med bay when he arrived back and had demanded that the Doctors in the wing tend to Max immediately. He was caring, even if it was through the threats on several individuals lives.

He wanted someone to help her.

The Avengers had all showed up on the level to handle him, and Wanda ended up restraining him with her magic and forcing him to his cell. He’d gone ballistic when we’d removed him, and he still remained the Winter Soldier even after he passed out after days of relentlessly roaring and slamming his fists into the cell walls.

It had been two weeks since then, and still wasn’t himself. Less Soldier and more… confused. And Max was in a coma.

The Doctors had done every test possible after she was deemed stable and still hadn’t woken up. Even brain scans, but they’d come up strangely. Her brain was active, more so than normal, but there were strange dark lines that moved in every scan. It was unnerving, and left the team disturbed when the information was shared with us. Wanda, who’d given a brief explanation of her last encounter with Max, had gone pale at the news and excused herself from most meetings regarding Max after that.

I’d catch Peter or Stark visiting her when they were free. They’d sit and talk with her, or sometimes just hold her hand and not talk at all. It was painful to watch even if Max and I weren’t close.

Because we weren’t close at all. Which really brought me to question why I found myself sitting in the same chair I’d seen Stark sitting in just a few hours ago. It was late, around eight. Most of the team had dismissed themselves to their rooms, and I’d taken one last round to visit Buck in his cell before I somehow found myself here.

I gazed down at Max, her body still, and her breathing even and deep. Still sleeping.

Seeing her like this, vulnerable and… and relaxed for what felt like the first time in a while was strange. It was almost like I could see her as just a woman, not as the thing I’d seen her as in that bunker. But I couldn’t forget that, probably wouldn’t for as long as I lived.

Still, it made me rethink the way I had treated her.

“Hey, Max.” I didn’t say it louder than a whisper, afraid she’d snap awake for some reason. “I… I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe because I need to apologize for the way I have spoken to you in the past. Maybe… I don’t know.”

I felt silly, sitting here alone and talking to a comatose girl I didn’t really know and didn’t know if I wanted to. But she meant something to Buck. And I had been unfair.

“Listen,” I took a breath, resting my head in the palms of my hands. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you were with us in the compound. I’m sorry for assuming the worst from you, even though you’d proven to us that you weren’t what Hydra wanted you to be. I owe you that.”

I looked up at her pale face, her white lashes where they remained rested closed. “Bucky isn’t the same without you. He’s… he’s like a shell. I’ve never seen him this bad, not even before we found you. And now he’s in some sort of limbo soldier state and I don’t know how to help him. I know you would, though. You always did. Even if I disliked you for it.”

I pressed my palms to my temples. “Maybe I should… maybe he needs to see you and it would help him. Maybe if he could just be near you—.”

Something latched onto my hand, and my gaze snapped down where her hand clenched my wrist in a bruising grip. Ultramarine lines snaked out from her palm, similar to Wanda’s gift, creeping around my arm. They weren’t elegant or enchanting like Wanda’s power though. Not with the way they tangled themselves like overgrown weeds, twisting over each other as they reached towards my head.

I yanked at my hand, but her grip held fast, holding me in place as they wrapped around my neck. Part of the vining strands separated and plunged itself into my ear. I tried to scream, to call for help, but my brain blanked and my vision went white.

I thought it had, anyways. But the longer I waited, the longer I realized I was awake. That I was conscious.

And that I wasn’t alone.

Max sat on the ground in the middle of the whiteness, her expression blank and empty. She wore the hospital garb she had been in when Bucky had brought here back. The bloodied, thin fabric hung off her gaunt form.

I took a step, then another, but the closer I got, the more the whiteness around me darkened and scenery sprung around me. A cell, guards donning a red emblem that made rage flicker in my gut, and Max remained in the middle of it all.

“Max?” I kept my voice low as a guard materialized next to me.

None of what was happening made sense. I had just been in the tower sitting next to her, then here? Something was very wrong.

“Max,” I stepped closer to the cell, this time raising my voice a bit more. “Hey, it’s Steve.”

She shifted, blinking a few times and hugging herself with a shiver. I noted the cold air when she did, suddenly very aware of how real this all seemed.

Her hair fell over her eyes, and she didn’t move to fix it. “You aren’t real.”

I paused at that, frowning. I looked around, taking in the scene around me. Because that’s what I thought it was. A scene, or a memory of some sort.

I recalled the brief description of Max’s new power that Wanda had briefed us on from her experience with it. It wasn’t much to go on, seeing as Wanda was unwilling to share too much of what she’d seen. But it was the concept that I was interested in.

Wanda had seen the same disturbing blue power flaring out from Max right before she was thrown into what I could only guess was Max’s memories. Which seemed the only logical conclusion I could find as I knelt by the cell.

This must’ve been somewhere she was kept, maybe even the exact cell she was in just weeks ago. I kept taking note of what was around me, how cold the air felt, the way I could hear the shuffling of the guards. It would be easy to confuse this for reality with how detailed it was.

But certain things didn’t line up.

There was emptiness on the other side of the door to the small cell, like nothing existed outside this room. The guards eye color changed, or the weapon they held would miraculously become something different when I glanced away. It was small things, but enough to solidify my theory.

“Max.”

This time, she glanced up. Her eyes were watery and red, and her mouth was a flat emotionless line. “I really don’t need you to taunt me, Steve. Can’t you see I’m done? Can’t you see I’ve given up? It’s over!I’m tired of the pain, the hate. I’m just… I’m so tired.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” I gripped the bars, “I’m not here to taunt you, or anything like that. I…” I swallowed hard. “I was actually apologizing to you before. I knew you couldn’t hear me, but I needed to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you, how unkind I was. You didn’t deserve that. I just didn’t understand before, I didn’t know why you were the way you are.”

Her face scrunched up in disbelief as a bitter laugh echoed off the walls. “God, even my hallucinations make you sickeningly righteous.”

I blow out a breath at that, reminding myself that she doesn’t understand that this is literally all in her head. And that she does have every right to be bitter with me. I was a prick.

“This isn’t a hallucination,” I keep my voice even and low. “What do you remember before this?”

She frowned, her eyes far off and her skin getting impossibly paler. “Winter. I remember Winter outside that door.” She nodded towards the steel door across from her, and a shadow moved over the window.

I reminded myself that this wasn’t real, and focused back on her and not the looming silhouette outside of the room. “That was real. Very real. Bucky rescued you two weeks ago. You’re currently in a coma at the tower.”

Her eyes widened, and her head started shaking slowly.

“Max, just listen to me. I’m not lying to you. Bucky got you out of here. Your powers— the new ones, they’re keeping you and I in here. Just a few minutes ago, I was sitting next to your hospital bed in the tower. I swear to you, I’m telling the truth.”

Max just stared and stared, her brows pitched upwards and a lost, almost helpless expression pouring over her features. After a while, she finally spoke up. “What do I do? I don’t know how to… how to get us out.”

I blew out a breath, looking around. There wasn’t anything obvious that indicated an exit other than the door. I glanced back at the cell, which now had a door where only bars had been moments ago. I blinked, “I think you just have to want to leave.” I nodded towards the cell door.

I watched her process things, her eyes flitting around the room to the guards. “They’ll try to stop me.”

I shook my head, patting my chest. “I’ll keep them from doing that if they try, okay?”

She looked at me then, a million emotions in her eyes. Vulnerability wasn’t something I was used to seeing from Max, and it twisted something in my heart.

Something I hadn’t felt for a hundred years.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

On shaky legs, she shuffled towards the cell and gripped the bars. With a gentle tug, the door creaked open and her eyes bounced between the guards. None of them moved, but I moved towards her anyway. She needed to feel safe.

I offered my hand, smiling in what I hoped looked like an encouraging gesture. She took it, her pale hand gripping mine like a lifeline as she padded quickly towards the steel door to the room. It groaned as she yanked it open, and we were plunged into reality.

———

Max-

I gasped for air, my throat burning as I registered the world around me. The real one, I hoped.

Bright lights blinded me overhead, and a tube was lodged in my throat. I reached up, yanking out the wires and needles in my arm in the process, and pulled it out. I coughed, gagging for a moment before I could finally just breathe.

Steve was slumped in the chair next to me, his body twitching every few seconds. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing steady. Alive, at least.

I gathered my wits, taking a few minutes to assess my body. Steve had said I was out for two weeks, and the improvement of my condition from the last time was proof enough. I wasn’t hungry, for one. No pains in my body. I didn’t feel like my mouth was full of sand when I swallowed, which means I was hydrated for the first time in a while.

I was… fine. Alive, breathing, and whole.

Mostly.

The clicking was still there. It reverberated through my skull making me hyper aware of every move I made, metallic and haunting.

I shoved it out of my mind, as far as I could. I just needed to get out of this bed. I needed… I needed to see what they’d done to me. I needed to make sure I was really here. That this was real and not some twisted mind game again.

With heavy limbs, I swung myself to the side of the bed. If this was really the tower, Friday would’ve already notified Tony or someone to come check on me immediately. Which meant my time frame was severely limited.

I made my way into the elevator, hustling as much as my groggy body would allow, and punched my floor number. It rose, and I counted the numbers lighting on the panel as they passed. When it leveled with my floor, I waited long enough to squeeze through the opened doors and hurried to my door. I shoved it open, noting the crumpled covers and the distinct smell of leather and that familiar cologne.

I took a moment to close my eyes, to breathe him in even if he wasn’t truly here. It was a small hint that maybe… maybe it really was real. I didn’t let it sit with me long, snapping open my eyes and storming to the bathroom.

I ripped off the hospital gown and let my eyes roam over my pale skin. Scars, all new, peppered my body where none had been before. Pale shimmering skin where my regeneration had tried and failed to heal them correctly. I lifted my eyes more, noting more as I kept looking upon my image in the mirror. When I got to my neck, my heart stalled.

There, right next to the column of my throat, was the distinct insignia of Hydra. The skin wasn’t shimmery, not completely, anyways. Like part of it had healed when I was still under whatever was in that injection. Parts of it were deep pink, nearly red against the shimmery pale counterparts. But it was unmistakable even with the frankenstein healing. Hydra had marked me permanently, like property.

Rage clawed at my chest, seeped into my veins, and solidified my resolve.

I went to the nightstand, pulling out my belongings, and then reaching under the bed for my ammo box. I set them on the covers before yanking out the duffel I hid along with them, and shoved everything inside.

I made quick work with my small closet, packing the most useful, purposeful items I owned and a few I had sentimental value in, and shoved them in too. I changed into a hoodie and a pair of cargo pants, lacing my boots and pulling my hand gun from under the nightstand, shoving it into my waistband.

I didn’t really think about what I was doing. It was instinct and muscle memory alone. When it was all done, and the room looked vacant and bare of any hint of me, I paused to think.

To consider what I was about to do.

What I was about to leave.

The tower and the Avengers had been a home to me. They’d been friends and family. I’d… I’d allowed myself to put down roots for the first time and I was about to tear them out. Tony would be devastated, and so would Thor and Peter. The others, I wasn’t so sure.

I’d hurt them. I knew what I’d done would come back to haunt me every night for the rest of my life. I knew that some of them wouldn’t be able to forgive me. That Wanda would seek me out for revenge someday and she might succeed.

I couldn’t stay. It would hurt them more than I already had. They would be better off… happier, if I did what I’d always done and disappear.

So I grabbed a notebook from my shelves, scribbled down a few things and labeled them, leaving them neatly on the bed. I hesitated a moment longer before writing something for Bucky. Even if he didn’t love me, or he wasn’t alive to read it, whatever the case… he deserved closure.

The elevator pinged down the hall, and I hauled the bag over my shoulder. With one look back around my room, I locked the door and turned towards the balcony.

When I stepped out, the cool air was welcome as it nipped at my skin. The cool metal of the hand railing was a solid reminder of reality. Of this place, and what waited for me beyond.

I glanced down at the pavement below, knowing the jump would hurt like hell. I’d live though, probably be healed by the time I made it to the end of the block.

I steeled myself with a breath, and one last look out at the city.

This would be the last time I saw it for a long time. It was time for me to start my own path, to follow my own desires and make my own decisions. I was out from Hydras thumb, and I would make sure it stayed that way forever. I would never be put in a position like that ever again, and anyone who tried to take my freedom from me again… I’d tear them apart.

It was time for a new leaf, for the past to be laid to rest. I’d rend Hydra from this earth, and make a new name for myself.

Pounding started on the door, muffled voices shouting behind it, but I didn’t turn back. Instead, I hauled myself over the railing and plummeted down…

To a new beginning.

Tags<3

@greatmistakes / @cjand10 / @greatenthusiasttidalwave / @calwitch / @blackbirdwitch22 / @imdoingathingmom / @readawaythereality2

[saintship]

okay just hear me out!! 13 but with tf141 wherein reader HATES physical touch like they’re completely repulsed by it but they know they can trust tf141, it’s just a matter of getting used to it and time. i’d imagine like it would be them slowly noticing it like if price pats reader on the shoulder for a job well done or if soap just surprise hugs reader from the back and in each scenario the reader freezes up 🤭 also it’s 1 am and i’ve been bingereading your work it’s so good 😭

Prompt #13 - "Take your time."

Thank you so much<3

I’ve struggled with touch aversion my whole life, and it can be upsetting at times so this is free therapy for me,

Hope you enjoy!

Reader & 141 - A little getting used to

Insert excuse to use this gif

The first time they learned of your aversion was at a loosely named ‘work party’, when Gaz had thrown back enough liquor to kill a small animal, Ghost had gathered a few empty pint glasses, and Price drank Soap under the table, literally, when he collapsed to the wooden floorboards of the bar.

You had quickly helped him to his feet and turned to return to your seat when he suddenly enveloped you in a drunken bear hug from behind you, nearly toppling the both of you over with his staggering balance.

You made a low noise of surprise before freezing in place, your hands held up awkwardly as Gaz hiccupped tears of laughter at the scene.

Soap had apologized profusely through the winces of his hangover the next morning, assured when you told him it wasn’t just him, it was touching. But when you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but recall how warm it felt, how he held you to him like you were something precious.

It wasn’t long after that night that the 141 had completed another operation, mingling conversation echoing throughout the hangar as they filed out of the jet. Your boots had just touched the concrete floor when you felt a Price’s gloved hand pat your shoulder twice, along with a gentle squeeze and a smile.

“Good work.”

Your rigid body made him retract, but you surprised him by laying your own hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks to the Captain..” You murmured with a nod.

What he took as a small gesture was an act that kept you up that night. It had always seemed like you would always hate touching in general; and you did, but it felt different when it was them.

Maybe it was because they never treated you like a child. Some thought your touch aversion was the result of something terrible, and wanted to talk to you like you were some kind of rescue. But on this team, in this job, they just didn’t care. And it felt good.

You and Ghost shared the same hesitance; he showed his love in different ways. Whether it be his humor, pulling you out of a tight situation in the field, or just staying up when neither of you could sleep because of the flashing images that played behind your eyes. So he was the one who surprised you the most.

The operation hadn’t been going well; there were more hidden explosives than they had prepared for, and the task force were clinging to the only truck that wasn’t shattered into a grotesque metal skeleton. The truck wasn’t meant to fit five bodies, and the uneven weight careened it into a small cluster of metal beams and half-walls that had collapsed from a singed building. The crash wasn’t overly harmful, Price hadn’t been going fast, but you were tossed into a pile of concrete rubble, disturbing a metal beam that fell on your upper arm, snapping the bone and pinning the limb underneath.

Your instinct to struggle only tore at the flesh and ligaments more, a white-hot clamp from your shoulder down. Your nerves spasmed and ricocheted, a fuzzy coating of needles trailing up from the smallest finger of your left hand.

You screamed in a way you likely never would again, your guttural cries of pain alerting Ghost. He knew what you sounded like when you were lacerated, or even shot; you would breathe through the groans, often treating it yourself despite his lecturing that would follow.

Now, there was no breath, no quiet murmurs of discomfort. There was only your screams. Not a high-pitched, piercing tone, but a cry, erupting from deep in your ribs, desperate and hollow.

Gaz was stuck as well, a chunk of concrete the size of a car toppled precariously near him and blocking any route of escape. Price and Soap ran to him while Ghost ran to you, an unspoken divvying of effort. Ghost knelt by you, his adrenaline momentarily halted by your grasping of his gloved hand.

“Please.. please help, please, please-"

You were sobbing from pain, but the beam was too heavy for Simon to lift on his own.

“You’re in shock, Sergeant. You need to keep breathing, you got that?” He spoke steadily, though his eyes darted from one part of your broken body to the next frantically.

“Hurts..”

You felt weak saying it. But that was all that was on your mind. The blinding, stabbing pain.

“I know..” Ghost seemed to murmur under his breath, as if the words escaped him involuntarily.

“Got him!” Soap’s voice rang clear as Price dragged Gaz free. Soap vaulted a pile of brick and cinder blocks, quickly assisting Ghost in lifting the beam off your broken arm. The absence of Ghost’s hand made your palm feel cold.

The pressure being released incited more pain. Your screams increased in severity before you were finally free, Soap discarding the beam roughly. You could see in his eyes he was out of his element. It was unlike you to scream or cry.

“We’ve got to set your arm, we’re too far from a hospital to leave it for later.” Ghost stated. You shook your head vehemently.

“No, no, no..”

“It’s alright, Sergeant..”

He sat behind you, holding your torso in his arms as your injured arm continued to swell.

“Look at the clouds. Don’t look at him.”

Soap had knelt beside you, preparing to set your joint. You obeyed, your eyes fixed on the hazy grey clouds that decorated the muted sky. The season being Autumn accompanied by the fact it was nearing sundown made the sky a gorgeous deep blue, stained with a grey overcoating.

“Just keep looking up..”

Soap set the joint in one fluid motion, and a choked cry escaped you, your flinching only held steady by the arms of a man you hardly even looked in the eye.

“Good.. good job..” Soap touched your knee gently, and any panic seemed to ebb, if only for a fleeting second. You could hear Price radioing for a medical evac through the pounding in your head. You would have slipped into the warm blanket of unconsciousness, had Ghost not been behind you. He had fully settled on the ground, at first to secure you, but now at will. For the first time in a long time, you felt arms around your middle and didn’t want to shrink away.

On the gurney, his gloved hand stayed on your shoulder.

In the helicopter, he held your body steady as the cabin shook during takeoff.

In the medical wing, his palm rested just at your ankle while you were treated.

Every so often, you glanced at his hand, the skeleton print of his gloves stained with grime and blood. And with the warmth of his palm, you figured the touch of someone else might not be as repulsive if it's someone like him.

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter Three

Word Count: 2260 words

Warnings: nothing really but crying and we got the exposition out the way yayy!!

Even after all these years, Wakanda’s skyline still takes my breath away. Moonlight colors the buildings and wells with a blue glow as the shadows lining every structure shift away from it. I lean my forehead down against the glass and heave out a deep breath. Sure, maybe I spend sixteen hours out of the day chasing after politicians and ambassadors, but it’s all worth it to make sure that home is protected from nosy government officials. The second we allow prying eyes into the country, well-meaning or not, they’ll try and control everything we have.

Flying above the city, I see elderly couples enjoying the night air from their porches, and the occasional cat slinking along in the night. The buildings blur together and get so small as we zoom across the water to the Panther statue jutting out of the mountain, its eyes glowing bright indigo as we slide into its maw.

Inside of the Great Mound there's grandeur like you've never seen. Dozens of valleys and ridges hold up metal mining structures and magnets, humming and buzzing so hard you feel your teeth chatter. The farther down you go, the more toxic the chemical levels are, and the more the cobalt lava shines through the rock, wrapping around the walls to the top of the mine. At the center of all this majesty is Shuri’s lab.  I half expect to see her in there tinkering around, and my face falls remembering just how deserted she is. What if she’s in danger? How will we know if Namor takes advantage of her humanity and fights dirty? Why couldn’t I stop him?

Before I know it, the settling of the aircraft shakes me out of my thoughts, rumbling a purr as it slows to a stop underneath the lab. Waiting in the hangar, Ayo walks in a straight line back and forth, shaking her head in dismay. As soon as the doors open, she snaps to attention and salutes me. Aneka sharpens her blades on a nearby table before whipping around to do the same, albeit a little more clumsily. Kena follows me as I drowsily lumber off the ship, and maybe I’m seeing things, but they share a warning look amongst each other as I pass through the doors. 

Before I do any serious business back in Wakanda, I have to be medically and mentally evaluated to maintain my health. It’s a little bit like a post-mission tradition, if post-mission traditions consisted of sitting on a cold metal table as Griot asks me about the food I had in each country. I guess I shouldn’t complain, he’s not the worst company a girl can have, and he doesn’t get offended when I ask him to be quiet. If anyone asks, I won’t admit it, but these evaluations bring me back to myself, in a way. They remind me that I’m not a robot who can work and move with extremely high efficiency all the time, and to cut myself a little bit of slack. 

This time, however, as I lay my head down on the examiner, Ayo and Kena snuck into the room. I jumped in my gown, almost exposing a less dignified area of my body.

“Bast. With all of that metal, you’d think I’d be able to hear when you all enter the room.”

Ayo chuckles smugly, as if scaring me half out of my body was a fun pastime for her. “If you could hear us enter the room, we wouldn’t be very good soldiers.”

“I suppose that’s true. Yes, you both are good, indeed. Maybe the best.” I add, kittenish and sweet, dusting off my gown and crossing my legs. Aneka rolls her eyes playfully at my attempt at brown nosing.

“You know the general has prohibited anyone from disclosing when the Black Panther will return. A little waiting might actually do you some good, Y/n. You never had any patience.”

“Well, why wait when I could just get things myself? And I’m not just a citizen, or some nosy royal who only cares about being in the loop. Shuri is my cousin, and I am the ambassador of Wakanda. The attack started with me. Why am I being kept in the dark?” Maybe I’m overstepping, but at the same time, I’m being disrespected. How dare they keep secrets from me as if I don’t work my ass off for my country every day?

“Please. You’re being so—so stubborn to think that you need to be privy to everything. As general, it’s my duty to make sure that all information is on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

“I need to know!” It comes out louder than I’d hoped, but so be it. There was no point in hiding my feelings in such a stressful position. “I am her right hand. She is my leader. And my family. Is that not enough for you?” 

“Remember your place, Y/n. Yes, you are a part of the royal family, but it doesn’t entitle you to all of the governmental knowledge at all times. There’s a reason why only one nuclear family rules all of Wakanda. Because the more people who are allowed into the important rooms, the more often betrayal happens. Learn from your elders, even if it means you’re excluded at times. We can’t afford for you to throw temper tantrums anymore.”

Suddenly, I feel a whole lot more exposed than when my ass was almost out. I look at the time, it’s 4:06 am. Too early to be called a child after my cousin was abducted. Too late for me to care if I’m being selfish. “Leave me, please.”

Ayo starts, not exactly repentant, but she softens this time. “Y/n, your safety is the utmost priority, you know this—”

“Get out! Please. I need to sleep this off.” I can’t meet her or Aneka’s eyes, and squeeze the examination table. Griot slides the door open for them, and before either moves, a beat passes. I know they know that I’m lying, I probably won’t get a wink of sleep without some powerful batch of herbs.

“As you wish.” 

They sneak off without a sound and I flop down onto my side, still feeling every bit as wired as I did before my speech. 

“Griot, continue.” 

Even though I tried my best to stay awake throughout the rest of the tests, Griot went into lullaby mode, and as soon as he put on ocean sounds and heated the table, I was out like a light.

***

The next morning, the sun shines through the window of my suite in the mountain, glaring in my eye. I’m still in my gown, but my bags and other belongings from the trip are in the room with me. It still looks like it did when we were younger and I’d beg Queen Ramonda for a sleepover every night. She’d put me and Shuri up in the room, one of us on the floor, the other in the bed alternating for fairness. Then we’d stay up till the ungodly hours watching foreign films and sharing our dreams of being something more than royalty.

Luckily, a knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. Aneka stands on the other side with a traditional staff in hand, and her body is styled like she could be attacked at any moment, but her eyes are so telling. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks me, hesitantly, like I might snap at her again. My face almost crumples, but I somehow manage a sad smile. 

“Okay. I’m not proud of how I acted last night.” I admit to her, pulling her by the arm into my suite. Never has it been a practice of mine to treat those who ‘rank’ lower than I badly, especially since each and every single Dora is my family. “You didn’t deserve that, Aneka. You or the general.”

“She understands. Last night couldn’t have been easy to process for you. The council has been abuzz all morning, trying to come up with a solution for you both.”

“Us both? I’m home, they shouldn't be wasting time on me when we have clearly bigger fish to fry.” We backtrack as I rush around the suite, looking for an outfit to wear. “I have to get down there, immediately. Do you have a jet?”

“Yes, and they’re already expecting you, so don’t be long.”

“Do you know what they need from me? I have to be in Belgium next week, so I can’t stay and plan with them much longer.” I hop into my jeans, looking around for the purse I had last night. Did it get back on the ship with me?

“Yes, apparently they’re requesting more security with you.” Aneka pulls a stool out from the island and sits down, folding her hands.

“Ah.”

*** The Citadel is abuzz as I walk in, accompanied by Aneka and Ayo, who still won’t speak to me outside of cordial hellos and business matters. In fact, there are more people in the hall than I’ve ever seen, skating around whispering and consulting the members. So much for preventing betrayal. Chief M’Baku sits on his very own hirsute throne, decorated with wooden apes and fur and other things, but shooes his advisors away when his eyes meet mine. 

He stands abruptly, and his entourage stands with him, starting that hooting nonsense to quiet the room. Once all attention is on him, he claps twice to be unnecessary, and sits down with a grunt. “The wanderer is here.”

I close my eyes with effort in order to not roll them, and pull a tight smile across my face. 

“Good to see you all, elders and officials. Thank you for your concern for my safety.” They murmur their agreements and as I shuffle to my seat, I can’t help but feel like something is very, very wrong. The first clue is that my favorite elder, M’Kathu, is not in attendance. In his place is his wife, a slender woman with short hair who scowls meanly at me almost always. Bast, be in my favor today, please. 

“Well, let us address the elephant in the room, ah? The wanderer is vulnerable, to no one’s surprise.” M’baku states, allowing no time for small talk. His flying monkeys hoot behind him.

I move to speak but Ayo puts her hand up quickly. “The security of our most talented ambassador and Queen is the responsibility of the Dora Milaje, and as we are wary of Namor, let it be known that we are in contact with the Queen. She is safe and supports our new efforts in the protection of the ambassador.” New efforts?

“For now. Queen Shuri is safe for now.” M’Baku gestures with his carrot, spewing chunks into the air. Disgusting.

“And what would these new efforts be? What would be enough to aid the Dora Milaje against the Feathered Serpent God?” Shouts Elder Zawavari skeptically.

Contact? “If I may interrupt, how did we get in contact with her?”

General Ayo gives me a look that says Shut up and wait. Everyone else wants to chime in now, and I can’t stop wondering: What did Shuri say? What does Namor want with her now?

“The Queen has enlisted another protector for the ambassador, one that is ruthless and intimidating. She has worked side by side with him and he has vowed to be of use in return for his own life, which Shuri saved as a girl. He has proved himself to be a formidable opponent to Namor, even when surprised.”

The council goes quiet in anticipation. Even I begin to soften at the idea of another protector, if he’s this talented, I definitely won’t be in danger. M‘Baku rises slowly from his chair, his expression darkening. “No. No outsiders. Especially no criminals.”

The General rises to meet his eye, and the Dora Milaje backs her up. “It’s not my decision, but it is the correct one. Sometimes we must look past transgressions to become stronger.”

“Absolutely not. This is a treasonous act and the Jabari Tribe will not allow it. M’Kathu wouldn’t either.” M’Baku booms across to the general. 

“You dare to challenge your queen?” Ayo asks with one raised eyebrow, already knowing the answer. Across them is tension so thick it weighs down our clothes, and I didn’t even notice the Doras’ calling, but it’s not helping the atmosphere. I wonder who could be so controversial to have half of the Tribal Council up in arms. M’Baku holds his tongue and puts his hands up in disappointment. The general nods, “I didn’t think so.”

The suspense is killing me. “So, who’ll be my bodyguard?”

Ayo smiles at me, almost impishly. “Y/n, until the Queen is returned and Namor is quelled, you’ll be escorted in all endeavors within and outside of Wakanda by James Buchanan Barnes.”

Fuck.