#Story: Supporting a Soldier (In Flight) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 7 months ago

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Wake Me Up - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you��ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse! Let me tell you, I’ve had this mini series outlined for months, but now I thought it was finally time to get to it. If you’re not tired of the Break Me Down world yet, I very much hope you enjoy Wake Me Up.

**As a reminder, this story is set shortly after Love Actually, and will contain references from that three-part story.

Song Inspo: For this whole series it’s “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers. (I pretty much listened to this on repeat.)

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Starting off strong in this one: with mature themes, show level violence, angst, kidnapping, PTSD, mentions of torture (not too graphic), and character death.

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 1: “Familiar Territory”

The start of a new year continued a steady rhythm for you and Ben. Namely, another successful mission for the Supe Affairs team.

While you were patched into the team’s communications line from the safety of your desk back at the S.A. headquarters in New York, your friends were a few states over in Denver, Colorado. They’d just arrested a supe that had been committing a series of bank robberies by literally slipping away from the police, thanks to his particular superpower.

“Somebody better get this shit off of me,” M.M. groused.

He wasn’t too happy about some questionable ooze this particular supe secreted as a defense mechanism. According to Frenchie’s research, it was the same shit that certain frogs could produce to repel predators.

“Need a good hose down, more like,” said Butcher. “You smell fuckin’ foul.”

“Like Satan’s ass crack,” Ben remarked.

You couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement.

“Let’s just get the fuck outta here,” M.M. said, his tone all surly, as per usual. You didn’t envy his plight.

“Good job, guys,” you said, to change the subject. “Now it’s just a short flight back to New York.”

“No layovers this time. I’m not being paid to rot in a fucking airport with a bunch of mouth-breathing assholes and their screaming brats,” Ben said.

Charming. You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips when you imagined his taciturn face.

“Okay, your majesty. I’ll make sure it’s a nonstop flight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

That last bit, you said with a hint of more behind your words. You drummed your nails on your desk and crossed your legs underneath it. A week was a long time for you and your boyfriend to be apart, and you’d been missing him.

“You better be,” Ben said. His voice was deep and cocky. He was smirking, you were sure, and you knew that he’d understood you perfectly well.

“Anybody else hearing this blatant foreplay?” Hughie quipped.

“I sense cheeks will be cracked tonight,” Frenchie muttered.

“Ugh!” you heard Annie shudder.

You knew she supported you and Ben, but you also knew that she didn’t want to hear about the gushy details. You laughed through your embarrassment.

“Okay, guys. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” you said, before you officially signed off.

You grabbed your purse that was stowed away in a desk drawer, fished out your cell phone, and you called Ben’s cell. He picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he said.

“I love you,” you said with a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” he replied. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

You pouted. “Come on, say it.”

“Say what?”

You sighed. You knew he was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

Part of you was upset that he didn’t say it back as often as you liked. God forbid Butcher and the others hear him express his affection for you.

But you supposed you understood that any kind of vulnerability was difficult for him, especially in front of others. As much shit as you gave him, you also knew how to pick your battles with Ben.

“I told you. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

You once again tapped your nails, on your armrest this time. After a moment, you relented.

“Okay, baby. Have a safe flight,” you said, even if you were still frowning.

When Ben hung up with you, he let out a deep sigh.

An entire week with these juvenile cocksuckers was almost too much for him to fucking take. While he often felt your presence with you on the comm line during the actual mission, and the occasional phone call on long nights in between, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

He was ready to go home.

The flight itself was fine, though dealing with civilians and the tiring experience of a long-ass flight made him even more antsy to land. Because even when they got to JFK, he still had a hired car waiting for him to drive him from the airport to get to Scarsdale, and to the apartment he shared with you. It had already been almost a year of you two living there, in a three-bedroom spanning two floors.

Ben hadn’t thought he would get used to such a small place, but it was all right. It had become his home, far more than the penthouses and party mansions ever were, at least.

When he finally got home and unlocked the front door of the apartment, he stepped into darkness. All the lights were off.

Odd, he thought. He called your name while he shut the door behind him, then flicked on the foyer light. He realized then that he hadn’t seen your car in the driveway. Were you still working? It wasn’t unlike you to get caught up with the paperwork and other logistics after a case.

After a quick look around of each room, from the kitchen to the living room, Ben knew you hadn’t come home yet. A frown marred his face.

He went upstairs and entered the bedroom next. He unclipped his wrist guards and took his gloves off first, followed by loosening the collar of his supe suit. The bed was made, untouched since this morning, he was sure.

Then he noticed the scrap of paper resting on his pillow. He picked it up, and his brows furrowed as he read.

By the time you find me, she’ll wish she was dead.

Ben called Grace Mallory first.

When she didn’t answer, he called Butcher next. Ben’s hand shook the slightest bit while holding the phone up to his ear.

“Evenin’, guv,” Butcher answered with a tired sigh. “What’s this about—”

“We have a fucking problem,” Ben growled.

Ben pushed the limits of his Mercedes Benz while driving himself to Supe Affairs.

The others met him there in a conference room, except for Grace, who was on an active case at the moment. There Hughie and Frenchie tapped into the S.A. security footage on their laptops.

They eventually found you getting into your car in the S.A. garage, about four hours ago. Then two later, the street cameras picked you up somewhere in the Village. Ben recognized the street.

You probably had dinner with your friend Yvette and her family, but you intended to make it home on time to meet Ben when you left around 9:00 p.m.

You had parallel parked at a meter on the street. According to the footage, it looked quiet and empty when you headed back to your car.

You were stopped by someone before you could get the driver’s side door open. It looked like a man’s height and build; he grabbed you by the shoulder and threw a punch you managed to dodge.

You put up a good fight, but you were eventually knocked out with what looked to be a crowbar, at first glance. When Hughie zoomed in, it was actually a black baton. Ben watched it all with a deepening frown. Anger churned in his gut and ignited his blood as he watched your unconscious body being hauled into a black SUV.

“That looks military-issued,” M.M. said, pointing at the baton that the suspect used to hit you.

Butcher nodded, and also noted the man’s fighting style. “That’s a professional.”

“He would have to be, to take her out,” M.M. said, glancing at Ben. “And the timing. They knew you were coming home. That note was personal, besides the fact that they were casing your place…they’ve probably been watching both of you, waiting for the chance to get the jump on you.”

“The question,” Butcher said, “is who the fuck would wanna tangle with Soldier Boy that badly?”

“Shit. That’s a laundry list, isn’t it?” Hughie said. M.M.’s glance told him to shut the fuck up.

Ben was silent, but his fury was mounting. His head turned sharply to Butcher.

“Get Mallory on the line. Now,” he barked. When no one moved quick enough for him, his temper snapped at its thinly held leash.

“I said right fucking now!”

Slowly you blinked your eyes open. For a moment, you were seeing in double vision. It soon cleared up to reveal dark, damp, musty surroundings.

It smelled familiar; after that mission to find and subdue Sapphire a couple of months ago, you’d recognize a New York sewer anywhere.

Fuuucking shit, you thought with a groan. Your head was aching. You felt a trickle of blood down the side of your neck, and you found yourself in a familiar position—seated on a metal chair with your hands secured behind your back. Your restraints felt like zip ties.

“You finally with us, sweetheart?” asked a man. His voice was smooth and commanding.

“Jackson, I don’t know about this,” whispered someone else. Another man, though he sounded slightly younger, reminding you of Hughie.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Jackson snapped.

At least you had a name. He stepped into the light that came from a couple of small lanterns. One was propped on top of a bucket by the wall. The other was on a plastic fold out table that you saw a few feet beside you.

The man who stepped into your line of vision was tall, maybe around Ben’s height, if just shy of his build. He was blonde, just like his skinnier friend. They shared some notable facial features and coloring, but while Jackson’s eyes were dark brown and self-assured, the younger man’s were blue and apprehensive. If you had to guess, they looked like brothers.

“Nice digs,” you remarked, gesturing with your gaze at your surroundings.

Jackson rose a brow, crossing his arms.

“You’re taking all this pretty well,” he said.

You huffed humorlessly.

“This isn’t exactly my first kidnapping,” you said.

He quirked his head and drew closer.

“All right. Well, since we’re on the clock, let me tell you why you’re here,” he said. He bent down in front of you so that his face was level with yours. “I need you, sweetheart. You’re going to tell me how to bring down Soldier Boy. How to kill him. How to end him. Then maybe, I’ll let you go without gouging out those pretty eyes.”

You stared back at Jackson with an expression that didn’t change.

Then you spat in his face.

And you expected the hard, back-handed slap that made your head whip to the side. It rattled you for a moment as you caught your breath, but you recovered enough to lean back in your seat. Your eyes met Jackson’s directly after he wiped his face with his shirt. “Tommy” stood off to the side behind his partner. He’d looked away when you were hit.

You focused on the other man, Jackson. He was wearing black cargo pants to match his boots, and a belt with a gun on his hip. He carried himself like a trained killer.

“Military, government agency, or private sector?” you asked.

His head tilted. He studied you, just like you were studying him.

“None of the above really,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He walked over to the fold out table, where he grabbed a black bag and unzipped it. A flash of silver gleamed as he pulled out one sharp instrument after the next. You had to hide your apprehension, and fear that made your insides tremble.

He glanced over at you.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

Hours later, you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

After the last hit, you spat a wad of phlegm and blood onto Jackson’s shoes. He rotated the ache out of his hand. He looked down at you through furrowed brows.

“Damn, bitch,” he said, catching his breath. “You can take a hit. I’ll give you that.”

“My dad was a Marine, numb nuts,” you managed to reply, through labored breaths. “He used to hit harder with his open hand than all the strength in that limp-dick wrist of yours.”

Jackson smirked. “Christ. Daddy issues, huh? Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

You gave him a droll look. Again, to cover your fear, because you weren’t willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

Angered and frustrated by that defiance, he reached down and grabbed your neck and jaw with one hand. You winced at the force of his grip, but when he started squeezing, this was the one thing that made you truly whimper. You tried not to think about the ghost of your father’s hand around your neck.

“Don’t you get it, asshole?” you gritted out while struggling for breath. “You can’t kill him. No one can. Stronger, smarter people than you have tried.”

Moments ticked by while Jackson contemplated your words.

Then he released you. You sucked in gulps of air and tried not to cough out a lung.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Soldier Boy’s got a weakness. If anyone knows it, I’ve got a feeling it’s you.”

You can’t say anything. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

That had been your mantra for every minute you had spent in this hole. You shook your head.

“Look, Jackson.” You sucked in another breath to steady yourself, and blink a drip of blood out of your eyes. “He’s going to kill you. You and your brother. Take your family and run, while you’ve still got a chance.”

“…You know what? You’re probably right,” Jackson said, scratching the back of his head with his crimson-stained hand. “But I just realized something.”

He leaned down again, until he was level with your face.

“When he finds you, drowned in your own goddamn blood…I think the look on his face might just be enough for me.”

Your eyes widened.

It took days. Three painful days to pick up the threads, which led closer to home than anyone could’ve anticipated.

Grace Mallory put pressure across the chain of command, and even reached out to the FBI for assistance. An alert email finally came to her phone, and she realized that an agent on her own payroll had been flagged for never reporting back for his debriefing on a reconnaissance mission.

That agent was Jackson Rawlins.

The further she read into his file, the worse her frown became. She immediately sent the lead to Ben, Butcher, and the rest of the team to run down. For the first time in years, Grace actually prayed.

She prayed that they would reach you in time. It wasn’t until then that she realized it; she hadn’t thought of you as a cog in her system for some time now—not even as leverage against Soldier Boy. She was genuinely concerned about you.

Grace worried that she was setting herself up for disappointment…if it was too late. However, she also worried about what would happen if you didn’t survive. She considered how Ben might react, with that nuclear power within him that he was still learning to control. The consequences of this mission could very well be catastrophic.

You were losing track of time in this windowless pit. You knew it had been days, but you didn’t remember how many. The cellar was cold, and the way sound and air traveled, it felt like you were underground. It certainly smelled like it—damp and gross. It made you certain this was a sewer.

Now this is Satan’s ass crack, you thought. You winced at the pain that radiated…pretty much everywhere. Blood had dried from various lacerations across your face, neck, chest, and arms, and bruises were dark against your skin.

Your blouse was in tatters, and your jeans had bleeding rips as well, though at least he’d kept your ankle boots on. You were too weak even for hunger. And a large, heavy chain attached to manacles on your wrists had replaced the zip ties. One end of the chain was fastened between the wall and a line of plumbing.

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind you. You closed your eyes and steeled yourself.

“Are we actually gonna have a conversation today?” Jackson asked.

“Depends,” you replied, your voice dry and coarse. “Are you going to tell me why you hate Ben so much?”

An angry sigh escaped Jackson’s lips. He pointed up in frustration.

“Ben.” Jackson rolled and cracked his neck, like just the mention of your boyfriend’s real name was disgusting to this man.

“You talk about him like he’s a real fucking person. Not like the animal supe he is,” he said.

“He is a person,” you said, both in exhaustion, and in pain. “And he’s trying to be better. Look, he’s done terrible things. I’m not saying he hasn’t. I don’t know what he’s done to you in the past, but—”

Jackson shut you up with a sharp backhand. It made black spots encroach on your vision as you caught your breath.

You noticed his brother Tom come in the room as well, to watch and worry. He didn’t seem comfortable with this way of things. He looked like a civilian. Maybe you could use that to your advantage…

But you lost track of thought after that, when Jackson started in on you with either his hands, or the creativity of the instruments on the table nearby.

You tried to block out the pain, along with his questions about Ben. If you couldn’t talk about him, you couldn’t let yourself think about him. So you couldn’t say anything.

Not about the Novichok nerve agent, one of the few things that had been found to incapacitate him. Not his imprisonment by Vought or the S.A.—nothing that your captor could one day use against Ben.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

Even though all you wanted right now was him.

Ben, please…

You zoned in and out of consciousness from there.

When you next registered being awake, mercifully, you were left alone. You raised your head when Tom came to blot at least some of your wounds and give you water. You’d only eaten small pieces of protein bars for days.

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered.

“Why does he want Ben?” you wheezed. “Why are you going along with this if you’re so damn sorry?”

Tom looked up at you with pain and grief in his blue eyes. He sighed and dragged a nearby chair from the table. He sat beside you while he fed you half a protein bar. It was a struggle to even get the pieces down.

“Last year,” said Tom, clearing his throat. “I lived in the building that Soldier Boy blew up when he got back from…wherever the Russians had him.”

Your eyes widened as you processed that. “You…but you made it out. Why—”

“I wasn’t home. I was at work,” Tom said. His voice was pained as his eyes became red and glassy. “Our mom wasn’t so lucky.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“She was retired, and I was taking care of her,” Tom said. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Jackson wasn’t here. He was on a mission in Colombia. Told me he was cleaning up some cartel shit.”

At that, you had a sneaking suspicion that coiled in your gut. Ben had left a bit of a mess when he peaced out of Colombia, with an entire plane filled with drugs and weapons from whatever cartel he’d infiltrated. (In his words, he’d cut the head off the snake.)

Grace told you she’d sent a team in to handle that mess…

“Your brother—who does he work for?” you asked. Though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

Tom seemed to read your understanding, and his face turned grim.

“The CIA,” he said.

Fuck, you grimaced. So not only had Ben been responsible for their mother’s death, but Jackson had been part of the team that cleaned up his mess in South America. It explained why Jackson was somehow able to find your information; Supe Affairs had become a subsect of the CIA, thanks to Grace.

“I didn’t know he was planning this. I swear to God. All he said was that he had a way to get at Soldier Boy,” Tom said. You let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” you said. Tears welled up hot in your eyes. “But you need to let me go. For your own safety, believe me.”

You saw the guilt, the sadness, the regret on Tom’s face. The brief indecision was overtaken when he glanced down the hall. You knew then that he was more afraid of his own brother than he was willing to do the right thing.

Your tears spilled over, though you tried to breathe through it. You’d tried to save them for when you were alone, those seldom few, cold hours, but you were reaching your breaking point.

“Okay, before I go, do you have to use the bathroom?” Tom asked. There was a bucket in the corner, and Jackson preferred it away from the chair. It was the only time Tom was allowed to unchain you from the wall and let you stretch your legs.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, you nodded in agreement. It was humiliating to know you were going to have to do this yet again, in a bucket, with company. With the manacles still on your wrists, he brought you over to the “special” corner.

Tom sighed and looked away to give you some semblance of privacy.

That was when you used every scrap of energy you had left in you.

You grabbed the chain and yanked it out of his hands long enough to wrap it around his neck from behind. You cut off his sounds of strain and kicked out his knees, so he was forced to kneel on the ground.

You wrapped the rest of the chain around your thigh, giving you the leverage you needed to tighten your grip and choke him out, until he was unconscious. His body fell to the side, and you heaved for breath. Once again, there were black spots in your vision, but you did your best to blink them away.

Now set with determination, you made your way to the plastic table and searched for the key to your chains. After the manacles were unlocked, you rubbed at your raw wrists and rapidly scanned the room. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you calculated which way you should go to try and escape.

There were three possibilities in this clearing under the sewer: left, right, or straight ahead. Every time Tom or Jackson emerged, it sounded like it was behind you. The chair was facing to the east, which meant you had to take the left tunnel.

You ran in that direction and tried to find a metal ladder that would take you to whatever manhole cover these guys had detached. Someone couldn’t just open up any of those iron plates without the right tools, from the inside or the outside.

You walked as fast as you could manage, even though your entire body protested in pain. Then finally, you saw a black duffel bag lying on the ground, against the wall. Next to it was a metal ladder that went all the way up to the top.

“Jackson, don’t!”

You heard Tom’s voice, but you felt the presence behind you too late. Jackson hit you in the back of the head with that damn baton, so hard that even he grimaced at how the sound echoed on the walls. You crumpled to the ground.

Jackson stood over you with a grim set to his face. He turned to his brother with a shake of his head.

“She’s a walking welt, and you couldn’t handle her?” he said.

“This is too much,” Tom said in worry. He bent down and held two fingers to your neck. He still felt a pulse, at least, but when he felt behind your head, he found blood. His hand shook as he stared at it.

“If you didn’t want in on this, you should’ve said so from the beginning,” said Jackson. He spun the baton in his hand and clipped the hilt to his belt, from a small metal loop on the end of it.

“You didn’t say anything about…about this!” Tom argued. He cleaned your blood off on his jacket.

Jackson regarded his brother with disappointment, and he hefted you up into his arms. Tom followed him back to their setup with your makeshift prison. There Jackson left you lying on the ground, and chained you back up by your wrists for good measure. He then literally and figuratively wiped his hands of you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said. “For good this time.”

Tom looked at you, then his brother in shock. There was even emotion in his eyes.

“We’re leaving her to die,” he said, his voice unsteady. He knew then, that their mother wouldn't have wanted this in her name. If she saw both of them now, she wouldn't recognize them.

Jackson grabbed his younger brother where his neck met his shoulder. An iron grip.

“And what do you think Soldier Boy is going to do if he finds us?” Jackson asked. His gaze encouraged Tom to explore that reality for a moment.

Jackson nodded at your unconscious form. “Trust me, that bitch was never going to talk. But this is almost better.”

It wasn’t right, Tom thought. He knew it, deep in his heart, but he wasn’t strong like his brother, or even like you.

That was when they heard it. The rumble of engines dying and tires rolling overhead, dislodging a few stray pebbles and dust from the ceiling. Jackson’s eyes widened.

“Fuck!” he muttered. “All right, let’s go.”

Jackson forced his younger brother to leave the sewer with him, and leave you chained up on the floor.

Ben, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had done much of the legwork in tracking down Jackson Rawlins and his brother Tom (with help from Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie of course). Frenchie had found your likely location with a powerful thermal scanner, courtesy of Grace.

Now, they’d driven up to the wide alley in the city and blocked off all the exits on the block. Ben was the first to get his boots on the ground and stride toward the point of entry, where according to Frenchie’s scanners, more than one body was holed up in the sewer. He held his shield at his side and at the ready when the manhole cover loosened, and slid open.

A small gas bomb rolled out towards his feet, but it was just tear gas, not the kind of thing that could actually affect him. Ben picked up the little round ball of metal and crushed it in his hand. While the rest of the team dove for the oxygen masks stored in the car, Ben stalked forward.

Seeing the silhouette of a man, Ben threw his shield hard enough to rattle a supe.

Jackson Rawlins was thrown clean onto his back with a force that stole the breath from his lungs, even through his gas mask. It also broke half a dozen ribs. Ben was soon bearing on top of him and ripping off the mask.

Jackson cried out as remnants of the tear gas seared his eyes.

“Got us a runner!” Butcher shouted. He intercepted and grabbed up a second man who tried to escape. Tom Rawlins wasn’t the threat, but he still wasn’t going free. M.M. and Frenchie also dove down into the sewer to try and find you after they got their gas masks on.

Meanwhile, Ben hauled Jackson up by his neck and walked him back until he hit the brick wall beside a nail salon. Jackson grunted in pain. Every breath he took was now agonizing, thanks to his now battered and broken ribs.

“Where is she?” Ben demanded.

Jackson actually laughed in his face, despite his now bloodshot eyes.

“All you fucking supes are the same,” he said. “But you…you’re the worst. Quite literally, the original asshole. And what does the government do? What does the world do? Gives you a pass on decades of indiscretions, fuck ups, and straight up murder.”

Ben didn’t outwardly react, but he knew what Jackson’s problem was. He knew he killed the man’s family. Collateral damage—something that had caused Ben more than one argument with you in the past.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because all he could see in his mind’s eye was a metal bat hitting the back of your head and knocking you clean out. He saw you being taken against your will. Taken from him. And that, he couldn’t abide.

“Where. Is she?” Ben said, as his grip flexed around the other man’s neck. It would be easy. Easier than snapping a toothpick. And he warned, “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

“Dead, probably,” Jackson spat, despite his red and bleary eyes. “Real tough bitch. I see why you’re fucking her…I had me a little taste myself.”

In that moment, Ben couldn’t compute.

His green eyes widened. His breath stilled.

Then his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were grinding. A fire in his blood and behind his eyes, and fury that burned hot in his chest, almost giving it that nuclear glow.

His hand tightened and choked any salacious words Jackson might’ve spewed out next.

“He didn’t!” Tom shouted out. He was being restrained by Butcher. Ben glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

“He didn’t touch her. Not like that,” Tom said. He looked sincere.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” said his older brother.

It earned Ben’s attention back. Jackson had the look of a man who knew he was going to die either way.

Ben’s lips curled into a sneer. He took the man’s head with both hands, and slowly crushed his skull. The scream echoed between Ben’s ears, but he was only satisfied when Jackson’s lifeless body dropped at his feet.

He turned to the other Rawlins next.

Tom had screamed as well to watch his brother’s life ended before his eyes. He now stared straight into Soldier Boy’s, pleading wordlessly for his own life. Ben started toward him.

“Please,” Tom said. He tried twisting away from Butcher, who held firm to the man’s arm. The Brit knew all too well, the rage that Ben had in his blood.

“Ben,” Annie tried, and she even stepped forward. Butcher held a hand out against her with a knowing look. It wouldn’t be wise to stand in the way.

“Hey!” M.M. shouted up from down the open hatch of the sewer. “We found her! Need help getting her loose.”

Ben paused in his steps. Tom was shaking, lips trembling, petrified.

Tilting his head, Ben let out a subtle breath through his nose. He began to turn back toward the sewer.

At the last moment, however, he drew his gun and shot Tom Rawlins between the eyes. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Annie and Hughie flinched, but Butcher and Kimiko weren’t surprised in the least.

Meanwhile, Ben made his way back towards M.M.’s voice, and into the sewer. He heard M.M. and Frenchie arguing about first aid and head wounds, the further in he went. Ben’s dark mood blackened even more along the way.

Once he reached them, he also reached you, held in M.M.’s arms as he cradled your head.

You were unconscious with your wrists locked into heavy chains. The furrow between Ben’s brows deepened, but he got down to his knees beside you and first, broke your chains. He guided you out of M.M.’s arms and into his own, making sure to support your head. Blood was already staining his half-glove and fingers.

It was then that he noticed the small crimson pool lying where your body had been, likely from the wound he could feel at the back of your head. Ben’s mouth trembled the slightest bit, mostly in anger as he drew himself back onto his feet. Your body was littered with bruises, cuts both shallow and deep made by what looked like a blade, and God knew what else.

“I had me a little taste myself,” Jackson had taunted.

No, Ben internally shook that thought from his mind. No, you hadn’t been touched like that, at least, according to the sniveling, cock-sucking brother.

But can you trust that little cunt’s word?

Ben briefly closed his eyes, pressing his lips to your forehead. He continued walking down the hall and towards the light and fresh air of the world above.

You’re gonna be just fine, he promised you, if just within the safety of his mind.

Yeah, you would be all right.

He was going to make sure of it.

AN: 🫣 I'm sorry...BUT, I can promise it will get better (eventually). First, it's going to get worse.

Next Time:

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well trimmed.

His head soon raised, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD/Series Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

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cryptocism · 1 month ago

Text

Here’s my thing about the twist at the end of IWTV season 2 (spoilers obvi)

The magic system that IWTV has is for flavour. It’s spice, it’s zest, it’s a lil bit of seasoning that gives the storytelling a fun supernatural kick.

We are not given exact metrics or data for how exactly the Vampire Powers function, just examples of some that can manifest (pyrokinesis/telekinesis/telepathy/flight/mind control/etc) and that Vampire Powers get stronger as they get older. eg. Armand can walk in the sun – but is he immune or just resistant? How old does a vampire have to be before they can take a midday stroll minus immolation? Is there a time limit? An intensity where they could still be injured? Does the effect lessen if they have some shade like an umbrella or a large hat–

IRRELEVANT!!! The Vampire Powers are for SPICE and these kinds of nerdy-ass questions about scope and scale in this magic system does nothing for the characters or the story. You do not need to know the exact range or power of Louis’ Fire Gift in order to cheer and clap when he burns down the theatre. Lestat’s Cloud Gift doesn’t need a follow-up explanation on how high/fast he can fly in order to be devastating when he uses it to do a domestic violence. This isn’t Fullmetal Alchemist, this isn’t Mistborn. This magic system is SPICE, and getting into specifics about the powers and how they work distracts from the wonderful twisty soap opera of the gay vampires doing war crimes to each other.

So my thing about the twist is not that Armand was willing to let Louis die, and it’s not the reveal that Lestat was actually the one who saved Louis.

My thing about the twist is that it relies on a magic system that wasn’t built to support that kind of major end-of-season plot point. And the consequences that the resulting ambiguity has on Claudia, the greatest tragic hero of all time.

So the Mind Gift.

Armand has that shit on lock. He’s shown using it extremely competently even before the San Francisco memory-alteration reveal. He’s the only member of the coven who clocks Louis’ recognition at Lestat’s name, he notices the “presence” in Louis’ mind when Louis hallucinates Dreamstat, he knows when Louis is lying to him about Claudia’s involvement in Lestat’s murder, when he tells Louis and Claudia to close their minds before his conversation with Madeline he says “I’ll know it if you haven’t.”. He’s able to knock out the entire coven in one scene, although it’s unclear whether that’s the Mind Gift or a combination of telekinesis and the time stopping(?) thing. Plus of course mind-wiping memory-alteration courtesy of the San Francisco saw trap.

Armand is the oldest vampire in the show so far, we know vampires get more powerful with age, and his previously shown competency with the Mind Gift means that when he says he compelled an audience full of people into banishing Louis, it’s a believable addition to his powerset.

And, consequently, when he says “it took all my strength” we can guess that he’s lying his ass off. Daniel points out Armand saved Louis and not Claudia because he was trying to reveal the reasoning that everybody except Louis already knows. To quote Assad Zaman: Armand doesn’t give a fuck about Claudia.

Lestat on the other hand.

His one and only use of the Mind Gift (besides the generalized telepathy all the vampires share) is when he mindfucks 30ish soldiers out of his townhouse in the 1900s. His ears bleed about it – and we can pretty confidently interpret orifice-bleeding as a kind of catch-all for mind-powers being difficult. And then we don’t mention it again for a season and a half because the magic system is for spice and Louis is more concerned with other shit.

Until Daniel brings it up in his Big Reveal, and this piece of evidence allows for the truth to come out and Armand to be exposed as an opportunistic liar. Scene is played out brilliantly, Louis puts a crater in his wall via his ex-husband, good stuff.

HOWEVER

This twist has the consequence of shifting the focus of the story. The central question has changed slightly. Instead of the reveal being who killed Claudia, the narrative focus is now on who saved Louis.

And despite my love of Daniel’s reveal scene, despite my love of the Louis/Lestat reunion scene, “who saved Louis” ends up a weaker thematic question.

Claudia is the whole fucking point. Claudia and the way her fathers failed her. Claudia and the tragedy of her narrative doom. Claudia and the ways she never escaped that child’s body in that burning house, no matter how much she tried.

My thing about the twist is that it takes our previous understandings of Armand and Lestat’s respective power and agency in that scene from this:

Armand: Could’ve Prevented It (Chose Not To) Lestat: Genuinely Could Not Have Prevented It

To this:

Armand: Could’ve Prevented It (Chose Not To) Lestat: Could’ve Prevented It (Chose Not To)

And then doesn’t interrogate or explain further. There is no one that says to Lestat, “You saved him, but why didn’t you save her?”

And look I can understand I’m meant to extrapolate that Lestat used all his strength to save Louis and therefore didn’t have enough juice to do the same for Claudia (his ears bleed about it and everything)

But they sprinkled so much doubt on Armand’s “it took all my strength” excuse and then immediately showed Lestat as much more powerful with the Mind Gift than previously assumed, and so I’m left with too many unanswered questions.

This is where the narrative puts too much weight on a magic system that wasn’t built to support it. The audience is aware, vaguely, that the older a vampire is the more powerful they are, but we aren’t actually given tangible comparisons between Armand and Lestats respective abilities circa 1949. Lestat is shown or said to have all of Armand’s same abilities by this point, but besides Armand being older, he’s never shown outmatching Lestat in power, and so we never get a real sense of Lestat's limitations.

I should mention that, on its own, this wouldn’t be a flaw. Like I said the magic is here for spice and zest and we don’t need Armand and Lestat to have a wizard battle in order to understand that Armand is probably nebulously more powerful.

But when you hinge a plot point on Lestat’s magical abilities and their limits, I would like to know for certain whether Lestat genuinely couldn’t have prevented Claudia’s death or, like Armand, simply chose not to.

If it’s the latter, it counterintuitively makes Lestat a much less sympathetic character, when (as far as I can tell) the purpose of the twist is to make Lestat more of a heroic figure, since post-reveal there are no further interrogations of Lestat's choices.

And I’ve read wonderful meta on Lestat choosing to let Claudia die and then regretting it forever: if he loved her more she would’ve suffered less, if he loved her less she might not have suffered at all, etc.

But none of this is given any focus in the show because besides Lestat’s single heartbreaking line about Claudia looking to him in her last moments. There is no illumination on whether Lestat’s inaction was due to personal choice or lack of ability. There’s no solid evidence in the show to swing it one way or the other, the magic system is too soft to support a solid conclusion about it.

And. Claudia was sentenced before Louis. So even if Lestat only had the ability to save one of them, he still made the conscious choice to save his strength for Louis.

Which is also not necessarily a flaw. Lestat making the choice to save Louis over Claudia would be an extremely compelling road to go down. My issue is that the show has changed the central question from who killed Claudia to who saved Louis and is now pretending that that road doesn’t exist.

There is no indication that Louis feels any kind of way about Lestat ostensibly choosing him over their daughter. There’s no indication that Lestat had any hesitation about his choice, despite his sadness at her death. I can interpret Sam Reid’s acting choices in the final scene as Lestat not realizing how much Claudia meant to him until she looked at him “like a child looking to her father” but by then it was too late – but that would still be speculative.

Giving Lestat the agency to save Louis and Claudia during the trial both puts too much pressure on a magic system that can’t support it, and puts wind-drag on Louis and Lestats reunion: what should be the emotional climax of the show.

And look to be clear: show good. I’m obsessed with show.

But the structural integrity of the final twist makes me feel like an OSHA inspector in an otherwise competently made building that doesn't have railings on the stairs.

They don't establish enough information wrt the magic system so that Lestat’s sudden ability and subsequent assumed limitations can reasonably track. They don't interrogate the consequences of giving Lestat the choice to save his daughter and then him proceeding to Not Do That.

I don’t think it’s out of character for Armand to choose his coven over Louis considering his habit of clinging to the familiar even if it sucks. I don’t think it’s out of character for Lestat to choose Louis over Claudia considering both Lestat and Louis’ habit of doing exactly that.

But you cannot ask the question “Who killed Claudia? (or, through inaction, allowed Claudia to die)” the entire season and then answer it with “Actually, Lestat saved Louis!”

It shifts the focus, it muddies the theme, it relies too heavily on a magic system that is supposed to be vibes-based and most importantly it treats Claudia like an afterthought when Claudia is literally the entire fucking point.

Claudia isn’t even the main character in her own story, the most tragic of tragic heroes, only someone’s first choice in the moments before her death, and neither she nor the woman she loves can do anything to change their endings. Louis and Lestat’s realization of all the ways they failed her is meant to be the emotional catharsis of the show, but it rings hollow, because the consequence of the final twist serves to render her narratively and metanarratively another round in Louis and Lestat’s stormy romance and un-asking its own central question.

#iwtv #iwtv spoilers #soapbox #i saw a couple ppl take issue with the twist when the episode came out #but most of the criticism seemed to be based in deviation from the source material #listen i dont gaf about what armand and lestat did or didnt do in the books #i give a fuck about MAGIC SYSTEMS and CLAUDIA #genuinely i do think iwtv is one of the greatest shows ive ever seen and i could make 800 posts about how fucking phenomenal it is #but i needed to dissect this bit like a frog

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santanasaintmendes · 4 months ago

Text

singapore lovin’ had me a blast

part2! to the cosmic girl records

¡Cosmic Girl Records!

summary: going to Singapore to support your boyfriend, stealing Alex’s girlfriend and beefing with lando, nothing’s changed really

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

fc!: gorgeous girls and couples on pinterest all credits go to rightful owners of the photos used below

a/n: also the timeline and the whole universe in what these smau’s are based in are very different to irl, ollie’s in f1 already and he drives for ferrari, lewis is still in mercedes because it made more sense kind of? I’ll fill in the gaps as we go lol

disclaimer!: there may be some sensitive jokes that may be hurtful to some people, they are all there just for the humour and to make the story more enjoyable, please don’t come after me ��

also i’m sorry for the english and french slander against lando and pierre it’s purely for humour😔 please don’t take the comments to heart

a/n: the lovely @yawn-zi gave me the courage to post the second part to the cosmic girl records, i hope you didn’t get in trouble for laughing during portuguese class! and a big thank you to @nichmeddarso who rebloged part1 with all those tags it was greatly appreciated!

here you go, enjoy!

liked by landonorris, olliebearman, georgerussell64, lilymhe, alex_albon and 3,849,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: next stop, Singapore! btw, the sunset was a paid actor ❤️

tagged olliebearman

view 2,473,282 comments

landonorris: for anyone who asks, it was traumatising sitting next to the two of them on the flight

unfortunatelyy/n: so bitter damn

landonorris: BECAUSE WE MISSED OUR PLANE

unfortunatelyy/n: NOT MY FAULT

landonorris: IT WAS MOST DEFINITELY YOUR FAULT

unfortunatelyy/n: OKAY I’M SORRY I LEFT MY PASSPORT IN THE TAXI BUT STILL

landonorris: mhm, sure

unfortunatelyy/n: “mHm sUrE” 🇬🇧🤓☕

landonorris: DIE.

user1: NAH SHE DID HIM SO DIRTY

user7: always count on y/n to keep an aesthetically pleasing instagram page

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

olliebearman: you wouldn’t be able to guess how many times she made me retake that first pic

landonorris: i can 🙄

unfortunatelyy/n: BOTH OF YOU SHUSH

user2: does she actually have a job or does she just follow ollie around 😐

user3: yes she has a job???

user4: it's called taking a vacation, google it?

lilymhe: can’t wait to see you soon bb 🥰

alex_albon: you have a boyfriend???? me??

unfortunatelyy/n: @alex_albon stop being so delusional you sound crazy

alex_albon: @lilymhe are you really going to let her bully me 😰

lilymhe: . . .

alex_albon: 😦

unfortunatelyy/n: the man was too stunned to speak 😱

alex_albon: 🖕

user5: it’s not a y/n insta post without y/n and lily terrorising alex in the comments section

user6: and y/n and lando bickering like the 5 year olds that they are

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 4,489,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: some sightseeing and exploring before the weekend with my wifey and . . . boyfriend?

tagged olliebearman and lilymhe

view 3,682,838 comments

user1: Ollie’s officially the third wheel now 😔

user11: a moment of silence for another fallen soldier 🫡

user2: HELP THE FIRST AND SECOND PIC HAVE ME ROLLING ON THE GROUND

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

lilymhe: loved exploring with you. . . and your friend Steve!

user3: HELP

unfortunatelyy/n: it’s okay! he won’t be a problem after this weekend 😃

olliebearman: 😦

user4: homie’s traumatised

alex_albon: . . . it’s okay really. I’m fine. I’m fine.

user5: not alex going through all 5 stages of grief

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

user6: I can’t tell which one he’s up to

user5: . . . neither can i.

user7: she’s STUNNING, Ollie better sleep with one eye open tonight

olliebearman: 😰

user8: ollie on any of y/n’s insta posts after reading the comments: 😮😰😔

user10: literally anyone really 😭

alex_albon: @charles_leclerc @georgerussell64 when does it end 😭 please, i’m a desperate man

georgerussell64: we lied 😔

charles_leclerc: it never does.

user9: where’s lando, it’s not a y/n post without him commenting something absurd

landonorris: i have been summoned.

user9: WHAT DID I DO 😰

landonorris: oh so now you have a boyfriend AND a wife? 🤨

unfortunatelyy/n: i thought i could finally post something without you attacking me in my comments section. I WAS WRONG.

landonorris: 🤷‍♂️

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, lilymhe, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc and 5,728,282 others

unfortunatelyy/n: as long as i'm with you, I've got a smile on my face

tagged olliebearman

view 4,282,992 comments

olliebearman: ❤️

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

user3: couple goals fr

user5: THE FIRST PIC I CAN’T DECIDE WHO DO WE THINK WON GUYS

user6: y/n, duh.

olliebearman: unfortunately, that is correct 😔

unfortunatelyy/n: that’s me flipping off lando in the distance in the second pic by the way

landonorris: i should be getting paid for taking all these yucky photos of you guys and this is how you repay me?

unfortunatelyy/n: guys what do we think? Has being single finally hit him?

landonorris: that’s it, i’ve had enough, i’m releasing THE video

unfortunatelyy/n: OH YOU WOULDN’T DARE

landonorris: oh yes I would, watch me.

user1: HELP WHAT ARE THE CHILDREN TALKING ABOUT

user9: IDK BUT I CAN’T TELL IF THEY’RE JOKING OR NOT

user10: this turned into a war zone so quickly

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, pierregasly, danielricciardo and 11,749,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: and due to personal reasons, a human by the name of Lando Norris shan't be getting mentioned in any future posts, so enjoy ✨

tagged landonorris

view 12,483,372 comments

user1: SHE DID NOT HOLD BACK

user2: he’s such an icon fr

user3: he’s never beating the babygirl allegations after this i'm afraid 😔

user4: “thank you y/n” they all said in unison

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

landonorris: I SAID I WAS SORRY LIKE 50 TIMES WHAT MORE DO U WANT

unfortunatelyy/n: i only accept apologies in cash

landonorris: well damn no apology for you then

unfortunatelyy/n: YOU’RE LITERALLY A MILLIONAIRE??? |

landonorris: and your point?

unfortunatelyy/n: i hope you accidentally get a fish burger next time you go for takeout

user10: oop she really went there

unfortunatelyy/n: and i hope you realise after it’s too late

landonorris: GASP. HOW DARE YOU

unfortunatelyy/n: 😃

carlossainz55: *saves photos to camera roll

landonorris: wow.

carlossainz55: for memories, you know?

landonorris: “fOr mEmOriEs yOu kNoW?” SHUT UP YOU MUPPET, YOU’RE REALLY NO HELP YOU KNOW

carlossainz55: so aggressive geez

user5: lando’s fighting for his life in the comments section

pierregasly: lando in the third pic: UWU

landonorris: I- SHUT UP YOU FRENCH HO HO HO BAGUETTE BABY MAN

user8: absolutely violated

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve sworn to secrecy but since SOMEONE CAN’T KEEP A SECRET, i guess I can’t too. The second pic is me when i forced lando to cook fish for me, hence the disgusted face. it’s safe to say he did not talk to me for 6 months straight after

user6: Y/N, professional exposer

landonorris: HOW COULD YOU, YOU PINKY SWEARED I HATE YOU

carlossainz55: @unfortunatelyy/n: teach me your ways 🙏

unfortunatelyy/n: a magician never reveals their secrets, but i’m no magician so sure

user 7: HELP STOP EXPOSING LANDO

unfortunatelyy/n: never 😤

landonorris: 😭

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 7,483,832 others

unfortunatelyy/n: always and forever proud of you 🐻

tagged olliebearman

view 6,382,392 comments

olliebearman: oh so that’s why you wanted that photo ☹️

unfortunatelyy/n: sorry love! ❤️

user1: as i clicked into the notification, i thought “at last, a normal sensible post from y/n” i have never been more wrong, WHAT IS THAT SECOND PHOTO Y/N

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

user2: a relationship like theirs, it's a need not a want

user3: from spilling pasta on her to becoming her man, talk about upgrades 😌

kimi.antonelli: @unfortunatelyy/n what about the photo I sent for your post

olliebearman: WHAT PHOTO

kimi.antonelli: . . . there’s no photo i have no idea what you’re talking about there’s no photo ahaha

arthur_leclerc: @unfortunatelyy/n what about MY photo of Ollie

dinobeganovic_: @unfortunatelyy/n and mine?

maya_weug: @unfortunatelyy/n mine?

olliebearman: Y/N ANSWER THEM WHAT PHOTOS

unfortunatelyy/n: . . . there’s no photos are you crazy ahahah

user4: the gaslighting goes hard 😭

a/n: thank you everyone for the love that part 1 got! I really appreciated all the likes and reblogs that the post got, i hope you enjoyed part 2 to the cosmic girl records universe. This part was a bit shorter than the first and I have 3 more parts that i’m working on that should be out soon. Thank you and bye for now! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

also should i make a tag list for the series? 🤔

#f1 #f2 #olliebearman x reader #lando norris #george russell #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f2 x reader #f2 smau #cosmic girl records series #cosmic girl records part 2 #Spotify

254 notes · View notes

korpuskat · 1 year ago

Text

In a Different Light

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Explicit WC: 9,256 Warnings: Super vanilla + size difference

He’d become fixated, completely focused on a group of soldiers hiding behind a line of armored vehicles. If he could just dislodge them, they’d have an uncontested avenue deeper into the city. He knows he can rush them, can get in close and punch straight through their cover. He peaks, HUD picking up each heat signature before him- more soldiers to the right than the left.

He doesn’t see the one four stories above them.

”Down!” He recognizes your voice, but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He can handle this, doesn’t need your tactical input-

And your arms close around his waist. What? He looks down, takes his optics off the enemy- and he feels your heel kick behind his knee. It’s not nearly enough to buckle him- but he allows himself to go down anyway, dropping into a heap back behind the barricade.

The bullet cuts through a ribbon cable.

You sink back into the seat, weight falling off your shoulders. Under the roar of the engines sliding from VTOL to forward propulsion, your sigh is completely inaudible, utterly silent to everyone. Everyone except Ramattra’s sensitive audials. You close your eyes and lean back, yet unaware of his gaze on you. He watches your pulse reading slow from its rabbit-fast battle-ready pace, lets his optics linger on the long line of your throat. The skin there is thin enough he could feel your heartbeat. His servos itch to reach out and try it.

He had let you pull him down. Why? A snap decision he hadn't even processed consciously. But why did he trust you that much? He scours his deeply-rooted runtimes, searching for what it was about you that had tipped that reaction in your favor. In his favor, given the cable that sparks brightly at the corner of his optics.

He'd nearly crushed you, only landing on his elbow at the last moment. You must've known how badly he could've hurt you; your eyes were wide, breath held in your chest as you looked up to him.

He was touching you. Your arms were still wrapped around his chassis, hands splayed near the sensitive column of his spine, legs aligned with his body, one hooked around his thigh. His hand at your hip. In the peaking lines between your armor, everywhere your skin touched his metal he could feel your heat, your heartbeat.

For a moment, all you could do is stare at each other. For a moment, he couldn't seem to focus on his objective.

You slowly unwound your hold, but don't quite take your hands off him. They end up holding the broad ribs of his armor. He's... glad. He liked the contact. He squeezed your hip, relished in the soft give of your skin and fat and muscle.

"Sniper," You had finally breathed- and the spell was broken. Back to work.

The rest of the squad cheers and chats jovially, an easy mission. He would agree, more or less. As far as he can tell, the only casualty was his own shattered cosmetic cabling- an effortless fix for another time, for now he simply disconnects the damaged cable. But you aren't celebrating with them. The entire flight, you've kept your head back and eyes closed, swaying softly with turbulence. He can tell you're not asleep. Even if his HUD wasn't keeping him painfully aware of your vitals, he watches your hands rub at the corners of your armor plating the entire time, watches the twinges of your expression.

Pain? Ramattra wonders. Had he hurt you after all?

His GPS pings an alert for their probable arrival a few minutes before the engines shift again. When they do, it jostles you up, leaving you grabbing the supports around you as the ship comes in to land. His gyros keep him steady, never having to look away from his study of you. Without fanfare, the cargo door opens and most of the troops pile out. You stand, grab your gear-

and you look back at him. A little smile, a slight nod. He cannot smile back, would not if he could, but he nods in turn at you. You leave, following the line of soldiers ahead of you.

Only when everyone else has left does Ramattra stand.

Your quarters are blessedly quiet, at least compared to the open bustle of the barracks. The insulation between walls is thin, built for structural support, not individual solitude. At least in the lower officers quarters. The higher-ups are probably given more leeway on creature comforts. You heard once that Doomfist has a hot tub in every base.

You’d kill for a hot tub right now.

Still, it's quiet and secluded enough for you to drop your gear and close the door behind you. The ceramic of your armor clicks against the metal door frame as you lean back. Even the slight shift of your weight off your feet brings relief- as does the cold metal that presses to the nape of your neck, the backs of your arms.

He was warmer. Still much too cool to be mistaken as anything organic, but still... warmer than you had expected. The buzzing of his CPUs must radiate enough heat to bring him just above the freezing metal you had expected. He had moved more, too- the spinning of his fans had made him vibrate softly under your fingertips, but more shocking than that, it was as though he was breathing, a rhythmic movement of his chest. Some kind of ventilation, you’d guess.

You close your eyes. The fall onto your back had knocked the wind out of you- but the weight of him had never landed. No, he had perched over you, balanced on one sturdy arm, the cables of his mane dangling- the matte black making the stark white of his faceplate almost glow. You're sure it's just lights from his LEDs, but in the black shadows you'd swear you saw the red of his HUD in his optics. And he was touching you- cool fingers had somehow wound up between the hard lines of your armor, slipped right up under your shirt. Five mechanical fingers that squeezed so gently, so unnecessarily.

His presence around Talon was... sporadic at best- and you'd never actually worked with him before. His disdain for humans was common knowledge, but so when you'd been assigned to his team you had no way to anticipate that outcome. And yet it wasn’t… unwelcome.

With a groan you stand up again- no use pondering it fully geared-up at least. Your forearm guards come off easily, with satisfying clicks. You toss the plating onto your bunk; you’ll have to inspect it later- given the fall you’d had, you might already need to replace some of it. Next, your boots- which clatter together as you kick them away.

You reach up over your shoulder to undo the chestplate- and hiss with pain. Your upper back lights up with sore muscles, not yet ready to be used again. Fuck, okay. You’ll get back to that one, you guess. Instead, you twist your arm behind your low back and undo the armor over your belly.

Your door clangs- loud enough for you to jump. What the fuck? Who would be bothering you now? You hastily drop that piece onto the same pile and turn the handle-

Oh.

He's out of place this deep in Talon's barracks. He seems to know this, adjusting his posture to stand tall before you- a defensive stance against the curious eyes of your fellow soldiers that pass by. At full height he just about touches the upper edge of the door frame, making you have to tip your head back just to look at him this close. Even though there's no malice in his stance, your skin prickles.

As much as you were captivated by your little shared moment in the street, Ramattra is still your boss, more or less- his alliances with Talon are much further up the food chain than you- and there's no good formal reason for him to be here. So, you treat him as though he's one of the council. Someone way, way above your pay grade with enough power to end you and never even see paperwork for it. You stand up straight and square your shoulders, lower your gaze with a perfectly canned "Yes, Sir?"

His optics drop before he can override it; somehow he did not expect you to be undressing. Even with your undershirt still on under the white Talon armor, his thoughts race, circuitry threatening to overclock. At your voice, however, Ramattra makes a noise of disgust, shifts his head as if scowling. "Enough of that, save it for Akande." You blink, lift your sight back to his faceplate as though it made any difference in reading him. He must've already cleaned up; there once was post-battle grime, but it's already been wiped away. You look to his cabled mane- and there, too, his damaged ribbon cable is gone. "I came to speak with you." Suspicion rises again in your chest, even as he clarifies, "Informally."

Informally in Talon usually meant some kind of internal politicking that you avoided as best you could. Somehow, that doesn't feel right here- why the fuck would he have use for you?- but you don't let down your guard just yet. The instinct to tack on sir to the end of the question is so strong it nearly slips out. "What about?"

"I came to apologize." What? You bristle; if he means to apologize for touching you, well, he certainly did not wrong you by any means. "And to thank you. May I?" He motions past you and despite how much you absolutely should not be inviting Null Sector's leader into your quarters, you do so anyway.

Your room is hardly larger than a supply closet; it's positively cramped with both you and an R-7000 standing in the meager floor space. It makes his movements awkward, aware of his large, sharply pointed feet; even if your armored boots were still on, having him step on your toes would be unpleasant. Without, much worse. So, Ramattra gives you an easy solution: "Please, sit."

It doesn't help your pained neck at all, nor the growing sense of unease. Still, you perch yourself on the edge of your mattress and watch as he adjusts his cowl. "What did you need to apologize for?"

"First, I wanted to thank you for assisting me. I should have seen the sniper, or at least considered the probability, given the terrain." His voice box makes a spit of noise, not unlike clearing his throat. "I came to apologize for... scaring you, when you pulled me from the sniper's view. It was unintentional."

Scared? You can't resist a barking laugh, "That's all? I knew I was risking dropping a big heap of omnic on me. I mean, I'm really glad you were quick enough to catch yourself and all, but really, there's nothing to apologize for, you didn't hurt me."

He waits a beat, considering his words carefully. "You seemed particularly stunned afterwards."

Ah. He noticed. Your cheeks burn. "I guess. You did too, though."

"I had just been shot at and had to trust that a human had my best interest in mind." He tips his head, "If you did not fear being injured, then why?"

"Um," You rub at your neck, chase your thoughts for any acceptable response. "I was- just surprised. You were... very close."

His response is quick as he leans in towards you. “And you were not afraid?”

What is that inflection in his voice? Did he want you to be? You stare at him, try desperately to read his immovable faceplate. You bite your lip- and unbeknownst to you, Ramattra's optics tick downwards to watch. "No, I wasn't."

You must've picked right, because his voice box hums a little noise of acknowledgement, a light nod following. "I see." He murmurs, then abruptly straightens up again. "Regardless, I came to give my gratitude and offer repayment." You would tell him that it's literally your job, that you'd hope he would've done the same for you, but once more Ramattra's head tips, then nods just off to your right. "Is your armor ill-fitting?"

You blink, then look- and find yourself rubbing at your neck once more. "Oh! I mean, kind of; all Talon armor is pre-made. Mostly I'm just a bit sore."

"May I?"

He steps forward without waiting for your answer, but doesn't actually touch you. Once again, you're very close to him. This time, he's standing, towering over you with his full height from where you sit. He's offering, your mind stumbles over it, replays his touch to your hip. "Um, s-sure."

He already knows where the release to your armor is; his large fingers pressing into the divot before you can even begin to direct him. "Oh," you slip out, then awkwardly shake off each half, shoving them off the edge of the bed. His hands move towards your shoulders- and hesitate. He'd been quick to step closer, to dig into the protective paneling, but the actual prospect of touching you, even through the thin material of your undershirt, must make him pause. It's short lived- and his hands are cold enough you can feel it through the cloth.

You suppress a jolt at his temperature- but then he squeezes and all rational thought is expelled from your mind. The aching muscles of your shoulders have no choice but to surrender to his unflinching, metal kneads. It takes everything, everything that you have to not moan- and still he manages to pull a stifled inhale from you.

At once his fingers freeze, “Do you need me to stop?”

”No.” It’s all whine, a desperate plea to chase that same mind-melting touch. So, he continues on. Cool, smooth fingers pressing into taut muscle, loosening up knots with surgical precision. And when he adjusts his angle, steps a little closer and digs in again, you do let yourself moan.

He doesn’t stop- but you feel the tremble in his hands and his fans kick up their speed, humming louder in the relative quiet of your room. He adjusts again, moves to the outer parts of your upper arms- and when he squeezes there the sharp, near painful relief shoots all the way down to your fingertips. Your eyes are all but rolling in their sockets, it's all too easy to let your lids drop, your whole body swaying with each movement of his hands.

He presses into your upper back, in the tight space between shoulder blade and spine- and you don't resist the urge to lean forward. You aren't sure where exactly your forehead lands, but his metal is pleasantly cool. The vibration from his ventilation hums directly into your skull. It's soothing white noise- and you want more. Slowly, enough to make sure he can see you moving, you raise each hand and place them on the outer edge of his thighs. There, the refreshing touch of his metal is covered by dark-colored canvas, but the cloth does little to mute the hum of his inner machinery.

It makes your hands tingle- and it makes his vents crank open another notch. Beneath your forehead, his surface chills even more as coolant rushes through his systems.

The question of why rolls over your head, though the clarity of thought comes and goes with Ramattra's touch. It could be just some kind of curiosity or ultimately innocent fascination with the physicality of human flesh- something you doubt he's had much chance to experience outside of combat- but if he were not an omnic, the implication of his tentative exploration feels... obvious.

On one hand, Null Sector's leader was rarely around your base, the shame and embarrassment of being wrong about his intentions would only occasionally be relevant, but on the other...

You swallow and roll the dice. Your hands trace higher on his legs, over the straps there until you reach metal again. He all but trembles, deeply unused to soft human caresses- even more so to the seldom-touched ridges of his hips' plating. "Do you..." Your confidence slips- but Ramattra stares down at you so attentively, you can't help but continue, just to know "Would you prefer… more?"

His hands twitch against you. "If you are willing," He says it so slowly, so intentionally, he's talking to himself as much as to you. "I will take anything you would give."

Your shuddering inhale must please him, because he nearly purrs as he trails the tips of his fingers across your shoulder blades. Fuck. It’s hardly a question of what you would give, of if you are willing. You let go of him just long enough to grab the hem of your shirt and peel it off.

For a moment, your world is entirely black- and when you can see him again, half-bared to him, you're already shivering.

It's unfair to call it staring when omnics don't typically blink, but Ramattra's faceplate tips downward and doesn't lift- even as you scoot back on your flimsy mattress until you reach the headboard. Only then does he meet your gaze again. You can't see his optics, shadowed entirely by his stark white faceplate, but there's a heat about him, all his focus settled on you- and your heart races. He sees this, too, on his HUD- the spike in your pulse, in your breathing.

Ramattra waits only a moment, shamefully double-saving this moment to his memory files, then follows. Immediately one of his heavy, metal knees makes the hinges of the frame creak in protest. His attention snaps to one corner- almost furious for having interrupted his pursuit. It would be your luck to have your bed broken by an omnic war machine before you could even fuck him. But Ramattra slowly eases his full weight onto the frame- and despite the pitiful whining of your cheap frame, it holds up.

Which is good, because Ramattra wastes no time to lean over you- the staggering height difference between you barely mitigated by his new position with his knees on either side of your legs. Your heart is racing, pulse thrumming all the way down to your fingertips- and he hasn't even really touched you- but he's eager to correct that.

He reaches for you- and there's a breath of hang time. An infinite little moment between his rubber-padded palm touching your neck, a perfect little bookend to all that was before. Because cool metal circles the base of your throat- thumb and forefinger rubbing over the ridges of your collarbones and sliding on- until his palm presses to the center of your chest- and it's unlike anything you expected.

His touch is exploratory, cautious, gentle as his hand slides up your neck, away from where you had really wanted him to touch. Instead, the rounded tips of his fingers trace parallel lines up each side of your throat. He stops just below your jaw, where your pulse beats hard against the skin. Somehow, there's no threat to it- a Ravager is holding your carotid, your jugular- and you don't even want to run. No, he's turned the tables on you- you want more.

It's difficult to be patient with his exploration, but his fascination here must be sated, because Ramattra's head tips- and his other hand presses to your chest. It's still painfully chaste; he's much too high, fingertips caressing your collarbone. He shifts, presses the heel of his palm into your pec- and, oh, you're melting into him again, because you didn't even realize that, too, was sore. As much as you wish he'd do what you're thinking about, his massaging touch is far from unacceptable.

Instead, you let your eyelids drift close, rest your chin upon the hand still at your throat.

Ramattra hums at this, one thumb stroking over your jaw in a motion so affectionate it makes your heart hurt. His fingers linger there, at the edges of your face- while his other hand finally begins to move. The rubber grip of his palm slides over the top of your breast, but his wrist turns, skirts along the side. He presses there a little, feels the weight of your chest in his palm. Already your skin is lighting up, goosebumps racing along your arms- and Ramattra shifts his hand again.

One breast entirely in his hand, his metal still shockingly cold to the underside- and yet somehow, your nipple stands free between his thumb and forefinger. He's avoided it entirely so far- but between the chill of him and the tension rushing in your veins, it's hardened into a little point. He squeezes your chest and you don't stifle your sigh.

He watches his own hand as he slowly sweeps his thumb across the stiff peak of your nipple- how it bends under his touch- and with a gasp, it pops back up. At your whimper he looks back up to your face and does the same motion again, just to soak in your reaction. The weight of his gaze is not lost on you- every sensor in his array is focused on your body, your face, the little hitches in your breath as he drags his thumb in a circle instead.

Your response must be fascinating enough, because the hand at your throat finally travels downwards, mirroring the other. Just having both hands on you makes your heart race, but now you're all but trembling when he hasn't even used the other yet. You expect more slow sweeps. You do not expect him to pinch- your sensitive flesh caught between cold metal plates- and then to tug on them.

You squeal, arch into his hands- half to alleviate the ache he's produced, and half because it felt good. He only half lets up. "Is that too much?" His voice box is so quiet you nearly don't hear him.

"No," You can only gasp- and with his confidence assured, you break off into a whimper as he tweaks your nipples. It's strange- his hands have no give, no softness to them, each motion is only relentless pressure and the hard edges of each joint. It makes every touch more acute, harsher even with his slow, cautious approach.

"They're softer than I expected," He says- and he sounds so cool, almost unaffected by how he's already making you unravel. "And more sensitive."

Oh. Something falls into place. It's not just you. "Have you ever... done this before?"

"Not with a human." Another sweep of his thumb has you shuddering. His grasp loosens, your skin tingling as blood returns to where he'd held it.

His curiosity here must've been satisfied, as his hands slide off to your sides. With only the tips of his fingers skating over your skin so lightly, you squirm under him- and grab his forearms. He stills, glances up to you- "Ticklish," You explain, then press on his hands until his whole palm meets your skin. "Firmer."

Ramattra hums, nods once in acknowledgement. He doesn't have to be corrected twice; his study of your body continues with more pressure. "And you?" Methodical presses over each notch of your ribs, tracing along the lines of each- pressing into the unprotected flesh below them, feeling over the soft pouch of your stomach. No longer feather-light, now it's almost clinical, and you wonder if he's comparing your body to schematics in his head. It isn't until he pauses, squeezes at your hip- a mimic of the same touch from earlier- for you to realize he'd spoken to you.

Have you done this before? The answer is, truthfully, not in a while, never with someone who made your skin feel so electric. You lick your lips and guardedly answer, "Not with an omnic."

He seems to accept this- and to keep him from questioning further, you move to unlatch your right greave. Your bed frame complains once more as he scoots back- and then begins working on your left leg. When you're once more down to your under armor, he stops, half sits back onto his heels. The glow of his optics is hidden, but you have no doubt he's watching you intently, waiting for something. If he expects you to wilt and change your mind, you hope instead he's pleasantly surprised that you hook your thumbs into the soft elastic around your waist and roll off both your pants and underwear.

You're suddenly aware you don't know where to put your legs- sliding them back under him would be counterproductive. So, you be just a little bold, and let them lay half-open across his canvas-covered thighs. Ramattra shudders. A visible quake up his spine, ends in little twitches of his fingers. Fingers that immediately press to your skin, two at first, just above your knees, then the whole width of his palm is smoothing up your thighs.

Higher and higher up your leg, his thumbs skating along the ridge of the muscle at the top of your thigh, never dipping in too close. Even as he approaches your waist, so tantalizingly close to your apex, his hands slide out, over the curve of your hips. You whimper, voicing your displeasure at his continued teasing. Ramattra answers only with a soft humming and those same thumbs pressing in to find the divots of your hip bones.

As attentive as his touch is, it's not helping the ache in your belly. Under him you squirm, press your thighs together to sate your growing need.

This, too, does not go unnoticed. "Patience," He chides and slides his palms from your hips back up to your sides. "We could not linger earlier; I intend to take my time now."

Oh. It doesn't stop you from squeezing your thighs again, but you do resign yourself to his pace. Again he passes over your navel before traveling down; this time there's no more cloth to impede his exploration. His thumbs follow the curve of your pubic bone, coming so very close- before returning to the safety following the long muscles of your quadriceps. With a cant of his head, he's particularly fascinated by this part of you, following the imprints of his fingers as he strokes down your legs.

Once he reaches your knees, Ramattra slyly slides his thumbs inwards, between your tightly pressed thighs. This alone has you shivering, aching to think of another round of his slow mapping of your body- but the soft press of his hands against your legs, urging them outward has every thought fleeing your mind. Shame drives you to press one hand over your face, but offers no resistance to him opening your legs once more. This time, his route from your knees to your hips is no longer exploratory- it's measured. His pace is slow, agonizing- barely inching along your skin, sweeping his thumbs, pressing in when you get too excited; it's an intentional lesson in patience that borders on torture.

And finally- finally- he doesn't turn his touch away. Ramattra's gaze is fixed between your legs, watched as he finally touches you. He traces the sensitive, thin crease of your thigh first- the last line between pretendably-chaste exploration and something else.

And he charges right past that line.

Without any warning, he drags one fingertip right down the center of your pussy. You gasp- and he's skating over your clit, parting your lips, almost dipping into you- before pulling back. With so much teasing, one stroke alone has your body thrumming, heat spreading from your belly. Above you, Ramattra hums- and spreads your lips with his free hand.

The embarrassment of his hawkish observation of your sex doesn't have long to set in, because once more his fingers return to you. Two this time, swirling at your entrance to coat his cool metal in your wetness, before sliding upwards. When he circles your aching clit, you don't even try to stop the moan that escapes from deep within.

Behind his white faceplate, his optics snap upwards and watch your reaction. He's used to seeing humans' heart rates spike when he touched them, but never with such a sound accompanying it. It's... different. Another stroke over the nub, another noise from your lips confirms what he'd already suspected: he likes it. He wants to hear more.

It's just like with your chest. He's all hard metal, no squishing softness of skin and muscle and fat- wherever his fingers move, your body has no choice but to follow, to fold under the hardness of his form. Each leisurely swirl pushes at you more than rubs, compresses and bends your most sensitive skin in incessant, cruel rounds and it's like nothing else you've ever felt. And it's too much, all too quickly you're squirming away from his hand, desperate for a break from the onslaught.

He notices. Ramattra can't not notice when your languid moans warp into sharp whines, when your hips that were grinding impatiently against his fingers, instead begin arching away from his touch. He pulls away, ceases the minuscule contact- and immediately your body relaxes, hips raising up towards him again. Was he being too rough? He recalibrates, actuators hardly moving at all when he meets the pulsing nub at the apex of your sex- and once more you're dancing backwards, face pinching. Yet as soon as he withdraws, another neglected, aching noise from your lips makes his frame shudder.

He almost scoffs; what a terribly human reaction- to flinch from his touch, then crave it as soon as he stops. He doesn’t understand why you’re doing this, but he can at least guess you’re not in any position to explain it to him.

Instead his touch wanders away, down along the creases of your body. A curiosity leads his fingers towards your opening and the wetness that has accumulated there. He traces the taut skin before him- and your heart hammers in your chest. He's so close, so close to being inside you. Your body burns under him, begs silently with every breath. With hardly any effort, his fingertips are coated in clear slickness once more- two shining strings between his digits as he examines them.

"Are most humans this... well-lubricated?"

"No," It comes out broken, your psyche unable to take any more of this- and your tone makes his faceplate lift. The slits of his optics are black, but you stare into them anyway and sob, "Please."

All five of his fingers dig into your thigh, a full-body shudder following your plea. Ah, now he understands. He leans forward, repositions himself over you, his massive frame entirely covering yours, but not quite touching. The heavy weight of his forearm lands next to your head as he murmurs- softer than you've ever heard his vocoder go- "Of course."

And he slides one finger into you.

You don't make a sound- your mouth falls open in mute relief- not even pleasure yet, just succor to your unrelenting need. Ramattra, however, stutters through a moan- the hand at your head curls into a fist, shaking with focus. Your body instinctively clenches around him, pulsing against the hard metal of his digit. As distracted as he is with your wet heat, he wastes no time in circulating the finger inside you- pressing against each wall, feeling the softness that surrounds every sensor, that ripples with each movement.

The first withdrawal is agonizing, the slow pull away, the half-second that you're nearly empty is unspeakable, an awful torment after finally knowing the shape of him. "I have you." He hushes before you can even whine. And he fulfills the promise, easing his finger back in. This time, you sigh- light and airy, lost under the sound of Ramattra's own ventilation.

Your body slowly releases its harsh grasp, relaxing into his slow, careful pace- sliding easily with every stroke, the soft noise of your slickness making your face burn. As the harsh peak of your need mellows into Ramattra's pleasurable touch, you're once more met with the impassive mask of his stark white faceplate. He's so close, you think you should be able to see his optics behind the faceplate- you want to see them- but he's blocking the only light in the room, casting his entire face in shadow, save for the mild, red lighting from the LEDs around his head.

He's gorgeous up close; all sleek lines and crisp enamel. Here and there are tiny nicks on his plating, like scars marking his body. Where you pant against him, his metal fogs- can he feel that? He's too far- and you wrap your arms around him to pull him closer.

You didn't realize how worked up he already was. Even to your fevered skin, Ramattra is warm, streams of hot air escaping past your forearms. He is actually enjoying this. The realization makes your pussy tighten around him once more- and in turn he curls the finger inside you.

You buck against him, the rush of pleasure driving any reservations from your mind as you thread one hand into the thick, black cables of his mane and lick at the pistons of his neck. The effect is immediate- his head drops down beside you entirely, bringing his shoulder even close to your mouth. Near your ear, Ramattra's voicebox rumbles, somewhere between a purr and a growl- the intent lost beneath a wave of static. And not to be outdone, he slips a second wide finger inside you.

The stretch pulls a moan from your lips, made louder by reverberating off Ramattra's shoulder plates. Two of his fingers already makes you feel pleasantly full, a respectable length and girth to them made even better with his attentive exploration of the hidden parts of your cunt- very aware of how every curl of his fingers makes your body sing for him.

And it does sing. Inside you, Ramattra gently spreads his fingers, urging your body to stretch even more, pressing ever harder into the soft flesh of your pussy- and you're helpless as you writhe beneath him. You don't even do it intentionally- raising one leg to press harder against his chassis. Perhaps, if his voice box was not right next to your ear, you'd have missed the spit of static that follows.

But you don't miss it. As lust-hazed as your mind is, all you can truly think about is how unfair it is that he's shown you so little. The hand not tangled into his wire-hair slides down his back, skirts around hot air vents, and dips between each silvery rib. The touch makes him shudder- a minute shaking of his rig that you wouldn't have even felt if he weren't fully pressed to your sternum. You linger at the thin hourglass of his waist, squeezing the thick, black cabling there appreciatively-- and first, Ramattra's hips faulter, a burst of erroneous data coming from the wiring you'd handled, then Ramattra groans, loud and almost droning as his stuttering hips meet the soft skin of your thigh. The shape of his lower plating means really only the top ridge is digging into you, but any discomfort is more than outweighed by his fans kicking up again.

You're ready for him- grabbing the last silver bar over his hip and guiding him closer. He doesn't resist at all. Without a single word, he follows, allows you to match the pace of his own fingers to have him rut against you in perfect time. He's almost fucking you; the proximity of him, the shape of his fingers- and suddenly you need it. To know what he looks like, feels like-- if he has one at all (though you hope he does, please, please-)

Ramattra pauses his thus far near perfect fingering- and you almost sigh with relief- he must have the same idea. Instead, he shifts his wrist- and the pad at the base of his thumb meets your clit. It's a pleasant shock- and when his fingers resume their thrusting, rhythmic pulling against you, you understand what he's done. Every tiny twitch of your hips makes your clit rub against his palm, and with his merciless knowledge of how to make you squirm, it's all he needs to make you gasp and clutch at him tighter.

All at once you're close, hardly more than a passenger to your own undoing. Each curl of his fingers is targeted, a planned attack on the sensitive innermost parts of your body- and with the uncommanded ruts of your hips, he's making you just as complicit in the rising fever of your need, using your own reactions against you- His plating meets your thigh again- and something like a moan spits from his voice box, a choked, half-buzzing noise that has you gasping, aching-

The noise you make is hardly human, barely recognizable as speech. "Wait," And yet the effect is immediate, before you can even croak out a clearer "Wait," he's already stopped, every joint locking up save for the turn of his head- and the lights on his faceplate burn bright, an unspoken question waiting there. He waits, silent, as you shiver and breathe, letting the hard edge of your desire die down before you can find any intelligible words, separated by harsh pants. "Can you?” Less intelligible than you had hoped. “Can you… fuck me?”

The lights on his forehead actually flicker, blinking asymmetrically as soon as the words leave your lips. His systems are in disarray, faulting, replaying your request until Ramattra has to halt the processes manually. It takes him much too long to croak out a barely understandable, static-fuzzed "Yes."

The withdrawal of his fingers from your pussy is agonizing, the last ring of muscle inside you desperately clenching against their retreat. The iron will it takes to keep your noises inside is physically painful, but somehow you think if you were to moan and plead that he let you cum now, he might actually short out. As it is, Ramattra is barely keeping it together. His hand is actually shaking as he releases the shiny plate over his groin, the soft hiss of pneumatics accompanying the distorted sigh from his vocoder. His dark paneling joins your armor on the floor and-

oh.

The first thing you notice is the lights. It's mostly thick, translucent purple silicone wrapped around a suspended mesh sensor array with red inlaid LEDs dotted under the surface that are nearly maroon through the pigment. The second thing is that it's massive. As big as his frame is, his cock is somehow bigger than you expect. It’s not quite the same shape as a human cock; the first rounded ridge is almost right, if only for the fact that it entirely circles the length. Behind it, two more ridges sit further down the shaft.

You can't help but reach for it. The groan that rumbles from his synth is just icing on the cake. "How...?" Fuck, you can't even close your hand around it, thumb and middle finger easily a full inch apart.

"I made it." He admits with a sigh. The tug of your skin on the dry silicone is awkward, but Ramattra shudders and rocks into your touch all the same. Until he seemingly remembers he was knuckle deep in you for several minutes- and shoos your hand aside just long enough to wipe your own fluids on himself. Purple with little red lights and glistening with your arousal- it's nearly enough to make you moan at the sight alone. It is enough when you stroke him again- and this time your hand glides over his smooth surface with ease. Ramattra feels the difference too, his head dropping forward as a plume of steam escapes from a hidden vent.

"Please," You can barely make yourself let go of him. He follows your hand as it falls between your legs, slips through your wetness in desperation to ease your need. "Ramattra..."

"It was," His voice box pops. A harsh little noise, then silence as it frantically reboots. When he speaks again, it's clearer- and there's something in his tone you don't recognize. "... not made for human dimensions."

"I don't care." You whine, grasping at his side once again. But he remains unmoved, his hands planted firmly on his knees, faceplate trained on you. His hesitance draws you out of your haze of lust, higher thinking forcing its way through your mind. Concern- it was concern in his voice. Ah. "If it's too much, I'll tell you. We can-" You swallow, and consider the possibilities that follow, "we can try something else."

And when this doesn't quite sway him, frustration takes control again. With a pitiful whine you present yourself to him again, a meager "Please, I need you." your final offering.

The actuators in his hands whine. A pressure warning pops into his HUD and is dismissed before he can even process it. "Yes." He rasps- it's agonizing how slowly he crawls over you, but the joy that he's moving at all is all you can really think about. "If you require me to stop, inform me immediately." You nod vigorously, almost missing how his voice drops, "I did not come here to harm you."

There's no time to consider the tenderness that laces his vocals, because he slides the head of his cock between your lips once, twice. The motion alone has your hands grabbing at him- and your breath all together stops as he begins to push.

He's big. Even with his mind-melting fingering, it stings as he slowly breeches you. His force is slow and even, but merciless. He does not pause at all as the widest part of his cock stretches you open, makes your face pinch together, thighs locking around Ramattra's thin waist. There's a high pitched little noise somewhere- and you can’t tell if it’s coming from you or Ramattra. As uncomfortable as it is for you, it must be heavenly for him. And yet he continues on- not a single stutter to his patient approach.

Relief washes over you when his hard hips meet yours- and above you Ramattra sighs. You're so full. All the way behind your navel- if pressed below your belly, you'd be able to feel him inside you-- if you could let go of him long enough to try. And it's tight- and truly you could redefine the word, with how harshly your walls cling to him, how you can feel every ridge, where every light is, just because it has slightly less give.

"You are..." He begins, vocalizer rumbling close to your ear. Simultaneously, you shift your hips, trying to ease the pressure that fills you up. Even such little motion cuts him off, makes him press his cool faceplate against your shoulder. His voice cuts through with another tone, like a radio station going out. "Sublime." One large hand lands at your hip, holds you close as he rocks against you. Fully buried as he is, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, digging your fingers into the gaps between his ribs. "It's like a current." He murmurs, almost in disbelief.

His comment is so strange, so stunned at your pussy, it pulls a delighted laugh from you despite how it makes you ache again. You move one hand from his back- and your knuckles hurt for how hard you'd been gripping him- to slide into the cables of his mane again. Ramattra purrs approvingly, a rumble that fills his entire body, permeates into you at every point of contact. He rocks with you again, and as much as you need him to stop moving, if he actually stilled you might just combust.

It hardly takes more than your hand moving to his hip and guiding him into a real stroke- even if you have to grit your teeth and hiss at his half withdrawal. The sound makes him lift his head, turn the dark slits of his optics towards you. He watches as you nod and urge him on with your calves on his thighs. He's slow, keeps that same agonizing pace- easing back into you with as much caution as the first time.

With the stretch already easing, the balance of discomfort to pleasure shifts- and you're closing your eyes, letting the ripple of electricity coast through you with each little motion he makes. Now, it's your turn to sigh, that fullness returning to you- pressed up against the deepest parts of you. When he lowers his head again, his faceplate is not buried into your shoulder this time. No, his LEDs are warm against your forehead, strange with the cool metal between each light. This close, you can hear the soft whirrs of his optics moving and re-focusing. Your breath fogs the white ceramic of his faceplate. If he minds, he doesn't say anything.

He keeps the rhythm on his own now, slow and even until he's sliding freely inside you without any hint of resistance, until you're needing. Words escape you as you clutch at him, press your forehead harder to his, whine with each glacial motion. He hums again, shifts his weight onto one arm- so careful to not break the intimate little connection he'd forged- to hold your hip with one hand. You can't see his optics through the narrow slits, but every sensor is centered on you as he so carefully moves quicker.

"Is this alright?" His voice hardly makes it out of his synth, so low and quiet- and so easily drowned out with your moaning. He’s still so gentle, even with his endeavor to please you in faster strokes, they’re each guarded, measured with careful calculations. There’s no force to them at all.

You can't seem to figure out where you want to hold him; both your hands bury into his cabled hair and stroke there, twist until a stunned little noise breaks free of his vocoder, then releases, fan down until you can hold at his shoulders, at the long pistons that would be collarbones. It isn't enough. Your hands skitter onward, over his arms, his sides, over and between the broad silver struts, in the black recesses between and back up. It takes everything to twist your hands into his cowl and beg. "More, please," Your lips brush his face, "Harder."

Ramattra's entire frame shudders, the hand at your hip pulling you ever closer, once more burying himself to the hilt. "Your…" He rasps, still shaking. "Penchant towards self-destruction is… astounding."

Where he had previously chided you with patience, it seems he has all but run out. The need is taking over him as well, because he doesn't even try to dissuade you at all as he completely moves himself. No longer laid nearly on top of you, his large form stretches over you like a breathing metal canopy, bracing himself with one hand on the wall. He keeps the other hand on your hips- and his next thrust brings stars to the backs of your eyelids. All metal, no give; his hips meet yours with a new vigor. But even more, his altered angle forces one light node up against your front wall. He doesn't even have time to ask if it's good before you're gabbing at his smooth forearm, twisting one hand into your sheets. His name slips from your mouth in a plea, but you can't even understand what you're asking for. "Ramattra,"

Above you Ramattra purrs, the pleased little hum from his vocalizer vibrating out into your room. Beneath you, your bed creaks pathetically- above you, the clasps at the end of his hair-cables clack together, announcing his pace to your neighbors- and you don't care. All you can focus on is the rhythm of his body against yours, the staticy noises that slip from his vocalizer unbidden, where the pad of his palm has caught your skin, holding you exactly where he wants you. And where he wants you has your toes curling, your eyes fighting to stay open. Heat coils in your belly, and it's still not enough.

"More, more," You pant- pulling at his hips with your calves. The sore reality of getting fucked hard by a Ravager is completely gone from your mind- tomorrow's pain has nothing on the haze of desire that leaves you with only harder, deeper, more.

Whatever reply Ramattra has is lost, the noise from his synth a harsh tone that sounds more like a modem than speech. He complies immediately, his next thrust pushing you further up the bed, pressing hard enough against your cervix to make you gasp. The sheets aren't enough, you need to feel more of him- so you grab at his hand again, at his chest, where he's become positively warm. "Fuck, fuck, Rama-ah- I-" Every word broken by a snap of his hips, by the little eek, eek, eek of your mattress frame. Each thrust has your eyes rolling, panting, keening little noises because you can't stop them- and the coil is so close, so tightly wound-

and somewhere, you hear a coin dink onto the floor, hear it spin on the floor. It's so odd you can't make sense of it- can’t give it more than half a thought because you’re so close all you can focus on is the boiling desire that’s taken over your blood- until Ramattra's hips meet yours again.

And for a half-moment you're in free fall, weightless. For one heartbeat, Ramattra is moving away from you- or, no, you’re somehow moving away from him.

You stare, wide-eyed at the dark slits of Ramattra's optics- until one metal hand slips under your shoulders, faster than you can think. He catches you, but not before you’re almost inverted.

A glance up tells you exactly what you expect: the front half of your frame has collapsed, the legs have fallen flat against the floor. Fuck. It doesn't matter; that need has not been sated in the least. You shift your hips against his, shake his hand off you, and brace one arm between your head and the wall. "Don't care."

If he's planning on hesitating, you don't give him a chance. With a grab at the hand still at your waist, you clench around his cock. A real, true moan rips from his vocalizer and all caution is thrown to the wind. He holds your ass up off the slanted mattress with one hand, keeps you so perfectly stabilized as he ruts into you. Any semblance of order or careful intent is lost; the instinctual chase of pleasure has taken both of you. All you can do is lock your legs behind his thin waist and ride out each thrust, rising to meet him where you can. So hard and quick you can barely keep up with his pace, leaving you squirming beneath him, twisting your fingers into your hair as the heat rises again.

Your mind narrows down to a point, "Please, please- don't stop, fuck- Ramattra-"

Another groan from his throat and he grabs your waist with both hands. No longer just thrusting- he's all but pulling you up off the floor, spearing you onto himself over and over. He uses you like an oversized toy, fucking into you with abandon. And you hadn't even realized just how large his hands were. His thumb reaches right across your thigh, parts your lips to press against your clit. He strokes in time with his hips- and you're gone.

With him supporting most of your weight, you arch into the air- and clench down on him hard. Something in his throat pops before a groan cuts in. He doesn't stop moving, even as your walls flutter around him, as your voice goes hoarse. One hand leaves your hips- and something flutters down across one shoulder. You fight against the waves of ecstasy- each crashing over you, drowning out your senses in liquid pleasure- just enough to crack your eyes open as he peaks.

His body freezes, joints twitching out of sync, fragments of uncommanded movements while his voice breaks, a harsh tone pouring out before it clicks off entirely. You squeeze around him again- launching another wave for yourself- and above you, Ramattra's lights flicker, twinkle like stars- and then turn off. Offlined. Good. You join him shortly, closing your eyes and surrendering to the pleasant warmth that surrounds you.

When you wake again, you're right-side up. It takes a series of barely-coordinated blinks to clear your vision. It's somehow more disorienting than having been nearly upside-down to begin with. More so, you're not in your bed. No, you're wrapped up in your sheets, but you're firmly in Ramattra's lap- who has ended up sitting cross-legged next to the remains of your bed frame. It's... surprisingly cozy. The sheets soften up the hardest angles of his body and keep you warm while his frame regulates itself back to its usual cool temperatures.

"My apologies," He says in lieu of greeting. "It seemed impertinent to leave you... there."

From the forty-five degree angle of your mattress and how it's squished up against the wall. A white dust has spilled over your pillows- and it takes you much too long to piece together the Ramattra-fist-sized hole in your drywall. A tentative touch to your hair confirms flecks of paint and plaster. Yeah. You could imagine you probably didn't look very comfortable.

"Thanks," is what you try to say, but it comes out a rough rasp. You swallow several times to ease the dryness in your throat, but Ramattra seems to hum in appreciation. In all fairness, you had been all but screaming his name. A noble way to lose your voice. "Thanks," and this time, it sounds human enough.

"And I am sorry for damaging your quarters." He modulated a noise not unlike clearing his throat. "I may have gotten carried away."

You can only grin and slur your words. "S'okay, it's all cheap 'n Talon maintenance is fast." Honestly, it’s a compliment. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey. Who else can say they made the leader of Null Sector cum so hard he dug his fingers into your literal wall and shut down? You shift in his lap, lay your head more comfortably against his shoulder. When you settle, he holds you closer. "Benefits of no questions asked type of work." Once more his only reply is a quiet hum of acknowledgement. It's an easy silence- save for the quiet whirr of Ramattra's fans, which have returned to their normal pace. Only when you absolutely need to know do you risk asking, "Can you stay? For a bit longer?"

He pauses, considers the question. He shouldn’t, truthfully. This excursion has already gone well past what he had planned for. But there’s something nagging at his logic circuits, the same little impulse that had made him fall at your command. It had saved his life before- and gotten him here. When has he ever been able to deny himself his curiosities?

"Yes. I have time." He says and pulls you closer to him still, until he can feel every rise and fall of your chest, despite the blanket between your bodies. Internally, he sends a message that he'll be unavailable for a debrief with Akande.

This time, it's you that hums as you bury your face into the pistons of his neck and close your eyes.

-----

Sequel

#ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra #overwatch #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader

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niqhtlord01 · 8 months ago

Text

Humans are weird: What use is honor in war?

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

*Clouds of ash part to reveal burnt out husks of barracks complexes, shatter communication towers, and looming over all of it was the crumbling structure of the once proud command center itself.*

*Setting down in front of the command building a small squad of human soldiers approach and form a cordon to either side of the lowering boarding ramp.*

*General Marius Fimble slowly walks down the ramp flanked by a pair of black clad honor guard. His robotic left foot slamming against the ramp with a resounding cannon like echo until he reaches the bottom*

Colonel: *Salutes* General.

Marius: *Returns salute lazily while scanning surroundings* Colonel.

Colonel: You can relax sir; we’ve cleared the area of all resistance.

Marius: Complacency breeds overconfidence; never forget that.

Colonel: Sir!

Marius: Do you have him?

Colonel: We are keeping him in the main building to prevent escape.

Marius: *Confused* Have they made attempts?

Colonel: First one he killed three and injured twelve.

Marius: First?

Colonel: Second he killed seven and injured six, then again three hours later with eight injured.

Marius: He’s tried escaping three times already?

Colonel: Oh no.

Colonel: Those were all within the first seven hours of capture; we’re on twenty seven attempts by now.

Marius: *Grunts*

Marius: Let’s get this over with then before he kills any more of my men.

*Colonel escorts the general and his guards inside the command center. Descending three flights of stairs the group comes to an armored door guarded by twenty soldiers and an auto turret pointed at the doorframe*

Marius: Open it.

*The armored door slowly creeks open as all twenty guards take aim at the opening. The auto turret slowly begins spinning its turrets in preparation to fire as the general walks by.*

Marius: *Waves his bodyguards* Wait here.

Colonel: I would not recommend that, sir.

Marius: *Walks past Colonel and into the room* Noted.

*The door slams behind Marius as he takes in the surroundings. A single light hangs from the ceiling illuminating a lone figure secured firmly to the ground my numerous heavy chains*

Marius: Commandant Fring, we meet at last.

Fring: *Spits out glob of purple blood at Marius’s feet*

Marius: *Steps over it without acknowledging it*

Marius: I had heard tales of the great Grung military back in my academy days and I must say after fighting you, I am deeply underwhelmed.

Fring: *Low growl*

Marius: *Circling the room* Over a thousand years of military prowess and I took you apart in less than a day.

Fring: YOU STRUCK WITHOUT HONOR!

*Fring lunges at Marius who doesn’t flinch. The chains straining under the sudden pressure with Fring just out of reach of Marius’s throat*

*Marius watches in silence as Fring continues for several minutes before relenting*

Marius: I never understood that.

Fring: What?

Marius: Honor.

Fring: You do not understand it because you have never held it.

Fring: You preach of taking down our military when you attacked like cowards and thieves in the dead of night! Slaughtering my warriors while they slept rather than dying by their hands on the field of battle!

Marius: The purpose of war is to win.

Marius: Everything else takes a back seat to that one concept; because if you don’t win nothing you were fighting for matters.

Fring: And yet it is the manner of how you fight that defines who you are.

Fring: And you are a coward!

Marius: So you justify your incompetence by claiming I am a coward?

Fring: You dare!?!

Marius: You were unprepared for an attack despite declaring war on my people. They should have been mustering for war and already onboard troop ships heading out of system; instead they were…how did you put it? Ah yes, they were sleeping.

Marius: *Leans in close to Fring who lunges again only to be grabbed by the general’s hand*

*The general’s grip is iron and Fring claws at it as he gasps for air. There is no emotion behind the eyes of the human leader as he watches his foe*

Marius: Honor, is a novelty for those who can afford it. A justification to fight in a manner of combat they prefer regardless of how many souls die by the outdated ideal that is “Honor”. I fight to win wars, and though my victories seem beneath you I ensure that my men, my soldiers, will return home safe and sound because I fought using my head and not my heart.

*Marius let’s go of Fring who collapses to the ground*

Marius: *Looks down at Fring* You fought with your heart and you lost five field army’s worth of soldiers in a single night.

Fring: Do you keep me alive just to mock me? End me then, for I will hear none of this.

Marius: *Chuckles* I’m sure I had a reason for keeping you alive, but seeing you now I can’t for the life of me wonder why I thought it was worth the effort.

Marius: *bangs on door and the door opens*

Marius: *motions to the soldiers* kill him.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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gsirvitor · 20 days ago

Note

1. Support our Veterans. 2. Support the politician who dodged draft 5 times and called soldiers killed in action "suckers" and "losers". You can only pick one.

I support our Veterans, I also understand that the statement you're quoting is a lie.

A White House email from a U.S. Marine Corps official proves a “bad weather call” was the reason for President Trump’s canceled visit to Aisne-Marne American cemetery in 2018; further evidence refuting Biden’s claim includes U.S. Navy records obtained via a Freedom of Information Act request — and even John Bolton's book.

Unequivocal denials came from virtually every official on the trip:

Zach Fuentes, former deputy to Chief of Staff Gen. John Kelly: “I did not hear POTUS call anyone losers when I told him about the weather. Honestly, do you think General Kelly would have stood by and let ANYONE call fallen Marines losers?” (Breitbart, 9/7/20)

John Bolton, former National Security Advisor: “I didn't hear either of those comments or anything even resembling them. I was there at the point in time that morning when it was decided that he would not go Aisne-Marne cemetery. He decided not to do it because of John Kelly's recommendation. It was entirely a weather-related decision, and I thought the proper thing to do.” (Fox News, 9/4/20)

Sarah Huckabee Sanders, former White House press secretary: “The Atlantic story on @realDonaldTrump is total BS. I was actually there and one of the people part of the discussion - this never happened … I am disgusted by this false attack.” (X, 9/3/20)

Hogan Gidley, former White House deputy press secretary: “These are disgusting, grotesque, reprehensible lies. I was there in Paris and the President never said those things … These weak, pathetic, cowardly background ‘sources’ do not have the courage or decency to put their names to these false accusations because they know how completely ludicrous they are. It's sickening that they would hide in the shadows to knowingly try and hurt the morale of our great military simply for an attack on a political opponent.” (X, 9/3/20)

Dan Scavino, White House deputy chief of staff for communications: “I was with POTUS in France, with Sarah, and have been at his side throughout it all. Complete lies by ‘anonymous sources’ that were ‘dropped’ just as he begins to campaign (and surge). A disgraceful attempt to smear POTUS, 60 days before the Presidential Election! Disgusting!!” (X, 9/3/20)

Jordan Karem, former personal aide to President Trump: “This is not even close to being factually accurate. Plain and simple, it just never happened.” (X, 9/3/20)

Johnny DeStefano, former counselor to President Trump: “I was on this trip. The Atlantic bit is not true. Period.” (X, 9/4/20)

Stephen Miller, former senior advisor to President Trump: “ A despicable lie ... The president deeply wanted to attend the memorial event in question and was deeply displeased by the bad weather call." (Washington Examiner, 9/3/20)

Derek Lyons, former staff secretary and counselor to President Trump: “I was with the President the morning after the scheduled visit. He was extremely disappointed that arrangements could not be made to get him to the site, and that the trip had been cancelled.” (X, 9/4/20)

Dan Walsh, former White House deputy chief of staff: “I can attest to the fact that there was a bad weather call in France, and that the helicopters were unable to safely make the flight.” (White House Press Briefing, 9/4/20)

First Lady Melania Trump: “@TheAtlantic story is not true. It has become a very dangerous time when anonymous sources are believed above all else, & no one knows their motivation. This is not journalism - It is activism. And it is a disservice to the people of our great nation.” (X, 9/4/20)

Jamie McCourt, former U.S. Ambassador to France and Monaco: “In my presence, POTUS has NEVER denigrated any member of the U.S. military or anyone in service to our country. And he certainly did not that day, either. Let me add, he was devastated to not be able to go to the cemetery at Belleau Wood. In fact, the next day, he attended and spoke at the ceremony in Suresnes in the pouring rain.” (Breitbart, 9/7/20)

Mick Mulvaney, former acting White House chief of staff: “These claims are simply outrageous. I never heard the President disparage our war dead or wounded. In fact, the exact opposite is true. I was with him at the 75th Anniversary of the D-Day invasion in Normandy. As we flew over the beaches by helicopter he was outwardly in awe of the accomplishments of the Allied Forces, and the sacrifices they paid.” (X, 9/4/20)

Trump very much respects the armed forces, and those who gave their lives for those who live today, now, this is not a day for politics, this is a day of Remembrance, respect.

Don your poppy and pay your respects to the fallen, and those who serve.

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therealslimshakespeare · 8 months ago

Note

i was thinking about what late night talks with bucky would be like (call me crazy), and it got me thinking:

other than dying (though arguably some are not afraid of dying), what do you think some of the mota men’s greatest fears are? i could write a hundred essays on each of them, they all are so different!

Gosh, this is an incredible ask and it got me thinkin. Too hard, probably. And while I didn’t summarize thoughts for everyone I did think of them for Bucky.

So much so I wrote a little blurb on it. Sorry Nonnie if you’re not even into this universe, I totally get it but I found fic to be a more enlightening method for exploring this. I wanna hear those thoughts of yours! Send them, I beg!

Greatest Fear

They got a bit existential as the weeks went on and their nights got more conscious. Ida and Bucky’s minds grew restless in the cold now that their bodies were healing. Huddled in their bunk they had debated baseball vs football endlessly, and argued regarding the accuracy of each other’s training anecdotes, the morality of mobsters and who was the better boxer: Braddock or Baer.

They’d ended up talking of the war, and both being sick of the dead end that the question of the future brought, they circled back around more concrete -if troublesome- thoughts. Most hairy landings, worst sounds either heard from their crew over the radio and what flashed across their minds when they had to finally press that abandon ship control.

And finally, Bucky ended up asking her what her worst fear was. And when Ida didn’t have it readily to hand -too used to suppressing any such thoughts even to her own self- he clarified: “Besides dying, I mean. If you’re even scared of that. Knowin’ you, maybe you aren’t.”

“I’d rather not.” she admitted.

“So? So what gets you scared?”

“This your way of fishing for another ghost story?” Ida teased.

“No. Just feels like sometimes you gotta remind yourself what it’s all about. Scared of dyin’ means you like livin’ enough to rather not stop. That sorta thing.”

“You’re saying love for one thing drives fear for another.” She summarized.

“Dunno. Just mullin’ it over.”

“I’d go through anything not to lose John.” she conceded, “Funny enough I’m positive he feels the same, so what a snarl.”

“I know he does.”

“Yeah.”

“If they put a gun to Buck’s head I’d tell ‘em Roosevelt's address and his favorite drink order, too.” Bucky expounded, tongue loosened by her tiny admission of frailty. “And he’d hate me for it.”

“All different kinds of loves out there.” Ida murmured consolingly, thinking hard on how her brother had been in a rage at her condition when he first saw her, and yet one of his first questions was whether she’d given anything up. Her Johnny knew she couldn’t live with herself if she had and he wouldn't've wanted her to. And nothing about that struck her as cold. Just as Bucky’s dangerous devotion to Gale didn’t strike her as weak. Just different.

“I saw a train.” Bucky began a thought but his voice died out with such finality Ida wondered if he’d ever pick the subject up again. But after a long moment he did, with some far away quality present in his voice that she’d never heard before, “On the way here. We were on one set of tracks and it was comin’ up the other.”

Ida had memories of trains, a lot of them. Going south all alone, first trip down to the uncle and aunts during the worst year of the depression. Old enough to know her own folks couldn’t support her, old enough to question how a ticket could be arranged but not supper. There had been trains that took her to training in Texas, then on to Iowa and Nebraska. Trains that took her deeper into Germany. One entire train car just for herself and too many German soldiers. Then the train that took them away from Ravensbruck. Ida felt an unsettled anticipation around trains that the peaceful rightness of flight had never caused her.

When Bucky mentioned trains and didn’t go on, Ida folded her hand into his huge one and squeezed it tightly. “What about those trains, John?”

“Heard ‘em before we saw ‘em.” he clarified, nodding his head conversationally as he was want to do, like he was gaining momentum towards a hard saying. Ida braced herself, squeezed just a little harder. “Not the engines, the screams. Car after car, and nothin’ but arms and faces reachin’ out. Screaming.”

Bucky’s bruised eyes were fixed, downcast gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, but Ida knew he was seeing something far away. “I think I saw where they take them.” she muttered before she even had time to weigh her contribution to this horrid tale.

His eyes focused again and he looked at her with silent inquiry. “They took us to a labor camp first. Before here. Apparently one of the nicer ones, they had intentions of treating us as civilians.” Ida had been preoccupied with her aching body and her sharp terror of failure while at Ravensbruck, but not so much as to not notice the haunting vestiges of humanity answering roll beside her. “I felt like I was in Hades, the cold hell. Where the living damned can peruse each special misery waiting for them when they die. Called it a labor camp but I don’t know how skeletons like that could produce anything. Last bits of human resilience used to put together some industry to keep their oppressors fed, equipped. What an end.”

“Scares me shitless.” Bucky replied vehemently, and Ida realized they’d gotten full circle in their talk, that he’d dragged more out of her than she ever intended. Somehow neither his statement of fear nor her own felt weak in the moment. “That folks could get so hard they could do that to each other -I don’t know what to do with that, Ida. How’s it get to that point. Why’ve you got Fritz and then you’ve got…that? Same country, same sauerkraut, same uniforms. Scares me shitless.”

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

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@piastrinho

#Ida and Bucky snuggling and having some seriously angsty chats #but also- I’ve been long pondering what may have fucked Bucky up most about his time before the Stalag and I don’t think it was the lynchin #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #integrated au #those who can

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lokisprettygirl · 2 years ago

Text

Under his influence (Post Avengers! Loki x female reader)

Read chapter 17 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 18

Summary : You visit NYC for Jane's birthday where you bump into the love of your life again.

Warning: mention of sex, mention of periods, heartbreak and angst, talk of murder and kidnapping, mention of psychological torture, angst, insecurities, self deprecating behaviour, panic attack, best friends to lovers who are also bestest of friends to just best friends to possibly lovers as well as best friends again, Melissa is mentioned

"What should I be wearing?" You asked Jane and she started to ramble on excitedly. You had to leave first thing in the morning for NYC. First thing first you were glad to travel the distance with an actual flight this time instead of Thor's Mobonil. It would be a hassle but at least the chances of a sudden heart attack risk would remain low.

You tried so hard to convince Jane that that you won't be able to come because it's been just two months since that night when Loki and you had decided to continue this relationship platonically and it's been three weeks since you have seen him last. Avengers were on a mission, something about a certain winter soldier, you didn't understand much when Loki was telling you about it. He wasn't your boyfriend and considering how busy he was with his new job as an Avenger, you didn't want to continue to pester him with every little thing that you wanted to share with him.

Everyday you woke up with a heavy heart knowing that your friendship with Loki would eventually fade with time and he'd drift apart. A week ago Loki had arranged a press conference to come out with the truth about Melissa and the whole farce. The response was her filing a FIR against him for domestic abuse but Loki was able to get away because the Avengers refuted any such claims. He was surprised he had their support, their attitude regarding him was starting to change, some people were shocked over the break up and you still remembered when he was asked about whether the story of him ending up in a woman's apartment was true or not, he looked right into the camera as if he was trying to deliver a secret message to you and said that everything was true and it was real for him and being cooped up in your apartment was the happiest he had ever felt in his life.

You were still in love with him and you wished for him to feel the same but deep down you knew you weren't anything special, you saw several pictures of Loki where he was surrounded by a herd of men and women alike, he wasn't really doing anything with any of them, he didn't even seem to flirt, he was just talking but those pictures were still scandalized because an Asgardian god was single and everyone seemed eager to try their luck with him.

A week ago you had called him after that video of him preventing a whole skyscraper from collapsing went viral all around the world, while he did that the Avengers were able to get everyone out safely. It was truly magnificent but the longer you stayed away from him the more phantomic he became for you, you started to see him the way everyone else was seeing him and it wasn't that much of a shock that he was being lusted after so blatantly by everyone around him and you knew one of these days someone will catch his eyes and he'd give into those feelings and then he won't even be your friend.

No woman would ever want her man to be friends with his ex this way, especially a man like him, you'd be just another stranger for him. It's been six days since you had heard anything from him and it was starting to bother you alot.

You wiped your tears before you got up and decided to pack a little something for the trip. You'd leave tomorrow but you still didn't have any idea where you were going to stay, the day after her birthday Jane wanted to go sightseeing in New York City, then you'll return the next day.

She had just moved in the Avengers towards with Thor and her assistant Darcy, she was also an astrophysicist, you noticed her chatting up with Loki in one of the Instagram videos Jane had uploaded. Of course the focus wasn't on them but like an obsessed creep you downloaded the video, zoomed in and found them in the corner just talking and laughing with each other, you cried all night after that because you felt absolutely pathetic and scared about this development. He hadn't told you anything about her yet.

She was beautiful, funny and intelligent and she didn't seem to have a crappy personality like Melisaa so you couldn't even hate her. What else a man like Loki would ever need from a woman?

Did he even know you were coming there? You didn't tell him and he didn't ask either, maybe Jane hadn't told him yet. You felt nervous, your anxiety was over the roof, you knew there would be several high profile personalities there and you barely knew just three of them.

"Okay she's coming, now all we need to do is to hide her from him until the party" Jane said to Thor so he smiled.

"Oh that won't be a problem, I will take Loki somewhere"

Thor didn't know the full extent of what had transpired between you and Loki but it had something to do with the attack on Melissa. He did feel though that both of you were being really foolish about this situation.

He stepped out of his room to find Loki and located him in the living space along with Darcy, they were having a conversation about the alignment of the stars that he wasn't interested in participating in.

"Brother tomorrow you and me shall go see that statue everybody keeps hollering about" Thor told him so loki furrowed his brows,

"Really? It's Lady Jane's birthday. You wouldn't want to be here with her instead?" Thor gulped as Loki questioned him "Besides Darcy is taking me to the mall to buy presents for her" he said so Thor breathed in relief, he just wanted him out of the tower anyhow.

"Aren't you worried about being seen with a mortal again?" Thor questioned again so Loki smiled and waved his fingers, in a moment Loki and Darcy were turned into different people who had no resemblance to any of their real self whatsoever.

"Should I worry now?" Loki chuckled as he questioned.

"I suppose not"

The next day you woke up early in the morning to reach the airport on time, it took approximately three hours to reach NYC and it was around 2 pm when you landed, you called Jane immediately and she told you that there was a car waiting to pick you up so you found the person, hopped in and it took you straight to the Avengers tower, you kept your eyes on the road just enjoying the sight, you had never been to NYC before.

As you reached the tower, you were scanned and your belongings were checked carefully before they allowed you to enter. The place was huge and your anxiety was only bubbling more and more. When you reached the 18th floor Jane was waiting for you, she immediately pulled you in a hug and that's when you were able to calm down, even if just a little, Thor approached you as well and he grabbed the back of your hand to place a formal kiss. You wished her happy birthday and you could tell she was so happy, she was turning thirty and you couldn't help but feel envious about her accomplishments in life, you both were almost the same age and while she was on top of the world you had nothing going on for you.

"So ummmm where's Loki?" You asked them so they looked at each other.

"I think he's away with Darcy, they had to buy presents for Jane" Thor answered you and Jane grinned like a cheshire cat.

"I'm getting presents?" She asked him so he kissed her softly,

"Of Course you are, it's your birthday my beloved" you stood there awkwardly at the interaction, just the thought of Loki not being here and worse him being out there with Darcy was enough to make your heart sink again but before you could sulk in self pity Jane grabbed your arm and took you to a room on the same floor, you passed by Loki's room and your heart clenched again.

"Ummm Jane, is this dress good enough for the party? Or I can go buy something if it's not, this is the fanciest thing i had in my closet" you pulled out a dress from your luggage, it was a black fit and flare sort of dress with once inch wider straps. The hem of the dress was flared and it gave it a sexy but elegant look. Though your elegance probably wasn't up to their standards so you just wanted to ask for her opinion first, she invited you, the last thing you wanted was for her to be embarrassed of you in front of everyone. You were so nervous to be in the same room as the goddamn Avengers but she assured you that the dress was perfect for her birthday party and you had nothing to worry about.

You also lied to your mom about the trip, you told her it was an old friend from college and not Jane Foster because your mother knew everything about Avengers and who they were dating. Her opinions on Loki had pretty much stayed the same.

Once you had showered Jane took you to get lunch, it was nice to roam around the tower without needing the cloak of invisibility. You had the cloak in your luggage, Loki never asked for it, thankfully the man at the security had barely picked it up so it just seemed like a fancy robe.

Around 4 pm while you were doing your makeup you heard Loki's voice echoing in the hallway, your heart sped at the sound of his voice but then you heard her voice as well, Darcy. They were talking and laughing about something you didn't understand but your heart broke into pieces knowing that it wasn't you making him laugh like that. He sounded…okay, more than okay, he sounded happy. Was she the reason he hasn't been in touch with you lately? Was he moving on and falling for her? Your eyes welled up at the thought. You heard a knock on the door and felt your gut sinking when you heard his voice,

"Is someone in there?" He asked but you were frozen in your spot. Just a few months ago you were hiding with him and now you were hiding from him.

This wasn't the first time you had been here at this very place in your life but it always hurt the same. He was supposed to be your best friend, you probably never should have taken it any further than that because those romantic feelings always complicated the friendship too.

"That room is vacant Kiki, you know Jane said she was having a friend over for the party so it's probably her..how did you know someone was in there?" She even had a nickname for him. Wow.

"I just… I just thought that…nevermind" you heard him saying before their footsteps faded into the hallway.

What were you thinking coming here? You just wanted to get out of here and run away but it wouldn't have been fair to Jane, she had gone through so much trouble for you, you didn't think you would have ever done anything like this for her.

The party was in the lounge of the 18th floor, you had noticed the directional map of the floor in the living room so you just followed that and you bumped into Thor as soon as you did.

"Norns are you alright lady y/n? My apologies" he apologized immediately

"It's okay I'm okay" you let out a nervous laughter so he smiled,

"Lady y/n, would you be so kind as to grant me a favour?" He asked you and you looked at him nervously.

"Ofcourse anything "

"Please can you just go to Loki's room and retrieve him, i wouldn't want him to be fashionably late as always" you nodded as he said that and turned around to leave the lounge and into the hall again. You probably should have said no but you knew Thor knew that you both were still friends at least and you didn't want to make it more awkward than it already was.

You walked towards his room and sighed before you knocked. At last you had come face to face with Darcy but somehow you managed to find your voice. What was she doing in his room?

"Ummm hiii is Loki here? His brother has been looking for him" You asked her so she opened the door all the way to the end and you were met with his pale but pretty as always face, he seemed shocked and taken by surprise of your presence there. He had a black blazer on with a white tee shirt underneath and a black fitted pants, he slowly walked towards you and past Darcy to reach closer to you. He looked devastatingly handsome and you were devastated by it.

"Y/n?" He gulped as he looked at you so you faked a smile.

"Hiii"

"I can't believe you are here" he smiled briefly before he pulled you in for a hug, the smell of his cologne immediately made you relive the memories you had made with him before everything fell apart. As he pulled away he cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead.

"How come you are here? Why didn't you tell me?" He asked you so you looked at Darcy and then looked at him.

"It was so sudden..umm Jane invited me yesterday..I was going to call. I just thought you were busy" you said to him.

"I am never too busy for you, you know that. Right?" Your eyes teared up as he said that so you looked down and blinked rapidly in order to restrain your tears. You felt pathetic.

"Thor wants to see you in the lounge" you said to him so Darcy closed the door of his room and all three of you proceeded towards the lounge together.

"When did you get here and how?" He asked you so you told him. He looked at your room as you all passed by it and he had a sudden realization, his instincts were never wrong about you. He smelled you and he could feel you around him but he just thought he was overthinking as usual.

As you reached the lounge you got away from him to go be with Jane and it hurt him a little. Were you upset with him? You must be, he hadn't been calling lately but he had his reasons. This wasn't getting any easier for him by the day.

"Okay if anyone asks just tell them your name is Stacy" Jane said to you so you nodded, there was a woman you didn't recognise at the party and she was watching you like a hawk for some reason.

"Do you know all these people?" you asked Jane so she laughed.

"Not really but they all work for the Avengers" you nodded as she said that. You felt Loki's eyes on you and it made you feel nervous, you probably shouldn't have gotten away without saying anything but you just felt extremely hurt. Seeing another woman in his room had burned you with intense jealousy, there was probably nothing between them but you still felt bothered by their situation. When Jane took you to the open bar, you got a mocktail, you didn't want to consume alcohol and embarrass yourself any further. She had to go see other people so she left you on your own and that's when the woman who couldn't stop staring at you approached you.

"Hello" she raised her hand forward so you shook it.

"I'm Dalia, I'm their publicist" she introduced herself so you gulped nervously. You knew about her but you had never seen her. This was the same woman because of whom Loki wasn't able to get in touch with you when they had brought him here first .

"Ummm imm Stacy, Jane's friend"

"Really? So you're not Y/n Y/l/n?" She asked you and you looked at her a little shocked that she recognised you. She looked at you up and down before she started to speak again "Look.. nothing against you but I really hope you're not here to seduce Loki again, though I must say you're really fucking it up already with that dress" your eyes teared up as she mumbled. There was a smirk on her face that you just wanted to slap away.

"He's just a friend"

"Keep it that way..I mean I am glad you came. Now you can be around here and see that you don't belong with these people and especially not Loki" she walked away after saying that. You put the drink down on the counter as you had to get out of the lounge for a moment because you could feel the panic increasing in your chest. Your eyes met with Jane so you gestured that you wanted to go use loo and she smiled at you. How was she so much better at dealing with this stuff?

You walked out of the lounge and you wished you didn't have the stupid heels on so you could just run away but you were helpless, you cut the corner and braced yourself against the wall as the anxiety rose rapidly, your chest felt constricted again and you couldn't breathe properly.

You didn't belong here or with Loki, that was one of your fears coming here but having someone confirm it to your face was what tipped you off the edge.

You breathed heavily and hoped for the feeling to pass but it was only worsening every second. The tears rolled down constantly and you were so close to just burst into a fit of cries when you felt someone grabbing your shoulders, you looked up at him and it was Loki.

"Loo" you could barely whisper, you couldn't see his face properly because your vision had gotten blurry but you noticed those tears in his eyes "I can't breathe" your voice again came out breathless so he stepped closer to you, cupped your cheeks and you felt his fingers rubbing over your skin

"You can, just take a deep breath for me on the count of three alright, can you do that?" The broken look on your face clenched his heart. He hated himself in the moment, even more so than usual, he should have been here for you, he was supposed to be your friend, your best friend. You followed his instruction and the wheezing breaths were starting to diminish the longer he had you in his embrace,

"That's it, you're doing good my darling, you are okay i promise you are okay" he cooed gently before he pulled you into him for a hug. You cried as much as you needed to cry to let it all out but you had to pull away at some point.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry" you mumbled softly so he smiled.

"I am sorry too"

You shook your head as he said that.

"I shouldn't have come here, i don't belong here"

"Really?" He asked you as he was certainly offended so you nodded, he suddenly grabbed your arm and took you back to the party.

"See that lady over there? She's so inebriated you will find her hurling her insides out before the night ends" you looked at him a bit taken away by the sudden statement as he pinpointed towards a woman.

"Oh look at the Captain, he's drinking his sorrows away and once he's intoxicated he's going to embarrass himself by singing an old school love ballad" you looked at Captain America as Loki pointed towards him.

"See those two, they are publically having an altercation over something trivial" he gestured towards Tony and Pepper and you sighed, you knew what he was trying to say "These people are just humans like you, just mortals, they are not perfect or better than you, they could never be" you nodded as he said that.

"Thank you lo..thank you" he smiled as you said that.

"I have mis–" you cut him off before he had even finished his sentence. You wished later that you hadn't done that.

"What about her?" You hinted towards Darcy so he looked at her, he was confused by the question and the all the implications they carried..

"She's a friend, that is all" A friend, same as you two used to be?

You nodded as he said that. Things had gotten extremely awkward between you two, for once since you had known him you both felt out of sync with each other, the conversation just didn't feel natural.

The party went well and you couldn't have been more thankful for Jane that she invited you here but you shouldn't have come here because you felt as if this would ruin whatever friendship you had left between you two.

When you went back to your room that night all alone it was hard to fall asleep. It was even harder to not cry every other minute. You decided that you had to talk to Loki and see if you still had him in your life or not because if not you had to make sure you weren't hurting yourself like this every moment because this didn't seem healthy. You got up and walked into the hallway, halfway through you saw Loki walking towards you as well, as he stepped closer he seemed as if he had just showered.

"Hiii" you smiled at him, you just wanted to talk to him..

"Can we talk in your room?" He asked you so nodded, you both walked side by side back to your room, was he coming to see you as well? You truly hoped so.

As you reached there, you both sat down on the bed,

"I'm sorry if I have been weird today, I just.. it's hard, it's the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life" you said to him so he turned his head to look at you.

"It's torturous darling, I don't enjoy this and I apologize if I have been a bad friend to you but I just can't see you everyday because everytime i look at you I am only thinking of the things we'd never get to have with each other" your eyes welled up as he said that "I can't stop obsessing over the moments we have spent with each other, I can't stop thinking that I'd never get to kiss you again and I haven't slept in a month because all I think of as soon as I hit the bed is you. I stay awake all night just wishing for you to hold me again"

You felt speechless by the confession, you didn't know what to say to him.

"Lo, I miss all that too I really do. I was so scared coming here today because I felt as if we were drifting apart. Ten years from now I don't want to look back at my life and regret losing a precious person like you, ten years down the line I still want to have you by my side" he wiped his tears as he sniffled.

"I am upset you did not tell me that you were coming here" you placed your hand on his as he mumbled, he had every right to be upset with you. You would have been upset too if the roles were reversed.

"I am sorry, i should have, i should have told my best friend that I was coming here"

"Yes, you should have because If I knew I'd have come pick you up at the airport and perhaps we would have gone for sightseeing" he smiled and it was so infectious that you were compelled to do the same.

"I am staying tomorrow so we can go do that" he nodded as you said that. He brought your hand up to his mouth and gave it a few birdlike kisses and you hugged him as appropriately as you could. It didn't feel awkward now anymore, it felt perfect, all you had to do was communicate with him.

"We are definitely doing that" he got up and smiled again as he wished you a good night of sleep. But before he could step out of your room he turned around to look at you and smiled but his eyes were teary again.

"Darcy is just a friend, we have similar interests but she's not anything more than that and we definitely dont share the same affinity as both of us do" You gulped as he said that, he must have sensed your jealousy regarding her "No one could ever be you or take your place in my heart. I hope you will always remember that my sweet darling princess"

Your mouth stayed open in shock as he stepped out of the room and then you cried again. He still loved you and you loved him, then why weren't you two together? Why did he allow his fear of losing you to death win over his love? For once in your life why couldn't you just take a chance for the love you felt for him? What more did you have to lose here? You were pondering over this complicated situation when you remembered the saying on the knife he has gifted you.

"If you ever find yourself trapped by the twisted paths of uncertainties, remember that you can always cut through and make a new one" A new path, something in between, maybe tomorrow you'd be able to create that.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

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matttgirlies · 7 months ago

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of drugs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 22

I had just walked into the living room where I found Matt and James arguing about Colonel William. “Goddamn, Dad, call and tell him we’re through. Tear up the goddamn contracts and I’ll pay him whatever percentage we owe him.”

“Listen, Son. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Goddamn right I am. I hate what I’m doing and I’m goddamn bored.”

Matt stomped out the front door, never returning that evening nor the following few. We were mystified. For the first time he was traveling alone—without even one bodyguard. Matt didn’t even know his own phone number; nor did he carry cash. How was he going to get around? Arrangements had always been made for him.

According to Jerry Schilling, Matt caught a commercial plane to Washington, D.C., with the intention of meeting President Nixon. When he arrived he had a sudden reaction to penicillin he had taken for a bad cold and decided to fly to L.A. He called during a stopover in Dallas, asking Jerry to meet him at LAX with a doctor. He wanted treatments for the reaction. Matt rested two days in Los Angeles and then continued his journey back to Washington, D.C., along with Jerry and a fivehundred-dollar check that Jerry arranged to have cashed.

During the flight Matt befriended a young soldier just returning from Vietnam. The soldier must have told him his life story. Before the plane landed Matt asked Jerry for the five hundred dollars and handed it over to the young man, wishing him good luck. Jerry said, “Matt, that’s all we have.” Matt responded with, “Yeah, but he needs it worse than I do, Schilling.”

Later in the flight, he asked the stewardess for a pen and some paper. Matt was never much of a letter writer, but he now wrote President Nixon a letter explaining how he could assist the youth of today in getting off drugs. It was an impassioned plea, mistakes hastily scratched out and corrected as he poured out his thoughts.

Jerry arranged for a limo to pick them up at the airport and drive them to the White House. It was 6:30 a.m. and Matt was dressed in black, including his black cape, sunglasses, his large gold International belt, and a cane. He approached the gate looking, as Jerry put it, like Dracula. His face was a bit swollen, and Jerry feared that his appearance would arouse suspicion.

As soon as Matt explained who he was and that he had a message for the President, he was promised the letter would be given to President Nixon by nine that morning. Matt then had Jerry arrange for him to see John Finlator, Deputy Narcotics Director in Washington. Matt truly wanted to help kids get off street drugs. Another purpose of Matt’s trip was to try to acquire a Federal Narcotics badge for himself.

Matt was an avid badge collector. He had detective, police, and sheriff badges from all over the nation and the narc badge represented some kind of ultimate power to him. In Matt’s mind that badge would give him the right to carry any prescribed drug he had on his person. The badge would also give Matt and his Boston Mafia the right to carry arms. With the Federal Narcotics badge he could legally enter any country both wearing guns and carrying any drugs he wished.

His obsession with obtaining this badge was triggered by a private eye named John O’Grady whom Matt had hired to handle a paternity suit. O’Grady showed Matt his Federal Narc badge, and Matt’s mind started clicking immediately: How could he get one himself?

John O’Grady mentioned that John Finlator was the man Matt should see.

Matt told Jerry to wait at the hotel in case the President called while Matt himself went to see Finlator. Within an hour, Jerry received a call from Matt, saying that his request had been denied by Finlator. Jerry was surprised at Matt’s emotional state. He sounded near tears when he said, “He won’t let me have the badge.” Jerry was able to lift his spirits by telling him he’d just received a call from the White House. “The President read your letter and wants to see you in twenty minutes.”

Walking into the White House was no easy feat, even for Matt Sturniolo. The guards were friendly but cautious as they checked him out. Jerry too was searched before entering the Oval Office along with Sonny West, whom Jerry had called to join them. Sonny had been mystified by the call and was awestruck when he realized he was about to meet the President of the United States.

Matt was led separately into the Oval Office. Jerry and Sonny were told they had to wait outside, though there was some slight chance they’d meet the President later. According to Jerry, they were brought into the Oval Office in less than a minute. Jerry knew that if there was a way to get them in, Matt would do it, and he had come through. Not even the President was immune to his charm.

When Jerry and Sonny entered they saw that Matt had made himself right at home. He introduced everyone and encouraged the President to give Jerry and Sonny cuff links, and was not shy in asking for mementos to take home to their wives. By the time he left the Oval Office he had added this most important badge to his collection. He emerged smiling, a different Matt from the one who a few hours before was emotionally upset. Nixon overruled Finlator’s decision and had the badge sent to the Oval Office, where he could present it to Matt.

The argument about Colonel that started this escapade was never mentioned again.

Our marriage was now part-time. He wanted freedom to come and go as he pleased—and he did. When he was home, he was attentive and loving as father and husband. But it was clearly understood that I was mainly responsible for the parenting of Charlotte.

An incident occurred which made me realize that I needed to spend more time with Charlotte. She, Matt, and I were about to sit for a family portrait. I was dressing her while her nurse combed her hair. Then, as I started for the set, Charlotte refused to go with me. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Come on, honey.”

“No, no,” she kept saying, hanging on to her nurse. When she started to cry, I got nervous and short-tempered, taking her by the hand and urging, as if a child could decipher my logic, “But you’ve got to be happy Char! You’re going to take pictures with Mommy and Daddy.”

Each shot was an effort as we tried to coax her to laugh. For a moment we would be successful but then tears would reappear. She even cried sitting on her daddy’s lap as I bribed her with toys and little dolls to get a smile.

That’s when it hit me. My God, she’s so attached to the nurse that she doesn’t want to leave her. Now I knew I had to find more time to be with her. She had been affected by my own predicament. Busy centering my life around Matt, even during his absences, I had neglected not only my needs but my daughter’s as well.

I was torn between the two of them. When he was home I wanted to be with him, without other responsibilities, but I also wanted to be with Charlotte, knowing how much she needed me.

I began taking Charlotte to parks, afternoon parties, and daily swimming lessons at the YWCA, and I convinced myself that soon I’d no longer have to fake it with toys and lollipops and ice cream cones to get her to smile at me.

She would sit between Matt and me at the dinner table, squeezing spinach through her hands and smearing it on her face. Matt tried to convince himself that he found all this adorable, but the fact of the matter was that he was finicky about his food. With a goodnatured laugh he would excuse himself, telling the maid, “We’ll be eating in the den. Char will join us after she’s finished playing with her meal.”

When Matt was away from home, which unfortunately was most of the time in those days, I continued to dispatch my regular care packages full of pictures and home movies documenting every inch of Charlotte’s growth. When he was with us, I encouraged him to participate in Easter-egg hunts and other outings, inviting Nate, Amber, their children, and other family friends to join us.

Charlotte and I visited him in Vegas for her birthdays, having huge parties in the suite, where she received everything from slot machines to two Saint Bernard puppies (a gift of Colonel William’s) to an entire room filled with balloons—everything, in short, a two- or threeyear-old shouldn’t have and couldn’t appreciate.

It was important to me that Matt be home for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but he’d invariably call and say he couldn’t make it, then try to compensate by bringing home extravagant gifts like a marble jewel box filled with diamond rings, necklaces, and earrings, or a whole wardrobe of handpicked designer clothes from a boutique in Vegas. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want the furs and jewels—I had all I could possibly use—I just wanted him home. It was a constant effort, single-handedly trying to keep up family traditions.

Although Matt much preferred to spoil Charlotte, he did discipline her from time to time. Once he paddled her for writing all over a beautiful velvet couch with crayons. Then he immediately went into a panic, wanting me to assure him that he’d done the right thing and that Charlotte wouldn’t hold it against him. When I told him, “If you hadn’t spanked her, I’d have,” he felt better. The only other time he touched her in anger was after we’d repeatedly warned her not to go near the pool and she did.

By the time Charlotte was four, she realized she could manipulate the help. Whenever one of them refused to do something for her, she’d threaten, “I’m gonna tell my daddy and you’re going to get fired.” Since none of them wanted her going to Matt, they’d let her get her way, from staying up until all hours and skipping nightly baths to staying home from school. The result was that Charlotte had trouble learning what was right and wrong and what she could and couldn’t do.

“You don’t treat people that way,” I told her. “It’s abusive. Yes, they work for your father. But you don’t go around threatening them.” Used to seeing people jump at her father’s command, Charlotte took years to overcome this habit.

Since Matt had started performing again, our home on Hillcrest had become so public that we could scarcely get in and out of the drive. Photographers actually concealed themselves in our backyard, making their presence known at the most inopportune moments. Once, we were relaxing at the pool, sunbathing, when I leaned over and gave Matt a lingering kiss. He whispered, “What’s that noise? Shhh, be quiet. Sonny! Jerry! It’s a goddamn camera clicking off!” Matt jumped up and they all headed after the poor man, Matt leading, shouting obscenities and threats. This was one member of the press who I’m sure never returned.

In our three years on Hillcrest, we’d gradually outgrown the house. Charlotte and her nurse shared one room, Charlie had the other, and Patsy and Gee and their new baby occupied the cottage out back. Matt felt we needed more room; he wanted Sonny on call and close by. Discussions about a new home took on a new urgency.

When a couple of old regulars, broke and jobless, showed up at our door, Matt took pity on them and put them up in our living room. I awoke in the early morning to the sound of blaring music and found the two had passed out from drinking Jack Daniel’s and Coke. Half-empty glasses were strewn about the room and ashes littered the carpet. I felt my home was being turned into a boarding house.

“They have no respect for anything,” I complained to Matt later that day. “What if they fall asleep with cigarettes in their hands? We’ll all go up in flames. How long do you intend for them to stay?” I was making no secret of my disapproval. “I don’t want Charlotte around this.”

“You’re right, Honey. Maybe I’ll just head out for Palm Springs tonight.”

The search for a new home led us to Holmby Hills, an exclusive area of sprawling estates between Bel Air and Beverly Hills. We found a traditional two-story house, well-situated on a hill, surrounded by two acres of wellmanicured lawns and orange groves. It was larger than our other Los Angeles homes, with a high fence and forbidding gates to assure our privacy.

I had hoped that this home would redirect his attention to the family and that his weekends away in Palm Springs would now be spent with us. He had his own office, his own den, his own game room, his own theater, a breakfast room for private meals, and a dining room for family and friends. It was my intention to decorate this home exclusively to his liking, with ideas carried over from the Hillcrest house, which had been his favorite.

The house cost around $335,000, a little over the budget that we had in mind. With some persistence on our part, James warily let me hire a professional to help furnish it. This would be the first house I’d decorated from scratch and I found it tremendously exciting—having plans drawn up, choosing color schemes, fabrics, wall coverings, and antiques. I loved hunting for special pieces of furniture: a china cabinet that concealed a television set, old trunks to be used as coffee tables, and antique vases to convert into lamps. I was so excited with the project that I persuaded Matt not to look at the preliminary stages and to wait until everything was completed. Decorating became my passion. I found the challenge so absorbing that I was able to forget my worries over our relationship. Instead of pondering my loneliness, I was engaged in constructive work that required all the flair, imagination, and organizational ability I could summon.

At this time another fulfilling and liberating force entered my life—karate. It had been Matt’s love and hobby for years, and when I first took it up, it was just another of my efforts to get his attention and approval, as in the past when I’d enrolled in French classes because he liked the language, took flamenco dancing because he was an aficionado, and ballet because he adored dancers’ bodies.

He had long admired kung fu expert Ed Parker, whom he’d met years ago. I began taking private lessons under Ed’s guidance three times a week. I soon learned there was much more to this art than violence. It was a philosophy. I became even more involved when Matt cheered my progress.

On our return to Boston, he slept throughout the day and I enrolled in another oriental discipline, the Korean art of Tae Kwan Do. I became as obsessive as Matt in dedicating myself to this art. A mandatory requirement was memorizing forms, katas, and stances in the Korean language as well as learning the history of Tae Kwan Do.

The training was incredibly exacting. Over and over we’d execute the same movement until perfected. Perspiration poured into my eyes and yet, if I wiped it away, it would mean one hundred pushups under the watchful eyes of the entire classroom, a humiliation I did not desire and managed to avoid.

Now I could understand Matt’s enslavement to karate. It was an accomplishment, an achievement of confidence and physical mastery of self. In 1972, while Matt was performing in Vegas, I met one of the top karate experts in the United States at the time, Mike Stone. On this particular evening he was acting bodyguard to a prominent record producer. After the show they came to visit Matt backstage. Everyone was more impressed with Stone than with the boisterous tycoon he was protecting. Matt was complimentary and he, Sonny, and Red had numerous questions. Several years earlier we had watched Stone at a tournament in Hawaii and we’d admired his fighting technique.

Later that evening, up in the Imperial Suite, Matt encouraged me to train with Mike. “He has that killer quality. Nothing on two legs can beat him. I’ve been impressed with him since the first time I saw him fight. He’s a real badass—I like the cat’s style.”

Back in Los Angeles I made arrangements with Mike to drive out to his studio later in the week and sit in on one of his classes. It was a long forty-five-minute drive.

Elvis was right. Mike exuded confidence and style, as well as a good deal of personal charm and wit. A deep friendship would develop. Because of the distance, I decided to continue my training with a friend of his, Chuck Norris, who had a studio closer to my home. Mike would sometimes come to Chuck’s studio as a guest trainer.

I was emerging from Elvis’s closed world, becoming aware of how sheltered my existence had been. Mike and Chuck introduced me to popular Japanese martial-arts films such as the Blind Swordsman series, and with Mike I attended karate tournaments locally and in neighboring counties, taking home movies and still photos of top karate fighters. I wanted to capture their individual styles so I could share them with Elvis, hoping this was something we could enjoy in common. In the end, though, I made a whole new circle of friends with whom I felt accepted for myself. The martial arts gave me such confidence and assurance that I began to experience my feelings and express my emotions as never before. Accustomed to suppressing my anger, I could honestly vent it now without the fear of accusations or explosions. I stopped apologizing for my opinions and laughing at jokes I didn’t find amusing. A transformation had begun in which fear and indifference had no place. Along with this new confidence, off came my false eyelashes and heavy makeup, the jewels and flashy clothes. All devices that I’d depended upon for security I now shed.

I was seeing myself for the first time, and it was going to take a while for me to get used to the image. I had a chance to observe marriages outside our immediate circle, where the woman had just as much say as a man in everyday decisions and long-term goals. I was confronted with the harsh realization that living the way I had for so long was very unnatural and detrimental to my well-being. My relationship with Mike had now developed into an affair.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - i feel like u guys will kill me after the next chapter.. all im saying is get ur tissues!🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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lokis-dark-queen · 1 year ago

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Even in the Dark, I Feel your Resistance

Avenger Loki/Avenger Reader Fluff

Summary: You are terrified of the dark and all the scary things that could be lurking in it. After recalling a special memory with Loki, you go to him once again for comfort in the form of cuddles and deep conversations.

Warnings/Notes: Rated E for everyone! Loki tried to act cold and mean for a millisecond but he breaks pretty easy. This was an old request that I couldn’t see until now thanks to my inbox being practically nonexistent for me *rolls eyes*. But the problem is solved so we’re all good!

Request By: @lokihiddleston4

Word count: 2.3k

*header from Pinterest*

You stared silently at your bed as you prepared to turn the lights out, fearful of the inevitable darkness that would soon consume your room. You were ashamed of your fear, you were an adult! Not just any adult but an Avenger, you lived with them in their highly guarded tower that housed literal super soldiers and gods! Yet here you were, afraid of the dark of all things.

You had fought villains and monsters, victoriously living another day to tell the tale. The dark wouldn’t hurt you, would it? Maybe it was what could possibly be lurking in the shadows that scared you. And after your most recent mission that involved hunting down mutilated alien monsters that were straight out of a nightmare, sleep seemed unreachable.

You never told anyone about your fear, well, no one except Loki. The dark, brooding god who many feared somehow got that information out of you.

–

It all happened one stormy night when the team arrived at the tower well after dark, soaking wet from the rain. The tower was dark, every corner hidden by a shadow. Tony claimed that the generators had failed and the elevators were down, therefore everyone would have to climb the dark stairs to return to their rooms. Damn Stark and his iffy technology, perhaps he should properly test it against harsh conditions instead of immediately making it the prime source of power for the tower which housed and employed hundreds if not thousands of people.

Everyone found flashlights or used their phones to find their way back. You, however, forgot your phone in your room that was many stories above your head. Everyone departed quickly, the only person who you could ask for help was Loki as he used the glow of his sedir that he had manifested into a ball of light in his hand. He seemed to stay behind for longer than the others, to this day you don't know why.

“L-Loki?” You recalled stuttering his name, trying your best to hide your fear.

“Yes, agent?” He asked.

“Can I walk with you? I forgot my phone and I couldn’t find a flashlight. I mean, we're on the same floor so it shouldn't be an issue I hope.”

You couldn’t see him well until the room lit up with a flash of lightning, causing him to tense up, “Of course, agent. Don’t fall behind.” He turned around to continue his journey back to his room.

You remembered your struggle to keep up with him amongst all those flights of stairs, his long legs carried him significantly faster than yours could. Eventually you tripped on a stair in your attempts to catch up, letting out a small yelp as you fell to your knees. The darkness wrapped around you as you stayed there, too scared to move.

The darkness soon drifted away as an orb of light came towards you and a hand reached out to you.

“Are you hurt?” Loki asks, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“N-no, I don’t- I don’t think so.” You didn’t mean to cry in front of him, you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?” His deep voice went soft, a deft finger met your cheek as he wiped a tear from your face.

Shame flooded you, how could you tell him such an embarrassing fear?

“I just don’t like the dark.” You choked.

“You are afraid of it?” He asks.

You nod, confirming his words, “Terrified.”

“Come here.” He reached his hand out, offering for you to take it. You gladly did so, needing the support of another. He helped you up and pulled you close to him. You recalled his scent, the wet pieces of inky hair that framed his face. He was normally so well kept, not a hair out of place. He looked so raw, so vulnerable. “Hold on to me, okay? I promise to walk slower.”

“Thank you.” You croaked, your arm now locked with his.

He walked you all the way back to your room that night. You recalled how his muscles would tense underneath his shirt at every rumble of thunder or strike of lightning. You didn’t think too much about it as you firmly held his arm, every thought of your fear melted away when you were with him. It was a feeling that no one else had ever made you feel.

–

You pulled yourself out of your head, remembering where you were right now. The thought of Loki’s support gave you the strength to turn off the light before you ran and jumped into your bed, taking cover under the sheets. They gave you a fleeting moment of safety before you looked at the dark room surrounding you. Pale moonlight seeped through the small cracks where your curtains failed to meet, flooding small pieces of your room with the subtle light. Was it your head or did you see something move out of the corner of your eye? You had no pet or other living thing in the room, so obviously it was nothing… Right?

Your eyes were wide as they stared at the shadows caused by the little slivers of moonlight, you recalled every piece of furniture in your room trying to comfort yourself, they were only shadows. You counted your dresser, your couch, your television, inanimate objects that were harmless. The shadows stared back at you, at least you thought they did. If you stayed here you knew you would not be sleeping.

You didn’t think twice as you shot out of bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you ran out your door, using the flashlight on your phone to light your path. After that night, you never forgot it again. Your feet led you somewhere safe, to someone safe, someone who understood you. And you prayed that he was awake to hear your knock at the door.

Sure enough, the door opened after you heard muffled footsteps on the other side.

“It is late.” He states the obvious.

“That’s the point. I can’t sleep, the shadows-” You began to explain before he moved aside, inviting you in.

“I know darling, come in.”

You carefully walk past his tall frame, turning your head to hide your blush. You had no idea he slept shirtless.

“I apologize if I woke you, I can go back.” You take it back.

“Well, we can’t let those pesky shadows get to you, can we?” He leans down slightly, brushing a tangled strand of hair behind your ear.

You smile and shake your head, “No.”

Loki walks back to his side of the bed as you stay frozen in place, your stomach feeling as if it were a butterfly cage. Only a lamp lit the room as he pulled the green comforter back, patting the empty spot next to him, motioning for you to join him.

You walk over to join him, still wrapped in your own blanket from your room. Loki gave you a soft smile as the bed dipped next to him from your body meeting his mattress. He reaches out for your blanket that covers your body.

“May I?” He asks for permission to unwrap it from your body.

“But I need it!” You protest, holding it tighter.

“No you won’t, not with me here. I’ve got you, nothing ever will harm you.” He promises.

You take his word and loosen the blanket as his hand takes over to remove it and place it aside on the bed. You wore a loose tee with short cotton shorts to bed, his eyes lingered before looking back into yours, your heart skipping a beat as they met. Surely he noticed the pink tint on your cheeks, you noticed he had it too.

“Get comfortable, my dear.” He says before turning around to turn off the lamp at his bedside.

“Loki?” You cautiously warn him.

“It’s okay, just close your eyes.” He softly demands.

You do as he says, jumping slightly at the slight ‘click’ of the lamp turning off. You couldn’t stop yourself as your eyes came open once again to meet the darkness around you. There was something in the darkness this time, however, It didn’t scare you. Loki moved next to you, wrapping his arms around your form next to him. You buried your face into his chest, his familiar scent filled your lungs like a drug.

“What did I tell you? You didn’t keep your eyes closed.” He laughs smoothly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” You apologize into his skin.

“Don’t worry darling, nothing will come to harm you.” He assures you, playing with your hair against his pillow.

“I know that but I’m still scared when the lights go off and I don’t know why. It is so childish.” You shame yourself.

Loki pulls you up to him, your faces so close. You can feel his warm breath in tandem with his gentle touch that slowly calmed you to a state of fearless comfort.

“It is a fear, my love. We all have them, not just children. Some of us may grow out of them, some of us may not. It’s just an inevitable part of living.” His deep voice seeps into every pore of your skin.

“What are you afraid of, Loki? If you don't want to tell me it’s fine.” You tell him, not wanting him to feel pressured. He is doing more for you than you ever thought he would.

“Thunder.” He describes his fear in one word.

You stay silent for a second, not expecting such a quick response from the god. “But your brother-” You begin before he cuts you off.

“I know. I had to grow up with rumbles of thunder shaking the palace walls as my brother discovered his power. Sleep constantly escaped my grasp at night. I was too ashamed to tell him to stop, instead I told my mother who scolded him properly.” He gives a little laugh as he recalls the memory, “I’ve gotten over it, mostly. It still gets to me sometimes.”

You remembered the night that he walked you back to your room, when he would jump slightly whenever a clap of thunder shook the walls. “You hide it so well, I would have never known.”

“It helps when I have you by my side. I suppose that night we were helping each other face our fears.” He grins in the dark, inching his face closer to yours, so close that your noses were now lightly brushing against each other.

A comfortable moment of silence was shared between you two. He brought his hand up from underneath the covers and placed it over yours that was tucked by your chest. He wanted to make a move, you could tell. But he was so scared, so cautious, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Little did he know that in this moment, it was the most comfort you had ever felt in your life. You inched even closer, your lips ghosting against each other.

Loki could only ignore his feelings for you for so long before they would come to a head. He felt so strong that night that he helped you, despite the storm. Having someone rely on him and trust him, it was a feeling that he had never felt before.

“Do you want to know why I stayed behind that night, even after everyone else departed?” He reminds you of that night once again.

“Why?” You ask in a hushed tone.

“Because I wanted to help you. And I wanted you to stay with me so that I wouldn’t be alone.” He confesses.

“Why me specifically?” You question him with flushed curiosity.

“I wasn’t sure at the time. You just had this presence that comforted me, I didn’t understand it.” Your fear of the dark is nearly forgotten as you listen to him speak.

“Do you understand it now, the feeling?” Your fingers intertwined with his hand that was resting on yours.

“If I'm not mistaken, I think we both do. You are… different. In a good way, of course. I’ve never been this comfortable, this honest with any other person, not even my own family. I’m drawn to you, my love, if I may have the pleasure of calling you that?” He lifts your hand up from beneath the sheets to give it a soft kiss. Even in the dark, you can see the sincerity in his beautiful eyes.

Your smile is hidden by the darkness surrounding you two. Instead of instilling you in fear, it wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The dark made the perfect background for such a deep and intimate conversation as his warmth surrounded you, protecting you from the outside world. You didn’t answer, no words could describe what you were feeling right now. You didn’t need them anyway. Instead you confirmed your feelings with a light kiss to his lips beneath the cover of night. It was short and sweet, he barely had time to process what just happened as he silently gasped.

“Does that answer your question?” You grasp his hand tighter.

Loki groans in content, moving his body to settle even deeper into the mattress. Your legs tangled with his and your face found a home in the crook of his neck, his black strands of hair tickled your forehead before he leaned down to kiss it.

“It does.”

It was there, in the arms of your god, you drifted into a peaceful sleep. A deep sleep with no frights or nightmares. The darkness, the one thing that you feared the most, surrounded your bodies and enveloped your space. Your old fear turning into your closest friend, making it seem that the whole world melted away and the two of you remained. He was the only thing that mattered, and to him, you were his whole world. A world with no fear or darkness, only love and peaceful nights, forever.

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year ago

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End of the Line: Hank Loza x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Home For Christmas!

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @librarian1002 @words-and-seeds @elizabeththebat @fanfic-n-tabulous @broiderie @thanossexual @keyweegirlie @adaydreamaway08 @oklahomapeach

The Finale of The Convention Storyline

Hank doesn’t expect you to make it home for Christmas. You’re in Berlin, doing an interview and photoshoot spread for one of the magazines you work for. You’d promised him you’d be home on the twentieth, he’d held off decorating his place until then thinking it was something the two of you could do together. You’d called on the day to tell him you’d had to switch your flight to Christmas Eve because the tattoo artist you were interviewing’s availability had changed.

He ends up putting up the tree and hanging up the baubles by himself because he’s bringing his mom here from the home on Christmas Day and he wants it to feel festive.

When you call him on Christmas Eve, he knows it’s bad news. You were supposed to be on your flight two hours ago. He has plans to pick you up from the airport with Riz’s pickup truck. A storm has moved in, you tell him, they’re grounding all flights until it shifts. He puts down the phone with a heavy heart. He knows you’re trying but he is too. Your career is important, he gets that, but he’s starting to feel less and less of a priority.

It’s Christmas Day when he gets a knock on the door. He’s wearing an apron when he answers, the turkey in the oven. His mom is in his Lazy Boy watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.

You’re standing at the door with your rucksack slung over your shoulder, the one you use for travelling. You look exhausted, he guesses a fourteen-hour flight will do that to you.

Over dinner it becomes clear you’re fatigued from your journey. You’re almost falling asleep at the table. You try to soldier through it, but there’s more than a couple of times he sees your eyes flicker closed.

It’s a repeat performance of your last few trips back to Santo Padre because even when you’re here, you’re not really present. You’re run down and tired, prepacking for your next trip. You’re trying to make this work the best you can, but the truth is it isn’t. You aren’t around to support him when he needs you, and he can’t be there to share your experiences.

It’s the next day he addresses the issue. You’re sitting down to breakfast, a cup of coffee in your hand and your rucksack already packed and by the door because tomorrow you’re shooting off to Naples.

“I think we both know this isn’t working.” He says as he takes your hand in his. “It’s nobody’s fault. I think we’re in two separate places, I want to settle and you…”

He trails off, struggling to find the words.

“I need more than you can give.” He says quietly.

He’s right, you know he is. The travelling back and forth to Santo Padre is leaving you stretched too thin. Usually, you move from assignment to assignment but the fact you keep coming here, eats up your time, your energy. By the time you make it back, you’re barely here a day or two before you have to go again. The time you do spend with Hank is limited and truthfully, you’re usually recovering from the flight in.

“I know.” You say softly, your eyes stinging. “I thought we could make this work…”

Hank reaches out, his thumb chasing away the tears that trickle down your cheek.

“We tried right?” He says, his voice breaking. “I think that’s all that matters, the two of us tried.”

Love Hank? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Want more Hank? Check out his Masterlist here!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#hank loza #hank loza x reader #hank loza x you #hank loza mayans #mayans fx #mayans #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023

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peachjagiya · 4 months ago

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Let me just say how much I am enjoying all the fck yous and the fck offs I see lately in all our tkk blogs because although I feel sad that some asks are stressing you all out at least you said enough is enough.

stay strong soldiers

Hahaha I noticed too.

We're SICK OF IT.

I feel a bit like "Tae lies" was my last straw in this particular instance because:

a; nothing to lie about. Jungkook literally pictured having done exactly what Tae said he did, eyewitness accounts who saw only his name on flight log proving he flew there alone.

b; senseless Tae bashing at a PEAK. "so pretty I could die" is just opinion so can't possibly be a lie. But its a threat to them because it goes a little way to supporting Tae not being the girl mad straight lothario they want him to be. They can't possibly have that because it throws a bowling ball at their flimsy house of cards. So they accuse Tae of endangering JK, and doing this without talking to JK and omg pearl clutching about things they only care about when it's Tae doing it.

C; Removing any agency from Jungkook. An absolute blanket refusal to acknowledge any role he had in this. I find it quite sinister, actually, and why I'm most pissed off.

JK confirms skydiving prior to any of us having a solitary clue about Hawaii. JK gets on the flight by himself. JK talks about snowboarding, a story Tae has not yet mentioned (as far as I can remember). He's an active participant and yet they have just ignored it fully and I find that more scary than them being vocal to be honest.

So yeah. That's why I'm particularly fed up. I don't expect jikookers to pack up camp and move on with their lives but the desperation to debunk has shown them up completely as the Tae AND Jungkook antis that they are.

💜

#my asks #taekook

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buckyssoldat · 2 months ago

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Chapter 58: Northern Lights

Warnings: major character death, mature themes, mentions of loss and grief, mental health struggles, mentions of sexual themes

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

All I want is nothing more

To hear you knocking at my door

'Cause if I could see your face once more

I could die as a happy man I'm sure

As Alice boarded her flight to Reykjavik, she felt a mixture of excitement and curiosity about her next destination. Iceland was known for its breathtaking landscapes, and Alice hoped that the serene beauty of the place would provide her with further clarity and inspiration on her journey.

After a smooth flight, Alice arrived in Reykjavik and checked into a charming guesthouse in the city centre. The cozy atmosphere and friendly staff immediately made her feel at home. Eager to explore, she set out to see what the city had to offer.

One afternoon, as she wandered through the streets of Reykjavik, she stumbled upon a quirky sign that caught her attention, The Icelandic Phallological Museum. Intrigued and amused, Alice decided to check it out.

The museum was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Filled with specimens and exhibits showcasing the phallic anatomy of various animals, it was both bizarre and fascinating. As she wandered through the exhibits, Alice couldn’t help but laugh at the oddity of it all. It was the perfect opportunity to share a light-hearted moment with an old friend.

She pulled out her phone and opened FaceTime, calling Natasha. After a few rings, Natasha’s face appeared on the screen, her eyes lighting up with surprise and delight.

“Alice! Long time no see! Where are you?” Natasha asked, her tone cheerful.

Alice grinned, turning the camera around to show the museum. “Nat, you won’t believe where I am right now.”

Natasha’s eyes widened as she took in the scene. “Is that… what I think it is?”

Alice laughed. “Yep, welcome to The Icelandic Phallological Museum. Thought you could use a good laugh.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Only you, Alice. Only you.”

They spent the next few minutes exploring the museum together, with Alice showing Natasha the various exhibits and Natasha making witty comments that had Alice in stitches. It was a much-needed moment of levity amidst the more serious undertones of her journey.

“So, how’s everything going with you?” Natasha asked, her tone shifting to a more concerned note.

Alice sighed, feeling the weight of her journey once more. “It’s been… a lot. But I’m getting there. I think I’m starting to figure things out.”

Natasha nodded, her expression supportive. “You’ve always been strong, Alice. I have no doubt you’ll find your way.”

Alice smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude, for her friend’s unwavering support. “Thanks, Nat. That means a lot.”

They continued to chat for a while, catching up on each other’s lives and sharing stories. Natasha’s presence, even through the screen, was a comforting reminder of the bonds that had shaped Alice’s life.

As their conversation came to an end, Natasha offered some parting words of wisdom. “Take your time, Alice. And remember, you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here for you, whenever you need us.”

Alice nodded, her heart swelling with affection for her friend. “I know, Nat. Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

With a final wave, they ended the call, and Alice put her phone away, feeling a renewed sense of determination. She continued her exploration of Reykjavik, taking in the sights and sounds of the vibrant city.

Later that evening, she joined a tour group heading out of the city to see the Northern Lights. As they drove away from the city lights, Alice felt a heavy sense of anticipation. When they finally arrived at a remote viewing spot, the sky was clear, and the first hints of the aurora began to appear.

Alice stood alone, her breath visible in the frigid air, as the Northern Lights danced across the sky. The vibrant colours shifted and changed in mesmerizing patterns, their beauty only deepening her sense of loss. She felt a profound connection to the universe, as if the lights were a reminder of the beauty that existed even in the darkest times, but also of the void left by Bucky’s absence.

Her thoughts turned to Bucky, the memory of him disappearing into dust during the battle with Thanos still haunting her. The pain was sharp, a constant ache that never seemed to dull. She missed him deeply, their bond a ghostly presence that lingered with every step she took.

Pulling out her phone, she opened the last message thread she had with him. Her fingers trembled as she typed out a message, knowing he would never read it but needing to express her feelings.

Hey, Buck. I’m in Iceland, watching the Northern Lights. They’re really beautiful. I wish you were here to see them with me. I miss you. So much.

She hit send, knowing it would go nowhere. It was a small, futile gesture, a way to keep his memory alive and to cope with the overwhelming sadness. As she looked back up at the sky, tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and freezing on her cheeks.

“I love you, Buck,” she whispered to the glowing sky, her voice breaking. “I hope you’re at peace, wherever you are.”

The Northern Lights continued their ethereal dance, a silent witness to her grief. Alice stood there for a long time, feeling the cold seep into her bones, but unwilling to leave the spot where she felt closes to him. The beauty of the lights seemed a heartbreaking reminder that life continued, even amidst the pain of loss, and she vowed to carry his memory with her, wherever her journey might lead.

Alone under the vast Iceland sky, Alice felt the crushing weight of her solitude. She remembered the way Bucky’s eyes lit up when he smiled, the warmth of his touch, and the sound of his laughter. Every memory was a knife in her heart, cutting deeper with the realization that those moments were gone forever.

“Why did you have to go?” she cried out, her voice raw with anguish.

There was no answer, only the relentless dance of the lights above, indifferent to her pain. Alice felt the emptiness around her, the vast expanse of the universe that had taken Bucky away. It was a cruel reminder of her powerlessness, her inability to change the past or bring him back.

As the night grew colder, Alice stayed there, her tears mingling with the snow. She whispered his name over and over, as if by saying it, she could summon him back to her side. But the world remained silent, the stars above unyielding in their distant beauty.

Alice knew she had to move forward, but at that moment, all she could do was grieve. She stayed until the lights began to fade, the darkness swallowing the last traces of the aurora. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet, feeling the numbness in her limbs and the deep ache in her heart.

With one last look at the sky, she whispered, “Goodbye, Bucky. I will always love you.” And with that, she turned and walked back to the waiting bus, the weight of her loss heavy on her shoulders, the road ahead uncertain and lonely.

Alice ended up staying in Reykjavik until January 2021, spending Christmas and New Year there. Unlike the other places she had visited, she didn’t make new friends in Iceland. The city’s charm and kindness of its people were there, but Alice felt a distance she couldn’t bridge. The Christmas markets, the decorations, and the festive spirit all felt muted, as if she was watching life from behind a glass wall.

Every night, she would venture out to see the Northern Lights, finding solace in their ethereal beauty. These nightly visits became her ritual, a way to feel connected to Bucky despite the vast emptiness left by his absence. She would stand under the shimmering sky and talk to him, her breath visible in the icy air.

It wasn’t always sad. Sometimes, she would tell him funny things that happened to her during the day, like the time she slipped on the ice and a kind stranger helped her up, or the quirky local traditions she discovered. She would laugh, imagining his reactions, his teasing comments, the way his eyes would crinkle with amusement.

Other times, she would cry, the pain of his loss overwhelming her. She would whisper her fears and regrets, her longing for the future they had planned together. The nights seemed to hold her grief, the auroras a silent witness to her sorrow and her love.

One particularly cold night, Alice stood in the snow, looking up at the sky. The Northern Lights were especially vibrant, their colours dancing in mesmerizing patterns. She felt a deep ache in her chest as she spoke softly into the night.

“Hey Bucky, today I saw a child playing with a snowman, and it reminded me of that time we built one together in Italy. Remember how we gave it that ridiculous hat? You said it needed personality.”

She chuckled softly, tears glistening in her eyes. “I miss you so much. It’s hard without you, but these lights… they make me feel closer to you somehow. I like to think you’re out there, watching them with me.”

As the colours shifted and changed above her, Alice felt a mix of emotions – sadness, love, a touch of peace. She stayed there for hours, talking to Bucky, sharing her heart with the night sky.

Christmas came and went quietly. Alice tried to find some joy in the holiday, decorating a small tree in her guesthouse room and buying herself a gift. But the emptiness was always there, a shadow over everything. On Christmas Eve, she stood once more under the Northern Lights, her heart heavy with memories.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky,” she whispered. “I love you.”

The lights seemed to pulse in response, a fleeting illusion of a connection. Alice wiped her tears away, feeling a small, fragile sense of hope. She knew she had to keep going, to live the life they had both fought for, even if it was without him.

As the final days of 2020 slipped away, Alice found herself reflecting on the year that had passed. It had been a tough year, but also filled with resilience and strength. Reykjavik, with its stark winter beauty, had become a silent companion in her grief. The snow-covered streets with the shimmering Northern Lights had witnessed her tears, her whispered conversations with Bucky, and the slow, painful process of healing.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and the city was alive with anticipation. Fireworks lit up the sky, casting a brilliant glow over the dark landscape. Alice watched from her hotel window, feeling a strange mix of emotions. She missed Bucky more than ever, the ache in her heart a constant reminder of his absence. Yet, there was also a flicker of hope, a tiny spark that refused to be extinguished.

She wrapped herself in a warm coat and ventured outside, drawn once again to the Northern Lights. The auroras were faint that night, but still present, their gentle colours weaving through the stars. Alice stood alone in the quiet, the distant sounds of celebration reaching her ears. She took a deep breath and began to speak, her words carried away by the cold wind.

“Buck, it’s New Year’s Eve. I can’t believe it’s been over two years since you… since you are gone. I’ve missed you every single day. I wish you were here with me, to see this beautiful place, to start the new year together…”

She paused, looking up at the sky, the faint colours of the auroras reflecting in her eyes. “I don’t know what this next year will bring, but I promise to keep going. For you, for us. I’ll try to find happiness again, even if it’s hard. I’ll keep talking to you, keep sharing my life with you. I love you, Buck.”

As the clock struck midnight, Alice closed her eyes and made a silent wish. She wished for strength, for peace, and for the courage to face whatever the future held. The fireworks exploded above, a dazzling display of light and colour, and for a moment, she felt a sense of connection, as if Bucky was there with her, sharing the moment.

As the new year approached, Alice made a silent promise to herself and to Bucky. She would carry his memory with her, let it be a source of strength rather than sorrow. The road ahead was uncertain and lonely, but she would face it with the love they had shared, a love that no snap could ever erase. And so, in the cold, beautiful nights of Reykjavik, under the endless dance of the Northern Lights, Alice found a way to hold on an to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

The days after New Year’s turned into weeks, and Alice slowly began to feel a shift within herself. The pain of losing Bucky was still there, a deep scar that would never fully heal, but it was no longer the all-consuming force it once was. She found herself looking forward to each new day, curious about what it might bring. The memories of Bucky became a source of strength, a reminder of the love they had shared.

By the time January came to an end, Alice knew it was time to leave Reykjavik. She had found a measure of peace there, but she also knew that her journey wasn’t over. There were still places to see, experiences to have, and a life to live. She packed her bags with a mix of sadness and anticipation, ready to face whatever came next.

On her last night in Reykjavik, Alice stood under the Northern Lights one final time. The auroras were particularly vibrant, their colours dancing across the sky in a mesmerizing display. She spoke to Bucky, her voice steady and filled with a quiet resolve.

“Thank you, Bucky, for everything. For your love, your strength, your memory. You’ve helped me more than you could ever know. I’ll carry you with me, always. Goodbye, Reykjavik. Goodbye, my love.”

With that, Alice turned and walked away, her heart a little lighter, her steps a little surer. The road ahead was still uncertain, but she was ready to face it, carrying the memory of Bucky and the beauty of the Northern Lights with her.

The next few months, Alice began her journey through Europe. She immersed herself in the art and culture of Italy, wandered the sunlit streets of Spain, and savoured the vibrant life of Portugal. Each place offered new experiences and distractions, but the shadow of her loss was always there. She met people, shared stories, and even found moments of joy.

By October 2021, Alice felt the pull of the north once more and decided to travel to Norway. She found herself in a small village nestled among the fjords and mountains, a place where time seemed to stand still. The cold was intense, but the beauty of the landscape was worth it.

The village was charming, with its snow-covered rooftops and twinkling lights. Alice quickly became fascinated by Norse mythology, spending her days reading about the gods and legends, visiting ancient sites, and talking to the locals about their cultural heritage. She found solace in the stories of Odin, Thor, and Freyja, but it was the tales of Loki that struck a deeper chord. Loki, like Bucky, had been taken away by Thanos, and the memory of his charm made her heart ache.

One evening, while she was enjoying a warm drink at the village pub, she found herself surrounded by curious locals, eager to hear about her travels and the stories she had gathered.

Word had spread quickly through the village that Alice was an Avenger. The locals were fascinated by her presence, and many had joined her in the pub to hear her tales. As she shared stores of her adventures, the conversation inevitably turned to Norse mythology. She mentioned her fascination with Loki, and how his stories resonated with her on a personal level.

An elderly man named Bjorn leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You’ve actually met Loki, haven’t you? The real one, not just the legend.”

Alice hesitated, a mixture of emotions washing over her. She nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve met him.”

The villagers’ eyes widened, and a murmur of excitement ran through the room. Gudrun, the village storyteller, spoke up. “What was he like? Is he anything like the stories?”

Alice took a deep breath, thinking back to her encounters with Loki. “He was… complex. Mischievous and cunning, yes, but there was more to him. He was also capable being charming, and intelligent. He was not just a villain; there was a lot of depth to him.”

The locals nodded, their faces reflecting a mix of amusement and intrigue. Ingrid, a young woman with bright eyes, asked, “Did you ever get to know him personally?”

Alice smiled sorrowfully, feeling a pang of nostalgia. “Yes, I did. More personally than I ever expected.” She paused, realizing she had said too much.

Bjorn leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “It sounds like there’s a story there. Care to share?”

Alice hesitated, but the warmth and genuine interest of the villagers encouraged her to open up. “Loki and I… we had a complicated relationship. There were moments when I saw a different side of him, a side that was vulnerable and even kind. But it was always overshadowed by his nature and the choices he made.”

The room fell silent as the villagers absorbed her words. Gudrun’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “Love and loss, intertwined with myth and reality. It sounds like something out of our old sagas.”

Alice chuckled softly. “I suppose it does. It wasn’t easy, and there were a lot of conflicting emotions. But meeting him, knowing him, it is something I wouldn’t change for anything.”

Ingrid spoke again, her voice soft. “Do you think he ever found peace?”

Alice looked down, her heart heavy with memories. “I hope so. He deserved it, after everything. Despite his flaws, he had a good heart buried deep inside.”

The villagers nodded, a sense of friendship and shared understanding settling over the group. They spent the rest of the evening sharing their own stories and legends, finding common ground in their experiences of love, loss, and the complexity of human nature.

As the night wore on and the crowd began to thin, Bjorn raised his glass in a toast. “To Loki, and to those we’ve loved and lost. May their stories live on in our hearts.”

Alice raised her glass, a small smile playing on her lips. “To Loki.”

With that, they drank, a sense of connection and closure filling the room. Alice knew her journey was far from over, but in that moment, surrounded by new friends and shared stories, she felt a little less alone.

Alice settled into the rhythm of village life in Norway. The long winter nights were filled with the warmth of her new friendships and comfort of shared tales. As the months passed, Alice became a beloved member of the community, her tales of adventure and loss resonating deeply with the villagers.

She found solace in the simple routines of the beauty of the Norwegian landscape. The crisp air, snow-covered mountains, and serene fjords provided a tranquil backdrop for her continued healing. Each day brought new discoveries and small joys, from learning ski to joining in local festivals. She even spent Christmas was Bjorn’s family.

In February, the village prepared for the annual celebration of the Sami National Day. Alice was invited to participate in the festivities, which included traditional music, dance, and a grand feast. She felt a sense of belonging as she joined the villagers in their celebrations, the warmth and hospitality enveloping her like a comforting blanket.

One evening, as she stood on a hill overlooking the village, the Northern Lights appeared once again, painting the sky with their ethereal glow. Alice felt a familiar ache in her heart but also a deep sense of peace. She spoke softly into the night, her words carried away by the cold wind.

“Buck, I wish you could see this. It’s so beautiful here. I’ve found some peace, and I think I’m almost ready to move forward. I love you, Buck.”

The next morning, as the village bustled with activity, Alice prepared to say her goodbyes. The villagers gathered to see her off, their faces reflecting a mixture of sadness and pride. Bjorn, Gudrun, Ingrid, and many others hugged her tightly, their heartfelt words of farewell echoing in her ears.

“Remember, you’re always welcome here,” Gudrun said, her eyes glistening with tears. “You’ve become a part of our family, and we’ll miss you.”

Alice smiled, her heart full. “Thank you for everything. You’ve given me more than you know.”

With one last look at the village she had come to love, Alice set off on the next leg of her journey. Next stop: Sokovia.

tags: @capswife

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