#and crosshair is in such a position of tension where he feels that pain

[andi-o-geyser]

haha guess who finally bit the bullet and watched The Solitary Clone. it was me. *cries*

[happytroopers]

Pent Up // Tech x Reader

Summary: After an awkward wake up call from a rather... entertaining... dream. You spend a week trying to distract yourself from your traitorous mind. It doesn't take long for Tech to catch on.

TW: wet dream, brief mentions of erotic things, nothing outright just a lot of build up and tension

somewhere between pg13 and R, originally I was gonna write the smut but then it sat in my drafts for two years so congrats you're getting a fade to black

18+ MDNI for sure tho

A hand shook your shoulder, shaking the last sensation of your dream away and forcing you awake with a start. A whine died on your lips as your bleary eyes snapped open to meet the eyes of the object of aforementioned dream. Your already blushed cheeks went even hotter as Tech looked down at you in mild concern and heavy curiousness. He was put together, as always, still in his armor except for his helmet. Laying in your bunk in disheveled pajamas, the contrast wasn’t lost on you. You were acutely away of how warm you were, how much you had been squirming in your sleep, how your thighs were clenching, and extremely aware of the slick warmth dampening your pajama bottoms. 

As your mind reeled from the… riveting dream, it switched gears to run overdrive on how to save yourself the embarrassment of being caught having a wet dream. Caught by the one soldier you were mentally assaulting in your sleep… Under Tech’s curious gaze you wanted to melt- and not in the fun way his gaze usually made you want. How loud were you that you not only alerted the genius, but you drawn him away from his projects- something that usually took an explosion or ship crash to do? 

Of course Tech didn’t look uncomfortable in the least, simply waiting for your answer as he removed his hand from your shoulder so you could scramble up into a sitting position, keeping the blanket firmly around your lower half as you batted sleep mussed hair from your face. The only consolation was that while you and Tech hit the rack, Wrecker and Hunter were supposed to be flying while Crosshair filled out his fair share of his share of field reports. 

Tech gave you a once over as you collected yourself, eyebrows creasing as you tried to get your breathing under control. 

"Are you alright, (y/n)?" He asked slowly, watching you curiously as your knees bowed together under your blanket. If you’re eyes weren’t screwed shut from embarrassment, you would’ve seen his Adam’s apple bob at the sight. You cleared your throat to busy trying not to focus on the way his armor accentuated all of his best features in the dim light of the bunks, hoping your voice would maintain some level of propriety. 

"Y-yeah, yeah, Tech, I’m alright. ‘M Fine." You nodded just a little too quick, voice just a hair from being even, so in an attempt to feel out how much damage you did to your dignity in your sleep, you added in false casual airs, "Why do you ask?"

Tech's eyebrow went from creased to quirked, running a hand over his face, "You were tossing and turning, groaning like you were-" 

You didn’t think you could take him continuing or the thought of him watching you so you went with the first excuse that came to mind, "In pain, like I was in pain." 

Voice rushed, your own eyebrows furrowed at what you were saying. Tech looked confused as well- neither of you knew where this was heading. 

"Pain?" He repeated, voice unbelieving but worried, "Are you…injured? Why didn’t you tell me earlier." 

Well, that lie wouldn’t work either. Besides your inability to control your brain, there was nothing wrong with you. And if you couldn’t come up with something, Tech would insist on checking you over. You couldn’t look him in the eye at the moment much less let him touch you after your dream. Wait, dream! 

"Injured? No, no sir." You cringed, you had never once called Tech ’sir’ since you met him, and judging by his… reaction, now wasn’t the time to start, "I had… a nightmare. Yeah, real bad nightmare. Probably gonna talk to the Civ. Enlistment shrink about it, yep." 

Your nodding didn’t do much to convince the Tech, as he just watched your rambling, with a concerned furrowed brow. Running a hand over your face, flung your blanket off your legs quickly as you swung them over the side of your bunk- the middle one. Just high enough that you had to jump, but low enough someone tall like Tech could still look down at you if you were laying down. Too much laying in the dark room with the man (literally of your dreams) had your thoughts spiraling along with your white hot embarrassment- fight or flight was kicking in and you were choosing flight. 

Pushing off the bunk, your bare feet hit the cold floor but you weren’t prepared for how jelly-like your legs would be. Before you could even hit your knees, Tech caught you against his chest. He was warm, and the hopeless romantic in you didn’t fail to notice how you fit perfectly against him or how easily he held you steady, and his chest was firm. Oh stars, don’t let him feel how hard my nipples are. Tech was leaner than his brothers, but no less stronger than his brothers, something that slipped your mind occasionally- only now, as your palms were splayed over his chest it wasn’t so easy to forget. 

His large hands easily encased both of your arms, images flashed through your mind- but it wasn’t your arms he had been holding in your dreams. Eyes fluttering, you shook your head, backing away from the genius as soon as you were sure you wouldn’t fall over. Tech ignored your stammered apologies though you were sure cheeks were practically glowing in the dim light, "(Y/N), are you sure you’re alright? You feel warm, you might have a fever. I think I should-" 

You were pretty sure if you spent one more moment with his hands on you, you would break every single rule about soldier civilian interrelations in the books so you all but wrenched away from him, earning a confused look as you grabbed the first jacket and pair of pants you could find. 

"No time, I’m perfectly fine- hey that’s almost a rhyme-" You stammered, snatching your shoes, "Look at the time, things to fix, no fever here." 

Tech tried to protest but you were already down the hall before he could even grab a medscanner off his belt.

__

I’ve been on this ship too damn long.

You thought to yourself, splashing water on your face. If the interaction with Tech wasn’t enough to keep you from sleeping again, the lingering feelings and memories from your dream kept your skin tingling and your mind swirling around one resident genius. So you gave up sleep. 

Instead, you decided to work, preferably underneath floor panels where engine parts were thrumming with power - where Tech wouldn’t run into you unless he tried. Bonus points for being far away one of the few places on the ship your dream hadn’t contaminated. 

If he can’t see me, I can’t think about- images of lips trailing across skin, pressing into your thighs, thighs over a lean shoulder. You smacked hands on either side of your cheeks to physically halt that train of thought, What is wrong with me?!

The answer was simple, you were the only woman on a ship of five men, one of which you pretty sure you were in love with, had been on active duty nonstop for weeks and you didn’t even have your own room- no action, no breaks, no privacy. 

You worked for a couple hours straight, too embarrassed show your face again. Until, you finally surfaced top pass through the fresher. Clean face, clean thoughts, right? Growling in frustration, you ran a dry towel over your face before shoving your arms back into your work jacket. 

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t even think twice when the fresher door swished open- it was a communal fresher, it wasn’t uncommon for one or more of the Batch to share the space with you at a time. So common in fact, you didn’t even look up from your routine- adjusting your hair, swiping cosmetics on. 

As you peered into the mirror, internally giving yourself a half pep talk, half scolding, the last face that you wanted to see appeared in the reflection behind you.

"Kriff!" You yelped, startled, spinning around so quickly you risked whiplash, instinctively your hands flew to balance yourself against the counter, the cool metal grounding your feverish skin. It was Tech behind you, in his blacks with a towel over his shoulder, watching you in confusion as you met his eyes briefly before your face went scarlet, your eyes dropped- resting anywhere but his. "Tech! Good morning- night… afternoon? No time in space, am I right?" 

The genius’s eye brows crinkled, which you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so busy staring at the floor. Tech took another step forward, bending slightly so he could look at your face and eyes narrowing. He was close enough to touch, the smell of mechanic grease, GAR issue soap, and something so inherently Tech flooded your senses as he asked, "You didn’t get anymore sleep, did you? Are you sure you’re alright, (Y/N)?" 

Another slew of images flashed through your mind, long fingers tilting your chin up, and the last time you were pressed against a counter it wasn’t from this angle, ‘is this alright?’… It was then you realized with his new position, your floor gaze had turned into staring at his abdomen, where his blacks clung to him leaving very little to the imagination. You forced your eyes up to his. 

Between his scent and your own traitorous thoughts, your throat constricted, eyes widening and nostrils flaring slightly, "‘m fine. Gotta go, things need fixing." 

With that, you ducked away from him and quite literally fled the scene for the second time in a matter of hours. Tech watched you go, head tilting to the side. 

"I don’t understand civilians."

—— 

Ridiculous, You thought. I’m an adult, I should be able to control myself. 

The bolt you were tightening popped out of the panel it was supposed to be holding together. 

“Dank Farrik!" You growled, snatching it back and attempting to shove it into place. The first time it skewed to far to the left, and next swaying to the right, and the third it was too far up. Irritated, in rapid succession, you slammed the bolt into the metal over and over- despite it never going into the hole.

 A certain part of your dream popped into your mind.

Don’t think about slamming- or holes. You quickly corrected yourself, but didn’t stop your incessant sla- jamming. 

"I thought being a trained engineer meant knowing how to do something a bit more… technical than that." A drawling voice appeared over your shoulder, the bolt getting plucked out of your fingers and plugged into the ho- opening on the first try. 

"Crosshair." You breathed in recognition, irritation still lacing your tone as you looked over your shoulder. The stir in your stomach thinking it might be Tech fading away into not quite relief, but something less… stirring. The marksman was leaning against the wall you were working on, it wasn’t surprising he sought you out. Aside from Tech, you were close with Crosshair- an odd friendship that no one really understood. "I thought you were next on nav rotation.” 

“Tech came to the cockpit with a pretty interesting concerns. He switched shifts with me, said he had too much to think about to sleep. So, he’s up top with Hunter." The marksmen shrugged, critical eyes giving you a once over as you blushed- a more and more common occurrence. 

"Yeah, we all have bad dreams sometimes." You huffed, a low blow, but if anyone could take a mean comment it was Crosshair. The nightmares were kind of a sensitive spot for most clones, but was there anyone on this ship that hadn’t already heard of your sleep... issues?

You assumed that once he got his odd version of teasing in, he would move along but Crosshair didn’t go any further than the nearest crate so he could sit down and pop a tooth pick in his mouth. You allowed him two minutes of staring before snipping, "Is there something you needed?” 

"Not me. Tech wanted you to help him with something about reverse thrust-“ 

"I’m busy." You clipped quickly cutting off Crosshair’s words, wrenching the bolt so quickly that the metal scraped. Your fingers were shaking as you tucked hair behind your ears, clearing your throat, you elaborated, "Tech can handle them himself, he’s, ah, perfectly adept. I’m incredibly busy here.” 

Crosshair lifted a single brow, looking at the squeaky cupboard panel you were working on. Clearly a bottom of the list kind of task, "You are acting weird. He might be oblivious, but he always notices you.” 

"I am not acting weird." You snapped but your voice had a quirk to it, what did Crosshair mean by that? You filed that away for later, "Unless you have something to put on my to do list, I’m busy because I’m fine, Cross.” 

"Riiiiight, completely normal, I’ll let him know.” 

You watched him go before looking at your rather shoddy wrench-bolt job. Sighing, you set to work undoing the crooked bolt, Maybe I am a little pent up.

__

So started a week of awkwardness between you and Clone Force 99’s resident genius. And it wasn’t long before the rest of the batch began to catch on. Not that you were exactly subtle about it. 

Any time Tech entered a room, your eyes would go wide and a flush would creep up your neck. If you were speaking to someone else, the moment you saw him you would start stuttering or just stop all together. Sometimes it was fluttery nervousness, and other times you just got distracted by his presence. But always, unless actively in a firefight, it would only take about five minutes before you’d shake your head and escape the room like a gundark out of hell. 

Bright side, you spent so much time avoiding Tech you had made it to the bottom of your prioritized to-do list for the first time since joining Clone Force 99. Down sides, it was getting harder to avoid him, and as mentioned earlier, the others were starting to notice- plus, even if you to do list was getting slim, all the work was shoddy at best. When you weren’t actively avoiding him, all you could do was stare at Tech like a lovesick (re: hormonal) schoolgirl.

Crosshair had caught you staring at Tech on multiple occasions, typically flicking his toothpick at you to get you to stop. He would roll his eyes but at least he was quiet about it. He’d just tease you whenever he caught you alone, constantly reminding you of your embarrassment. If you weren’t so preoccupied with Tech, you’d be glad- his teasing his own way of accepting you into the group. But you were preoccupied, so usually, you’d huff dramatically throwing (and missing) the toothpick back in his direction. 

There was the incident where Hunter himself had to order you to go with Tech on a mission, something that had never been an issue before as you usually preferred working with the genius. Subsequently, you were so high-strung that you put your complete focus on rewiring a door panel. So much focus, in fact, that Tech himself had to pull you out of the way of a super battle droid’s fire. He had pushed you against a wall and completely covered you with his body while Crosshair took care of the battle droid. Had it not been for the smoking blaster shot in the wall where you had previously been working, you would have melted when Tech so tenderly asked if you were alright. Like a helpless damsel, all you could do was stare up into the goggles of his helmet for a moment before nodding demurely. Then, so frustrated with yourself you had to walk away from the genius before you could give Hunter a reason to transfer you. 

Tech, himself, had decided you were obviously upset about something and spent more time than usual trying to get you alone. He’d sit down across from you while you ate, which resulted in an awkward silence and you abandoning your barely touched food. Find you while you brushed your teeth- it had been embarrassing when you accidentally choked yourself with the toothbrush because you’d been too busy ogling him in his blacks. And if you hadn’t been so focussed on saving yourself from any additional embarrassment, you would have noticed the worried expression start to slip into a more hurt category whenever you’d literally run away from him with a lame, short excuse. 

Then there was the time when Wrecker had been speaking to you, explaining how his helmet’s comms unit was shorting out after a hit in battle. You were supposed to be listening to him, figuring out from his description of the sound what the issue was and how to fix it. But over his shoulder, your eyes had landed on Tech and your breath had hitched in your throat as you watched him unfasten his armor. Like a teenager watching a strip tease, you shifted your weight from foot to foot, "Are you even listening to me?" 

Wrecker’s booming voice sounded more distant that it should considering you were fiddling with his helmet, but it alerted Tech who looked up from his chest piece. His eyes immediately found yours, and you looked away quickly. After promising Wrecker you’d look into it, you took the helmet before escaping down to the cargo hold, thankful Tech didn’t follow you this time.

 You might actually have too request a transfer at this rate. 

It was Hunter that confronted you about it. He’d noticed your distraction, your anxious demeanor, the decline in your quality of work, and that’s just the things he noticed outright. He saved some of your pride by not mentioning everything he could smell or hear. Instead taking the role of scolding boss. A role he played expertly, judging by the exceedingly dissapointed way he said your name before pressing further. 

"You’re better than this. What’s up with you?" He had asked, having followed you after you slipped away from Tech yet again. He had found you cleaning the brand-new air filters in the cargo hold. 

"Nothing’s up with me, Hunter." You shrugged, hoping he would drop it. He didn’t. 

"Really? ‘Cause you’ve been making rookie mistakes. You were assigned to us because you don’t do that." The sergeant reminded you, crossing his arms over his chest. You were offended to say he had a point. 

"Just going a little stir crazy, Sarge." You sighed. Hunter shook his head, clapping a hand onto your shoulder. 

"Do us all a favor and just tell him." He requested, shaking his head as he turned to leave, "It’s a small ship to be stir crazy on, and neither of you are subtle." 

You watched him go, first embarrassed at being caught- knowing what Hunter could hear, smell, and infer, that he chose not to complain about- but then your mind fixated on something else. 

"Hunter. What do you mean by ‘neither’?"

___

You were grateful for the planet’s scorching sun, some unnamed backwater (despite the lack thereof) planet that simply had been the nearest Republic friendly refuel/ maintenance station after you deduced the Havoc Marauder wouldn’t make it back to Kamino with the navigation calibration malfunctioning like they were, lest you hyper speed into a black hole. After you’d made your deduction, you had almost combusted when Tech had leaned over your shoulder, breath grazing your ear as he checked over your work at Hunter’s request. You would’ve been offended if you weren’t so busy gaping like a schoolgirl at Tech’s side profile so close to your face. 

’Neither of you are subtle.’ The sergeant’s words played through your mind for the hundredth tune. 

Like, for instance, as you sat in the cockpit, you were supposed to be running diagnostics on the rather shifty new calibrator and modifier Hunter had procured from the maintenance station’s ‘buy, sell, trade’ front room. It didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to get you from dust ball point A to rainy, Kaminoan point B. 

But instead, you were distracted. Which should really be the summary of the past week of your life. Specifically, you were distracted by Tech’s legs. Long, armor clad, muscled, his leather side holsters clinging to the white composite as they splayed out from under the Marauder’s dash. 

You never exactly forgot how tall Tech was, he towered over you even with his usually hunched posture. But, with his top half hidden underneath the console it was a reminder at just how long his legs were. Your breath caught in your throat as his hips lifted, legs tensing as metal groaned. Something snapped before Tech tossed a rusted piece of metal away from himself. The way his thighs clenched and unclenched with the effort made your entire body tense as well, you hadn’t noticed your straying focus until the electroprod zapped your hand. Fortunately, Tech’s voice drowned out your quiet yelp.

"I have found our problem." He announced, grabbing a tool off of his belt. So preoccupied with his long legs, you blinked slowly at his long fingers as they traced up his thigh to find the right tool. 

"Oh? have you?" You breathed, after realizing you hadn’t answered. You shook your head, forcing yourself back to your task. You corrected your own work, the small electro prod in your hand zapped at the calibrator, mostly to see if it could handle any sort energy current. Tech had started rambling about some Acid spitting bugs the ship had picked up on Ethesda IV, apparently the coating on the calibrator was similar to their main food source. Acid spitting bugs should’ve been a turn off, but how his voice stopped and started and strained and grunted as he periodically tore out rusted pieces outweighed the bugs.  

“And the calibrator? Is it satisfactory?” He asked, hips twisting as he continued working under the dash. Satisfactory? Nothing about the past weeks had been satisfactory but that wasn’t what he asked. He emerged just enough to hold his hand out. 

“It’ll do.” You hummed as the diagnostic ran somewhere between yellow and green. You stood, keeping a respectable distance between you as you handed him the small piece of equipment, “I could use an extra set of hands down here, would you?” 

You were digging through your mind for another lame excuse until you saw Hunter peek around the door frame of the cockpit, a look someplace between warning and scolding crossing the sergeant’s face. So, you sighed. 

“Of course, where do you need m-e?” You nodded, noticing your words as they caught in your throat. You cleared it and crouched down beside the soldier. He paused for a moment, even his feet halted their slight movement until he cleared his throat as well. 

“Beside me, I need you to hold the calibrator in place as I wired it in.” Tech answered you, staying half obscured but twisting his body so his hips stayed flat but he was laying on his ribs. You swallowed around nothing, sighing flatly as you wiggled under the dashboard beside him, “A bit closer, so I can reach around you.”

Stiff and rigid, you slowly inched closer to him until you were close enough for one of his arms to snake under your waist and pull you all the way to him. You choked out a yelp. Just as easily as he’d pulled you to him, he propped you just enough so his shoulder and chest could slot underneath your back. 

Under the dash there was barely enough room for this position, so it wasn’t possible to keep yourself propped up unless you wanted your nose pressed to the exposed wiring he was working on. So, you had no choice but to forced yourself to at least half relax against him. Your back to his chest, his face right next to yours so the light on his goggles could illuminate the slot where the calibrator belonged, one of his knees twisted under yours leaving you caged between the legs you’d been staring at for so long. His even breaths were fanning over your cheek, the two of you practically puzzle pieced together. He retracted the arm from underneath your waist and moved himself accordingly so that arm instead went under your neck, further trapping you against him.

“Apologies, though I trust I don’t need to explain to you what happens if this comes loose during light speed travel.” He explained, though you couldn’t see how his analytical eyes watched you carefully as he pressed the calibrator back into your hands and guided them to the correct spot, “Perfect, just there.” 

His fingers left your wrist and began the process of wiring the calibrator into place. You were grateful for his armor, even if your couldn’t ignore his scent and warmth all around you, you were positive if you could feel his muscles moving underneath you you’d have to stick your hand in the power source to keep from committing a serious breech of civilian-solider contact etiquette. Just a snap of his hips… placed just under the round of your ass… 

“You’re shaking, is everything alright?” Tech’s voice shocked you out of your thoughts. You flinched, almost jerking the half connected calibrator right back out of the dash. You tried thinking of a reason, but your voice seemed caught somewhere between your heart and throat. So you settled for a vague hum.

“Mhm.” 

“Would you hand me the microwelder? It’s on the right side of my belt.” 

Even your breaths were shaking as you used one hand to keep the calibrator in place, and used the other the blindly reach down between the two of you. Your fingers grazed against the composite of the armor on his thigh, overshooting your aim for his belt. For the first time, he tensed as well. Using nothing but touch, you worked your way up, trying to keep your touch as light as possible as it worked over his holsters and to the tools hanging from his belt. You put all your focus on your mechanical knowledge, deducing the tools by shape- data scomp, electoprod, multitool, electrical tape… microwelder.  You almost cried in relief, jerking your hand away as soon as you’d unclipped it. The slight graze of your finger tips against his glove palms felt the same as sticking your fingers in the power source.  Tech’s shoulders adjusted, jostling the both of you. Though he didn’t struggle to move you at all, his voice sounded ever so slightly strained as he used the microwelder to hold the wires in place, “Almost there, keep doing what your doing.” 

Kriff, what the hell was wrong with this man?

“There. That should do it.” 

You wiggled out from the dash so fast that you almost didn’t register his hands on your waist assisting you. Almost. Tech watched after you, the curiosity in his eyes turning into something more akin to understanding as you slipped into the fresher. 

— 

You had never been so grateful to touchdown on Kamino. After the longest week of your life on probably the smallest ship you could’ve been assigned to, you were ready for some much needed space. And the privacy of the usually empty civilian barracks sounded like the perfect retreat. Kamino was the one republic stronghold that didn’t have a shortage of workers, they didn’t need a civilian enlistments to lighten the load when they could hand the tasks off to Cadet’s and call it a learning experience. Usually you found Kamino to be lonely, only seeing the boys at meal times, but this time you were chomping at the bit, praying to the Force or whatever other entity out there that the bunks would be empty as usual. 

As soon as the Marauder touched down in the hangar, you were down the loading steps before it even finishing descending. You finished your debriefs in record time and skipped dinner in favor of returning to the Havoc Marauder to start fixing some of your shoddier than usual workmanship in addition to typical post-mission ship maintenance since your bunk would be the first place Tech might look for you. 

"I thought I would find you here.” 

You physically jumped when Tech’s calm voice called out from the ship’s entrance, hitting your head on the cockpit’s console you were working under. Cursing under your breath, you scuttled out from under the console. Tech was leaning against the entrance to the cockpit, watching you like a wild animal who might spook. You guessed that wasn’t too far off from the truth judging by the already rising heat to your face and the way your eyes danced around to anywhere but his face. 

"You missed dinner." He informed you when you didn’t respond, rubbing your head as you closed the panel you had been working on and pulled yourself up to your knees. 

"Oh, did I?" You asked in faux concern as if you hadn’t purposely skipped communal dinner. Suddenly, you realized you were looking up to him from your knees and your nearly choked on the recycled air your were breathing. You scrambled up to your feet, nervously smoothing out your clothes as you momentarily met Tech’s eyes before purposely pointing your own gaze else where- the blinking lights around the cockpit very interesting. In your peripheral, you saw his eyebrows furrow, face hardening as you leaned back against the console. 

"Have I done something to bother you?" He asked, suddenly. Moving a bit closer to you, he froze when you leaned even further away. 

"Not a thing, Tech. Why do you ask?” 

One of his eyebrow quirked behind his goggles, telling you he didn’t believe you for a moment. Tech might be oblivious about somethings, but he always knew when you were lying to him, "You have not looked me in the eye, much less spoken to me since…” 

He trailed off, looking to you to finish his thought. Your rose tint flashed ruby, redder than the shield button blinking on the console behind you. Yep, time to escape. 

"Listen, Tech, I really don’t-" You chuckled dryly, moving to squeeze past him. 

"Have time for this? I think you do." Tech shook his head, sidestepping so his larger frame immediately cut off your exit. Bumping into the composite chest piece of his armor, you stammered something akin to an excuse as you tried to squeeze past you again. The genius repeated his action, this time catching you by bracing his hands on either of your arms and holding them gently to your side to keep you in place. 

Now, you were forced to look up at him, trying to ignore how much skin his longs fingers managed to cover. You wondered if he could feel your erratic pulse under your skin. He observed your face for a moment, from the tint in your cheeks, the quickness of your breath, to part of your lips. He muttered mostly to himself but you caught it, "Dramatic dilation of the eyes, heightened pulse, shallow breathing, erratic behavior.” 

Once he finished his list- or maybe stopped listing aloud for your pride’s sake- he cleared his throat, releasing his grip one your arms so you could take a hesitant step back. Your mind was screaming at you to create some distance, but your thudding heart made it hard to force yourself to move. Tech wasn’t finished with you yet though, his chocolate yes narrowed on you before softening as he continued, "Hunter informed me that you didn’t have a ’nightmare’, as you said.” 

Yep, you were going to spontaneously combust if the ground didn’t open up and swallow you first- either option was preferable to the turn in conversation. Hell, spontaneous separatist invasion would be less painful. 

"Listen, Tech, I really-" You started, but silenced yourself when you saw the way he adjusted his stance. Shoulders broader, chin dipping lower, one leg moving forward…. if you were any closer it would be between your legs. 

"He also had a few theories about the content of said dream, one in particular that interested me." He continued, voice dipping as he continued to stalk towards you until the back of your thighs hit the control deck, forcing you to half lean half sit on the panel. Your backside pressed a couple buttons, managing to conveniently kill the overhead lights and close the door to the bridge in one fell swoop. Whoever was in charge of the force, you wanted to have a firm talking to because you’re heart couldn’t take much more of this. "You’re in your prime, in multiple adrenaline and endorphin inducing situations, surrounded by 4 men… a healthy drive is nothing to be so embarrassed of.”

Your own voice wasn’t quite a sure, almost choked as you nodded, "Gl-glad we covered that, Tech.” 

"I also know, from my research, that the easiest way to resolve this is to act on it.”

Your mind actually went blank the moment the word sunk in. You weren’t sure, but there was a large likelihood you just stood there and gaped at Tech like a fish. He waited, eyes analyzing you from behind the goggles. One moment passed, and then two before you spoke. 

"Act on it…" You repeated slowly, butterflies melting from your stomach, pooling elsewhere, "Like.. you want to act on it with me?” 

Tech closed the distance, his hands on you again. One at your hip and one gracing your hair,  "We really were as oblivious as Hunter said.” 

The armor on his hips pressed into your soft flesh, his long diligent fingers trailing down your arm, "You can tell me to stop.” 

Your eyes had be following his fingers down, your own twitched and laced into the leather straps that held his holsters to his thighs as if that would tether him to you, "Please don’t.”

A ghost of a smile went across his face before he startled you, picking you up swiftly and depositing you in the pilots seat. You weren’t quite sure of the logistics of this decision until he knelt down in front of you, kissing your lips first and yet not long enough for your liking. You chased his mouth with yours, but he pulled back, focussing down to your belt.

“Now, tell him. How did these dreams of yours go?” 

---

as usual half edited so excuse the typos

[zoeykallus]

Hello! 👋

I LOVE your work and the way you capture the personalities of the characters. You're incredibly talented.

I'd like to request an 18+ one shot with Crosshair (fem reader) that's a little different than normal...

Cross is always very cold, rough, and distant, so I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if he started being gentle with the reader. But still in a Crosshair kinda way.

Here's what I was thinking (TW, i briefly mention the reader having past sexual/relationship traumas): The reader and Crosshair have worked together on and off for years. They never really talk about personal things or get emotional because they're both kinda similar. But they have feelings for each other that are on a deeper level than they've experienced before with others. Something happens where they end up being alone and emotionally vulnerable in front of one another (perhaps Cross saves the reader from something and gets all protective and has to calm the reader down from panicking and it gets steamy 😳🤤) and it basically ends in getting laid. But perhaps the reader is afraid of romance and intimacy from past experiences that Crosshair knows a bit about, and he truly loves her so instead of being quick and rough with her, he starts really slow, gentle, and sensual and it gradually gets more intense 🤭.

Take your time and prioritize your mental health!!

And I know that this could potentially encompass some heavy topics, so don't feel obligated to write this! 🫶❤️

Aloha!

🤔 Okay, I needed a while to read through all this and I did it repeatedly because for some reason nothing of it stuck in my head. That's what sleep deprivation does with you, no focus at all.

Now, I don't think Crosshair is always very cold, rough and distant. First of all, he's mostly playing it. I think it's mostly part of a self-defence act. 'Stay professional and don't let anyone get too close.' That stoic pure soldier behavior is kinda like a shield I think. Well, at least in my HC. Anyway, I know what you meant, so never mind 😅

Let's see if I can do this...

Crosshair x Fem!Reader One-Shot - The Unexpected Gentleness

Warnings: Angst/Tension/Protective Crosshair/ Soft Grumpman Crosshair/Suggestive/Described Sexual Intercourse/Spicy Handsy Stuff/ Implied Past Trauma Of Reader/Soft Smut(?)/18+

AC: A hundred years late, I'm finally done with this request. This may, or may not be, the longest One-Shot I've written so far... I don't know anymore by now, it certanly feels like it. I definitely wrote too much stuff to remember 😅 Didn't proofread this yet, because I'm close to keeling over any minute, sorry.

You never thought you would end up in this situation. Crosshair and you have been separated from the rest of the group by a storm. Since you were supposed to explore a cave system anyway, and you are protected from the storm inside, you continue to explore and scan the tunnel system. However, you are not the only ones seeking refuge from the storm in the caves. The group of black market smugglers you are looking for are also there. It all happens very quickly, from one moment to the next you are attacked. Blaster shots fly through the tunnel system and echo off the cave walls. Your flashlights only partially illuminate the cave, many dark corners where the enemy could be, remain lightless, and so two of the men are able to sneak up behind you. Someone jumps into your back and rams you hard to the ground, at first you can't breathe, you feel a knee in your back, your attacker holds you on the ground while he takes off everything you could have used as a weapon.

The impact was hard and painful, you gasp for air in panic as it almost feels as if the oxygen will never return to your lungs. The helpless position you find yourself in stirs up panic in your mind. There it is again, air, frantically you breathe in and out far too quickly. Your eyes are burning, fine stone dust and tears. You can't move, you can't defend yourself, you can't breathe properly, you can't even find your voice to scream. Then you hear a thudding sound, a startled gasp and in the same second the weight is gone from your back. You roll around, crawl to the cave wall and crouch down. You nervously scan the surroundings with your flashlight. Crosshair. He is standing over a man, presumably the one who was kneeling on your back earlier. The man on the ground is no longer moving, Crosshair is standing over him with his blaster. The Sniper looks in your direction, shielding his eyes with his hand against the beam of your flashlight. "Stop blinding me," he growls. "Sorry," you stammer, lowering the flashlight beam. You tremble as Crosshair crouches down in front of you and takes a closer look at you. "Breathe evenly, slowly, in and out. You're hyperventilating."

You blink several times, then force yourself to breathe in and out slowly, feeling your pulse finally calm down. "That's it," Crosshair grumbles, "Keep breathing," and helps you to your feet. He shakes his head and growls to himself, "That's what you get for having to take untrained staff with you"

For a second you want to say something defiant, but you see the look on his face and swollow it down. Usually you can handle his sass and grumble, but you are still shaken from what happened.

You bow your head in shame and silently follow him further along the tunnel system to a junction that looks like a small room. Slightly elevated from the rest of the tunnel, a slightly larger alcove. "We'll camp here for now," says Crosshair, and takes off some of his equipment, including his backpack and its contents. You do the same, and you pile up your blankets so that you can sit and lie reasonably softly. He also sets up a camping light, so you can see each other. Crosshair steps to the edge of the alcove, away from the blankets, and silently, impatiently beckons you towards him. You hastily follow his invitation, still with your head bowed. You hear him sigh, then you feel his hand under your chin. He forces you to look at him and scrutinizes your eyes. "You need to rinse your out your eyes, or they'll get infected. They're already red. You have stone dust in your eyes" He hands you his water bottle, which you take with a shaky hand. But when he sees the trembling in your fingers, he takes the bottle from you again.

"Head to the side and open your eyes," he demands curtly. You comply with this request too. You squint as he begins to clean your eyes. "Pull yourself together," he says quietly, almost gently. After a while, he hands you a clean handkerchief with which you dry your face, then he asks, "How are things looking, do you still feel foreign particles in your eyes?" You blink to test, then shake your head. "No, it's all gone." Crosshair nods and hums, "Good" He sits down on the blankets he spread on the floor earlier and beckons you over. "Sit down" You comply and sit down next to him. When he takes off your jacket, you flinch and stiffen. Crosshair pauses and looks at you questioningly, then says calmly, "I want to see if you've been hurt, bruised or anything, things you might not have noticed under adrenaline" You take off your jacket yourself and say, "My chest hurts a bit, but I don't think anything is broken" He carefully touches you over your T-shirt and applies pressure to your ribs. "Does that hurt?" You shake your head. "No, it's more of a constant, slight pain. It'll just be a few bruises" "Can I have a look?"

You blink uncertainly. You actually trust him, but you're still hesitant. "What's wrong?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. You swallow and say quietly, "I had more than my fair share of unpleasant experiences in the past with letting my guard down with people, physically" He growls softly then says, "You can be sure that won't happen to you with me. I don't cross boundaries I'm not supposed to, you're in control. A simple word is enough." Crosshair sounds unusually gentle, and at first you can only look at him in surprise. But he doesn't push you any further, waiting patiently. Finally, you nod and take a deep breath. You take your shirt off over your head and sit next to him in your bra. He wants to stare, to take a close look at you, but he concentrates decently on your rib area. His fingertips glide carefully over one spot. The touch gives you goose bumps. "Here," he says calmly, "A slightly larger bruise, not too bad" You breathe a sigh of relief and smile nervously. "Turn around," he says gently, "Show me your back."

You do as you're told and feel his fingertips on your skin again. "It looks the same here, a bruise, nothing to worry about" His hand moves to the back of your neck, and you feel a gentle shiver run down your spine. He says a little growling, "That asshole got you pretty good, saw him sweep you off your feet. I was attacked by his buddy at the same moment, otherwise I would have reacted faster" "Thanks for saving me, I would have been lost without you" Crosshair snorts softly, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says, "Indeed" You slowly turn to face him, still half naked, your shirt lying next to you on the blanket. He's not staring at your breasts though, but at your face as you say, "I'm sorry if I'm a liability on this mission" Crosshair rolls his eyes, but his voice sounds soft as he says, "You do your part, I'll take care of the rough stuff, we complement each other well enough" He studies your face in silence for quite a while, and you find it hard to look at him, you're always so nervous around him even though he doesn't really give you a reason to be.

Braver than you feel, you ask him, "What are you thinking about right now?" Crosshair blinks, looks back into your eyes and says, "About how much I'd like to touch you right now. But that's probably not appropriate. Apart from the fact that you probably don't want me to." Your heart starts to race. A mixture of joy, nervousness and a little fear flood your system. Your heart is beating so hard in your chest, you can feel it all the way up into your throat. You fight with yourself while he looks at you calmly, patiently, waiting. You're fascinated by him, you've liked him for a while, maybe you even have a crush on him. But you didn't expect him to say it so directly here and now. "You want to touch me?" you ask, as if you're not quite sure what these words mean. He tilts his head slightly to the side, then nods and says, "I'm thinking about it, yes. But having just seen how nervous my closeness makes you, I'm holding back." You say honestly in a low voice, "I just don't know how to read you. Sometimes you seem so considerate and thoughtful, other times rather harsh and rude" Crosshair raises his eyebrows, then says, "I'm a soldier, I can't always be gentle" You sigh softly and say, "I know that, I meant explicitly when dealing with me"

He frowns critically and asks, "I was rude to you? When?" "Not rude," you say hurriedly, "Just... grumpy" Crosshair rolls his eyes, but a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth. "I'm a bit impatient sometimes, that may be. I'm not used to working with civilian agents, even though we've known each other for a while now and have worked together from time to time. I'm usually surrounded by other soldiers. There's not much room for subtlety, especially in the field" You nod, you can understand that. Nevertheless, he is very different from his brothers, Wrecker or Tech, for example, are much more relaxed, even Hunter, but you keep this observation to yourself. "Quite understandable," you finally concede. His features relax a little, and he asks you, "Are you afraid of me?" You shake your head and answer without hesitation, "No, not at all" He smirks and says, "I think so too. If you were, you'd probably have put your shirt back on by now. Physical nakedness is also a certain form of showing vulnerability. If you didn't trust me, you would have covered up again long ago"

You blink and realize with surprise that he is right, your shirt is still next to you, you had almost forgotten about it. He slowly reaches out to your face and gently places his hand on your cheek. You hold still and look at him, fascinated, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin. His face comes closer, closer and closer. You automatically close your eyes a second before his lips touch yours. It starts with a gentle touch, almost chaste. A few breaths pass before you feel gentle pressure on your lips and return it. You let yourself be pushed backwards, slowly, gently, until you are lying on your back and Crosshair is halfway over you. His lips part from yours, and he lifts his head to look at you. "I had to try it now," he says with a smirk, "How do you feel?" For lack of better words, you say simply, "Warm" He chuckles softly. "Warm is good" You smile too, even though your heart is racing, you're not afraid of him or his touch, you know you're in good hands, you know you can trust him. He would never hurt you, never push you. You know that a simple word will be enough to put him at a distance again, that he will always respect your boundaries. You feel safe, and your hands wander over his arms, on his chest, over the cool material of his armor.

"Maybe I should at least take off the hard parts of my gear?" You nod and say, "That would be better" Crosshair straightens up again, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him remove one piece of armor at a time until he's wearing only the Blacks on his body. He lies half over you again, resting his weight on his arms and knees. Crosshair looks you straight in the eye and says, "You're not forced to do anything and I won't be upset if you'd rather have me at a distance, you can always say something and I'll back off" You smile at him and nod. "I know, I really appreciate that" He shakes his head and says, "That should go without saying, for everyone, you don't have to be grateful for that. But I noticed earlier how insecure you are and when you mentioned that you've had bad experiences, I thought I should mention it. I don't want you to feel forced into anything" You nod again. You automatically want to say thank you again, but you swallow it. "I don't feel any pressure at the moment" He kisses you again, this time more urgently, more sensually. Close to your lips, he whispers, "Tell me if that changes" You want to answer him, but then you feel his tongue gliding over your lower lip, testing, questioning, searching for access. Your lips open automatically and let him in. Your tongues meet in a velvety collision that sends a shiver through your whole body and makes the heat move under your skin, between your thighs. A soft, sweet sigh comes from your throat, a sound that triggers an intense feeling of success, satisfaction in Crosshair. His long arms wrap around you, one of his long legs slips between yours. Immediately you feel the pulse between your thighs, in the intimate heat of your womanhood. His tongue flicks playfully against yours again and again, chasing it with velvety strokes. Every touch of his tongue in your mouth makes your clit pulsate as if he were kissing you in a completely different place.

His long, elegant fingers undo your belt and pants, pull your belt out of the loops and put it to one side. Just the idea and anticipation of every touch makes your pulse race, your nerve endings vibrate and your panties get wet. You imagined it differently, you expected more fear, but you feel completely safe, Crosshair is gentle, considerate, something unfamiliar, unexpected, but very welcome. As his lips part from yours, he lets out a somewhat shaky breath. His muscles are tense, he holds back. You both know he wants more, but he's taking it a lot slower than his body wants right now. "Is everything all right?" you ask softly, your mind still foggy from his kisses. "Of course," Crosshair grumbles and kisses your neck. The touch makes your nipples harden and causes you to wriggle out of your pants automatically, almost of your own accord, and slip them off your body. Another shaky gasp from Crosshair. His fingertips glide over your shoulder, your stomach, your thigh and back up again. They barely touch your skin, just very gently, then they grab, your thigh, then past your thigh to your right bun. His grip is firm, but not hard.

"I've been waiting for what feels like an eternity for us to get closer," he says, lost in thought, you're not even sure if the words are really meant for you.

His hand leaves your bun and moves forward, over the fabric of your panties, gliding gently over them, drawing teasing circles. Your thighs open for him, your mouth slightly open, another sigh comes from your throat. His lips brush gently over your chin and when he looks at you again, he grins. "You seem pretty comfortable around me by now" Your cheeks are warm as you answer him with a grin, "You could say that" You feel his hard length against your thigh through the fabric of his blacks. He presses himself closer to you, kissing his way from your chin to your ear. Once there, he whispers to you, "Feeling good so far?" A shiver runs through your body, only a small hoarse sound comes out of your mouth. Then his face is over yours again, he smiles smugly, he knows exactly what his words have just triggered in you. The moment he kisses you again, his nimble fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, slowly moving further down towards your heated, wet center. He is gentle, teasing, gliding and caressing over your soft folds. You feel a pulse very clearly, Crosshair's gentle touch awakens in you the desire for more. You buck up your hips, the motion causing his fingers to slide further down, to your expectant wet opening, and a fingertip slides in ever so slightly.

"I can see," he says contentedly, in a smoky voice, "I've whetted your appetite for more" And he's right, you want more, so much more, more contact, to feel more of him. You tug on his blacks, try to take them off. He is only too happy to help. At last you are both completely undressed. Your bodies press against each other, naked skin against naked skin. You're both giving off so much heat, you've long since stopped feeling the coolness of the cave. Crosshair's fingers are all over your skin, gliding, caressing, groping, one pleasant shiver after another coursing through your body. Everything blurs in your perception, all you feel is the heat of your bodies, the pulse between your thighs, Crosshair's touch. As soon as he's on top of you, you cling to him, pulling him closer to you, not giving him a chance to wander. You are so unexpectedly hungry for him that even the Sniper is surprised when you reach down between you, grab his cock and guide it to your wet entrance. He pauses, however, the tip barely an inch sunk into your pussy. "Are you sure you want this?" You blink, your face heated, looking up into his face. Your legs hook around his thighs and press him closer to you, making him slowly sink into you.

Crosshair is well-hung, you can clearly feel him stretching you, sliding deeper into your pussy. But he's careful, even bracing himself a little against your leg clamps that push him deeper inside you. "Slow down, kitten, I don't want to hurt you" You realize he's right, it doesn't hurt yet, but his massive cock is clearly making itself felt in your wet heat. You loosen your grip and let out a soft, deep sigh. He looks at you scrutinizingly, then smiles and says, "You're doing very well, kitten" Slowly he sinks deeper, as far as he can go, then he pauses, leans his forehead against yours and has to collect himself. The tightness that surrounds him feels incredibly intense. You see him bite his lip before he slowly begins to move inside you. Your legs cling to him again, your hands move to his shoulder blades, your fingers cling to his shoulders. It feels like his whole body is the perfect fit for you. The stimulation is everywhere you need it as your bodies melt together. You feel every taut muscle in his body, hear his soft, raspy gasps. Your bodies move together in perfect unison, your head sinks back, a smile spreads across your face as Crosshair looks at you mesmerized, you close your eyes and take in the feeling of him filling you completely.

It's not invasive like you feared, not at all. It feels tender, just right, the way his body nestles against and into you. The pulse intensifies, your fingernails press into his shoulders automatically. Spurred on by this, Crosshair moves a little faster. A hoarse moan escapes your lips, louder than expected, followed by a quiet, surprised, "Oh fuck..." You weren't expecting this intensity, this feeling. Your hands automatically move to his ass and claw into it as you feel yourself slithering towards a climax. Crosshair lets out a small, surprised grunt as your nails dig into his buns, but then he lets out a satisfied growl and a grin twitches at the corners of his mouth as he intensifies his thrusts. You don't hold back at all, your moans and gasps, hoarse, expectant, about to explode. It's music to his ears, adding more fire to his own arousal. As your thighs twitch around his body, your pussy around his cock and you drop beneath him with a long, husky sigh, the knot in his abdomen loosens, the tension dissolving into a long, intense, slowly ebbing pulse as he cums inside you.

You laugh, quietly, grinning. You feel so good, so relieved, liberated, safe. He looks at you, one eyebrow raised. "Feeling good, I guess?" You giggle. "Good? No, great." Crosshair smirks, kisses your chin, your nose, your lips, and leans his forehead against yours with a sigh. "Mission accomplished," he murmurs softly.

@rintheemolion

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@misogirl828 @tech-deck

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[lifblogs]

Lula/A Good Name

Week 8 Alt. Prompt: Lula @summer-of-bad-batch Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2586 Summary: Crosshair watched the bomb go off by Wrecker's head on their last mission, and now he sits by his bedside, riddled with guilt. He's dying to do something good for his brother, so Crosshair goes on a little shopping trip, Hunter and Tech following along. A/N: I have been in a weeks-long mental health episode, but I am glad I wrote this. Maybe I'm back to writing. Guess we'll see! READ ON AO3

Wrecker writhed in his bed, moaning, and Crosshair squeezed his hands more tightly together, mouth drawing into a firmer line. If anyone looked in they would think by the tensing of Crosshair’s muscles, the hard set to his face, his eyes, that he was in physical pain as well.

He supposed watching Wrecker felt like that. There was an ache in his chest, and already he could feel the sore, brooding tension in his shoulders and neck from endlessly watching over him.

Crosshair knew Wrecker’s injuries were due to some mistake, some statistic that could happen to anyone in Wrecker’s position on the battlefield, that mistakes did happen.

Still, the sinking pit in his stomach, the monster gnawing at his chest, shredding him, its venom infecting his veins, told him that this was his fault. His.

After all, wasn’t Crosshair supposed to watch every single member of his team, battlefield terrain permitting?

He had had an eye on Wrecker, had watched the bomb go off near his head, had watched his helmet be ripped off from the heat and pressure a mere moment—less than the blink of an eye—before the fire and shrapnel hit. Crosshair hadn’t been able to see then, his view overshadowed by the raging flurry of orange-white flames where he knew his brother’s head was. He knew he had reacted quickly, that he’d called for a medic, that he had shot down any enemies trying to take advantage of the break in their line, had informed the rest of the squad…

Crosshair had been told by Hunter, by everyone that he had done the right thing, that he was a hero.

Crosshair didn’t feel like a hero. He felt utterly helpless.

That’s what he had been up on his perch. Helpless. Was he a hero to not be able to reach Wrecker himself? Did heroes hide and watch while their squad was out facing the real fight?

Over half the time plans did end up calling for him to be down in the dirt with them, for his armor to get as scuffed and marked up as theirs. And he knew his job was important, and he was kriffing good at it. Still…

Why did he feel so terrible about this?

They had often done training for field medicine, Hunter was a little too good with his acting sometimes, making everyone’s pulse kick up for a bit as their bond and instincts kicked in, and other times there was getting injured from training. He knew these kinds of things happened, had seen plenty of regs with scars. But Wrecker? He wasn’t meant for this, was he?

Apparently he was, because he lay there, tossing and turning in his bed in the medbay on Kamino.

Training didn’t prepare you for the gore, the sounds of pain, the screaming. At the time they had all thought their training had been tough, but now he realized it was mere child’s play. This wasn’t Hunter making his eyes go blank and his breaths slow to almost nothing, body going limp, as they pretended to patch him up. This was something real, something they hadn’t been trained for.

Wrecker mumbled something, and turned his head, giving Crosshair an excellent view of all the heavy bandages that covered up a horror story of pain.

Crosshair’s throat ached. The now-unending helplessness that hadn’t ceased since the bomb went off near Wrecker’s head tugged at Crosshair’s tear ducts.

Wrecker winced.

Crosshair wished he could get someone to give him more pain medicine, but he’d already checked so many times he was bound to get himself kicked out of the medbay soon. Besides, Wrecker was pumped full of pain meds. His injuries were just that painful, that ruinous, that not all of it could be mellowed.

The others of the Bad Batch checked on Wrecker, of course, but Crosshair stayed with him the longest, even when Hunter insisted he get rest, or at least have some water, something to eat.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair!

The anger sizzling across that anguish in his gut had him growling quietly as he rose to his feet, hands clenched into fists.

What could he possibly do?!

Crosshair paced, thinking about Wrecker, trying to think of the good, what he liked, what he loved. And so often his eyes drew back to his bed, to his suffering.

He remembered what the whole squad had been told by one Kaminoan, that it was possible Wrecker would not be the same, might even be childish after due to the damage to his head. Crosshair wanted to respect that, and—

He paused, an idea flaring bright in him, his fists relaxing slightly all on their own.

Could I…?

No. What if…?

Do it. Just in case, just do it.

Crosshair wasn’t much of a talker, yet he said to Wrecker, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He tried to add you’ll be okay, but even the first word tripped him up.

He sighed, and gave Wrecker one last look for now.

He will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.

Crosshair left, guilt haunting his footsteps.

“Why are we here again?” Hunter asked as the Marauder set down on a landing pad at a busy port next to a flourishing tourist shopping center. The streets were full of color, full of so many lifeforms that Hunter wasn’t even sure he knew the names of all of them. The suns were shining, lighting up a lavender sky.

“I told you,” Crosshair said, “I have an informant here.”

Tech glanced at him, then Hunter. Hunter shrugged.

“And we can’t come along?” Hunter pressed again.

“No.”

Behind Crosshair’s back, Hunter gave a few hand signals to Tech, and Tech nodded. Crosshair almost turned in time to notice, but when he looked back Tech was looking at his datapad again, and Hunter was lounging in his seat, legs out in front of him, arms crossed.

“I’ll be back,” Crosshair said before heading off the ship.

They waited a total of thirty seconds before following after him.

To Hunter’s surprise Crosshair wandered, he talked to intimidated citizens at stalls selling all kinds of colorful toys.

Hunter motioned for Tech to keep following Crosshair. All three of them stood out in their armor, but if they hid in the crowds right, Crosshair would have no idea they were there. Hopefully.

Hunter now looked the way Crosshair had gone before crossing the busy street, towards a stall Crosshair had stopped at. He looked at the plastoid purple toy Crosshair had inspected, but it was taken from his hand by the stall-owner, an almost-pinkish colored Ithorian.

“Can I help you?” she asked via translator collar, not seeming too open to Hunter being at her stall, though she had seemed friendly enough with Crosshair, or perhaps cowed, was a better way to describe it.

“The other man in armor, what did he want?” Hunter asked.

She put a hand on her small hip. “Look, I’m here to sell toys, not talk to weird-looking clones.”

Hunter put his hands on the stall, leaning forward. “Please, what did he say?”

She shrugged, and Hunter was certainly impressed that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him.

“I sell toys. What do you think he wanted?”

“All right, my apologies,” Hunter said, stepping back, almost bumping into a family of grans. “So sorry,” he murmured to them, feeling out of his element amongst all these civvies.

He turned on his comm, speaking just with Tech as he looked ahead, “Where is he now?”

“Farther down the street. At another stall.”

“What is he doing?” Hunter asked.

“Clearly he has taken an interest in children’s toys, or his informant sells them. Though if the first were true I’d be rather confused. Perhaps he needs more excitement with his target practice.”

“Let’s let him be,” Hunter said, stepping aside to let a small Selkath girl with a stuffy bigger than herself pass. “We’ll meet up, and head back to the ship.”

“Oh, I think he has found something,” Tech exclaimed, just as Hunter turned to go back.

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“He is handing over credits now. Wow, that is far too steep a price,” Tech said.

“I don’t need the personal commentary.”

“Right. Crosshair is now being handed a… Oh my. How strange.”

“What is it, Tech?”

“A tooka stuffy.”

Hunter stood with his limbs limp from the utter confusion. This was so out of character for Crosshair, so unthinkable, so strange that Hunter wanted to race down the street and interrogate him.

“We should get back before he knows we were following him.”

“Ah, about that. Too late.”

“Tell Hunter I said hi,” Crosshair said through Tech’s comm.

Now Hunter sent a signal to Crosshair. “How long did you know?”

“The whole time. What, you think I’m a sniper who wouldn’t know when he’s being watched? Your little sneaking around was cute, but you could do better. Armor stands out in a crowd.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“At least I wasn’t stalking—“

“Excuse me?”

“You were stalking me.”

“Not my fault you’re being weird.”

“It’s for a good reason.”

“This is quite nonsensical,” Tech chimed in. “We can all talk once we’re back on the ship.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Crosshair hissed.

Hunter started heading back, telling himself he’d be fine if he didn’t know why Crosshair was acting like this, but the truth was, he was dying to know what would make Crosshair of all people buy a stuffy. Maybe he did need to liven up target practice.

Once they were back in hyperspace, Tech and Hunter turned in their seats to face the stone-faced sniper.

“Well?” Hunter asked.

“Didn’t you hear when I said I wouldn’t tell you anything?”

Tech sighed. “We’re on your side,” he pointed out. “You don’t need to have your shields up.”

Crosshair’s toothpick flicked up, like he had just bit down on it hard.

Hunter’s brows drew low.

The quiet on the ship that followed was uncomfortable, yet Hunter kept it up, knowing Crosshair probably felt uncomfortable too.

“Why a tooka?” Tech asked. “There were so many to choose from.”

Crosshair shrugged, almost angling himself towards them, the tooka stuffy out of sight as it rested in his rack. “I thought it looked nice. Seemed… huggable enough, I guess.”

Hunter gave Tech a grateful look, knowing getting the small details out of someone was often easier when starting questioning, and sometimes those tactics were needed with Crosshair. Hunter tended to forget and just went head to head with him.

“I like the colors,” Tech commented.

“Yeah. The, uh… the red’s nice, I guess,” Crosshair admitted, leaning back in his seat, maybe getting more comfortable. “How much more time till we’re back on Kamino?” he asked. 

His foot started tapping, his face was all hard lines.

Hunter thought just maybe he was starting to put the picture together, but since he wasn’t sure yet, he kept the soft smile off his face. Though the warmth of it bloomed in his chest, nonetheless.

Crosshair fiddled with his firepuncher in his bunk on Kamino, the stuffed tooka resting by his hip. He’d chewed through five toothpicks already, and thrown two of at Hunter.

Wrecker had been put under for yet another surgery, so he couldn’t give him his surprise just yet.

Again the helplessness crawled in, it tugged at him, dragging him down, making it almost difficult to move. His chest ached, digging a deeper and deeper hole in him.

“I’m sure Wrecker will be out of surgery soon,” Hunter said. “He was already under when we got back.”

“What could they be doing this time?” Crosshair hissed.

“According to the medbay records—” Tech began.

“Are you even supposed to have those?” Hunter asked.

“Strictly speaking, no. As I was saying, this is slated to be quite a long procedure as they are trying to save his eye.”

Crosshair hung his head, barrel of his rifle cool against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how Wrecker would even handle all this once he did wake up.

Even in his own pain, Crosshair kept to his silence, and he waited.

Crosshair squeezed his hands tightly together, mouth drawing into a thin line. The white of the medbay surrounded him as he sat by Wrecker’s bed, willing his body to utter stillness, to draw from his great wealth of patience.

Wrecker’s color looked better than last he’d seen him, and he wasn’t writhing in pain, face pulled into a grimace from it. Wrecker hadn’t been allowed visitors after his surgery, but Tech and Hunter had snuck him in with few questions asked, and Crosshair had placed the tooka stuffy under one of his arms. He had given up on stealth then and ushered the others in.

Now the three of them waited for Wrecker to wake up. Crosshair had wanted to do this privately, at first, but he realized having Hunter and Tech silently supporting him meant a lot. It meant a lot to him that they seemed to understand his need to help Wrecker in some way—any way he possibly could. Besides, Wrecker was their brother too.

Hunter almost put a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder, but a quick glance had him pulling it back.

Tech was busy looking at the machines Wrecker was hooked up to. Crosshair occasionally did the same. He understood most of what he saw on them, not through training, but by having grown up an experimental clone, having been hooked up to many machines himself.

Wrecker grumbled, and he turned his head.

His eyes seemed to almost open, but he groaned now.

Kriff, was he in pain? Crosshair stood, ready to get a Kaminoan in here and demand he be given an opioid or local anesthetic, something! Then Wrecker said, voice a bit muddled, “Ow.”

“Hey, Wrecker,” Hunter said, tone gentle.

Wrecker turned to the sound of his voice. “Sarge?”

“Yeah, I’m here. We all are.”

“What’s…” Wrecker shifted his right arm, hand drifting close to the tooka stuffy. “What’s this?”

He opened his eyes, body moving slowly as he grabbed the stuffy. He blinked against all the bright light as he held it up.

“A tooka?” he asked, sounding as high as Crosshair hoped he was (from pain meds, of course).

“Yes,” Tech said. “It’s…” He turned to Crosshair, clearly not sure if he was allowed to say this part. Crosshair gave him a gentle nod. “It’s for you,” he finished.

“For… me?”

“Who else?” Hunter asked.

“Stop, I can’t think. Ow.”

“Are you in pain?” Crosshair asked, feeling like an idiot for even asking.

“Only a little,” Wrecker assuaged.

He squeezed the stuffy, then left it against his chest. “Hmm.”

There were quite a few minutes of Wrecker coming back to himself, and Crosshair didn’t say much, now almost blushing at the silly thing he’d done for his brother.

“Lula,” Wrecker eventually murmured in between drinking water and eating a ration bar (all in slow sips and bites, respectively).

“What?” Crosshair asked.

He lifted up his tooka stuffy, a gentle joy in his eye, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna name her Lula.”

Crosshair’s guilt faded away, like it was washed clean by the breaking of a storm, a cooling rain, and his muscles relaxed. He almost smiled, but would always deny it thereafter. He placed a toothpick in his mouth, and leaned back, eyeing Wrecker and his stuffy.

“Lula’s a good name.”

[questforgalas]

Sibling moments in the Bad Batch that live rent free in my head

S1E15 "Return to Kamino"

Alright babes, if you've been along on TBB ride before, you know these next two are tension filled extravaganzas. The "sibling moments" are definitely going to be more on the hurt/emotional side, but we're gonna get through it together!

The tension between Hunter and Crosshair is supreme sibling angst. They're both so hurt by the other and so mad but have the literal emotional IQ of a 10 year old and are so bitter

"They'll still come for you" dripping with venom with the pause and pointed look back

Also wonder if he feels slighted at Hunter explaining the squad knowing it'd be a trap - Crosshair has predicted their every move during each of their encounters, of course he knows they'll know it's a trap. I don't think this was malicious by Hunter but I think Crosshair could take it that way

Echo taking on the role of distracting anxious sis and keeping her hands busy

"If I go any lower, we will be in the water" Tech just listen to your sister

"Never doubted you for a second kid!" Wrecker is so supportive of everyone and especially Omega 😭

Tech is so stoked about the tube system 😂

"You, uh, alright?" ECHO NOTICING OMEGA'S DEMEANOR AND TRYING HIS DARNDEST TO COMFORT HER STAHP IT

Echo's look up at Tech and Wrecker when Omega deflects 😭

Hunter constantly glances at the stormtrooper walking with him and Crosshair cause he wants to be alone with Crosshair so badly to knock him on his skull and try to knock some sense into him

Literally, his eyes only narrow when they go on the stormtrooper. Even when he faces Crosshair and keeps his Sergeant face, his eyes soften each time they land on Cross

Hunter's eyes are literally pleading with Crosshair

Dear god these rewatches and detail catches are going to be the death of my heart

"They'll come to us. They don't leave their own behind. Most of the time" HUNTER IS STARING DOWN AND TO THE SIDE WITH SHAME IN HIS EYES WHILE CROSSHAIR SAYS THIS

Hunter now doesn't give a fuck if the stormtroopers hear him, he's in desperation mode

"Hm. And I did" said while the same score that was used during the platform scene in "The Outpost" makes me want to throw myself off the roof now that I've realized this

This has turned into a Hunter and Crosshair analysis instead of sibling moments so sorry

"Is that true?" "How could I possibly know that?" said with an eye roll. Iconic

Hunter's attempt at trying to reason with Crosshair, his eyes are so soft the whole time 😭

Wrecker's amused and excited "Oho, he's waiting"

"Welp, guess you were wrong about that" at Tech thinking they were expected to come in the main entrance and not the lift BUT CROSSHAIR KNOWS HIS BROTHERS AND KNOWS WHAT THEY'LL DO

Hunter's shock and pain when Crosshair says "You weren't loyal to me"

Crosshair's entire speech is a desperate sibling needing his brothers back

"Omega belongs with us" when Hunter says "us" he doesn't turn his head to indicate the group behind him and himself, he leans towards Crosshair, emphasizing the word and widening his eyes like he's trying to drive the point that Omega belongs with the Batch and that includes Crosshair aka Crosshair belongs with them too

Tech noticing the pucks, elbowing Wrecker, and they both lower their shoulders slightly - that's a sign of trust

"Why would we trust you?" Hunter doesn't say this aggressively. He's in a casual position, his body sideways to Crosshair. His stance is not of action but observation. At this point, he feels no actual threat from Crosshair, and that line is a test

"Don't become my enemy." "Crosshair, we never were" SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 😭😭😭

COORDINATED BATTLE SCENE COORDINATED BATTLE SCENE AND THEY FALL INTO STEP LIKE THEY'VE NEVER BEEN APART

Honestly, what sibling pairing hasn't had to solve their issues by body slamming each other to the floor

So many pointed looks between Hunter and Crosshair trying to size each other up and figure out where they stand. They want to be on each other's side so badly

Hunter's face is so desperate during his final plea to Crosshair

The shock on Hunter and in Tech's eyes when Cross says he removed his chip 😭😭😭

Waist high hugs from Omega

Hunter immediately checking if there's a chip scar on Cross 😭

[ashes-2-ashes57cba]

The Clone Wars: On the Wings of Keerdaks

Part 3 of the Clone Wars Bad Batch arc with my OC: Specter! this has been edited

Specter would have preferred the action and chaos of the battlefield to the quiet tension of discovering a clone thought to be dead. She could diagnose Echo would make a full recovery, but until Tech disconnected him, there wasn't much else she could do. 

“Situation’s almost under control out there,” Anakin said as he ran into the control room. “How’s it going in here?”

“I’m still trying to decrypt Echo’s cerebral interface,” Tech reported, still working at the controls, “Until I do, we cannot disconnect him from this computer system.”

“How is he, Rex?” the General asked, turning to his Captain. Rex stood up while Specter watched over Echo. 

“He’s too weak to walk. Very disoriented. Doesn’t even remember how he got here. He remembers being at the Citadel, but that’s about it,” the clone reported.

“Any word on the extraction squad?” Anakin asked next.

“We called it in, but no word back.”

“Well, that’s no surprise,” the Jedi grimaced. “We knew when we got into this we’d be on our own. It’s gonna get more difficult to get out of here.” 

Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker rushed into the room as more droids advanced on them. Crosshair elbowed the door panel, causing it to short circuit. Wrecker tore off a droid’s head before it was able to pry the door open. Hunter and Crosshair began to weld the door shut.

“I thought you guys had it handled,” Specter shouted across the room. 

“We were down two! What did you expect?” Wrecker replied. She only shook her head. 

“Enemy approaching,” Crosshair hissed, looking at the thermals through his helmet antennae, “droids. Lot’s of ‘em.”

“How long can you hold them off?” Anakin asked.

“How long do you need?” Hunter asked back. 

“Tech, how much longer?”

“Not yet. I need more time,” the clone answered. 

“Cutting it awfully close today, Tech,” Specter mumbled.

Moments passed before Tech announced “we can unplug him now.” Specter helped Echo to stand up over the console and let Rex unplug the cables attached to the clone. Echo writhed in pain, eventually falling to sit again as the last cable was pulled.

“Rex?” he asked.

“What is it?” The Captain kneeled down to his friend, ready to attend to him.

“I got a big headache,” Echo joked. He glanced at Specter. “And there’s a pretty lady here, too,” he whispered. Specter heard him anyway, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty lady who’s got a name and a gun. I’d be careful around her, soldier,” she crossed her arms. “So how about you just focus on getting out of here alive?”

“Better to feel something than nothing, old buddy,” Rex said tenderly with a chuckle.

“It’s a touching reunion, guys, but we need to get out of here now,” Anakin interjected.

“There’s an exhaust vent that leads to the cooling systems right there,” Echo weakly pointed to a spot in the ceiling. A muffled clang sounded.

“They’ve breached the front door,” Hunter announced as sparks fell from the inner door. Crosshair held up his rifle at the ready. “It won’t be long before they’re through the second.” Echo had already plugged his mechanical arm into the console port.

“That should get it open,” he said. The vent indeed opened, but it was still high out of reach. The other clones put their helmets on, ready to vacate the room. 

“Great. Now how do we get up there?” Crosshair said with a sneer.

“I can help with that,” Wrecker said, grabbing Hunter.

“Wait, what?” Hunter exclaimed as his squadmate positioned him. “What are you doing?” his voice lilted as he was thrown up into the vent. The Sergeant braced himself before he fell.

“A heads up would have been nice!” he shouted. Specter pointed and laughed, walking towards Wrecker.

“Where would the fun in that be, Hunt?” she teased before Wrecker threw her up too, albeit with more grace. The others had their turn, with Echo latched onto Tech’s back, and began to climb up. Anakin and Wrecker remained. 

“It’s okay, Wrecker. I’ve got this,” Anakin said when the brute offered to help him up into the vent; he used his own skill in the Force to jump up. “What are you doing?” he asked when he realized Wrecker didn’t jump up and instead, ran back toward the control panel.

“I’m putting an end to Tambor’s little science experiment,” he explained, throwing explosives onto the controls and stasis chamber.

“Are you done? Time’s up,” Anakin exclaimed, just as the enemy got through the door. The Jedi used the Force to pick up the clone before a spherical droid, who had filled the room with a spider-web of electricity, could reach him. Once everyone had made it up to the corridor, they began to walk through. 

“Huh. This ventilation corridor acts as a cooling system for all the computers in the facility,” Tech observed with his scanner.

“How did you know it was up here, Echo?” the General asked. Rex had Echo slung over his shoulder, helping him walk.

“Well, they got access to my memory, and I got access to the Techno Union database. All their plans, inventory, schematics… everything,” he explained.

“You mean you can find us a safe way out of here?” Rex wondered, letting his friend off his shoulder. The team stopped and waited for an answer.

“Well, there is a way, but you’re not gonna like it.”

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

Echo was right, they didn't like it.  Anakin opened the door and was immediately faced with wind and light dust. The access port had led them outside, facing another facility building connected only by a long pole.

“I don’t know about this,” Rex admitted.

“I’m telling you, there’s a landing pad on that other building,” Echo affirmed.

“So you think there’s a ship there we can steal?” Hunter asked, appearing behind them.

“Well, I hope there’s a ship we can steal.” Echo got up to follow Skywalker, who was already making his way across.

“Let’s hope this trip isn’t for nothing,” Hunter sighed, following Rex. The rest followed along.

“Oh, boy. I can’t even look,” Wrecker nervously said to himself once they had covered some distance. “Just keep walking, Tech.”

“That’s fine, but if you fall, don’t take me with you,” he shot back. 

“Uh-oh. I looked,” Wrecker said with a gulp. Tech ruined his eyes. “I think I’m gonna be sick. Not gonna panic,” he said to himself.

“Hang in there, Wrecker. We’re almost there,” Specter encouraged. She was the only one who didn’t use her arms to balance herself, her modified agility allowed her to steadily walk across… though she was still careful. The door on the other side opened and droids appeared, weapons drawn.

“Turn around! Go back!” Anakin warned, igniting his lightsaber. Behind them, more droids had gathered, blocking the way they came. Everyone was stuck at the halfway point. The General deflected a blaster shot back to a droid  and Tech shot at one on his side. However, Crosshair lost his balance and slipped off.

“Oh, boy,” Wrecker groaned before diving in to save him. “Gotcha!” he said, catching the sniper by his leg as he dangled off an antennae.

“Anybody got a brilliant idea?” Anakin asked.

“I do have a brilliant idea,” Tech replied.

“Can we not assume it’s brilliant until we know what it is, please?” Specter asked.

“I’m hanging here!” Wrecker reminded.

“When the locals attacked us, I recorded the creatures’ distress call,” Tech started to explain.”

“He records everything. It’s a hobby,” Hunter explained to the others.

“Which allows us to call those flying creatures to us,” Tech finished before playing the sound, very loudly. The others covered their ears and winced at the screech. While they waited, Wrecker and Crosshair shot at the approaching droids. “There’s our ride out of here!” Tech pointed to the creatures, who began to emerge from the clouds below and fly around the group. 

“Now, how do we get on them?” Anakin asked.

“How else? We jump!” Tech answered. They all looked at him, appalled. Specter sighed.

“While it’s not the craziest thing we’ve done, I still wouldn’t exactly call this ‘brilliant’,” she mumbled.

“All right, I’ll go first,” the General volunteered. He jumped and landed on the back of a creature. Rex and Echo followed suit, landing on a creature together.

“I don’t wanna do this, but here I go!” Wrecker shouted before letting go of Crosshair and the antennae. They were paired up as well.

“See you later!” Specter waved goodbye to the droids before jumping with Hunter and Tech. She landed with the Sergeant while Tech ended up with Skywalker, flying away with the rest of the group. Tech looked back, however, and saw the droids had deployed wings and were now gaining on them.

“Uh, that wasn’t part of the plan,” he admitted. “Those things can fly!” 

“Wow! Really? I hadn’t noticed!” Specter screamed, hanging onto Hunter. “Thank you for your expert analysis!”

“We have to shake those droids!” Anakin said, deflecting their fire with his lightsaber. “How do you steer this thing?” It seemed that the creatures didn’t like the droids tailing behind them either; they flew in a close formation before suddenly veering off away from a jutting cliff, losing the droids. Specter let out a sigh of relief.

“How you holding up, Echo?” Rex asked the clone. 

“Never better, sir!” he replied with a smile.

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

The group returned to the Poletec’s village, the creatures instinctively landed in the open area. They were met with the chief and his guards approaching, who spoke something to Anakin as he jumped off the creature.

“Their leader is impressed we tamed the Keerdaks, but he wants to know why we returned here,” Tech translated for him.

“Tell him we had no choice. Tell him… that we wore out our welcome in Purkoll,” Anakin said. Tech went to do so, but before she could finish, blaster bolts hit the ground. Three of the droids had returned. Crosshair shot one down, another had simply crashed, but one flew away, just barely dodging Specter’s shot. She clicked her tongue in disappointment. 

“Not good,” the Jedi commented. “If I know Tambor, he’ll come after us, us and the Poletecs, with everything he’s got.” The chief began to speak, rather angrily. “Tech, what’s he saying?” Anakin asked while staring up at the chief. 

“He says that we have broken our word. We have brought the war to his village,” he translated, solemn. 

“You’re right. Tell him he’s right, Tech,” Rex stepped up. “Tell him we didn’t plan to drag his people into war. But look what the Separatists did to one of our people!” He stepped aside and pointed towards Echo, who stepped forward as well. The Poletecs gasped. “They took away his freedom, his humanity. They tried to turn him into a machine. The Techno Union claims it’s neutral, but they have chosen sides. Now your people have to choose.” Tech took a breath before translating Rex’s speech. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Rex,” Skywalker complimented. 

“Let’s hope it works, because I see forces coming,” Crosshair spoke up, looking over the horizon. “More than we can handle alone.” 

"Ever the optimist," said Specter with a sigh.

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

It was dark by the time the droids arrived in the village, but they all were prepared; the Poletecs lined the cliff above their village and the clones were in position. The General gave the order and Wrecker pushed another boulder into the village, tumbling over droids. The villagers cheered and charged into battle, throwing spears and riding the Keerdaks. 

Crosshair and Specter had taken sniper positions and were picking off droids one by one; Wrecker was, of course, smashing through the droids, and tossed his blade to Hunter who sliced through them. Tech threw several EMPs while Rex provided coverfire. Once they had taken care of their section of droids, the group, including the Poletec chief gathered, ready to make their next move. But a droid, thought to be dead, rose up behind the chief. Crosshair shot it down and gave a salute to the group.

“Hey, that one was mine,” Specter whined.

“Go cry about it, little sister” he said. 

“I hope you were talking about my height. We’re twins.”

They watched as a walker touched down and started sending devastating fire into the village. Those on the ground scrambled for cover as another wave of droids arrived. Tech followed a group of Poletecs, retreating from a squad of droids following them, and placed an EMP in their path, setting it off as the droids became within range. Crosshair, Specter, and Echo joined Anakin on his vantage point and defeated more droids that had flown into range.

“Rex, we’ve gotta take out these walkers. I’ll take one. You take the other,” the General ordered over his radio.

“Don’t worry, General. The boys and I can handle it,” the captain relayed. “Hunter, Wrecker, you’re with me.” The two followed him underneath the walker and shot relentlessly at it. Anakin took several steps back and prepared to run off the cliff. 

“Still showing off, huh, General?” Echo commented.

“You know me, Echo,” he winked before running and leaping off the ledge, igniting his lightsaber as he flipped and landed on top of the walker, cutting through the metal. He slid down to the guns, cutting them off as well.

“That seemed to work. But how do we get up there?” Rex wondered… until Wrecker approached and went to grab him. “No, no. Not again!” The captain was tossed up onto the droid, catching himself on one of its blaster barrels. Hunter was more prepared to be launched and joined Rex in shooting and stabbing the “eyes” of the droid.

“This one’s all you. Don’t screw up,” Crosshair allowed Specter to take the shot at the walker’s third eye. She fired and hit her target, looking back at Crosshair.

“Don’t you ever doubt me,” she defiantly pointed at him.  

The giant droid walked blindly now and Wrecker noticed the Poletec chief dragging a body supposedly out of danger, but right underneath the foot of the droid. The brute pushed away the chief and held up the leg—the ground cracked beneath him. Skywalker used his lightsaber to cut off a leg of his walker and jumped off, using the Force to push it into the other walker. They both fell on top of their own droids and the rest retreated. Wrecker helped pull Hunter and Rex from the wreckage, they saw the General and Tech talking to the chief while the twins helped Echo regroup. Hunter took off his helmet, already smiling.

“It’s hard to compete with a Jedi.”

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

With friendly farewells and a newfound ally, General Skywalker and the Poltec chief parted ways, the native back to his own village and the team back onto the Marauder. Specter was glad the mission was over, though she couldn’t wait for the next one. She noticed neither Rex nor Echo were behind her, Echo had stopped the Captain from entering; ever so curious, she paused to listen in on their conversation. 

“Rex, thanks for coming after me.”

“That’s what brothers do. I’m just sorry it took so long,” Rex admitted. “Hopefully, it’s gonna be just like old times.” Specter ducked out of view just as Rex turned to board the ship, Echo only a few steps behind.

She couldn’t help but think of Crosshair; of course they were closer than the others in Clone Force 99, but she wondered what lengths he would go and what borders he would cross to keep her safe and by his side. She wondered about her own ability too. What was her limit? Was there anything she couldn’t and wouldn’t do for him?

The jostle of the ship taking off interrupted her stream of thoughts, she’d find some other time to worry about it. Crosshair passed by, a ghost of a smirk graced his lips: she mirrored his smile. 

[echoedcrosshairs]

Those Who Fight Together part - 13

Summary: You, Reaper, learning something had changed and you must correct it. Old foes are exactly who they thought you were. Returning to the batch your and relationships, tensions run high more ways then one.

Warning: Smut, Self Conscious Echo, devious Crosshair, 18+ people, implied wounds

Word count: 8.9k

Part 12 Part 14

Masterlist

Tech messed with his googles, "I think you should take this one, Echo," he said leaning over her with his medical pad taking vitals. He drowned out the conversation looking over the health panel screening for any irregularities. He sigh, nothing but hydration and exhaustion. His brain was still seething over the fact they questioned his emotional capabilities. Tech looked at her, studying her face, the raise and fall of her chest and the way she kind of curled into herself when she was asleep.

"She's pretty" Wrecker said behind him also watching.

"Astute as always, Wrecker" Tech scowled prying himself up from his crouched position next to her.

"Why are you into that?" Wrecker asked still confused, they all had drilled into their heads that having kids was never an option let alone a family outside of their squad and brothers so out of everything else about her to be attracted to why that.

"It's not something he can help," Echo said injecting himself into the conversation, "it's just like how you like explosives, it's his nature."

"Thank you," Tech said with a cough, "I'm just glad she does not seem to mind."

"I mean you've never seemed interested in women so it doesn't make sense," Wrecker shrugged kneeling down infront of her resting hid big head on the corner of the bunk.

"I am a reserved person," he snipped back.

"Huh?"

"He means he keeps to himself," you mumbled Rolling over to your side facing them.

"How are you feeling?" Tech said removing the sensors.

"Sleepy."

"As to be expected."

"You did good Riduur," Echo cooed petting your face.

"Mmm."

"Did I hurt you?" Wrecker asked nervously.

"I feel a little tender."

Tech pulled out the tub of Bacta he kept in pocket, "This may sting. A lot." Carefully as he could he took the tub and rubbed everywhere around the outside of your folds and very carefully inserted sum incase of any ripping. I know this hurts and she is not even wincing, she's already in more pain then she's letting on. Nonchalantly with his freehand he primed a painreliever and injected in your leg where the others wouldn't notice it. He watched you smile at him when the sensation relaxed the cramping. He rubbed the spot of the injection, "Better?"

"Thanks," you said sitting up out of the bunk, Wrecker handing you a canteen of water and you slammed the whole thing down, "That's a lot better."

"They should be back soon-" Tech said and found you scowling, "I will advise them to wait until after you rest," you nodded your reply to him.

Tech attempted to dismiss himself to finish working on the filter but found your arm laced around his waist, "You don't have secrets from me," you whispered sensing his well hidden anger, "What is it?"

"Not once did my brother's question Echo's emotional aptitude yet I am the one they view as emotionless ," he whispered, "I just need to process it is all," he said removing your arm, "I will be fine."

"They can't correct themselves if they are unaware of how that view effects you," you offered trying to reach out again but he maneuvered out of it.

"I know," he said trying to head to the pilots chair, when the invisible force pulled him back towards you and your arms pulling him down infront of you.

You rested your legs over his shoulders gently holding his head between your legs while you played with his hair, "Talk," you whispered, "please."

"When the others arrive," he replied and you wrapped your anklets together infront of him holding him in place. He sighed but didn't fight out of the grasp. Tech fiddled with his goggles noticing his brothers were staring at the interaction. "I wasn't going for one," he said at Echo who stopped glaring.

"Good," I don't believe him, the look on his tells me that was a lie and she seems to know it too. Her leaving really did a number an all of us, but him the hardest. "Fully sober?" He asked.

Tech begrudgingly nodded. Stoic Tech, logical and full of useless knowledge, detached and apathetic. He took his goggles off allowing you to further explore his hair while attempting to use it as a mental distraction. He was content that you didn't press the matter being. Tech took one hand off his head and kissed it, "You should go back to sleep."

You and Echo exchanged glances to watch him. Echo gave a barely noticeable nod in agreement. You unwrapped your legs from him allowing him to get up and Wrecker to pick you up and move you to his newly clean bunk. It made you happy the bunk was wider then the others to account for his large frame as he put you on his warm chest pulling a blanket over you. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep on the heater of muscle.

"You can't beat yourself up forever," Echo said taking his seat next to the pilots chair, "She's with us." She's my Riduur, she wouldn't leave again.

Tech understood the implication of the sentence, "I can however blame myself for the creation of her commando droids which bare a striking resemblance to us and other assorted projects she undertook while angry with us, nor can I deny the fact that at the end of it all I am the one to blame. Crosshair may have delivered the blow but I was the one who lit the fire. How many lives terminated because of her anger? How broken is she under the façade of the collected seductive warrior? We all read the messages, I would have assumed that woman would never beg for anything then I saw the messages to have us rescue her," he breathed shaking his head putting his goggles back on, "and yet the largest bantha in the room bothering me is that to all of you think I am not capable of emotion nor intimacy."

Echo stared at him silently as he regained his composure enough to look like his old self, "I didn't realize you felt that way."

"No one has ever bothered to ask."

"Tech... You are not to blame for what she did, she made those decisions at the time. She choose, not you Tech. She doesn't blame you so you need to quit blaming your self," Echo paused to think, "I've never questioned your emotions but I didn't grow up with you, your emotions are always on your face and voice."

Tech looked at him puzzled but realized he did make a fair amount of facial expressions, "Perhaps because you are an outsider looking in, rarely do I genuinely laugh or cry or admit to pain or even the occasional stomach upset."

"You laugh and smile around her plenty."

"Before her."

Echo rolled his eyes, "Talk to them."

Crosshair browsed the endless section of the spreads and blankets just wanting to get one of each so this could be over. Crosshair had picked black silks for comfort but Hunter argued against the practicality of it for 'clean up."

"Why not just just a blanket to put down?" Crosshair grunted.

"Do you want to consciously think about a blanket?" Hunter countered.

"Fine, but I'm still getting the black silk sheet."

"You don't even stay afterwards," Hunter rolled his eyes grabbing the red bedding and black sheet a lot with a couple larger darker red blankets.

"All of us are changing with her around," Crosshair said poking him walking off.

"Some more then others," Hunter muttered knowing he'd heard it.

Both of them arrived back at the ship, confused about the sudden silence. They wondered into the bunk finding you still laying onto of a snoring Wrecker. That had to hurt, Hunter thought, Didn't think he'd ever do it because she's smaller then his usual type. Hunter couldn't help the little smile that twitched on his lips. He followed Crosshair to the cockpit to find Tech and Echo chatting.

"Is she okay?" Crosshair asked first.

"She needs to rest, it took bacta and an injection."

"What" Echo's neck snapped looking back at Tech.

"Their was mild internal discomfort. I took care of it while neither of you were looking."

"She didn't say anything about it."

"No but you could see the intensity in her abdominal muscles and inner thighs. I'm surprised you didn't know."

"It was just a one time thing," Echo offered.

Crosshair growled, "Has she at least bathed?"

"No-" Tech started already hearing Crosshair click his armor out of place, "Mild water! Heat could aggravate her dehydration!" he called after him scowling.

Crosshair carefully scooped you up gently waking you, "Time to shower, Kair'ta."

"I just want to sleep," you whined.

"Afterwards, I promise."

Your eyebrows shot up, never had Crosshair promised anything before. You nodded and leaned into his muscle and warmth. Crosshair looked down at noticed the sweat covering you and the icy clammy ness of it. He held his jaw shot carefully setting you down on the counter so he could strip his blacks before grabbing you taking you into the shower with him falling Tech's advise about mildly warm water. Crosshair kept one hand firmly around your waist as he scrubbed you up and down before attending to the mess that was your hair. Your heart felt warm, for someone who is callous and generally rather cold he was rather warm and caring in private. He didn't say anything and neither did you, it was a comfortable silence. He turned off the water and dried you first setting you back on your counter so he could dry himself slipping back into his black pants. He carefully dried your hair pulling his black shirt over your head, you slipped your arms through the sleeves with a small giggle with the extra sleeve length. Cross gave you a gentle kiss before picking you back up. He took you to your room watching Hunter finishing putting on the covers. He set you down on the bed and grabbed a pair of your underwear and gently slide it over your feet, kissing your knees and thighs as he finished pulling them up. You yawned and laid down, "this feels amazing," you mumbled as he pulled the sheet and blanket over you. Crosshair smirked.

"How.. domestically civilian of you," Hunter chuckled followed him out of the room.

Crosshair scowled, "I will break your filter."

Hunter rolled his eyes knowing he hit a nerve, "It was a compliment, Crosshair. No one would believe me anyway."

"I will always be a solider."

"She'd never ask you to give that up, I don't think she could give it up either."

Wrecker crossed his arms yawning as he got his lecture from Tech about being careful and his aggravation about his feelings being underestimated, "I know that now," Wrecker said, "I meant like before her." He watched Tech fall silent and his other brothers look entertained at his scolding.

"Shouldn't you be with your precious Riduur," Crosshair mocked.

"Thank you for that anyway."

"Who says I was talking about you?" He sneered.

Echo patted him on the shoulder, "Because I'm the only one you let share her, you territorial asshole."

"Maybe because I don't view you as a man," Crosshair countered annoyed at that he knew.

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Knock it off," Hunter groaned, turning to see the smirk on both of their faces wanting to smack them off but content they were getting along. He gave Echo a little chin jolt to tell him to go keep her company while Tech finishes scolding the rest of them. Should have asked Tech where he hid his supply to sit through this.

You felt an arm curl around you and you pulled it closer, "Hey," you whispered into his arm.

At the edge of sense he could feel it, the tiny tug from before towards her, "I shouldn't be able to," he mumbled.

"Hmm?" you asked.

"Feel you."

You bolted upright and stared him with a wild expression, "No you're not." You headed straight for to the controls frantically punching in for Zetabed while everyone was staring at you and punched it for as fast as the ship could go.

"What is it?" Hunter said instinctively standing up smelling the fear.

"I need to get Echo there now," you took a breath feeling your stomach trying to come up, "He can... sense me."

"Yes, we are all aware he can," Tech said confused.

"You what!" You yelled at him, not meaning too, "Do you realize the target that puts on his back? The danger that puts the rest of you in?" Your hand shot up to your skull trying to keep it from wanting to explode, "Time is changing again, I tweaked it but the ripple couldn't be this bad. This can't be happening," you started frantically pacing back and forth shaking, "I need the book, is this the call that he meant? Could he feel the bond with in ours? He's going to be turned into a fucking lab rat."

Crosshair planted to firm hands on your shoulders holding you in place looking at the panic illuminating every single one of your features, "Kair'ta." His voice commanding you to look up at him, "What do you mean tweaked? What type of danger? And what bond?"

"The bond between master and apprentice is strong, Dooku knew you were coming before I did. If he somehow could sense the bond... More then likely the Techno Union will come back for him... in force. Fuck I need to activate my droids," you said trying to move out of his grip but couldn't but you looked up to see Echo standing in the doorway even paler.

"Keep going."

"I can't that is all I can say, I have to get to the book and find a way to break it. He shouldn't be able too anyway since it originally happened with," you paused to look at Crosshair realizing you already said to much, you took a breath, "Something changed."

Crosshair let go watching you practically sprint across the ship. He stared at Echo who was pressed against the wall paler then Tatooine's sand and the mild tremor on his hand. "She won't let them take you back. She'll do whatever has to be done at whatever price."

Hunter listened as she activated all of them even the reserves, She's preparing for war. He smelled the salt running down her face and heard her hand hit the ship but her lips didn't make a peep "Timeria," he heard her growl, "You tested my resolve to keep them safe, you knew. You always knew," her heard another thud, "Until my last I will make sure they get to where they need to be. Your sacrifice will not be in vain" 

"Echo?" Hunter said looking at the blank expression on his face, he got up and tapped him and Echo frantically pulled non existent wires connected from his ports, "Echo." He watched him look up at him, "She's not going to let that happen."

"No I'm not," you said putting your hands on Echo's face, "Relax," you watched the tension leave his body and felt it course through your muscles cramping them. "There hasn't been any chatter and the Union hasn't deployed, openly at least."

"What's the plan?" Hunter asked.

"I don't have one," you paused to stare at Echo, your face quivering betraying the calm we're attempting not convey.

"Are you sure you're not overacting?" Tech said.

You glared at him, "What sounds more likely, Echo is force sensitive or that I am correct and something is wrong?"

"The latter, we're not that lucky," he said shutting up.

"No but it would be really cool," Wrecker added.

"So it originally happened with me?" Crosshair asked.

"Yes but after I read the book which happens after... he changed it," you said blinking, "Dooku changed it. I must have originally found the book not one of my sisters and read it then instead of later... I'll be ready." Your head started spinning, stupid stupid stupid. You sat down in the chair staring at Crosshair, he dies, that is what changes there's no other explanation. You looked down at the faint black in your hands, what does it mean. Oh.

"You figured it out," Crosshair said putting a toothpick in his mouth.

"I did, I think and a way to do undo it," you took the hand and pressed it to his face, the black slowly fading.

"What did you do?" Crosshair said feeling a tingle pulse at the spot.

"I gave you part of my strength, it should be enough. It will at least buy the time you'll need."

"That's not enough to break the bond between Echo and you is it."

You shook your head, "No," you said backing up and taking Echo's hand, "Come with me," you said "This might be... uncomfortable."

Tech watched Hunter motioned for him to follow. Fascinated he followed after them. He said them sit and her hand on his face repeating 'I am one with the force and the force is with me.' He pulled his goggles up wiping his eyes thinking he was hallucinating when he saw a thin gold string appear between them, "You're also seeing"- and he watched Crosshair nod.

You pulled back your hand staring at him, "Timeria touched you with the book at the library," you said relieved, she knew when I found out that I would need it and made sure I went back for it. You looked back at Cross and smiled yawning again, "You carry more ration bars in your pack. I need to lay down until we get there." You watched Crosshair squint at you for a second but nod.

Tech picked you up, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Constantly sacrificing your needs to protect this squad."

"You boys are mine," you yawned, "your health and survival is my priority." Literally.

"Nonetheless, I appreciate it. Did Crosshair keep his cock to himself?" he asked flatly.

"Not even an erection."

"Good."

You rolled your eyes, "Going to keep yours to yourself?"

"Yes. I would not recommend intercourse in your current state. If it gets problematic I will relieve it myself."

"You certainly will not," you whined, "They can't give me any until your time is up, so no wasting it."

"Did you not get enough earlier?" he asked.

"Not if you're actually trying," You teased hearing Tech faintly groan as he set you in bed, watching him feel the sheets and bed cover with his hand.

He climbed into the bed and pressed your hand to his face, "Can you?" You giggled but obliged him, "Thank you," he said laying his back curling his arm around you, "One day." You looked at him and he fidgeted with his goggles, "What? It is only the logical next step. Eventually."

"You actually want one? It's not just a-"

"Of course I do, isn't that the intrinsic desire of all men?"

"Wrecker doesn't."

"He is defective," Tech chuckled, "Again," he said putting your hand on his face again, "Talking about it even seems to illicit a reaction. It is rather vexatious."

You pulled your hand back slightly just leaving your finger tips on his skin smiling, "Why not just gently give it to me?"

"I am not in the mood for gentle."

"What type of mood are you in?"

"Something Hunter would approve of."

Hunter grabbed his helmet and snuck it back on, "Really?" He heard Crosshair grumble.

"No it's just a precaution. How did the filter research go?"

"I just need to install it, Tech, should I attempt to install the filter?" Echo said into his com, he may be in his blacks but he always has it on him.

"One moment," Tech said crawling out of bed, "I will install it."

"Seriously," he heard Crosshair say behind him.

"I did attempt to navigate the conversation else where but she had other plans, this should provide my mind enough of a distraction to temporarily relieve the sensation."

"Tech's actually trying to learn control."

Tech scowled grabbing his extra spanner getting to work on attaching it to the air system. His hands moved carefully across the panel as to set off the sensors. Indeed enough of a distraction. "The filtration system has been added to our system," he muttered knowing Hunter didn't need his coms at this close of a range, "How long it needs however filter the current circulating air however could take up to ten minutes to process." He watched Crosshair still eyeing the addition, "Do you see something I don't?" He asked turning back to the panel.

"No I just hope it works so it doesn't effect him like that again."

"Funny, you're not the gentlest either. Rarely do you ever not trust my work," Tech said climbing down off the table.

"Just be quiet." He scowled.

Tech rolled his eyes and crawled back into bed finding you waiting there for him, legs lightly spread teasing him. He stared up at the ceiling measuring each breath.

"You're realllly trying," you teased putting your leg over is.

"With extremely difficulty, yes."

"How much longer do you think that is going to last you?" You smiled moving your leg further up.

"At this point I'm collecting scientific data to further analyze myself. However to answer the question is I have no intention of giving in."

"No fun," you playfully pouted at him.

"It is something I need to learn to control."

"What if I don't want you too in this moment."

Tech sighed and rolled him self over you planting his elbows on either side of you, pulling his goggles up to rest on his forehead, "There is no getting out this, is there?"

"Absolutely not."

"You're rather insatiable mood this evening, any particular reason as to why?" He said gently putting his hand up the shirt resting on your ribs, "Something you know that we don't."

"Perhaps or perhaps being surrounded by very hot men all the time has that effect."

"Something tells me it's the former," he said leaning down resting his mouth gently above yours, "Tell me and maybe I'll give you want you want."

"Are you trying to bribe me?" You smiled playing his game.

"Is it working?"

You gently brought your finger to chin, "Maybe" you said moving your mouth to his ear low enough to where Hunter couldn't hear before your mouth back by his, "one day."

Tech's eyebrows furrowed, Is she implying what I think she is? "Will I regret it if I don't?" he questioned, but your silence was answer enough. Right or wrong, I'll enjoy it anyway. "I hate what you do to me," he moaned quietly before moving his mouth down to bridge the gap pressing pressing himself directly into you the thin pants leaving nothing to the imagination. He took off his goggles and laid them aside on the pillow, "Better?" He pulling his lips away just for a moment feeling you tug on his lower lip with your teeth in response. He moved his mouth down your neck, "Someone's suddenly quiet," he questioned while redoing his mark feeling you arch into him, "I would hate to have to stop."

"You wouldn't dare," you breathed out trying to be quiet.

Tech pulled him self away just further enough where you couldn't lean into him or kiss him, smiling but the rapid breathing and eye dilation gave away how he was feeling, "Cyar'ika."

You squirmed under his gaze the endearment was ravishing from his lips, completely lustful on the edge of coming undone. My silence is driving him mad, you smiled, "Scared, I'll give you what you want?" you teased watching the last coil spring loose in him.

His hand went to the hem of the loaned shirt and tugged it up and off before grabbing pulling his pants and pants down to his knees not bothering to take them off before inserting himself. "This time hold it in," he didn't recognize the commanding growl that came out but he felt you melt under him widening your hips further for him. He moved your legs up to his shoulders, his hand at the side of your face and the other weaving his fingers through yours. He watched your face fade from pleasure to peer tenderness, "The difference between love making and fucking," he said slowing down moment trying to catch his breath, "is the connection isn't it?" He said echoing the first time you both had sex and how intense it was.

You brought your hand to his face, "It's this," you said stroking his cheek one tear slipping out, How many times will I get this with any of you before all hell breaks loose, "Enjoying it?" you moaned feeling him nearly pull all the way out before sliding all the way back in hearing how soaked you were for him.

"More then anything I've ever experienced," he paused for a moment looking down at where both of you were so perfectly connected, "Complete," he mumbled before returning to rutting himself inside you and pulled himself out from you testing theory, "I am incomplete without you," he felt himself shaking at the realization, how empty life seemed with out you and that his body wasn't even able to preform. He shook his head and reinserted himself, I'll process that later. He felt your grip firm on his face feeling the shaking, "I will be fine," he kissed the inside of your wrist, "Cyar'ika," he said applying more kisses getting rougher again.

You happily watched him enjoy you, the intimacy of touching beyond just parts and how relaxed he seemed. Every inch of you screamed to cum but you didn't want too, not yet not without him as much as he was trying to make you. Every stroke firm and perfectly angled pulling the wetness of your folds, every thrust soaked covering both of you. "Tech," you couldn't help the painful expression on your face and your back trying to arch back.

"Cum, Cyar'ika, let me see you."

The pounding sensation overwhelmed you, your heart beat was rapid and their was definitely not enough oxygen in your legs. Your toes curled and there was no fighting it anymore. "Tech." The name was bliss on your trembling lips. He held your face firmer watching every second of the flood wash over you as he came inside you, pressing himself allowing none of it to escape. His fingers tighten around yours when he finally stilled his head was completely empty for once barely keeping keeping his eyes open, "Reaper," his lips soundlessly moved. His heart felt like it was going to explode from his chest, carefully he removed his hand from your face and gently massaged your quivering leg on his shoulders, "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too, Tech," you panted.

He moved his hand to the other leg and massaged it before gently bringing bringing his hand to your hips holding, "Again?" he breathed.

You brought your hand up to his hair and watching the sweat beads start to drip, "Are you up to it?"

"I need you," he whispered, "I need this."

"We can until we get there," you said, the look in his eyes was hungry but not lustful he just needed to be touched and wanted.

You dropped one leg from his shoulder and wrapped it around him pulling his body closer to you, you felt him twitch inside you, "Did you just?" you started feeling the red soak across his cheeks.

"Yes, that was... random," he said awkwardly fidgeting with his hair, "I am most definitely not done however."

You put your other leg down and pulled him to your forehead, "Are you okay?" you asked softly, "You're pushing yourself."

"I... just have a lot I need to process and evaluate but this is helping."

"Talk to me Tech, then we can continue," locking your ankles around his hips holding him in place.

He thumbed your cheek in attempts to choose the words carefully, "Since meeting you has enlightened me about the consequences of not being in control of myself showing how reckless and foolish I can be due to the fact I am limited in the ways I express myself. They often do not understand what I am attempting to express and I often don't understand what the little intricacies certain feelings are which aggravates the situation with my frustration."

"Is that everything?"

"No, I still do not understand the intricacies of my feelings towards you nor how to verbalize them in a way that would make sense but this..." he said looking down for a moment taking a breath, "to me is more understandable."

"Are you saying making love to me instead of just fucking me is helping you contextualize your feelings?"

"Yes... and no. It is helping demonstrate how I feel yet forgive myself."

"Forgive yourself for what?" You asked puzzled.

"Not understanding everything you did was for us, I personally felt responsible for ever course of action you took, every life lost, every planet in ruins as my own doing. Crosshair offered you his pain as atonement to demonstrate how he feels on the inside, I however am I not fond of pain so I suppose to am offering myself to you as atonement as mildly uncomfortable as it feels being so... intimate. It is not a sensation I am accustomed to while it does feel great it does also feel... odd"

You sighed unwrapping your legs gently sitting up to where he was barely still in you, "Tech. We're done for now. You don't need to make yourself uncomfortable during said intimacy because then it's not really intimate anymore" you said moving back pulling him the rest of the way out with a small plop, "Neither of you ever needed to any of that for me. Everything I did was my own choice, yes there were a few thing I did out of anger that I shouldn't have and those nightmares will continue to haunt me. Both of you did what you thought was best for the squad. If that is what it ever came down to I would have done the same and I will if it ever comes to it," you said grabbing one of the towels laying the floor next to the bed that hadn't been put away and tucking it between your legs, "Our minds should be on the task at hand. I can rest later, nothing a stim shot or two can't fix," you said standing throwing the robe over yourself. You looked at him one more time and the emotions playing out of his face just like they were on yours before leaving to the cockpit to find the medical bag. You dug through a few drawers when you didn't find them initially in the bag but finding them buried in the back, they probably don't use them, you took two them placing one in your pocket for further use and primed the other one injecting yourself. Consequences of having a heart, the bittersweet voice nagged in the back of your head, You shouldn't have let them back in. "Shut up," you mumbled.

"I didn't say anything," Crosshair said staring you playing with a toothpick.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"We're the only two people in this room, who were you talking too?"

"Inner dialogue, these really give your mind the zooms" it was the truth but a half truth, "I need to mediate."

Hunter silently gave up the chair when Tech returned from the refresher clean and back in his armor. He studied the perfect blank expression on his face as he fiddled with the ship trying to increase speed, he was aware Tech knew he heard every word but wanted to give him space to sort the new ripple between them without pressing the matter.

Echo looked confused when he saw Crosshair return with a similar confused expression and the faint sound of her door locking, "Am I missing something?"

"He apparently put her... in a mood," Crosshair said glaring at his brothers silence.

"I'll talk-," Echo said standing up but Hunter shook his heads, "You didn't hear the conversation."

"Nor does it need to be repeated," Tech said taking off his goggles again staring at the faint light recording, I should delete that, no I should keep it, "I phrased something incorrectly therefore.. ruining the moment as one might say it. I, not only opened a new wound, I reopened one," he summarized.

"Good job, Tech," Wrecker rolled his eyes, "Did you apologize?"

"I obviously wasn't given the time too nor currently allowed too."

"Why can't I go talk to her?" Echo asked.

"She's mediating," Crosshair said eyeing Hunter if that was the case.

Hunter firmed his jaw and didn't say anything, just leaning his head against the seat. Salt floated his senses along with the sounds of her crying. He shut his eyes also trying to fight back the urge to go talk to her, she seemed to want to be alone.

"You should still try," Wrecker offered.

"He's done enough," Crosshair clipped.

"I unfortunately have to agree with Crosshair. My words do not articulate around her and further make the situation worse."

"Did you learn nothing when she left," Echo mumbled standing up again without being stopped. He made his way quietly to your room, "Reaper..." he knocked, "At least let me lay on the floor incase you need me," he stood there in silence, "Riduur.. You're not alone." I could just over write the door but this is equally her room as it is mine. Debating it he heard the click and found her laying on the bed facing away from him. He grabbed one of the pillows and extra blankets tossing them on the ground, "I'll be right here if you need me," he said plopping himself down.

"Do the nightmares get easier?" you whispered.

"They get less frequent," Echo replied, remembering the initial nightmares of being hooked up to all of their machines, the experiments now how every time he gets hooked up to anything it causes deep seeded panic in him, "How did you deal with them while... you were gone?" he asked.

"Slick could hear it and would come wake up me."

"I take it you two were close?" He asked blankly.

"Yeah."

The reason she didn't want to talk about exclusivity... I don't blame her, after two months and countless transmissions... I know what that feels like to think no one is coming. "I understand." Echo's eyes wondered to her back before returning to the ceiling, "I'm glad he was there to help," he heard the rustle on the bed and looked over to find you staring at him eyes pink and puffy, "He was there when we weren't," he added trying to prove he was being genuine, "Hunter know's now but I won't tell the others."

Hi

You looked at him again, tears threatening to fall again, "Hold me?" you asked weakly.

He stood up getting into bed felling you contort to be up as close as possible to him, "Do you think the book will help?"

"I hope, if not I called in a favor."

"Do I want to know?"

"No," you sighed.

"Do you need to rest?"

"Stim shot, I am quite awake."

"You found them? We had to hide them from Tech, he gets grouchy after 5 days of no sleep. You know he didn't mean-."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Riduur," he said letting his scomp trace down your back, "I can't help if I don't know."

"Do you really want me to talk about boy trouble, today of all days," you said burying your face into his chest more.

"We are one together," he said holding your head with his free hand, "You're problems are my problems also I know where to hide his datapad if he stepped out of line."

"He... forced himself to do something extremely enjoyable even if it made him uncomfortable. It just kind of ruined my mood."

Echo sighed, "He still enjoyed it, so why is it bugging you?"

"I rather him do something if actually wants too instead of feeling like he has too."

"Why didn't you tell him that?"

"My guilt was starting to bug me," you whispered, "I know he already feels guilty for.. well you know. I don't need to make both of us feel worse."

"We don't need a repeat of last time. Do you want me to call him back in here?" Echo asked softly.

You shook your head, "Maybe talk to him later, I... need to focus."

Echo gently stroked your head, "It'll be alright."

Hunter's nostrils flared trying to keep his temper under control, his knuckles paling over the grip he had on the armrest. He stood up and kicked his helmet, it landing quietly in the cushion of a few chair. He sat back down and let out a raspy exhale finally feeling a little better. Breath, Hunter. The eyes boring into him caused him to tense up.

"I take it one of them said something you didn't like?" Crosshair snarked.

"It's not my secret to tell," he said rubbing the back of his head into the chair.

"Is she leaving again? I assume with Echo this time?" Tech asked flatly, "Once again I have ruined things."

Hunter's hand collided with the side of Tech's head casing his goggles to disheveled side ways, "No they are not leaving, stop being so pessimistic. Not everything in this galaxy is your fault especially involving her."

"One of them really said something bad," Crosshair chuckled."

"I assume her.. relations then?" Tech flatted adjusting his goggles and tightening them.

"You knew?" Hunter yelled.

"I thought it was obvious."

"Huh?" Wrecker asked.

"She fucked someone who wasn't us," Crosshair gridded out.

"I don't get what the big deal is, we share her anyway."

"Precisely, but we had a mutual understanding with each other."

"So why isn't it bothering you?" Crosshair asked flicking the tooth pick out of his mouth.

"It is, however I can not change the fact that it happened but I can attempt to prevent it in the future. She is a physical individual with  her ordeal and constant... physical demands of her temporary position I am not surprised she needed physical comfort from a... familiar face," Tech attempted to articulate, watching Crosshair's and Hunter's face soften.

"Plus she's hot, can you blame him?" Wrecker added.

Tech covered his face with his hand scowling, "We know she is and that is not helping, Wrecker," he removed his hand putting in his lap his legs bouncing, "Once again we need to come to a mutual conclusion about proceeding with this information. I for one believe we need to forget this until she is comfortable enough to talk about it with the rest of us."

"She was gone for two months. Probably getting screwed on your precious cycle that you care about," Crosshair growled.

"Yes, like I said the chance is next to non existent however if it would have happened we would still be having the same conversation."

"I agree with Tech," Wrecker said awkwardly, "She didn't tell us personally so it's an invasion of privacy."

"Fine, don't like it," Crosshair growled, putting another putting another toothpick in his mouth, "Hunter?"

Nothing but a low growl escaped his throat, the words wouldn't come. Hunter crossed his legs and leaned into the seat and closed his eyes.

"Good. Like Echo's her.. adjustment will take time," Tech offered, "She will talk when she's ready."

"To him maybe," Crosshair scoffed.

"And we should respect that."

"You're not even effected, like usual," Crosshair snipped.

"I normally don't give in to your petty jabs, but I have had enough today. Yes her relations with Slick initially irritated me but we weren't there, we pushed her away and by her mind abandoned her. She was alone and Slick was more than likely the only comfort she had between fighting and getting speared. If she by maker's chance did conceive and the child was obviously Slick's it would not have mattered to me, as I share her with all of you and all of you with me. There is a chance even if she did conceive with one of us our  physical modifications would not matter when it came to the child's appearance. Slick and Echo are also both Regs, I don't think it would have mattered to him since he can not procreate anyway. I will not punish her for something she obviously punishes herself for, I have done my fair share of punishing myself as of late and other's kicking you while your down is not a pleasant experience," Tech watched the three of them fall into stunned silence, "While Slick is a traitor to us, however the Order is a neutral party therefore she is. We have been programmed to only see black and white while she see's every shade of grey there is. She wouldn't have unless she saw more to his situation then we do," Tech watched Crosshair's eye fall to the floor, "We judged Echo for being a traitor before meeting him and we are doing the same again, he has been nothing loyal to the Republic and to us."

"How do you suppose it's going out there?" You whispered feeling the tension after the small thud.

"Hunter probably snapped and Tech is scolding them, that's usually what happens. Do you really believe Timeria did it for you?"

"Yes, she was falling to the dark side and knew it. We're all shown parts of our life's and death, she knew it was her time and made the most of what she could out of a bad situation."

"Did you see us?" he said glancing down at you, "if you can answer."

"I did, pieces anyway."

The door open and Wrecker awkwardly stood there scratching his head, "Do you mind doing that thing you do? Their fighting."

Echo released you, mumbling about a moments peace before watching you stride silently out of the room. Wrecker watched as you snaked around him finding Crosshair and Tech toe to toe glaring at each other. Crosshair tried to catch your arm to push it away knowing the pain it caused but it was to late.

"Relax."

Hunter wouldn't met your eyes but offered you his cheek which you took thankful he knew what was best for all of them. He watched Wrecker catch you as you stumbled backwards, but you didn't say anything. He saw the black on your hands up to your elbows from their anger but you were still silent. Tech attempted to pull out a tube of bacta out but you already had Wrecker quietly guiding you back to your room.

"Strong," Crosshair said audibly cracking his neck back into alignment, staring at you, "More then I give her credit for."

"Indeed," Tech said watching Hunter get up and follow after, "Come on," he rolled his eyes grabbing Crosshair and following. They walked in and found Wrecker being a pillow and Hunter sitting at her feet explain what had set them off, "about being in the dark on a lot of things and the confliction of morals and duty." Tech remain quite joined him at the end of the bed while Crosshair took her other side kissing the back of her neck softly before slightly moving himself closer to his backside leaving her pinned between them. Tech felt Hunter's hand shove him towards her, he did his chest and back plate and laid down resting his head on her hip. He felt her tense for a moment and then relax once again.

With every sentence Echo held your hand a little tight until his knuckles were nearly popping out out of his skin watching you choke out your time with Dooku. Crosshair physically felt you shake against him and he wrapped his arms a little tighter. You told them but your eyes would meet any of there's but fixated on the spot over Echo's heart using it to try to keep your focus on what you were saying.

"There's more but that's most of it," you said after telling them about the droids you created, the missions with Slick and reconnaissance missions with Slicer along the border, the training and the education; even voicing the traitorous thoughts about the Jedi and how they used the clones.

"Well I still love ya, a missions is a mission and yours was to get the sabers back regardless of how ya did it," Wrecker was the first one to speak up."

Echo's scomp rubbed your cheek, "Happy?" he glared at Hunter and Crosshair, "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," you whispered back, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Echo breathed pissed that his brother's pushed the issue, "You're here now and it's okay."

"I am at a lost for words," Tech mumbled.

"Happy," is all Hunter got out trying to process it, rolling his eyes at the dirty comments Crosshair whispered, "such a beautiful destructive little harlot with a temper, I know how I can punish you with." Hunter coughed muttering that he was gonna go supervise the flight.

"He'll will come around," Wrecker said attempting to be optimistic, what has his hair in knots, "I'll go talk to him," Wrecker said very carely pulling your head off his lap.

"I shall also go investigate," Tech said happy to find an opportunity to leave with the tension in room from their previous... What would I even call that? It wasn't even a disagreement. "If you two... fornicate... I don't care if you use them or not," Tech said attempting to apologize in his own way before leaving.

"Only Tech can make something fun sound so boring," Crosshair scowled, What the hell are you doing? That sounded like you were breaking up and you didn't care anymore.

"That's going to back fire" Hunter said once Tech entered the room.

"How? She wanted more so I allowed her the means to acquire some?" Tech said sitting down.

"Telling her you don't care because you changed your mind about your rules," Wrecker said.

Tech blink, "That was not what I meant-" but it was to late and he heard the door lock, "Are they?" Tech asked flatly looking at Hunter.

"I am not listening," Hunter lied.

"We both know that is false but fine." Once again I am learning the consequences. Tech crossed his arms.

"I don't think he meant it like that," Crosshair whispered still mentally scolding him.

"Why else would he have said it?" You muttered, "Tech is typically deliberate with how he says things, he didn't say this time or once. And literally said don't care."

"She has a point..." Echo said wondering what was going on through his head.

Crosshair shook his head realizing there was no winning, "Fine, but we don't have too if you want to rest."

"Stim shot," you admitted.

"We'll be quiet then," he smirked grabbing his discarded shirt off the floor, turning you towards him but not out of Echo's grasp. His lips connected with yours first gently then turned rougher, "Don't mind me fucking your Riduur?" he smirked side eyeing your response while he looked at Echo who was also watching smiling.

"What do you think, Riduur? Should I let him fuck what's rightfully mine tonight," Echo smiled  bigger watching you tense up and your hips press downward a little, "Maybe I'll even stay and watch, or should I just leave and let him," he said gently petting your cheek while Crosshair nibbled at your neck.

"You both have dirty karking mouths," you said trying not to let your let excitement show as Crosshair dragged his teeth across your neck sucking over his mark darkening it before carefully withdrawing himself.

"I think that perfect little pussy should be yours... for now, I want to torture her for awhile making me wait and I promise it's going to be torture," Crosshair smiled as much as the bulge in his pants screamed for release inside you he didn't want to cross the line with Tech. He pulled himself up smirking making sure you got full view of his promised punishment, undoing the lock and slipping out. 

"That was so mean," Echo purred.

Crosshair smirked finding Hunter trying to hide his laugh, "Even for you that was harsh," Hunter chuckled not able to hide it.

Crosshair bucked his hips forward just slightly, "She likes it when I leave her covered and dripping in me," he smirked grabbing a toothpick, "Such a beautiful canvas to paint." Crosshair let his mischievous eyes glance towards an unphased Tech, perhaps she was right, "Hopefully she'll be ready for me when Echo's done."

"I bet that was hot," Wrecker replied, "I’d like to see her covered in all of us," he added.

"I am so glad there is a filter," Hunter rolled his eyes.

"Maybe if your nice, I'll leave her conscious enough for you. I do get her first after every fight, didn't specify if it had to be physical or not," Crosshair jested, "I'm going to go relax."

You are so wrong for adding that, Hunter thought, "She recovered pretty quick after you, she'll be fine," Hunter added salting Crosshair's wound, “Maybe even shut off the filter for a bit.”

Crosshair scoffed and walked off, touché Hunter. Tech was abnormally silent, maybe I will give her what she wants if that wasn't enough to make him go apologize. Hunter eyed Tech listening to his rapid heart rate but punctually even exhaled breaths but by appearance looked un phased he scrolled through his Data pad reading who knows what.

"Wait isn't that against the new rules?" Wrecker asked.

Tech headed to his bunk, yanking the privacy curtain shut so he could read in peace without the reminder of yet another failure.

"Anyway what had you so mad?" Wrecker asked switching the conversation.

"She wasn't comfortable enough to want to talk about it, I don't know if she'll ever truly feel at home here again," Hunter admitted, "She's strong but not invisible."

"She might as well be by now. She's one of a kind, she'll be okay."

"Yeah, she is," Hunter nodded.

Being completely bare in-front of you still made Echo self conscious but it was gradually getting better, "You know even without pants I still basically look the same," Echo said trying to make a joke to soothe his mind.

"Maybe I like seeing all of your ports," you smiled hugging him around the waist, "More of you to touch," you said running your hand down the back of his leg, before pulling him back up onto the bed, having him hover over your lap.

"I remember this going a little differently ma'am," he joked enjoying your warm touch scatter up his metal legs and up towards the flesh of his chest.

"Are you saying you don't like it when I enjoy you back?" you smiled letting your fingers graze against a port watching him tense for a moment, "There's still so much of you to commit to memory."

"What's the rush? You have my whole life," he replied without thinking,

"I have to be a certified expert by then might as well get a head start-" the tiny knock on the door caused both of you to groan, "This better be important!" Echo moved off putting his lower half under the blankets.

Tech walked in head down in his datapad, "Slick is ready for a rendezvous point when we know," he said tossing Echo his box, him catching it one handed.

"The favor I called in, if all else fails blow up the instillation and part of there fleet,” you quickly explained yourself.

"That is a suicide mission," Echo said grabbing you, "You can not do that for me."

"We are one apart," you realized you never said it back but that didn't change anything, "Taking any of you that far into the outter rim is far to dangerous especially if you get recaptured. My duty to protect this squad over rules everything else," you said your hand covered his hand and scomp on your face, "I was going to do it anyway at some point. Right now it's the last resort."

"We just got you back," Echo breathed.

"By these calculations and sightings you have plenty of droids you could send in your stead," Tech said still not looking up.

"If I have to go, I have to go," you stated.

"You die there don't you?" Tech asked finally looking up staring at you, watching Echo's hand fall.

"No I don't, however I do have to make sure no one escapes with any information that could be... damaging."

Echo relaxed, "Why does Slick need to go?" he asked trying not to let his jealousy show.

"For the thrill of it. The Duchess and her Knight together again, by the time they see it coming because it'll already be to late."

"Won't that make him a traitor to the Separatist?"

"He knows the risk."

Echo scared at you, the determination and the sparkle in your eye every time there was a fight, "Last resort, absolutely last resort?"

"Yes."

"I really hope it doesn't come to that," he said returning his hand to his face, "Are you joining or leaving?” Echo asked.

[mooncademia]

The Bad Batch-- GetAway Car

Genre: gang/mafia au! fluff, vv vv slight mentions of violence

Pairing: crosshair x reader

Word count: ~1.5k

A/n: i literally love all the boys sm but had to dedicate this one to crosshair because we are alllll feeling it amirite?! i hope you guys enjoy this one and feedback will be greatly appreciated!!

——— ———

Crosshair spotted the black parked car in an instant—with Wrecker at shotgun flapping his arms widely out of the car’s window with a big smirk, it was pretty obvious. But Wrecker´s smile immediately fell when he saw Crosshair carrying you close to his side with one of your arm flung around his shoulder and the other held to your rib.

You’ve been shot before but the excruciating pain on your lower left rib made it felt like it was the first. Your head hung low as you struggled to keep up with Crosshair’s pace. You mentally cursed the notion on why underground casinos always require some dress etiquette because you knew you would be a whole lot comfortable with something else instead of heels.  

“W-What happened?!” Wrecker yelped with his eyebrows shot high up. He scrambled to open the back door for you and Crosshair but you were in too much pain to respond. Crosshair carefully settled you down in the backseat, the familiar smell of the SUV added some light comfort to your racing heart when the cool leather of the seat met the thin material of your black silk dress. You closed your eyes and let out a breath. You were far too dizzy from the pain to fully comprehend what was happening and what just happened.

“Shit…” Crosshair cursed under his breath when he saw the agony on your face. The blood on your wound wasn’t near from stopping.

“Hit the gas, Tech. Get to the nearest base asap,” Crosshair urged Tech who sat behind the wheel.

“On it.” Tech nodded, dialing digits on the front screen.

“It was a set up… we weren’t the only ones going after that briefcase” Crosshair vaguely explained to Wrecker. He couldn’t fully form a respond with te worry buzzing through his head; seeing you like this was a dagger through his heart. His eyes laid on your wound and seeing you in such intense pain made him regret all the previous actions that led up to this moment.

“I shouldn’t have let her go alone in that room, goddamnit!” He seethed loudly, making Tech jump a bit from the sudden boom. You and Crosshair weren’t unknown in the team, but it was definitely unusual for him to be so expressive about his emotions. Wrecker and Tech only nodded in silence, knowing that what unfolded at the casino will be discussed at a later time.

- - - - -

“Miss me?”

You said weakly with a small grin on your face as you turned your head to see Crosshair sitting next to you. His face was laced with so much concern and worry that it made you feel a bit guilty with everything and how much time had passed since the event. You glanced around the infirmary room, noticing that you had new clothes on which made you blush timidly in embarrassment.  But your attention focused back to Crosshair who had his hand held to his chin, contemplating something with his eyes strictly glued to your bed.

“You shouldn’t have gone in that room alone,” He scolded at you coldly, his voice almost barely audible when his eyes lifted up to meet yours. You knew him well enough that the tone was laced with worry instead of anger which made you manage a small chuckle and a sympathetic smile.

“And those are the first words to say? How touching,” you replied with a smirk, knowing all too well that you were using Crosshair’s catchphrase to tease him.

Crosshair shook his head at you and your efforts of sarcasm under such condition, but you could see a twitch of a smile that washed across his face for a brief moment knowing that your spirits were still up.

“I’m okay now, Cross,” you assured. You sat up and gestured to your bed. “See? Perfectly fin- ow!” you yelped out in agony, sucking in a sharp breath at the sudden stab of pain from the wound on your rib. You noticed Crosshair immediately react and leaned forward but you waved away dismissively with a wearily smile. “Okay so maybe a bit more time.”

You shifted into a better position and stared down at the bed for a moment.

“…I’m sorry I worried you,” you softly whispered, eyes tearing away from Crosshair as you remembered what happened. “It was my fault that we didn’t retrieve that case, I should have been more careful-”

Your words stopped when you felt a warm touch on the palm of your hand. You turned to see Crosshair lock his hands with yours; you knew he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but you didn’t need words to make you feel comforted because with such gesture, you already felt everything that you needed to hear.

“It’s not your fault,” you heard him say softly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” You saw him smile a bit which made you slowly beam with love.

You nodded at him appreciatively and ran your thumb across his knuckles and hummed. You stood silent for a few seconds before darting your eyes from your locked hands to him. You studied his expression for a moment and realized his brows were furrowed a bit less now and his jaw not as brooding as before. The peaceful sight made your heart warm on the inside. You wondered how much time has passed since the incident and if Crosshair–for the first time–did not have a spare toothpick around when your sight landed to his lips. You blushed a little from the next thought that entered your mind, but before you could even think about it any more, Crosshair glanced up and caught you staring at him. He read you easily like a book when he locked eyes with you, and you knew him well enough to know that as well.

“C’mere,” he breathed, reaching over to cup your face. Your lips twitched to a smile as you leaned forward, shock yet un-shock that he could read your mind ever so transparently.

He leaned in to kiss you, the gentle and warm touch on your lips sent jolts of electricity to your body. It was a soft kiss, nothing deep or urgent, but passionate nevertheless. The familiar warmth and hold on your cheek felt like home, and despite being with Crosshair for many months now, your stomach always managed to be fluttering with butterflies with every kiss from him.

You closed your eyes to savor the moment, but the tension was immediately cut when you heard a familiar voice from the door.

“Uh…um-…” Tech stammered as he cleared his throat at the front door, clearly noticing that he came in at the wrong time.

“Tech!” You broke away from Crosshair and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw Tech’s awkward flushed face. Crosshair however grumbled, slightly annoyed from the disturbance which only made you laugh even more.  

“Sorry,” Tech then said as he awkwardly shuffled towards you and Crosshair. “I just wanted to update you guys about the report Echo and I dug up.”

Interest piqued you and you and Crosshair nodded at him to continue.

“It seems like the case was relocated to a different base under the registered name: Owen Porter. I have already tracked down the location where a negotiation will be made with another dealer.” Tech lifted up his tablet to display the picture of the man.

“Yeah,” you cringed when you saw the familiar face on the screen. “That’s the one.”

“We’ll send this info to Hunter and see where we’ll go from there,” Crosshair affirmed as he stood up from his chair besides you.

“Don’t you need a bit more rest, Y/N?” Tech asked when he saw you shuffling out of bed. Crosshair glanced your way and all the reasons why you love him came pouring back when you saw his face. You loved him for respecting your decisions. Even under tight circumstances, you knew he trusted you–and you respected that. You nodded at him with a look that said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure.”

You shook your head at Tech. “A shot isn’t that much to take me down,” you said with a confident smirk on your face. You saw Crosshair begin to mirror your expression which only grew your determination.

“Besides,” you said, placing a firm hand to your hips, eyes flickering a bit darker. “Porter is mine.”

Crosshair slid his hand around your waist with a smirk. He pulled you closer to him, whispering “that’s my girl” to your ear that sent a whole set of new chills down your spine. You leaned towards him to place a peck on his cheek.

“C’mon,” he said as the three of you walked out of the infirmary.

“Let’s finish this business.”

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 9)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Nine: The Night at Sea

The second you attempt to reach behind to untie your corset, your arm spasms. The collision with the hull of the ship has left you shaken and battered and in no position to twist your body to undo the double knotted ties Seil, your handmaiden, would have tied. And your heart aches when you think of her.

You know that you shouldn’t sleep in the dirty clothes and the corset, but with the secure double knots there is no way to undo the ties yourself. And so you pull yourself into the hammock, landing face first, when your back muscles give out, into the netting tied to the wall. With a groan, you don’t even bother trying to move, and you pass out on the ship - having been through the ringer for what feels like a million times in one day.

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“Where is she?” Hunter grumbles when Tech returns to the group, looking up at the stars Hunter was using to calculate their ETA.

“Probably asleep in Echo’s hammock I'd guess.” Tech says plainly, and he watches as his sergeant’s face hardens.

“You need to learn how to follow orders.” He snaps, before going back to the map.

“Sarge,” Tech starts, “you’re displaying worrying symptoms.” He decides on. And under the hat he sees his eye twitch.

The barrage never ended, and the cannons never ceased. How much ammunition either side had left was impossible to guess. This creeping barrage was working. But only just. All they had to do was keep the separatists busy, the regs should be able to manage that at least. And rescue missions were the best kind of mission out there these days…

In the medical bay, Hunter shakes, the wookie child is long gone, and his vod have returned to keep their sergeant company while he heals. They’re angry, and resent him for the return-to-ship order from before. But the carnage that was left of Kashyyyk proved how right he was in securing the safety of Clone Force 99.

“Hunter, your hand.” Tech says looking at the cuts and mangled tissue.

“Kriffing door wouldn’t open.” He explains through drugged eyes. Thinking that the war is over. It has to be over. If not now, it has to be over soon. They can’t continue like this, there can’t be more missions like this. The war has got to be over soon.

Outside, the artillery starts firing again.

Hunter looks at Tech, watching the goggles reflect moonlight, and realises something that, in the chaos of the day, went unnoticed.

“Did Wrecker even lock the cell door?” He interrogates the shorter man in front of him.

“I don’t know.” Tech answers honestly with a shrug. “But even if he didn’t. You know he made the right call.” Hunter grunts in response.

“She’s a Aaray. A danger to us all” He says.

“We’ve been in worse predicaments.” Tech states. Watching as Hunter walks away from yet another conversation of theirs, and he wonders to himself, how long it will take for his captain to start screaming because of nightmares on this clear, calm, night at sea.

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Everything on your left side hurts. The hit from the ship has battered your skin, muscles, and bones. Sleep evades you because the only thing you can focus on is the pain. And when even laying down becomes too much, Gonk moves herself out of where she was curled on your back as you clumsy step out of the hammock, and begin to tread outside.

The three boys are asleep, and part of you chides yourself for being vulnerable in front of them. They could have thrown you in the birg - or worse. But a bigger part of yourself says that you can trust them. Probably more so than you’ve trusted anyone in your life. It’s a naive thought - and perhaps it’s built off of never having someone you can trust before, but a part deep inside of you jumps onto and clings to the idea of putting your faith in these men.

Maybe Crosshair was rough around the edges, and from what you can see, his glare stays with him while he sleeps. It makes you smile a little. And Wreckers exposed scars, they scare you, but the eye patch was so typical of the pirate stories you heard as a child, it’s like living in a fairy tale.

Someone clears their voice behind you.

It’s the Captain, or rather Hunter. Now only in his pants, and tunic, that's been bunched around his forearms in his sleep.

“Plotting something else perhaps?” He asks, crossing his arms in front of him.

“N-no,” you say, annoyed at how easily he makes you nervous. “I couldn’t sleep, I wanted fresh air, and they…” You pause, looking back at the crew. “They’re more manageable when they’re asleep.” The captain lets out a puff of air that's not in annoyance, and you take that as a small victory. And he watches when you crane your neck to look at the stars. He knows it’s because you feel awkward, but in another life, he would’ve found your curious eyes endearing.

“Am I missing something?” Crosshair asks, having woken on his own, and deciding to investigate the scuffle outside.

“Didn’t want the Aaray skulking around the ship.” Hunter answers, “nightmares?” he asks his brother, watching him shake his head no, and with that, one tension is lifted from the sergeants shoulders.

“Are you in pain?” Your voice comes out softly, and they both stare at you unabashedly. “I only mean, i just,” You go to explain. “From earlier the side of the…”

“Hull.” Hunter corrects on instinct, before chiding himself for doing so.

“The Hull, when you caught me…” You motion randomly with your hands as if that helps communicate to Crosshair what you mean, and he stares at you looking tired and vaguely annoyed.

“You’re in pain.” He tells you. And you’re a tad taken back because it hadn't shown on his face that he knew what you meant, let alone made the connection as to why you were awake and hence asked if he too, was hurting.

“I’m okay, I just wanted to…” you try to brush it off

“There’s no point in lying.” Crosshair interrupts, watching at Hunter’s features soften when he also takes in your appearance, leaning against the door, tense and radiating anxiety. He wonders if you’ve ever felt pain like this in your life. Living on a velvet cushion of upper class coruscant would call for little more than flimsiplast cuts. He watches you shrug off Crosshair's comment, intent on being the smallest problem you can possibly be. The man that Hunter was before would be reaching out for you, your messy hair, soft features, and innocence that he knows lesser men are itching to take advantage of.

“You should take that off.” Crosshair nods towards your dress and you gape at him.

“Crosshair!” Hunter barks on instinct, and not standing for the disrespect. He sees your face flush and your arms go around your waist protectively.

“Have I missed something?” A forth voice joins them outside of the bunks and Hunter inwardly groans. Now Tech is awake, what he hoped would’ve been a private nightly stroll has turned into some kind of situation report.

“Shockingly the Aaray is being uptight.” Crosshair moves to the opposite side of the doorway you’re leaning on.

“I don’t think it is fundamentally uptight to want to preserve my own modesty.” You say incredulously, and Hunter notes that you resort to your training as a lady when you become nervous. Just like his men resort to being soldiers when faced with problems.

“Crosshair!” Tech exclaims, glaring at his brother - he really needed lessons in things that are appropriate to say, and things that are not.

“I’m only asking you to take the corset off.” Crosshair says smirking, enjoying how flustered everyone is. And Hunter sees something flash in your eyes.

“Do you think you’re funny?” You snap, and the sniper stops smiling. “Is this a game to you? Clearly you have no concept of the ramifications on a woman should she ever do something like that. Or you have no concept of how dresses and corsets work - which wouldn't surprise me given your temperament.”

Hunter catches a small grin on his face, you’re alive tonight and he hates to admit that he likes it. The inference that Crosshair is too unintelligent to understand womens garments or that no women has let him close enough to understand them is both funny and potentially accurate.

“He does have a point.” Tech chimes in.

“Tech!” Hunter shouts, expecting better from him.

“I mean it might be adding pressure to areas already in pain.” He says quickly, his face as red as a zarrabak. And no one is surprised that he’s caught himself up in the conversation.

Behind all of you - Wrecker snores.

“I-I… can’t.” Your voice is small, and you’re looking at the floor, embarrassment pings in everyone's hearts when they realise that this is an important issue to you, and they’re talking about it like you’re not even present.

“We can give you private space if that's what you require.” Tech speaks up. And when you pause you can hear the waves crash in the night.

“Thank you.” You stammer out. This whole ordeal has become very embarrassing and as much as you want to deny the pain and tell the clones it’s nothing, you know both Crosshair and Tech will see right through whatever lie you construct.

“It’s, it’s just that…” You pause again. Maker if you tell them you can’t do it yourself you’re going to look as pathetic as you feel. “I would need assistance with the ties…” You mumble the last part to your bare feet that poke out under your dress. When you have the courage to look up again, all eyes are looking at Tech. The latter of the three simultaneously having decided he was most equipped for the job.

“Have at it, loverboy.” Crosshair jeers at his brother, and now both you and Tech are blushing madly.

“I’m surprised you're not jumping to the occasion.” Tech cracks back at him. And if you weren’t so self conscious in this moment you’d roll your eyes at how much they argue. Hunter remains deathly quiet.

“Unless she wants it cut off as i’m usually-” “Alright! Alright!” Tech cuts him off, and moves towards you while Crosshair snickers.

“Turn ‘round.” Hunter barks, and while you might think he’s telling you, he’s actually giving an order to Crosshair, as the trooper made no move to divert his eyes. And as Tech undoes just enough buttons to start loosening the corset he sees how taught the ties have become and yanks it towards him for leverage.

“Tech!” You squeal and gasp, trying to get away from him and he accidentally constricts you more. Sending pain shooting all over you as your injured body is put under more stress.

Hunter turns around at the sound of pain and sees both of you shaking, he knows you must be beyond embarrassed and Tech even more so. Your moss coloured dress is unbuttoned and the back pushed aside to reveal the cream corset. Hunter sighs, and pushes his brother aside.

You hear an ‘ow’ from Tech as well as what you suspect is Crosshair's hand connecting with the back of his shorter brother's head. As they walk away you shiver as you realize the captain is standing behind you.

“You’re fine.” He says plainly. Nimble fingers working at the knots quickly, you shake in the absurdity of it all, and the feeling of Hunter exhaling into your hair and neck as he works.

“This is so unbecoming.” You mumble to yourself in shame, jerking when you feel the tips of his hair brush against your skin.

“I recall you saying ‘fuck’ earlier.” Hunter scoffs at you, “I think you’re past unbecoming.” silently praising himself when one knot becomes free, whoever tied them must have known what they were doing because it feels more complicated than half the sail ties on the Muraduer. Then again, your activities of the day probably didn't help the situation.

“Captain, you’re basically undressing me.” You tell him, looking over your shoulder just in time to watch him still at your words. The part of his face you can see in this position is covered by the tattoo, but what the moon and stars manage to light up is stunning nevertheless.

“If you’re worried about modesty, I can’t see any more of your skin than I could before.” He reassures you, and you’re beginning to wonder what kind of man he really is. Hunter is so tender at this moment, so gentle. And yet you know what lies underneath.

Technically what he just told you is a lie, he can see the expanse of your back, and parts of your shoulders. But the way your brows creased in concern as you look back at him makes lying worth it as you relax a little bit. Trying to be annoyed at you for causing him grief, he goes back to the knots.

You gasp and clutch your chest as you feel him loosening the string as the last knot comes free. And you see the shock in Hunter's face when you whip around so he barely catches a glimpse of the slip that sits underneath the corset.

Maker, he thinks to himself, you’re so disheveled and scared by a simple act. He grits his teeth at the thought of how Nython would treat you, someone like you needed soft and gentle touches, words of affirmation. Hunter’s grinding his teeth together as he realizes the pride Nython would have in hurting someone as defenceless as yourself.

But then he thinks about how you held your own against his own crew today. And the captain of the Havoc Marauder thinks you’re not as defenceless as you look.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

[starilicious]

der lagi lekin (hunter x force-user!gn! reader + ep. 8 fix-it)

》 summary: tbb episode 8 fix-it featuring a force-user reader who used to be a jedi. reader is a part of tbb and in a relationship with hunter, but the squad–nor hunter–knows that reader is a force-user. (disclaimer: all of this was written before episode 9 was released! see a/n for an explanation ^_^) (another disclaimer: if you want just the hunter x reader comfort, please let me know and i'll finish it up and post it!)

》 word count: ~8k (yeah, it's a lot LOL)

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: in-universe swearing, mental breakdown, some slight sensory overloads, pretty mild panic attack, light canon-typical violence, angst + some comfort, survivor's guilt from surviving order 66, no use of y/n, slightly plot heavy because i got way too carried away in writing (whoops?) [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: major ones for tbb episode 8 "reunion"

》 a/n: okay look, i gotta confess: this wasn’t supposed to be an episode 8 fix-it. really. i’m actually glad cad bane won because we get to see that the clones don’t always win every fight... i think it makes for a better and more complex story. anyway, i started out writing just reader and hunter comfort after episode 8 ended. but i’m weak for omega because she reminds me so much of my younger siblings and i ended up writing a wholeass fix-it to save her (even tho cad bane is a downright badass). i kind of liked what i did with building up the plot so much that i might continue this story of force-user!reader with tbb. but that’s a tangent we can deal with later. if you would like a part two with the hunter x reader comfort this was originally intended to be, let me know!

as i said in the summary, i wrote all of this before episode 9 came out–just be aware of that. because it’s so long, it took me a while to edit, which is why i’m posting after ep. 9 was released. but without further ado, i hope you like it! <33

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "der lagi lekin" from the film zindagi na milegi dobara. i linked the song in blue and linked the english translations in green in case you're curious! it's not necessary to listen or understand the song, but i thought it went well with the fic :)

“Everybody get down!” Wrecker yells. You and the squad immediately do as he instructs, diving towards the ground and covering your head. Stars, I hope this works.

The charges the six of you placed around the gigantic cone that surrounds the core cylinder explodes in a deafening blast. You curl into the tightest ball you can manage, breathing so hard that the HUD inside your helmet temporarily fogs up. Metal shards of the explosion rain down on you hard.

For a moment, it seems like nothing happened. But then you hear the telltale, ear-grinding creak of the durasteel and the squad is roughly catapulted forward from the force of the cone beginning to fall down.

You struggle to stand up as you lurch this way and that, trying to regain your balance and stabilize as Tech calls out, “Hold on!”

You quickly glance at the rest of the Bad Batch, trying to see if any of them were hurt. Other than the absolutely terrified look on Omega’s face, all is well considering the circumstances. The metal groans and begins its descent, taking your feeling of being grounded with it. The weightlessness is uncomfortably familiar to say the least, but you ignore it as the six of you scramble to hold on to the side of the cone. You certainly did your fair share of acrobatics back in the war, but feeling it hum around you...it’s too much. It’s too much. You elect to push it back into the depths of your brain. But it doesn’t leave.

It never really does.

Omega’s anxious whimpers come in faintly through your thick helmet and you whip around, frantically trying to find where she is. But before you can find her, the cone lands vertically on its head and the force is so violent that your stable hold on the durasteel is broken. Panicked, you quickly fire a grappling hook towards the ledge where you were previously hanging on. The hook catches and you stop abruptly, the jerky movement almost wrenching your arm out of its socket.

You look down to see Omega falling from someone’s grip and into Hunter’s arms. You can barely tell where anyone is thanks to the lack of light and the incessant motion.

The cone begins to topple onto its side and suddenly, your wire snaps from the tension. You let out a scream of surprise as you plummet downwards, wind rushing past your helmet. ForceIdon’twanttodieohmyMakerohno–

But you never hit the ground, instead being flung sideways as the cone tears into two. On trained instinct, you tuck yourself into a ball to try and roll in order to break your fall instead of using it. That time is long gone.

You land with a sickening thud and hiss in pain as your back hits the metal hard. You hear something crack, but whether it is your armor or something internal, you have absolutely no idea, and don’t have time to check before you black out.

✧✦✧

You jolt awake, a sound making its way into your consciousness. Finally, the damn place stopped moving. You take a few minutes to try and relieve the painful pressure in your chest, reaching up to rip your helmet off because you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

You tilt your head back as you struggle to take in air and let the adrenaline subside. You hear voices in the distance and you strain your ears to pick up on the sound as you quickly check yourself over. As far as you can tell, nothing major is broken, and at this point, that is all that matters. Though, your head is pounding, and for more reasons than one

“–nter.. port side... what… status?”

You can’t tell who is speaking, the message too far away for you to hear. But the bits and pieces are enough for you to know that it’s someone from the Bad Batch and that you weren’t unconscious for long. You stand up and dust yourself off before slowly walking to where you believe the origin of the sound is.

“–engine… got company.” A blaster sound and then an explosion rings through the quiet.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the pace, getting your blaster ready as you pick your way through the sharp metal that is jutting out from the ground.

You click on your wrist comm. “Echo, you there?” A faint crackle before his voice comes through, but the signal is scratchy. You frown in frustration.

“–are you? Hunter is... port side,” Echo says and you smack your commlink to try and get the electronics to work, but it’s no use. The device is broken, most likely from the fall, you deduce.

“Meet… Marauder.”

You don’t bother to answer, knowing Echo would probably not even be able to hear what you had to say anyway. Without a signal booster or repeater, there’s no way you can get your transmission across the channel frequency.

It takes a few minutes, but you eventually find the night sky of Bracca blinking down at you at the end of the ripped off cone. You run out to find that you’re in the middle of where the cone broke in half. Okay, new plan. I need to find Hunter. Hunter will know what to do.

You scan your surroundings. The HUD isn’t picking up on any lifeforms near you, and you realize with sinking dread that you have no more options. Whichever piece you climbed through to get to your squadmates, it would take too long for you to search for them since you don’t know their coordinates and your comm isn’t working. Frankly, the Empire–Crosshair–would find you first. You have to use it.

You have to use the Force.

A wave of nausea overcomes you at the mere thought of it and you sway. In an attempt to ground yourself, you tear off your helmet to breathe some fresh air and end up keeling over as the bile rises in your throat. Nothing comes out. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not.

You could have saved them. Someone. Anyone.

It itches at you in the back of your head, wishing to be let out of its cage. But you can’t. You can’t do it. What’s the use anyway? All you would be doing is saving yourself. The choice of surviving it all has haunted you ever since. Your head pounds in agony.

You saw it happen. You could have helped them. And you ran like a coward. Only ever concerned about yourself.

You inhale sharply as the scene flashes before your eyes, clones shooting at you and the other Jedi. The blaster fire. The confusion. The screams.

How pathetic.

The last statement, an echo of Crosshair’s words, bounces around in your brain. You clutch your head as you let out a heartbroken sob, knee deep in the dirt and metal and grief. Tears create clean tracks down your face as you finally break down, the flood of emotions bursting the dam open. At this point, you don’t know if the emotions are yours or the ones you previously felt through the Force, all of them swirling and blending into one. The bottled up anguish merged together when you attempted to cut yourself off from the Force after the clones–your friends–attacked.

The pain of their death is perhaps the worst of all. Horror courses through you as you finally process your friends and mentors dying around the galaxy, their deaths, their distress, their fear reverberating heavily throughout the Force. Each one cripples you further as you once again struggle to breathe.

It feels like light years pass when you finally calm down to a practically numb state of being. The scenes stop replaying behind your closed eyelids and the echoing shrieks die down to a faint, hollow whisper. You’re suddenly exhausted, limbs heavy and energy sapped. It was almost relieving to finally let the Force once again flow through your body, your nerves lightly tingling with potential despite how tired you feel. You collapse onto the ground and try to recenter yourself.

But despite finally acknowledging the loss, it doesn’t feel right. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You hadn’t been able to even think about them, much less honor them, too focused on going on the run to concentrate on anything beyond the next day’s survival. Even once you joined the Bad Batch, you were paranoid about their chips, about your friends turning on you at any moment. You were always extremely reluctant to engage in the Force, even at the worst of times.

With a start, you realize that you don’t need to worry about your squadmates. Their inhibitor chips are now gone. You… you are safe.

You let out a shocked laugh as it sinks in. A glimmer of hope, of peace. I’m safe.

You sit up then, criss-crossing your legs as you survey the broken landscape of Bracca. Despite the planet being a graveyard, you feel lucidly alive. Perhaps something died in you, that wretched day. But something else, slowly but surely, began growing in its place. It’s meek, but it’s there.

You let out a breath and close your eyes, reaching for the Force like it’s an old friend. It accepts your invitation with hesitation, joining hands with you as if you did not try beating it to death for days on end. You sink into the gentle lapping waves of the Force, extending into it and widening your scope.

There’s something that lurks beneath the surface, in the deep. Dark and sinister and so utterly painful. It calls to you, quiet and low. Enticing. Tempting. And something in you knows that it’s the reason for your previous life’s demise.

But you can feel Hunter’s–and Omega’s, you realize–presence near you in the Force. Even with your relatively damaged connection to the Force after Order 66, the Bad Batch’s Force auras were something you could always hone in on. You let yourself direct your focus to the duo, letting their emotions be your beacon to the acceptance of the Light side of the Force.

In a split second, you decide to not dive deeper into the Force. This isn’t the place nor the time to discover what is prowling in the endless yawning of the Force, to discover why everything happened. So you direct your concentration to the beings on the planet, feeling and breathing your way through the Life Force.

You freeze. There’s something here. No… someone. Your eyebrows furrow as you divert your attention away from your friends and other organisms to the peculiar source. Something about this person strikes you as familiar.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp. I’m not alone. A Force-sensitive. Someone survived. Giddy beyond belief, you snatch up your helmet and begin trekking your way across the wreckage in the opposite direction of Hunter and Omega before pausing. Whoever this person is doesn’t know about your presence on the planet.

And despite the fear you felt emanating off of them in the Force, you somehow knew they were safe, at least for now. And they would remain so if you have anything to say about it. Maker forbid anything that jeopardizes this person’s fragile safety. After all, you know best what it’s like to constantly flee scene after scene.

Staying away is the best thing to do. I’ll come back for you, whoever you are.

You double back and make quick work of getting across the debris as you focus your concentration on Hunter’s and Omega’s Force signatures. As you get closer to the port side, you hear Omega’s high voice. Through your HUD, you can see her small form. You grin. She disappears then, and on closer inspection, you figure she jumped through some broken cargo doors.

The entrance she and Hunter took is too high for you to jump up to, even with the aid of the Force. Combined with your wariness of probe droids, you decide to take a different route from the right side, climbing up the broken ship. The slick oil mixed with the water still present on the metal makes for a difficult trek, and you slip more times than you would like to admit.

Hunter’s gruff voice floats up towards you and you scramble the last few meters to the edge of a hole in the ceiling before pausing. The Force is itching at the back of your head. Something’s wrong.

You peek over the edge of the giant slab of durasteel that created the hole to see bodies in white armor littered everywhere–clones, you realize. Your heart pangs in sadness at the sight.

Slightly to your right, a blue figure and a techno-service droid stand in front of a ship and a frightened Omega stands behind a defensive Hunter. Your mouth drops open. Kriff.

Cad Bane.

A memory from near the beginning of the war hits you in full force. You and Anakin had taken some time on Coruscant to catch up with each other after you passed your trials and were promoted to Jedi Knight. He told you about a mission where he had to stop a bounty hunter who successfully stole a Jedi holocron. You remember how surprised you were when you heard the bitter disgust in Anakin’s voice. The ruthlessly cunning bounty hunter not only threatened to kill Ahsoka, but he murdered Master Ropal.

Judging by the looks of it, Hunter doesn’t know who he is. If the Anakin Skywalker had a difficult time with Cad Bane, there is no way in sithhell Hunter can take him on, even with his enhanced senses. Frankly, you seriously doubt you can either, especially with how rusty your Force skills are now. And that means this isn’t going to end well.

You watch carefully as you tune into the conversation.

“Ain’t you smart?” Bane smirks. “The kid’s got it all figured it out.”

“You’re in trouble now!” the droid exclaims, pointing at Hunter and Omega. You grit your teeth in annoyance.

“Who hired you?” Hunter asks. Stalling. Not a bad move, Hunter.

“Son,” Bane sighs, already done with the brief conversation. “That’s confidential information. Now hand her over.”

Omega stays behind Hunter, taking a knee as Hunter walks forward protectively. You bristle. How am I supposed to help from up here?

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Your eyes drift over the scene in a panic and you take in the fallen clones again. An idea pops into your head. It is desperate, but at this point, you don’t have much of a choice.

Bane mimics Hunter’s movement, walking forward and putting a hand near his belt. The tension is as thick as duracrete.

“That’s unfortunate… for you.”

You grab the long barrel piece from your belt, fitting it over your blaster hurriedly as the showdown begins. Out of the corner of your eye, you see them staring each other down and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Men.

During the war, Crosshair helped you re-engineer your weapon so you could put together various pieces in the field to make a blaster gun that loosely resembled his own sniper. Seeing the clones reminded you of him. A wave of sadness washes over you, but you shake your head. Now is not the time.

You screw on the telescopic sight and set up your makeshift sniper. You peer through the viewfinder and find Bane’s chest. Your finger tenses over the trigger.

You let yourself sink deep into the Force, let it guide your actions. Inhale. Exhale. I can do this. As you relax, the mellow warmth you missed so dearly washes over you, gently eroding the torment in your mind and heart, guiding your focus to the here and now. Trust in the Force.

Wait.

Wait.

Now.

You fire two bolts straight into your target the same exact moment Bane and Hunter shoot each other. Hunter’s shot hits the droid, breaking off its leg. Bane’s shot hits directly in Hunter’s chest, as yours did Bane. Both men immediately fall backwards and slam into the ground.

“My booster!” Oh. So not a leg. Got it.

“Hunter!”

Kriff kriff kriff. You jump down nimbly from your hiding spot in the ceiling and immediately sprint towards the duo. Is he dead? You would unapologetically release sithhell on Bane if he killed the man you love.

Omega panics as she tries to wake Hunter up, continuously calling his name before taking a glimpse of her surroundings. Before you can react, she grabs her bow and pulls it taut, aiming at you. She looks petrified.

“Whoa! Omega, it’s me!” you exclaim, holding your hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to actually look at you before sagging in relief. Suddenly, the droid comes speeding out of nowhere and Omega shoots, the energy bolt whizzing past your waist and straight into the droid before it can attack you from behind.

The shot rings true and the grumpy robot falls. You turn around to grab at its exposed parts under its head and yank them out to make sure it can’t power on again.

“Thanks, Omega. I owe you one,” you say and Omega gives you a proud smile.

You place a comforting hand on her shoulder before kneeling down to shake Hunter awake, but it doesn’t work. You take a moment to analyse Hunter’s Life Force. It’s a bit dimmer, but it’s constant, meaning he’s out cold and doesn’t have the life draining out of him. You let out a sigh of relief. He’s alive. You glance back to see Bane still not moving. Good.

“What’re we gonna do?” Omega whispers as you both peer down at Hunter. His armor is smoking from Bane’s blaster shot and you exhale through your teeth, trying to come up with a plan. You slip off a glove to check Hunter’s pulse–it’s strong. You don’t want to leave Omega alone, even if Bane is unconscious, but you aren’t sure you have a choice.

“Well we can’t carry him to safety, neither of us are strong enough for that,” you think aloud, gears churning in your head. You would have to wait for help, even if you were sitting ducks.

Briefly, you entertain the thought of taking Bane’s ship. The only problem is you don’t know what trackers or other gadgets are in there–it’s too costly of a risk and a price you weren’t willing to pay. You sigh, resigned.

“Omega, you try to comm the others and see if you can wake Hunter up. I’m going to go inside this guy’s ship and see if I can find something that can help us. We have to get out of here before the bounty hunter wakes up,” you instruct and Omega nods, youthful determination flooding back into her eyes.

You leave her to it, walking cautiously towards Bane’s ship. You look down at him. His armor is smoking in two places from the shots you fired. Based on what you see, he’s still unconscious, and his Life Force reflects the same conclusion. How long that would remain, you don’t know. Which means you need to work fast.

You board the ship while you remove the sniper attachments from your blaster and clip them back onto your belt. You keep your guard up as you look around. No droids. Guess that techno-service droid is his one and only.

In an effort to slowly re-familiarize yourself with the Force, you send out a quick pulse through it to see if there are any lifeforms aboard the ship, relaxing when you find none. You rummage through all the cabinets that you discover, looking high and low as you try to locate something of use. The secret compartment in the cockpit proves to be the fruitful reward to your search. With a wave of your hand, you unlock it with ease. Bingo.

Credits. Bags of them. And they’re unmarked creds, which make your score even better. Hopefully, it would be enough to pay off your debt to Cid and give the Havoc Marauder some much-needed upgrades.

Usually, you would feel bad about stealing from someone, but considering this was a bounty hunter – Cad Bane, no less – you figure you can risk treading the grey area of your moral code.

You grab as many bags as you’re able, stuffing them inside your backpack and clipping the rest onto your belt. At this moment, you’re incredibly grateful to Tech and Echo for designing a sturdy utility belt that fits you well. The standard ones were for clones and you definitely were not a clone.

You exit the cockpit and head to the second level of the ship to see if there’s anything else you can find. A stack of crates sits in the corner across from what you assume to be a prison. You scrunch your nose in disgust as you open one to find medical supplies. Bacta patches and gel, vitapaste, rations, water, gloves, sanitary napkins–it was all there. Delighted, you close the crate and click the repulsor to make it levitate. Oh how you love technology.

You turn around and walk back up the stairs to leave the ship. You freeze at the exit ramp. You have got to be karking kidding me.

“Sorry lil’ lady.”

Cad Bane stuns Omega in front of your eyes before rounding on you and immediately fires. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you throw your hands up and the honeyed power of the Force rushes through every fibre of your being. The blaster bolts slow down to a snail-like crawl and your eyes widen. How did I…?

Never mind how you argue with yourself. Time to get out of here!

You tiptoe around each bolt, the effort of keeping them in stasis becoming more difficult with each passing moment. You grit your teeth as your arms shake, but you keep going until you are finally off the ramp. You lower your arms and the energy hits the inside of the ship, spazzing out the blinking controls inside.

Bane turns to you in surprise, astonished at how you’re suddenly in front of him. You don’t give him the luxury of processing the event and immediately punch him in the face with as much strength as you can muster. Bane pitches backwards and collapses onto the ground, just as he did the first time. You grab your stun blaster and shoot him as extra assurance. You really did not want this to repeat again. Hopefully he never wakes up with a memory of what I just did...

“Now stay down,” you mutter to a knocked out Bane, cradling your now injured hand. You have no idea how Wrecker ever does this because wow your hand is killing you.

You have to say, you’re pretty proud of yourself for being able to render him unconscious not once, but two times. You wish you could tell Anakin–the thought saddens you. He’s probably dead too.

With that vividly cheery thought, you stagger back from the ramp in exhaustion, weary from the sudden surge of the Force still ebbing and coursing through your body.

None of the Bad Batch knew you used to be a Jedi–not even Hunter. It was something only a few of your closest Jedi friends and the Jedi Council knew about.

But after what happened today, with Rex helping your squadmates get their inhibitor chips out, with you finally letting the Force in… maybe it is time to tell them. The secrecy wouldn’t be needed anymore now that you were sure you were safe around your friends. But clearly, the universe wanted to throw a nasty vibroblade in your plans by knocking Hunter and Omega unconscious and having the best kriffing bounty hunter in the galaxy be hot on your heels.

You take a few seconds to get your breath back and regain your mental energy. You aren’t out of the woods yet. You run inside Bane’s ship to grab the crate of medical supplies before sprinting back out towards Hunter and Omega.

You lean down and pat Omega’s cheek gently, trying to wake her up, but she’s out cold. Why is everyone around me unconscious? Frankly, you’re equally amused and terrified by the situation laid out in front of you.

You sigh, looking around to see if you can find some cover. There’s a giant sheet of durasteel to your left, big enough to act as a barrier in case trouble comes knocking. You bend down and pick Omega up before placing her down cautiously, leaning her small body against the metal. You repeat the action with the crate you found.

The third time proves to be much more difficult. Hunter certainly isn’t as muscular as Wrecker, but he sure as sithhell isn’t as light as Omega. You tap your foot nervously, trying to figure out a way for you to lift him. Yes, you could use the Force, but you don’t want to alert the other Force-sensitive on the planet. If they knew about your existence, it could put them in danger, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Giving up, you place your hands underneath Hunter’s armpits and effectively drag him all the way over, propping him up as you did Omega. You cringe at the sound of his armor grating the floor. There are sure to be dirty scuff marks on it now. Sorry Hunter.

Just as you’re about to sit down next to him, heaving deep breaths from the exertion, you pause. A warning is practically blaring in the Force and you tense, urgently trying to figure out the cause.

“Not again,” you mumble under your breath. You can’t handle any more action today. With Hunter and Omega both down, and your extreme fatigue from engaging in the Force, you don’t know how much of a fight you can put up. Not to mention you never trained as a soldier. There was a reason why you left the military planning strategies to the Bad Batch.

You hold your blaster close to your chest as you scan the environment. Bane is immobile and so is the dismantled techno-service droid. So what’s wrong?

Ten nerve-wracking seconds pass before you get your answer. Clone voices waft up to your hiding spot and you bite your cheek in frustration as your head continues to pound. Your headache still hasn’t stopped.

There is no way you can fight them all off, especially if Crosshair is with them. They are too far away for you to get a read on how many there are, and frankly, you’re much too scared to even peek around the durasteel to count.

One of Tech’s previous statements floats through your mind. About three attack shuttles worth.

You can feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as anxiety ties your stomach into knots. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, Ican’tdothis.

You take deep breaths, doing your best to clear your mind and focus. You had to do this. There is no other option other than surrendering or dying. No, damnit, you would go down fighting until the Life Force left you.

You peer just past the edge of the metal to see at least twenty clones heading your way. Certainly not ideal, but you bide your time. If you started shooting now, you couldn’t use the element of surprise to your advantage and they would easily overwhelm you. But once they’re close enough, you hope you can at least take a couple out before having to resort to using the Force. It isn’t ideal, but it’s all you have.

Honestly, you don’t know if you could get out of this one alive, much less protect Hunter and Omega too. Maker help me.

It throws you off when they finally come into sight–you see how plain the clones’ armor looked without paint. You never really noticed it before since you were always running for your life in those circumstances. But now that you think about it, you are so used to seeing bright blue or green or yellow that the alabaster white just seems so… odd.

“Looks like a big fight happened here.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. All these men are dead.”

Now.

You whip your body around the metal and immediately begin shooting as fast as you can pull the trigger, trying to make every shot count. The troopers hesitate for just a moment, most likely due to their surprise of you being there. But that second is all you need.

You take out the three men closest to you before jumping back behind the metal as their barrage of fire rains down on you. You do your best to shoot back and manage to take out one more clone, but they’re beginning to gain too much ground too fast. I can do this. I have to do this.

As far as you can tell, Crosshair isn’t with the clones attacking you, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t set up shop somewhere nearby, waiting to shoot you.

You shudder. It’s a chilling thought.

You grab one of your last detonators from your belt and hurl it as far as you can. The rapid beeping rises quickly in pitch before the charge explodes. Anguished cries reverberate throughout the area, and you briefly feel sorry for having to take such drastic measures as you feel their Force signatures dim swiftly. But you don’t have a choice.

Peeking around the corner, you count around eight to ten clones down. Not bad considering the circumstances.

You continue shooting as much as you can but now the troopers are much too close for comfort and you’re feeling overwhelmed. The durasteel you are using for cover isn’t meant to take this kind of damage, and the integrity of your shield is quickly waning as told by the constant creaks and groans. You don’t know what to do. Will we make it?

In your haste of shooting first and panicking later, you don’t notice Hunter groaning, finally waking up. And before you have time to even glance at him, the familiar hum of the Havoc Marauder and its lights shine down on you. Your sag in relief. Looks like Omega was able to comm them after all. Never before have you been so glad to see the beat-up hunk of junk. (You would never say that to Tech though–the Marauder is his baby, his pride and joy.)

Echo, Wrecker, and Tech all race off the ship, guns ablazing. Wrecker and Tech stand guard, serving as cover fire while Echo bends down to help you out.

“Hunter, wake up!” Echo hisses and smacks his helmet lightly. Hunter mumbles in pain as he starts to move, trying to look around as his HUD boots back up. Seriously? Now you wake up? you think sarcastically. But you’re much more relieved at the fact that he has actually woken up.

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” Wrecker bellows, worried.

“She’s right here, I’ve got her!” you shout back at the same time Echo says, “He was shot in the chest plate.”

You pocket your blaster and gather the young girl in your arms with every last bit of strength you have left. You aren’t strong enough to hold her in one arm and shoot with the other. That is much more up Wrecker’s alley.

“We have to get him on board!” Tech exclaims as he helps Echo support Hunter. You pick Omega up in both arms and bolt for the ship as fast as you can while yelling at Tech to grab the crate of supplies.

“Incoming!” Wrecker calls out as a fresh wave of troopers advance towards the six of you. You grunt as you deposit Omega in a chair near the controls before pulling out your blaster and helping Wrecker shoot down the men racing towards you.

“Got him. Tech, fly us out of here!” Echo commands while Wrecker makes a gesture for them to get on the ship faster. Hunter stumbles as he does his best to upright himself.

“Go go go!” Wrecker exclaims. Tech shoves the crate next to Omega’s seat and makes a beeline for the cockpit as you continue shooting, moving to the side to make space for Echo and Hunter to come on board. Wrecker quickly climbs in right after them and the ramp closes shut.

Tech immediately pilots the Havoc Marauder up and away from the scene. You vaguely hear the sound of blaster fire hitting the bottom of the ship while you drop your blaster on the ground and wrench Hunter’s helmet off in a panic. You take his face in your hands as you scan him quickly, trying to figure out if he’s hurt or not.

Hunter bats your hands away. “He... he took Omega,” he says and you shake your head. Wrecker pipes up from behind you to respond.

“Who? Crosshair?”

“The bounty hunter,” Hunter mutters as he rubs a hand over his face. Before Wrecker can answer again, you step in.

“No, he didn’t. I took him down. And no, he’s not dead,” you tack on quickly when you see Echo open his mouth. Echo shakes his head fondly and you just grin at him.

“She’s right here,” Echo says instead, pointing to Omega’s sleeping figure. Hunter turns in surprise to see that his brother is indeed telling the truth.

“How...?” Hunter’s voice trails off. Echo and Wrecker look at you expectantly, and Hunter follows suit. You sigh and take off your helmet, setting it down on the ledge next to the controls. You don’t look at them.

“It’s a long story.”

You don’t have a chance to elaborate any further because Tech walks in, interrupting the conversation.

“I’ve made the jump to hyperspace. There was a cruiser in the atmosphere, but I was able to quietly go past them by disguising our ship as a bounty hunter’s. They didn’t interfere. I put in the coordinates for Ord Mantell. I estimate our time of arrival to be five hours and thirty two minutes,” Tech reports and Hunter nods while you voice your thanks.

“Looks like we got time!” Wrecker says cheerily, pulling out an extra chair. Tech looks to you in confusion.

“Did I miss something significant?” Tech asks, concerned about the information he did not receive as he adjusts his goggles. You shake your head but now, all eyes are back on you.

“She was just about to tell us how she saved Omega,” Hunter supplies helpfully and Tech nods in understanding. He grabs a chair as well and sits down, interested in hearing what you have to say.

You look around the room, realizing you can’t get out of it. You are exhausted and just want to sleep but based on the looks you are getting from the boys, there is no way you can leave without giving a sufficient answer.

You sit down on a chair in between Omega and Echo and begin explaining.

“When the cone fell, it separated. I got knocked out when I hit the ground, but I don’t think I broke anything,” you quickly reassure as Tech grabs a datapad to scan your vitals.

“After I came to, I tried comming Echo, but my commlink was broken – I could only hear bits and pieces of what he said. There were some voices near me so I just followed them and–” you pause, not sure if you should tell them what happened. What you experienced, what you found out. “–I saw Hunter and Omega. The ledge I found was way too high for me to jump to, so I climbed up the side of the wreckage to see them and the bounty hunter facing off,” you say, choosing to leave the detail out. It was too personal. You still needed time.

All of them are listening intently, hanging on to every word you’re saying. Hunter’s gaze on you is heavy and loaded with questions. Tech is still tapping away on the datapad, but you know you have his full attention. Multitasking may not be possible for regular humans, but it definitely was for Tech.

“When I saw the bounty hunter, I knew Hunter wasn’t going to win,” you mumble sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Hunter winces at your statement and you rush to explain why.

“Hunter, you have to trust that I genuinely don’t doubt your abilities. You are much more of a soldier than I will ever be. But this bounty hunter is one of the best, if not the best in the entire galaxy. He’s gone against the Jedi, and won. Based on what Anakin told me at the beginning of the war, Cad Bane is ruthless. He tortured Master Ropal and killed him. Believe it or not, I think he tried to abduct Chancellor Palpatine. Even Anakin had a difficult time fighting him.”

A tense quiet settles over you all as you mentally revisit your conversation with Anakin, and later with Ahsoka. She told you how it was one of the first times she was genuinely afraid that she was going to die, or at least get hurt very severely.

Echo’s rough voice shakes you out of your reverie. “How do–did you know General Skywalker?” he asks, clearly confused at how you referred to him on a first-name basis. You mentally facepalm yourself. How did I forget he served as part of the 501st? You feel incredibly stupid.

You could make up a lie, of course, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Hunter’s enhanced senses and Tech’s vitals scan could probably pick up on your biological signs, not to mention you would feel terribly guilty about not being honest. I promised myself I would tell them…

You blow out a nervous breath, deciding to at least give them something. They deserved that much.

“I’m–well, I was a Jedi,” you admit, staring down at your feet. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, feeling almost… ashamed.

The boys are shocked into silence and you cringe. There was probably a much better way for you to say that, but now it was out there. Yet the pressure that had been weighing down on you since you let the Force back in didn’t lessen.

“What?” Wrecker questions, thrown completely for a loop. “You’re a Jedi?”

Before you can answer, Tech pipes up. “When I reviewed your medical data, there was no note about an elevated midi-chlorian count or any sort of connection to the Force. Additionally, there is no documentation of you serving as a General or a Commander during the war in the Republic military records. How were you a Jedi? And why aren’t you one now? You used past tense in your sentence,” Tech adjusts his goggles as he attempts to register this new information that conflicted with his previous knowledge.

You sigh, drumming your fingers on your thigh. “I left the Jedi Order before the war ended. I promise I’ll explain everything in detail later, but for now, you have to understand that I’m just a Force-user. I trained as a Jedi, but I’m not a Jedi, not anymore,” you clarify, lifting your head up to make eye contact with each of them.

“Aw man, that’s so cool. You have to show us your cool mind tricks sometime!” Wrecker smiles and you agree to his request. It warms your heart to see him so excited.

“It makes sense. You must have seen the regs turn on the Jedi but didn’t know why. When you started traveling with us, you didn’t know if we would turn on you too, even though we’re not regs,” Hunter realizes, and you nod in affirmation. You’re secretly relieved by the fact that he doesn’t seem angry, just… just thoughtful.

“And then when I saw what happened to Crosshair, I knew I couldn’t risk ever telling any of you. But when Rex told us about the chips…” you trail off.

Echo picks up your sentence quickly. “You figured out you would be safe with us if we got our chips removed. No wonder you were so insistent on following what Rex said.”

You smile at the last part, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t wrong. You were probably even more insistent than Rex was on telling them to get their inhibitor chips out. Better to be safe than sorry you told them. Though at the time, you hadn’t even thought about how removing their chips would impact you and your abilities. You were too focused on keeping the Force out of your body to entertain that thought.

Wrecker suddenly gets up and gathers you in a bone-crushing hug. “Well you don’t have to worry now! We got those stupid chips out of our heads, which means I promise we won’t kill you!” he says cheerfully and you can’t help but laugh as you hug him back, the knot in your chest beginning to unravel. You could always count on Wrecker’s wonderfully big heart to raise your spirits.

“You’re right, big guy. It’s honestly a relief. One less thing I have to worry about.”

Wrecker lets go of you and you pick up where you left off. “As I was saying, Cad Bane isn’t a bounty hunter we can take lightly. Crosshair helped me re-engineer my blaster to turn it into a pseudo sniper with attachable parts during the war. Because I was so high up, I could get a clear shot of Bane. From that vantage point, I shot him at the same time Hunter and Bane shot each other.”

Echo’s mouth drops open. “Damn.”

“What I didn’t expect was for Hunter to be rendered completely unconscious. So I told Omega to try to comm you guys while I went on Bane’s ship to see if I could find anything. And I did.” You pull off your backpack and dump out the contents. Bags of credits come tumbling out. You unhook the few bags on your belt and toss them into the pile.

“Bane had a secret compartment with a lot of credits. So I took them and that crate I yelled at Tech to get,” you explain as you reach into the bag to show off the Imperial credits.

Tech’s eyes widen as he lifts up a bag to inspect it. “I will have to calculate how much you took and mark it in the inventory, but based on my initial deduction, this may be enough for us to upgrade the Marauder and provide sustenance for at least a few months.”

“Nice one!” Wrecker compliments and you grin in response. “What’s in the crate?” he asks, walking over to lift up the top.

“Medical supplies. We barely had any left so I figured I might as well take that too,” you shrug as Hunter gets up to join Wrecker to peer at the contents.

“What happened after that? You said you told Omega to comm the others, which means she was awake. Did she get hurt while I was out? Is that why you look so exhausted?” Hunter inquires, astute as ever.

You bite your lower lip. “When I was getting off his ship with the goods, he had woken up again. Before I could do anything, he stunned Omega and then immediately shot at me,” you pause, wondering if you should elaborate on how you got out of the situation. You decide to come clean on this part.

“I… I don’t know how, but I was able to stop the blaster bolts and keep them – and Bane – in stasis with the Force. The problem was that it took a lot out of me. After not really using the Force for so long, my energy reserves were pretty much gone,” you sigh, absentmindedly rubbing your arms. Your muscles are still sore from the event.

“After that, I punched him and knocked him out again. I dragged you and Omega away from the ship so that I could protect you, and I ended up using that giant piece of durasteel as cover to fight off those clones. Then you guys came and rescued us and that’s that,” you finish, suddenly fatigued from the conversation. You slump back into your chair, perfect posture be damned.

“Wow,” is all Echo says, surprised by your strength. It took some serious stamina to be able to withstand so much for so long. Echo remembered seeing Commander Tano and General Skywalker be exhausted after some especially intense missions where they constantly had to use the Force.

“Yeah,” you mutter, massaging your dominant hand. It is still throbbing from the mean hook you threw at Bane. You don’t have any regrets. You glance at Omega’s sleeping figure and soften. The things I would do for this girl.

“Looks like I taught you well!” Wrecker laughs and you smile. When you first met the Bad Batch, Wrecker took it upon himself to teach you basic self-defense and how to overtake an opponent intelligently. Even though you already learned how to fight as part of your Jedi and military training, you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so excited. But it paid off because he’s right. Wrecker did teach you well.

“You did. You basically saved my ass out there with your amazing teaching skills,” you chuckle, glancing down at your hand. You think you’ll probably have to cover it in bacta gel to speed up the healing process before having yet another realization. (You seem to be having a lot of those today.)

I can just Force-heal. Before, you couldn’t Force-heal because it would look suspicious if something healed too fast. But now that they know, you don’t have to solely depend on medical supplies anymore.

Tech, as always, is right on cue. “Is your hand alright? For you to render Bane unconscious must have been no easy feat. Not to mention that according to the medscan I just took, you have a mild concussion, most likely due to your fall. I can run a medical diagnostic test to start and then run more specific tests to combat your pain...” Tech mutters the last part to himself, brain running light years faster than his mouth as his fingers fly over the datapad.

You debate it for a moment before nodding. “That would be great, Tech–thanks. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go and crash in my bunk. Wake me up if I need to punch someone again,” you joke before shuffling away from your squadmates. You ruffle Omega’s hair affectionately as you pass by her and pick up your blaster from the ground before climbing down the ladder. You don’t notice Hunter’s troubled gaze or how his Force signature sours a bit as you leave.

You quickly clean up and throw on some bacta patches on a few nasty bruises. You sit down on your bed and pull the privacy curtain before deciding to open up your secret compartment next to your mattress. You stare down at the objects, the only things you have left as a reminder of the past. You reach down for one of them, about to touch it when you stop.

You shake your head and shut the drawer. Deciding to finally, finally hit the hay, you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Dealing with the Force and healing yourself could be done later. Not even your constant pain and crippling worry about your family friends could keep you up any longer.

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Can you do the NSFW alphabet for Hunter from the Bad Batch?

A/N: Please remember to REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! I cannot emphasis enough that these take just as much time to create as drabbles or one-shots.  Give headcanons some love.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s a mess.  His already heightened senses are in over drive and he’s not in a state to do anything accept lie there and breath.  It’s up to you to help clean the pair of you up. But, once he’s caught his breath, the man is the king of cuddles.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your thighs.  He loves digging his fingers into your skin as you ride him.  And don’t even get him started on the way they clamp around his head as he eats you out.

For himself, he likes his nose.  Odd to say, but it’s true.  Partially it’s because it’s his sense of smell, but he’s just as proud of the way it looks.  I don’t know what else to say, he just likes it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s a god damn mess when he cums.  Every time it hits him hard and loud, causing him to moan and shake as he just keeps cumming and cumming, dripping out of your cunt and onto his stomach and the sheets and everywhere else. 

He has no preference on where he cums, and is doesn’t really matter.  Either way, it’s a lot to clean up after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He keeps a special bottle of your shampoo to smell when he knows it’ll be a long time before he sees you again.  It gets him hard like nothing else.  He and his hands have a lot of pleasant memories of that shampoo.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a couple of one night stands before meeting you, but nothing long term.  He has enough experience to understand his preferences and have a pretty good idea of what he’s doing.  But, he’s more than willing to learn from you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You riding him is his favorite thing in the world to him. He loves being able to watch your face contort with pleasure as you take his cock over and over again.  It’s the hottest sight in the world.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You’re more likely to make a joke than he is.  He’s too caught up in the moment to say anything cohesive, really.  Which, that in itself can be pretty funny at times.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s got a good deal of hair down there that he honestly doesn’t do much about rather than keep it clean.  It’s a preference thing.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s really good at reading your emotions and gets a feel for what you need and when.  If you need to vent out your frustrations with a good fuck, he’ll lay back and let you take what you want.  But, if you need something more, even a simple touch form him can convey everything he’s trying to say.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As I’ve said, Hunter is a mess when he cums.  So, if he’s going to masturbate, he knows he has to wait until he can have some place completely private for at least an hour.  He likes to take him time and doesn’t need Crosshair giving him shit for jerking one off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Light BDSM.  He likes a bit of pain to go with his pleasure.  It’s almost a way to keep in grounded in the moment rather than being completely overwhelmed by the sensations.  A bite on his neck, nails clawing at his back, a good slap to the face, and the digging strain of ties on his wrist all help.

Also, the fandom has decided he’s a sub and I’m not here to dispute that.  He loves nothing more than letting go and surrendering to you.  Tie him up, pin him down, make him eat you out until his jaw aches.  Just for a little while he’ll let someone else make the decisions.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

A bed.  Any bed, preferably in a room with a lock on the door.  He’s not that picky in terms of comfort.  He just doesn’t want to be interrupted and a bed at least gives you room to do whatever comes to mind.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You addressing him as Sergeant Hunter in an authoritative tone does things to him, in particularly if it’s followed by an order. 

A close second it a nice good tug on his hair.  (He once accidentally let out a not so subtle moan in the middle of sparring.  He never heard the end of it.)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Over-stimulation.  He’s already got to keep a close eye on his senses and while he is all about a bit of pain, over-stimulation can get too over-whelming.  You tried it once and it took him hours to finally calm down. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves giving, preferably with you riding his face into the sunset.  Those perfect thighs around his head while his nose is buried in your arousal is enough to get him off all on it’s own.  Add in your moans and a vice grip on his hair and he’s a lost man.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough 9/10.  There’s a lot of pent up frustration and tension that is relieved during sex with Hunter.  If he wants to be sweet and romantic, he’s usually showing it outside of the bedroom.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You’ve tried to once or twice in the cockpit of the Marauder, but it left him so blissed out you had to be the one to make excuses to Tech about how the cockpit is off limits for the next hour or so in order to buy Hunter time to recover.   So, quickies aren’t really an option.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to try whatever you want, so long as you set clear rules and safe words.  You guys don’t want another over-stimulation incident.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Here’s the thing, the man’s recovery is insane so he can technically go for as many rounds as you can stand.  After you finish one round, the smells and sensations get him hard all over gain.  BUT, you have to be careful because it can leave him over spent easily. 

So, you guys usually stick to one, maybe two rounds.  But it’s some of the most intense rounds of sex you’ve ever had.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t have any he uses just on himself, but the pair of you have a collection you use on each other; vibrator, strap on, handcuffs, that kind of thing.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not really a teaser.  You can tease him, but the man is weak.  It takes maybe a minute of teasing him to have him begging for you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The man is LOUD, hence another reason a room with a locked door in preferred.  Lots of long moans and whines, with praises and pleads peppered in for good measure.  And when he cums? He screams.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He can smell your arousal from ten feet away and it drives him crazy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s got the average clone sized dick, which means a big, thick 8-in cock.  No, I will not be taking questions at this time.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty average, all things considered.  He can go for a week or two without sex and he’ll be perfectly functional.  However, any longer than that and he’s about ready the burst the next time he sees you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a little while to fully calm down after sex.  But, once he’s caught his breath, he’s down for the count.  There has been more than one night you’ve had to clean him up while he’s dead sleep.

[fijiangecko]

Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 8 - In Motion

Read it on AO3 here

previous | next

~~~~~~

The sun had risen and set 3 times since each group began their hunts. Each day providing no new information and the hope of keeping each other safe felt as if it was getting farther and farther away. Kuroo, Oikawa and Iwazumi split off into two groups most of the time, Oikawa and Kuroo walking around town while Iwaizumi kept an eye out for any Port Mafia patrols and your car.

Iwaizumi refused to be alone with Kuroo, stating multiple times that he would “rather gauge his own eyes out then look at the fuckwad who drove out one of his best friends”. A tad bit harsh for Oikawa's taste, but he maintained the peace between the two whenever they brought tension to the table. Kuroo doesn’t mean to be irritating but there’s still so much he doesn’t understand, and these two don’t help in answering his questions since they don’t know much about your past and why you left.

On your end of things, you decided to lay low during the day and do some rounds on the streets at dusk and dawn. Largely things remained the same for the Port Mafia: they operated on the schedule you created and stuck to the same routine based on what vehicles and hangouts you’d seen so far. 

Guess they really haven’t progressed all that much since I left, you think while watching the endless stream of cars. Washijo’s health wasn’t too good, and I can’t imagine it’s gotten any better with all the stress of transferring power and dealing with the mess that I left.

After little to no new information and more questions than answers, the weekend rolled around and the sun has started to hang lower in the sky. You lean against the counter in your kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea and listen to the birds sing from tree to tree. Looking to the clock, you sigh and set the mug down, heading towards the bedroom.

If everything goes according to plan, this whole operation should be relatively quick and you can just leave the club within an hour of getting in. You sift through what little clothes you have and get ready to blend in with tonight’s crowd; standard makeup, nothing too flashy, and a relatively short dress to match. None of your shoes really fit, so the black sneakers would have to do for now. 

With a deep breath, you take a final glance in the mirror and mentally prepare for whatever the night has in store. You double check that your car is stacked with any you could possibly need and rev the engine, taking the dirt road down onto the streets.

The sun starts to set over the horizon, leaving the bright orange orb blaring down on the asphalt as the tires roll down the highway. You don’t bother to turn on the radio, deciding to run through the plan and all of the backups you have prepared. Through public records you were able to find the new layout plans for “The Neon Nights”, so you knew relatively where everything should be and how to get to it. That didn’t always translate into action, though. 

Instead of chewing on your lip you moved onto the inside of your cheek, ripping it to shreds over the course of the past couple of days. You haven’t been this nervous in quite a while and it was really starting to fuck with your head. 

Confidence and assurance were two very different things but often got confused for one another. Back at the ADA everyone just believed you to be confident, and that’s not to say that you weren’t. You know you are one hell of a detective, doing the work that needs to be done and doing it effectively, but it was more so that you knew you were safe and around people that were relatively safe as well. Standard protocol in the Port Mafia was not to fuck with others that had gifts. Washijo always stated that it was to keep the peace on the streets, but that was total bullshit. At the very least, you knew that while the ADA was on their radar, there wasn’t anything that they would be able to do in order to harm your friends.

Now everything was uncertain, there was no more assurance. You didn’t know if they were going to be safe. Tendou always did what he wanted and Washijo just turned a blind eye to it. Now he knows that you’re alive and in Yokohama.

On top of that, he saw you with the two of your right hand men that left shortly after you and a new man from the ADA. Tooru and Hajime were found out because you got careless.

The Port Mafia is also aware now of who Kuroo is and that he has connections to you. There’s always going to be a crosshair aimed at the back of his head if you don’t get into that club tonight and do everything you possibly can to erase those damn records of not only your existence, but everyone you care about too.

You blink hard, letting the colors settle behind your eyelids before reopening your eyes and focusing on the road. The stream of thoughts that just crossed your mind had left your heart and head pounding.

Nothing will happen to them as long as everything goes as planned. I’ll find the data servers and wipe whatever I can then skip town. Again, you go through the plan as the last bit of sun disappears around the edge of the world.

 Coming to a slow halt, you park a few blocks away and walk the area in order to secure a teleportation spot and secure an escape route. The checklist in your mind finally had everything marked and every movement from now on was going to be almost robotic as you try to act like the crowd around you. Countless couples and parties line the edge of the building you once knew as a headquarters, the stink of alcohol present already from those who were leaving the venue for whatever reason.

By your lonesome you wait to meet the bouncer at the door, minutes passing as the line dwindles down until you can hear the muffled electronic music. The ground felt like it was shaking from the hundreds of people all dancing just a few feet past this wall. You peer around a few people ahead of you and make note of a pin on the bouncer's suit jacket, confirming that this club is still under mafia control.

You take another deep breath and just hope that news of your reappearance was just kept to the inner circle and henchmen like him weren’t informed quite yet of what was happening. The person in front of you walks inside the club, leaving you face to face with the man with shades. He looks you up and down, your heart picking up as you smile sweetly. Charm wasn’t your specialty but you know the basics. Without another moment to spare, he nods towards the mass of people and you quickly take your place inside the dark and dense room.

The music increases tenfold from when you were outside, feeling the bass changing the rhythm of your heartbeat. Hundreds of people crowd the center of the room, dancing to their hearts out while others line the bars stretched out on the walls.

You walk to the furthest side of the bar, mapping out where you are in your head and making note of little landmarks on the map you practically memorized. Figuring it would look more natural, you squeeze yourself in and order something. Partially to calm your nerves. 

“And the devil herself appears.” Chills run up and down your spine, the voice of whomever just spoke stopping you dead in your tracks. They lean in real close,from behind, lips grazing your ear, their breath warm against your skin as they whisper to you. “Nice to see you Y/N.”

Cautiously you turn your head and face the voice, only to be met with a head of bleached hair and a sultry smile. “Miss me?” He says while placing his hands on his hips.

“Terushima.” The tension in your body hadn’t quite left, unsure of where his loyalties are makes your mind run a thousand miles per second. You prepare to portal out of the club, but his hand on your wrist interrupts everything.

“Let’s have a chat in the back, yeah?” Before you even know what’s going on, you're being dragged to one of the side hallways and up a set of stairs. You take in the surroundings the best you can while being pulled along and realize that he’s taking you back to what used to be the main office area.

Terushima pushes open a set of doors into a lounge area. A large sectional couch faces glass panes that showcase the entirety of the club and a small personal bar and desk line the other two walls in the room. He lets go of the hold on your wrist and beelines it to the alcohol and starts to construct his own drink.

You’re stiff as a board in the center of the room, still taking in everything that just happened in the last two minutes. He watches as you try and create a plan, and laughs out loud at your distraught. “I’m not gonna tell anyone you know.”

It’s like your body snaps when you move to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘I’m not going to tell anyone’.” He strains his cocktail into a glass and saunters over to the couch, sitting himself down. “I really don’t do any work with the Port Mafia since I manage the club. There’s no real benefit to me telling them.”

“Wait,” you blink and scrunch your face together as you follow him down onto the couch, “you manage the club now?”

“Bingo.” The amber drink in his hands disappears slowly as it glides down his throat. “After you left and Tendou took over your position they redistributed everything and wanted to change our little jazz club into a full blow nightclub for the younger people to come and party. I was pretty much the only person around that knew how to keep everything relatively in order, so here we are.” The one free hand Terushima has open lifts up off of his thigh and plops back down in a sort of defeat. His chocolatey spheres hold your gaze.

“And you gave up on singing?” It’s an honest question. The last time you both had a serious conversation was when Terushima was the main singer for your aforementioned jazz club.

“No, more like I took a break. I couldn’t really say no to the Port Mafia so I put my career on hold.” A pained expression flashes across his face before returning to his previous position.

“I’m really sorry Teru.” You scoot closer to him on the cushion, setting your drink down on the table at the center and resting a hand on his shoulder. It was the best consoling you got considering this is basically your fault.

“Don’t be.” He can see the guilt in your eyes and quickly dismisses them. “You did what was better for yourself. Anyone who couldn’t see that you were unhappy was stupid and it wasn’t a suprise when they told me you were gone.” He rests that free hand on top of yours and rubs circles onto the back of your hand while reaching down to place his drink on the same table. “I just thought that I would never see you again, so spotting you by the bar tonight really shook me to the core, y’know?”

The smile that finishes his sentence is wicked, lips curling up at the end. There was always something left unsaid between you both; light touches here and there, lingering glances from across the dimly lit club room and the handful of “dates” (according to him) shared between you two. It never went anywhere; he being the flirt he was made you very nonchalant about his advances. Plus there was the matter of his gift that made things complicated, so it was just better for you to stay out of trouble the best you could.

Things are different now, though. Terushima didn’t cause your chest to tighten or make the blood in your system rush to your cheeks when you thought of what it would be like to be with him late into the night, curled into one another and just simply being. No, that spot now belonged to a tall, lean and dark haired man that weaseled his way into your heart and mind by using his shitty science puns and awkward dancing when he was almost blackout drunk. Those nights of wondering what life would be like with someone else no longer contained bleach blonde hair or a tongue piercing, but the easy comfort that came from Kuroo Tetsuro.

“Yeah, about that.” Your grasp on his shoulder tightens, other fist clenching “Tendou saw me a couple days ago and I’m pretty sure he’s on the hunt. I need to find the P.M. servers-”

“So you came here to find them.” He cuts you off, but doesn’t finish the sentence with a question. He might be a playboy but he’s been through the ringer once or twice and knows that you just didn’t show up tonight to see him. “Unfortunately they moved them a couple of years ago to create an arms deal station in the basement. To my knowledge they took all that stuff to Club Impac-”

Suddenly a young lady busts through the doors, drunkenly falling onto the floor with her eyes completely unfocused on the area around her. A man in a suit comes rushing down the corridor, targeting the woman on the ground.

With many apologies the guard pulls the woman rather harshly off of the ground and looks up to once again ask for forgiveness from Terushima, but meets your cold eyes instead. The spur of the moment interruption caused you to turn around in your seat and watch the events unfold.

Unknown to you, this man had worked under Ushijima for years and had met your eyes years ago. He recognized the dead stare you were giving him currently, but continued pulling the woman out of the room. A bitter taste fills his mouth as he shuts the doors, immediately ditching the woman by the restrooms and walking to the head of security to inform him of the guest that just happened to be sitting up in the lounge.

“Anyways…” Terushima continues filling you in on what has happened logistically within the mafia since your leaving.

Roughly 30 minutes prior to that conversation, miles out into the outskirts of the city the three men who have been trying to catch you at the right time huddled around a coffee table and went over their plan of attack one last time.

“You both got it?” Iwaizumi flicked the last piece of paper in a file down onto the hardwood, looking between the two taller men. Wordlessly they both nodded and turned to grab their respective bags with the appropriate clothes for the night. Oikawa’s outfit was a little more classy then the others to match his personality, Kuroo and Iwaizumi going for something pretty simple just in case anything goes haywire, but with their final touches done up they were ready to set out for the night.

“Do you really think that she’s going to be here tonight?” Kuroo asked Oikawa while Iwaizumi called a taxi. They were a little behind schedule and missed the train, so they had to opt for something quick.

“Out of everything we’ve done so far, I think this is our best chance at catching her. This club used to be a faux headquarters for her. I’m almost positive that she’s either looking for a certain someone,” Iwaizumi catches the tone in Oikawa’s voice as he spoke, making eyes at him while he finished his sentence, “or that she left something behind.”

They both knew that you were fond of Terushima, but they also knew that you had moved on from all of that. You had your eyes set on someone else. That still didn’t mean that you weren’t there for him, but the idea that it was anything but business was a little far fetched.

“So you guys used to be there all the time?” The taxi pulled up to the curb, waiting for Kuroo and the others to hop in. 

“Yeah. Every weekend she would have us come have drinks with her since we were her ‘groupies’, essentially .” Iwaizumi answered, using quotations with his fingers to get the point across. “It was more like a weekly check in but sometimes all we did was catch up with one another.”

The memories warmed his heart. He never once felt like he was working for you, but alongside you. You truly cared about their goals and ambitions, oftentimes ignoring the actual work that the Port Mafia wanted to get done and helping the citizens most in need. Coincidentally, that was how you made the most money and controlled the most area - the people liked you. Being in your squad was a different experience from every other job he had within the Mafia, and as soon as you disappeared he knew that he was going to have to get out sooner rather than later.

Oikawa felt the exact same way, and couldn’t imagine a life where he and Iwaizumi didn’t work together, so they devised a plan and faked their deaths in order to obtain what little freedom that would allow. Both knew that you weren’t dead, no matter how solid the evidence looked, and stuck their foot in the ground in Yokohama in an effort to find you. Two years later they accepted jobs as detectives with the ADA and walked in to see you, sitting at a desk, smiling and laughing with your fellow detectives.

The car ride was silent for the most part, the taxi driver asked a handful of questions before letting the radio fill the dead air. Iwaizumi kept track of how close they were and directed the driver to a few blocks off so they could walk up to the club (he really didn’t want to get this poor guy involved, so better to keep him out of it).

With a small wave from Oikawa, the boys head down the streets but their moods quickly shift as streams of people flood out of the building. The screams of hundreds fills the night air and the heavy footsteps of the three carry as closely as possible to the front entrance. Crowds topple over one another in an attempt to make it out safely as the sound of a single gunshot ricochets off of every surface, furthering the panic in the chests of innocents. Eyes flicking to every possible entrance, Kuroo feels deep down in his soul that you’re inside - you’re either the one firing or being fired at and either causes his chest to tighten, the neverending pit of anxiety at the bottom of his stomach somehow growing deeper. The three stand like a rock against a current of bodies, everyone just running past them and filling the space behind the group as they run.

Only a few moments before their arrival, Terushima and yourself were finishing your drinks and sharing a laugh when splinters flick off the set of doors, and single shot entering the room and shattering the large glass windows that look down on the dance floor. The initial panic takes a second to kick in before the patrons below start their scramble. Terushima’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed you rather harshly and shoved you down onto the ground, covering your body with his own.

“We know you’re in there Y/N!” The voice that spoke was unfamiliar to you, probably just some higher level goon that happened to know what was going on. While tucked under Terushima’s body, you open a small portal to the dashboard of your car and grab the handgun you left waiting. It always pays off to have a backup plan, you think while taking in the surrounding area. The men had yet to breach the room itself, leaving an opportunity for both of you to escape, whether that be jumping down onto the dance floor or using a portal.

“Teru,” his eyes focus on the door but you know he’s listening to your harsh whispers, “we can jump down and blend in the crowd-”

“No.” His jaw clenches, the lines on his face becoming harsher. “They deliberately shot at the window to lure us out there. The one talking is the head of this district so I’m sure every mobster in the area is here keeping an eye out for you.”

“Fuck…” your heart beats just as fast as your brain fires off thousands of different ideas. The crowd of people down below scream for help as they run out into the night and then another shot comes, this time it sounds like it’s from down below. In the crowd.

“Are they firing at civilians?!” Your mind spirals down. What the fuck are they thinking?

“One of those idiots might’ve thought that they saw you.” Terushima detaches himself from you and reaches under one of the tables, grabbing a hidden handgun and making sure it’s loaded.

As he checks the magazine, you muster up a portal big enough for a person to fit through, the other end looking out onto the streets. “Get in Teru. They’re after me.” You plead him with both your eyes and your voice, hands twitching around the cold metal of your pistol.

“Not happening sweetheart.” His smile is sly and coy, teasing you almost. “This is my club that they’re ruining and these people are my guests.” He gestures to the window and then to you, slowing the fall of his hand to emphasize his next words. “It’s my duty to protect them.”

Your lips tugs into a smile and you shut the portal. “Alright then.”

Down on the streets below the three men try to push up river through the endless streams of people running away from yet another shot. Women fall over, others trampling them in the fearful haze that covers the downtown. Iwaizumi rushes over and picks them up, shielding them from the hoards of shoes and getting them back on their feet.

SUV’s among other black vehicles speed around various street corners and men in suits start to surround the area, each fitted with different weapons of different calibers. Pressure grows in the small atmosphere of the downtown area, ears yearning to pop and get ahold of the situation but Kuroo doesn’t know if he would rather feel the throbbing in his head or the despair of hundreds.

Oikawa spins in circles, taking in every detail he can of the mayhem. Each of his senses feels like they’re on fire, enhanced from the sudden change in pace. It would be suicide to use his gift now, so the best he can do in trust his brain to intake whatever information is available.

The three converge after each attains their bearings and stand back to back. “What now?” Iwaizumi is forced to yell over the collage of sounds.

“We go in? I mean she’s gotta be in there, right?!” Oikawa shouts equally as loud, still turning his head around to look at the distressed faces. His voice comes out exasperated and rushed, his breathing picking up.

“Go in?! We can barely move five feet forward, how the fuck are we supposed to get in?” Kuroo takes the more logical stance, trying his best to find a solution to the problem at hand: what to do next.

Luckily, Oikawa, in his twisty turn around scavenger hunt, had spotted a fire escape on the side of the closest apartment building. If they wanted to get a height advantage and take a moment to clear their heads, that would be the spot. He shakes both of his companions shoulders and gestures his head to the ladder. Lightbulbs light up in their heads and slowly but surely they take small steps towards the iron bars, giving the people enough time to adjust to the change in current.

It only takes a minute or two to finally reach the ladder, Iwa hoisting Tooru with weaved fingers and will to lift with his legs, not his back. One handed, Oikawa pulls down the ladder and the three make their way to the landing.

The chaos seen from above is only less claustrophobic as it doesn't let their hearts take a moment to rest. Rather, showcasing the complete lack of control from anyone down below. Every person down below looks like a rat on the loose, caught at the wrong time as they scatter in all directions. Kuroo leans over the edge of the railing, trying to get a better view of the inside of the club.

“There’s a bunch of guys with guns pointed at the top room, part of the window was either smashed or shot at since it’s all over the floor.” Iwa observes to the left of Kuroo, also leaning over the delicate iron bars.

“Can you see in that top room?” Kuroo squints, but it doesn’t enhance his vision.

“Not really,” Iwaizumi starts to tilt his head in various directions, finding the best angle to peer inside that room. “Looks like there’s two people up there but I can’t make out any faces.”

“We should’ve brought Akaashi…” Kuroo mumbles to himself, at this point wondering everything that could’ve been different in this moment. “Well one of them has to be Y/N. I think that’s a given at this point.”

“That or she’s the woman one of the guys has hostage on the lower level.” Oikawa notes, gesturing to each of them to come to where he stands and uses his hand to try and guide their view to a better position.

You also take note of the hostage, peeking down from the remains of the windows. The thought that the Port Mafia is now so low that they would take hostages in order to obtain an ex-member leaves a bad taste on the tip of your tongue. Cold metal brushes your chest as you keep your gun close to your chest. Being as silent as possible, you carefully crouch around the room and get eyes on everything you can.

Terushima had taken off his blazer just a few seconds ago, throwing it over the edge of the couch and creeping closer to the double doors. He listens to whatever words he can make out through the veil of screams and footsteps, retaining only the name “Tendou”.

His head turns to yours from across the room, mouthing the words “Tendou is coming”.

With a clenched jaw, you turn back to the dance floor and see that two more girls were being kicked onto the ground, making a total of three hostages. Hands cover their ears as they plead for their lives.

“Alright Y/N! You’ve got one choice: you either turn yourself over right now or you sit and wait until Satori gets here and we kill those girls and Terushima!” Whoever spoke before loudy shouts again, the words bouncing off of every glossy surface of the club.

GODDAMMIT! Sweat builds in the palm of your hands, the bass from the speakers making the miniscule shards of glass on the ground shake; bits and pieces falling off the ledge and into various crevices in the tile. There’s really only one thing left to do, you think to yourself and Terushima watches as the familiar cerulean hue starts to color the very lines of your body. 

A portal opens to your left, the circle opening up to a view of the entryway of the building. From this vantage point you can see a group of men, all in suits and with their weapons either pointed at the hostages or the balcony. Without hesitation you aim the barrel of the gun at the closest guy and fire at his leg. The bullet enters his calf muscle, leaving through the shin and he immediately keels over. Other men are alerted by the sound and turn quickly to find the source. Like a trained soldier you close and open various portals, one at a time and in dissimilar spots to try and confuse them, and fire potshots at whoever catches your eye first. 

Arguing continues between Kuroo and Iwaizumi as they battle on what to do next; one trying to approach the situation like it’s made of delicate porcelain and the other ready to give blood, sweat and tears. Oikawa refuses to let his eyes leave the club, and it proves to be useful as rifts start to open and close within the confined space. His eyes dilate and once again he slaps Iwa on the shoulder mid sentence.

“What the hell Shittykawa?!” Iwa gnashes, foam practically running down the side of his mouth.

“She’s making her move.” Dominos start to fall, but for once in a very long time the two don’t know what lies at the end of the line. Kuroo can’t believe what he’s seeing - he’s only ever seen you use your gift sparingly and in desperate situations, never to an extent such as this. The last piece of the puzzle finally goes into place as it dawns on Tetsuro that this is life or death. There is no playing around and there are no wrong moves. 

“Alright Iwaizumi: I’m in.”

The aforementioned turns to him with a blank expression, a little unsure of what to do now. Oikawa watches as Kuroo claps his hands together and squats down and it hits him all at once; this is the first time he’s ever seen Kuroo’s gift in any capacity. Satisfied with the warm feeling on his skin, Tetsuro releases his hands and places them on the iron below, the space surrounding them glowing like they do.

In an instance, the vibrancy dies down and on the landing lies two items in a similar shape to hand grenades. A smirk tugs at his features and he states, “We’ll get in with these.”

Their jaws drop and Tooru starts to huff in disbelief, “I can appreciate your tenacity Kuroo-san but that seems like overkill.”

“Seriously…” Iwa adds sarcastically, slightly sticking out his arm to act as a shield between the two.

The smile disappears quickly and Kuroo brings a hand up to rub his brows. “They’re smoke grenades…”

Forming an ‘o’ with his mouth, Tooru starts to nod his head and Hajime drops the raised arm. “I knew that.”

Licking his lips, Kuroo passes one of the grenades to Iwaizumi and mouths “of course you did” to silently mock them. At least they share a brain cell.

Another few minutes pass, the gang of men make their way back down the ladder and into the frey. During that time you remain using the same tactic, effectively avoiding any unwanted attention from the growing crowd of henchmen. More had been called in after your initial shot, the head honcho making plays over the various walkie talkies. 

You close a portal and let your chest heave, taking long deep breaths and settling down. The spacing of your shots has been growing larger to keep the suspense up, but in this timeframe you create a mini portal to grab a new magazine and reload. You close your eyes and let the noise wrap you like a blanket, surrounding you and taking precedence over every other sense in your body. Right as you whip to the right and start to open a rift, the small tinks of metal on concrete are drowned out.

Slowly, smoke swirls around the dance floor, rising and expanding out in all directions. Another can sputter to life and causes the room to turn opaque. Light bounces around in rays that color the white sheet that now fills the room.

Right outside the doors of the club Iwaizumi charges up his ability, letting a firm feeling prick every inch of his skin before ramming himself through the doors. Tooru sticks to his back and fires at every shape he can make out through the fog, Kuroo acting as the kaboose and covering any stragglers that those two seem to miss.

From your end of things, the room starts to fill with white and immediately you shut the gateway, watching from your perch as the fog dissipates right as it reaches your feet. Terushima also evaluates the situation, deciding to take the chance and barge out of the doors and tackle whoever is closest. Unfortunately he didn’t think super far ahead and that leaves you in a compromising position.

Gunfire fills the hallways of the building, but the light that flashes up on the second level lets Kuroo know that shit’s going down. Without hesitation he leaves formation and hauls ass down the hall and up some stairs. Four men in total block his path to you, two being on the floor and the other two shooting in your general direction.  

It’s as if red seeps into his eyelids, rage pumps through his veins at a level he thought himself incapable. The barrel of his gun points down at the thigh of one of the standing men. As soon as the bullet hits its mark he rushes the other one and knocks him upside the head with the butt of the gun. In less than three minutes Kuroo had entered the building and knocked out two guys in order to rush to your side.

A wedge was pushed in the cogs in your brain, halting all functions and making your eye twitch. Kuroo squats down to meet your eye level and stares at you with piercing golden eyes. His pupils dilate when they meet yours which are full of confusion, then disbelief and finally annoyance.

“You fuckin’ asshole.” The words should be lost to the mirage of the night, but they’re the only things Kuroo can hear.

Almost scared, he reaches forward and curls his fingers around the flesh of your forearm and responds. “Let’s get out of here.”

Whatever shock that stopped your brain had washed over and now it felt like everything was moving too quickly in order to catch up. The fog was starting to clear and you can make out the figures of both Oikawa and Iwaizumi down on the dance floor below, watching each other's backs. Terushima stands near the edge of the balcony and joins them in taking down what seems to be an endless stream of goons.

He turns to you and winks, a silent goodbye as Kuroo grabs a tight hold of your arm and pulls you off of the ground. It’s a blur as you leap over several unconscious men and down the stairs. Whatever crowd was left was thin at best, no civilians in sight and many mafia members toppled over. Iwaizumi steps backwards towards you two, Oikawa shifting himself so the three act as armor around you.

Just as swift as the entrance, the boys shove you along and out into the streets. The screeching of tires alerts the four of you, yet another SUV speeds down the narrow streets of the downtown.

“Fuck” you whisper and get your bearings. Your legs are quicker than your brain and you shout, “follow me!” Your two fellow ex-members are already by your sides and Kuroo lags behind. Quickly you throw the keys to Iwaizumi. “When we get to the car, just drive. Doesn’t matter what streets you go down.”

Yet again Kuroo watches as the three of you work together like a well oiled machine, Hajime practically ripping the door off of its hinges and shaking the car as he sits. Tooru follows suit on the passenger side and deja vu strikes hard once Kuroo gets his but down into the seat.

Iwaizumi revs the engine and rapidly turns the wheel from side to side as the car skids and jolts into the center of a major road.

“Whatever happens, just keep her in the center of the road!” You whirl around and face the rear windshield, spotting the vehicles that now tail you all. Luckily the night means less traffic and Hajime can keep to the center of the road. Whoever was driving this late at night veers out of the way as the street turns crowded with several cars turning corners rather fast and joining in with those that already follow you.

You roll down the window next to you and start to shoot blindly out of the side, not daring to stick your whole body out of the car like last time due to the sheer amount of firepower that would be sure to hit you. Kuroo and Oikawa do the same as you, Kuroo ducking his head while doing so just in case any bullets come flying in through the back window and Oikawa tries to use the side mirror to aim his shots. 

Not even two minutes since this drive began and cop cars light up the road ahead, about three quarters of a mile in front.

“Uhh Y/N! We got a problem!” Iwaizumi white knuckles the steering wheel and starts to turn it, planning on going down one of the side streets to put all threats behind your car. You whip your head around and evaluate the situation, quickly realizing that this is an opportune moment for something you’ve been keeping up your sleeve.

“You better keep this car in the center of the road Hajime or so help me God I will kill you before anyone else has the chance!” You scream and place yourself in the center of the back bench which gives you a relatively clear view of the road. Breathing in through your nose and out with your mouth, you clap your hands together much like Kuroo did earlier in the night. Continuing your breathing pattern, Hajime returns the car to the center of the road.

“Step on the gas.” You command, your eyes closed in concentration.

“Y/N are you sure?!” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Iwaizumi’s questioning, but more of a confirmation of action.

“Just fucking do it!”

The clock ticks down as both forces start to close in. Five seconds before impact: the cops are unsure what to do. Some stopped their vehicles and were preparing road spikes while the others continue charging forward and speak through the sound system, warning you all of what’s going to happen. The Port Mafia also starts to slow down as they are just as confused as the police. No one really knows what you have in plan, but those in charge of each group are determined to get to the bottom of things.

Four seconds to go and the pit at everyone’s stomach grows a size larger; a faint sapphire glow emanates just from your hands and Kuroo watches curiously. The phrase trusting someone with your life had never meant much to him, but in this moment he really understood the complete lack of control he has.

Three; Oikawa sits up right in his seat and straps himself in, also closing his eyes to alleviate the stress of the scene before him.

Two; the glow around your fingertips has grown exponentially into something almost blinding. Iwaizumi steadies the wheel and fights the urge to jerk the car.

Right before impact with the front runner the view of a country road lined with trees fills Hajime and Kuroo’s eyes. The car barely fits into the rift and bounces up and down. You weren’t able to align the two roads perfectly off of memory, so you opted to have it a little high up. Kuroo checks behind them and the road is empty. No sight of any buildings or vehicles - just a clear sky and the wilderness that surrounds them.

Tooru didn’t realize he was clutching onto his chest strap until he opens his eyes and lets out a breath he was holding. Hajime adjusts quickly to the new territory and slows the car down some, leaning back into his seat. Kuroo, amazed that you were in the clear, turns to you, but your head is lolled to the side. 

“Y/N?” Ever so gently, he shakes your shoulder and your eyes crack open. You turn to face him and blood is streaming from one nostril, down your face and dripping onto your shirt. He freezes up, just now realizing how much this whole ordeal must’ve taken out of you.

A tissue appears in front of both of your faces, Tooru’s hand attached to it. “You always pull that stuff off last second even though you could’ve just done it as soon as we got in the car.”

“Fuck off,” you sound drained and totally devoid of any emotion. “If we can get out of it without having to port out then we’ll do it that way, but the cops got in the way.” You take the tissue and start to wipe up whatever you can, your movements slow.

“Are you alright?” Kuroo is unsure of his place, a total contrast from inside the club when he was the most assertive you had ever seen him.

“Loaded question.” You want so badly to drop them off on the side of the road and hope that they just leave you alone, but your eyes blur every few seconds and you know that you are in no position to drive. Several emotions bubble up at the thought that they kept looking for you, put their lives on the line to find you and actually ended up saving you.

Effectively dodging the question, you slide back over to your side of the car and place your head on the window, giving Hajime directions to your home. They’re smart enough to know that now isn’t the time to talk, nor is it the time to ask questions like “what’s next?” and so on.

The high beams of your car light up the large house at the end of the gravel road, your headache nearing its end and the boys all ogle at your property. A flick of his hands and Iwaizumi turns the car off, then steps out into the cold air. He takes a few steps back and precariously opens the door you’re leaning on. With careful consideration, he crouches down and tries to let you use him as a crutch, but in all the time you had to think on the ride here, you shove him off and stumble a bit.

Gaining some balance, you speak with an unwavering tone. “What you did tonight was stupid. All of you.” You turn and meet each of their eyes, Kuroo and Oikawa still on the other side of the car. “I explicitly told you all not to get involved and still you fucking showed up.”

They all freeze at the accusatory finger you’re pointing and watch as you start to back yourself up to the entryway. Iwaizumi, who normally decides to let Tooru charm his way out of things, is the first to speak. “You’re right.” His eyes bore into your own, but he continues. “But that doesn’t change the fact that if we weren’t there you would’ve been fucked.”

“As if.” You spit back, not thinking clearly as you’re more focused on getting your own point across. Hajime only started fights when he thought it was absolutely necessary. This didn’t cross your mind, but Tooru’s as he realizes the upcoming screaming match. 

“As if?!” His voice booms over the forest, possibly shaking the leaves on the trees. “You were backed into a fucking corner Y/N! For god's sake, did you think Terushima was gonna be able to help you out of that shitshow?” He stops his assault for a moment, seeing if you would answer but you grind your teeth instead. “You needed our help. We’re the ones that got you out of that situation-”

“Hajime-”

“No Tooru! She doesn’t get to disappear behind everyone’s backs and tell us NOT to find her! Especially not us.” Tooru purses his lips, knowing that he’s right. Tooru would’ve thought that maybe after the first day or two you would contact them, allowing them to help, all things considered. He knows where Hajime is coming from and ultimately decides to let him continue. “She sure as fuck doesn’t get to tell us that we didn’t help either. I know damn well that once we all cool off you’re gonna have to apologize and admit to me that I was right.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you still decided to follow me.”  You're quick with your rebuttal. “I’m trying my best to protect you all-” A cackle catches you mid sentence, and you watch as Iwaizumi rests a hand over his face and laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? What’s so hilarious Hajime?”

“Do you really think that we need protecting?” His eyes peek through the cracks in his fingers, a sly smirk curling his lips.

“Maybe you don’t but the Port Mafia knows now that I’m involved with the agency. For the safety and protection of everyone I need to erase myself from their records and go away.” This is your retreat. You can feel your own arms wrap around your form and start rubbing slow circles into your sides. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’re just pleading for them to live. Or pleading with them to leave you with the idea that they’ll be living a peaceful life without you.

“You do know who you’re talking about, right?” Iwaizumi takes his hand off of his face and glares at you. “You got Bokuto, who is an accidental genius; Sugawara and myself who act like human shields; Tanaka and Nishinoya who are the wildcards; Kenma and Asahi who can heal practically any injury and Kuroo, who can literally create a bomb if he has the right materials within his vicinity.” As he lists off the various members he sticks fingers up and counts. “I don’t think they need as much protection as you seem to think. I bet everyone’s losing their shit right now since you just walked out and now the three of us have been M.I.A. for almost a week.”

While he presents a pretty good argument, it feels like it just goes in one ear and out the other. Your only goal right now is to get them to understand that you don’t want them here. Anything you can do to save them is the top priority, and having them here with you is a fucking nuisance. “I don’t give a rat's ass about any of that! You and Torru have seen what the Port Mafia is capable of and there’s is nothing that is going to stop them from finding me! If that means blowing up the agency building, they will! You know Tendou will do anything and Washijo will just let him!”

“Y/N.” The desperation in your voice is becoming more apparent with each word as your sentences speed up and your tone gets higher and higher. Oikawa walks around the car and stands next to Hajime, taking your beat of silence as a cue to speak. “You know you can’t say that anymore. We haven’t been with them for years. Washijo might be too sick to even speak.”

“Plus everyone at the agency knows what this job entails.”

“You don’t get to talk Tetsuro.” He stands behind the two, and honestly your rage was so hyper focused on Oikawa and Iwaizumi that you forgot he was there. You snap at spit back. “It’s not a matter of knowing what they signed up for more than a problem of the Port Mafia doing whatever they want.”

“That’s why we’re here to help you.” Tooru still stands between you and the others, the mediator. “You know that we’ll do everything we can, everything you say, in order to protect them. Tendou didn’t just see you that night. Obviously he doesn’t care all that much about us but we’re on their records too so it’s not just your problem.”

“I can’t fucking do this right now.” It feels like no one is listening to you, just throwing water in the tank you’re already drowning in. With a sigh and balled fists, you come to a hasty decision. “You can all stay here tonight. I expect you to be gone by midday.” Without a chance to speak, you storm into the house and start preparing mats for them to sleep on.

Tooru runs his tongue over his teeth, lips shut and starts tapping his foot. There were a thousand different possibilities for how tonight could’ve gone - this being one that wasn’t on his radar. Hajime feels the frustration bubble over, but he knows there’s not much else he can say that will get to you. Focusing his attention on Tooru, he pats his shoulder and says, “She’s not gonna budge. C’mon.” The two walk into the house, following the lights and let you finish preparing their room.

Swiftly you finish fluffing the pillows and brushing past them, avoiding any contact, any chance for them to stop you. You slide open the door for the next room over and raid the closet, setting the room up for Kuroo.

“Y/N wait.” For one reason or another, you stop your actions and look to the aforementioned, him standing in the doorway. With a final push of your muscles, you throw the mat down on the floor and wait for what’s next. “I just wanted to say that- that I want to do everything I can to help you. I know it’s not much but Iwaizumi and Oikawa have been doing so much and I really think that-”

“Go to bed Kuroo. You guys are gonna have a long day making your way back into the city tomorrow, so you’re gonna need all the sleep you can get.” You shoulder check him, leaving the room and the yet to be unfurled bed mat on the floor.

In the late hours of the night you find yourself tossing and turning. The entirety of the past few hours replayed in your mind, every situation rewinds and restarts as you analyze the points that the guys made. You wouldn’t have lived through last night if it wasn’t for them. There’s no way in hell Tendou wouldn’t have gotten his hands on you if it wasn't for them.

You sit up, sweat dripping off of your brow bone and everything starts to feel like it’s closing in. The four walls around you feel like hands around your throat and your chest heaves. Throwing off the duvet you stand up and stretch, the small pops and clicks from your back. After a few moments you slide open the door and step into the hallway, heading to the kitchen to start a kettle.

Maybe you were being a little harsh on them earlier. Tendou was a real threat and only sought you out, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that whoever that boy was with him a few nights ago seemed to recognize you, Oikawa and Iwaizumi. They were there with you through thick and thin when you had to organize almost half of the mafia’s patrol cars, pickup sites and so much more. You went above and beyond to prove to that old fucking geezer that you deserved to be in your seat as an executive. Tooru and Hajime did nothing but support you, even after they discovered that you did in fact fake your death and worked as a detective in the same city they thought you abandoned. Even after that they still treated you like nothing happened.

The kettle whistles and you take it off the heat, trying your best to stay as quiet as possible in the early morning hours. Preparing a tea strainer and some leaves, you grab a mug and start to assemble everything. As the tea steeps, you open the back door and let the cool breeze engulf your body. 

The wood that covers the porch is cool to the touch, the soles of your feet uncomfortable, wanting to go back inside but you continue forward. The only things warming you under the cascade of stars is the mug between your hands and a blanket you placed around your shoulders. You venture off of the porch onto the soft moss that tickles your toes. Further into the trees is a small creek, in which you placed a few hardwood chairs.

No distractions, you allowed yourself to continue your train of thought from earlier. Once it fully settles in your consciousness that they are in their own right to want to be a part of this battle. Just as much was on the line for them as it was for you, and it never really hit until now. 

So what would happen if I let them stay?

This was the real kicker. And before you knew it, you were going through every possible scenario you could think of, listing the pros and cons of having a team to work with rather than only relying on yourself. 

The moon shifts throughout the night sky as you get up a few times to refill your cup, and before you know it rays of sunshine start to peer through the fog that settles under the canopy of leaves. With a new piping cup in your hands you resume the various tracks of different decisions. Inside, Kuroo slowly cracks open his eyes, the sunshine peeking through the blinds and the birds chirping. In the other room Iwaizumi sighs heavily and looks over Tooru. Shadows define his jaw and cheekbones, even accentuating the curve of his lips and the flutter of his lashes when he finally opens his eyes.

“G’morning.” Hajime’s voice is scratchy, his eyes red from the haziness that comes in the morning.

“Morning.” With a smile, they both take their time getting up and ready for the day. 

Kuroo straightens out his clothes (which he slept in) and walks out into the living room. He notes the kettle and jars of loose tea leaves on the counter, also noting that you’re nowhere to be seen. The door to your room is open as well, arousing his suspicion.

A glance passes between the two men as they each put back into their clothes. First it was Hajime trying to catch a glance at Tooru, and then vice versa just a few seconds later. They stumble around one another, pick dusting their cheeks but neither speaks.

A knock at the door interrupts their game of cat and mouse along with a voice. “Have you guys seen Y/N?”

Hajime finishes the buttons of his shirt and slides the door open. “No? She’s not here?” It’s like last night all over again, the panic bubbling in his chest.

“I haven’t seen her at all, and her room’s empty. I think she’s around since the car is still here and there’s stuff on the counter, I was just wondering if you guys heard or saw her?” Kuroo fidgets with his fingers, picking at the cuticles with his nail.

“You checked all the rooms?” Hajime takes command of the situation, stepping out of his room and into the living space.

“Yeah, all empty.” Kuroo follows him and Oikawa behind Kuroo.

“Well the back door is open, so…” Tooru nods towards the door although no one sees it.

Without another word the trio walk into the forest, taking in the scenery before them. Calm was the one word that came to mind. Branches crunch under their heels, alarming you to their presence. 

They can see your figure up just ahead and slow their roll. Kuroo stops in his tracks and just looks at you bathing in the golden sunlight, hair disheveled and eyes baggy once you finally turn and face them.

“Morning boys.” You sound and look tired, each of them knowing that you probably didn’t get any sleep at all but continue down the path to meet you. With a single gesture you get them to sit in the chairs beside you. You say nothing as you drink the cold tea - or what’s left of it at this point.

“What’s going on up there Y/N?” Oikawa pokes his temple and looks at you with the most sincere eyes. It’s not like the question wasn’t just on his mind, but the silence was starting to kill him.

“I did a lot of reflecting last night,” you start, setting the small cup onto the moss and straightening up. “For starters, I hope you all can forgive me for the way I treated you last night. It was unfair and I finally get that we’re all fighting for the same thing. You all have just as much reason to fight the Port Mafia as I do.” You make eye contact with each of them individually as you try to convey remorse. 

They each take it the same, knowing that adrenaline was high and that you meant the best for all of them. If anything, Hajime knows that the both of you will need to have a one on one conversation later to clear the air. 

“As for what I said last night,” you turn your eyes downward, knowing that you can’t bear to stare at their eager eyes, “I thought about it, and I want to take it all back. If you want, I could use the extra hands.”

Silence settles again, but Tooru doesn’t let it last long. He stands up from his chair and rushes over to give you a big hug. His arms encase you and he puts his head close to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

It catches you off guard, but tears build in your eyes. What did you ever do to deserve them? “Of course. I knew you guys weren’t gonna leave me alone once you knew where I've been hiding.”

“Damn straight.” Hajime joins the hug, placing his head on your other shoulder.

Kuroo stays in his seat and watches the scene unfold, not wanting to ruin a second reunion. He goes back to fiddling with his fingers and looking at the ground until the three of you break off from one another. You walk over to him and place a hand over his, preventing him from doing any more damage to his hands. Maneuvering them in a way to grasp one of his hands, he looks up at you, the rays of sunshine behind you, filling the forest.

Holding onto his rough hand and smiling down on him, you say “Let’s get to work.”

[a-lil-perspective]

•Braids and Bavodu’e•

A/N: Directly affiliated with the “Serendipity With A Slice Of Sergeant” series, this spin-off is for Uncle Crosshair. There are three segments spanning within this narrative that each depict different phases of time. To clarify—the order will proceed as such: Middle, Beginning, End. In total adoration for this particular concept with Crosshair, I poured my heart and soul into the curation, and I hope you all find enjoyment within. Feedback, recommendations, and requests are always appreciated. @shadow-hyder @obiorbenkenobi @thegoodbatch @starflyer-104 @karpasia @kriffingunlucky @everyonehasanindividuality

•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️•▫️♦️▫️•

“I... do not think you’re doing it the right way, Crosshair. It says here in the guide to weave over, then under—”

“Tech, kindly close your yap so I can concentrate.” Crosshair bit out, sighing in frustration over the seemingly impossible task. “I know what I’m doing.”

He had no idea what he was doing.

But when Hunter’s daughters came bounding up to Crosshair with a hairbrush and a plea—how could he refuse?

After all, it was just one braid in a little girl’s hair—how hard can it be?

The six-year-old jittered with excitement. “I can’t wait till it’s done!”

“I can’t either,” Crosshair mumbled through a hair accessory clamped between his teeth as he worked.

A sniper and ex-Super Commando against toddlers and tresses?

No problem.

///

Crosshair’s hands smoothed over the entirety of the girl’s hair; signifying his completion, finally, of this one kriffing braid. His contentment over the results made up for the aching in his wrist. He was no hairdresser, and yet—clenching and uncurling his fingers before cracking his knuckles to alleviate the strain—Crosshair figured he’d better start building up the muscle strength in his hands; a sneaking suspicion that there would be many more braids to come.

His deduction was already confirmed when Tech promptly planted the three-year-old Rowena straight into the sniper’s lap, next.

“You have to do Ro’s hair, too.” Tech needlessly explained.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Crosshair sneered, rolling his eyes and once again favoring the tactic of sardonic responses to conceal his discomfiture for whatever situation he found himself in.

“His name isn’t Captain Obvious, Ba’vodu!” Alarasmé’s high-pitched voice cut through the tension, her lack of knowledge on sarcasm pointedly intervening. “That’s Uncle Tech!”

“You’re right, ‘Lara—but tell Crosshair who your favorite Uncle is, hmm?” He encouraged, a feeling of total confidence and surety in the girl’s pending answer.

“You, Uncle Crosshair.”

Her confirmation managed to simultaneously inflate Crosshair’s ego and deflate Tech’s. The engineer’s mouth lay agape, his downcast expression symbolic of crushed spirits, and the image of Tech’s pout allowed Crosshair to become wholly amused by his vod’ika’s lack of dignity around a six-year-old.

“I... Alara... I thought I was your favorite Ba’vodu?” The engineer was utterly baffled, devastation evident in his voice.

“That was only yesterday, Techie.” The girl stated with complete disregard for her Uncle’s feelings, as if her admission towards a shift in predilection was the most justifiable thing, and a predictable reoccurrence, at that.

Apparently, it was.

“But... but Crosshair has practically had a running streak for three weeks now!” Tech whined, to which the sniper simply cast him the most smug expression the engineer has ever seen.

Had there not been small children around, Tech swore to himself that he would’ve punched that stupid smirk right off his ori’vod’s face, he was that indignant over the ranking.

So he attempted to compensate for his trauma and descending favor by kneeling in front of the three-year-old with her locks currently tended to as he worked on coercing his desired validation out of the toddler.

“Rowena, Tech is your favorite Uncle, correct?”

The toddler giggled and reached her tiny fingers out to yank at Tech’s goggles, pulling them away from his face before abruptly letting go; the resistance from the band around the back of his head causing the corrective eyewear to suddenly retract with a thwack against his skin. The sound of Tech’s yelp of pain nearly overpowered Crosshair’s cackling.

“You di’kut, you had that one coming, tryna reason with a baby,” the sniper managed to choke out through his wheezing, to which Tech scowled, soothing over both the fresh sting around his delicate eye area and his further injured pride.

“As a matter of fact, I think the response was a good sign. According to research, babies and small children naturally present with more attentiveness and personality to people they favor—“

“Awe don’t worry, Techie,” the sniper brushed his vod’ika aside with a goading stroke of snark. “It’s not your fault—not everyone can be as well accomplished as this Ba’vodu.”

It was true—while Crosshair was slightly begrudged to admit—his deft and nimble fingers that procured precision in every aspect of his work were, unsurprisingly, the most ideal candidate for constructing intricate hairstyles.

Not that he was complaining one bit.

///

“Papa! Look at my hair!!” The little girl gave a proud twirl in flaunting the new style to her Father upon his return with Uncle Wrecker.

Hunter’s eyes widened, signaling his eased integration of whimsicality and theatrics into his daughter’s exuberance. He was a natural; proof of his intrinsically befitting role of Fatherhood on display time over again.

“Alarasmé?! Is that you?! I barely even recognized you, you’re even more beautiful then I remember!” He knelt to be eye-level with his daughter in emphasizing his payments of the highest respect and reverence for her beauty; his surprise remaining authentic, and his compliment even more so.

Truthfully, he was thoroughly surprised at beholding his two daughters that day... with their hair beautifully styled... by... Crosshair?

Hunter’s brows furrowed while curiously regarding his vod, whose own attentive gaze was fully occupied with giving purpose to the last thin strands of hair on the youngest girl. If Crosshair felt Hunter’s intense gaze of perplexity boring into him over his unprecedented behavior, he had yet to acknowledge it.

He did feel it, and was pointedly ignoring.

“All done, Ro.” Crosshair announced upon promptly attaching the finishing touch to Rowena’s head before she bolted out of the chair in racing her chubby toddler legs over to Hunter, who matched her eagerness as he lovingly scooped up his ik’aad to also exalt her beauty and express his adoration for the girl’s new accessory—

So that’s where his red bandana went.

“Papa! Your turn!” The girls pulled a now flustered Sergeant over to Crosshair, who suddenly flashed Hunter the most devilish grin before patting the stool in front of him in an overly welcoming gesture; each word dripping with deliberate emphasis.

“Yes, Papa Hunter—have a seat.”

“Uh, I don’t think so—“

“I insist.”

The intense begging of his daughters mixed with the thinly-veiled intimidation tactics of Crosshair left Hunter with little choice than to flop unceremoniously down into the chair, but not before turning to greet his vod with a glare and feigned warning:

“You’ll regret this.”

“Oh, I think not, Sergeant—I am going to enjoy the absolute kriff out of this.” Crosshair smirked, playfully smacking the back of his ori’vod’s head. “Now be still and enjoy your braid. Remember to smile for Tech’s recording.”

/// *** \\\

“Do you want to hold her, vod?”

There it is. The dreaded question Crosshair knew was coming.

The nauseating one that caused his head to spin and a sheen of sweat to break out across his forehead; a question that triggered Crosshair’s urge to promptly flee the scene.

Not that the idea itself dreaded him—but who was he kidding; his hands were used to cradling rifles, not babies.

Certainly not infant newborns.

“You’re not gonna break her, vod. Don’t worry. She’s tougher than she looks.” Hunter replies with reverence for his firstborn and innate realization for the way Cross was so conflicted; as if the sniper’s contorted and downright terrified facial expression wasn’t overt enough.

Crosshair’s hands unconsciously drifted defensively in front of him, and he noted the way they were slightly trembling.

Of course Hunter noticed, too—he deliberately approached Crosshair last with news of the baby’s arrival, equipped with full comprehension for the way his vod would instinctively portray a great deal of resistance to the encounter, originating from his suffocating trepidations. Inwardly, Hunter couldn’t place fault; the prospect, his new reality, was also just as utterly foreign to a man groomed for the role of a Sergeant and super soldier all of his life. He was actually a Father now.

Crosshair’s stammering became the only audibility as he desperately searched for the right words. “I... I don’t... How do I—”

“Just position your arms, exactly like mine here,” Hunter gently instructed, stifling his slight hilarity in regarding Crosshair’s plight and uncharacteristically timid behavior. He slowly transferred the bundle, leaving a last piece of advice on how to support the baby’s head with the act of cradling.

There she is. The moment Crosshair’s fret over, the focal point of his immense stress for nine months straight; all condensed into this one moment:

A moment that forcefully yanked the air from the sniper’s lungs. Fear. Joy. Exhilaration. Assurance. Swirling emotions enveloping and succumbing to solidification; leaving his vision in cloudy haze, nearly bringing the man to his knees. The moment he swore his heart would beat out of his chest from the hammering against his ribcage and the pure adrenaline rushing through his veins.

A moment of—

“How does it feel, Ba’vodu?” Hunter’s genuine smile and elation reeled Crosshair back, momentarily.

“I...” Crosshair faltered, not trusting himself to speak. Not yet.

Don’t stare. Stay calm. Act normal. Breathe—

He swallowed hard, lowering his octave to just above a whisper and opting for the incitement of a casual inquiry as he desperately tried to compensate for the weight, or lack thereof, in his arms.

She was... way lighter than a rifle...

“What did you name her?”

“Alarasmé.”

The hard eye rolling of Crosshair briefly allowed the sniper’s usual derisive quips to surface in that instant. What a name.

“That’s too big for a baby, you di’kut.” Both men chuckled at the ribbing.

“She’ll grow into it. Besides—we figured there could be lots of nicknames to come from it: ‘Alara’, ‘Lara’, ‘Lar’—”

“That’s... better. Pretty.”

“Glad you think so, vod. You know your opinion is the only one I care about.”

Crosshair’s wry smile spread across his features, mirroring his ori’vod’s. He appreciated the former Sergeant favoring the antidote of humor to ease them both into the new transition, despite Hunter currently looking a little worse for wear.

His thoughts flickered to a more pressing question, the one that plagued his thoughts the moment medical droids ushered her back.

“And... Y/N? Is she—?”

“She’s doing great, vod,” Hunter’s smile projected reassurance.

Crosshair exhaled in relief, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d held captive. “That’s good... figured as much, otherwise you wouldn’t even be coherent. Surprised you didn’t pass out right on the spot.”

“Me too.” Hunter’s deep laugh echoed against the stark white walls of the hospital. “But I did have to send Wrecker outside until he could stop howling from sheer excitement. And I sent Tech in there to keep an eye on her while she rests.”

“Resting and Tech do not go together, Hunter. I think baby fever is stunting your sound judgement here.”

“Cross—relax, would you? Tech’s not gonna bother anything. Everything is fine, I promise: Y/N is OK.” Hunter inhaled patience and breathed out compassion before gently continuing, a sense of fond remembrance coloring his features.

“You should’ve seen her, vod; she was SO happy. Could barely pry that little one from her arms.” The former Sergeant carefully eyed Crosshair in accentuation over his next statement. “But she wanted you to see the baby. Was askin’ about you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Crosshair felt a contemplative frown tug the corner of his lips as his brows furrowed in intense deciphering of Hunter’s admission.

Y/N... was asking... about him? Wanted to make sure he was okay? Even though she was the one giving birth.

Hunter should count his lucky stars. Maker, that woman was so kriffing compassionate and thoughtful, her altruism a real rarity.

If someone were to ask; this was but one of many reasons why Crosshair loved you so damn much.

He could hardly breathe at the pang of guilt now coursing through him—talk about a real shabuir. He could’ve made himself available for support instead of trekking around the hospital to wallow in his reservations and anxiety.

Crosshair felt he did a major disservice to the people whom he deeply cared for, who relied on him—and he fervently sought to make amends.

Maybe he could start today...

The sniper’s eyes finally drifted to the bundle in his arms and settled on the baby now slightly squirming as she cooed and suddenly blessed Crosshair with the image of two pools of dazzling brown eyes reflecting; soft and warm and curiously regarding the company of a temporary acquaintance cradling her. Her face was tender; concave features and tiny lips immediately curving into a half smile.

Crosshair couldn’t breathe.

He nearly clutched his chest, seeking to address the now smoking hole in the center courtesy of a newborn, his niece, and her well placed shot point-blank through his heart.

Impressive by even an expert sniper’s standards.

It was as if suddenly, instead of blood seeping from his exposed heart, it was pure ardor forcefully expelling and completely washing away disquietude to project a vulnerability so lovingly welcomed and an intimacy so deeply cherished in that instant; an indescribable moment Crosshair wished he could capture the essence of forever.

A moment Crosshair fell in love.

With stars in his eyes and total adoration for this beautiful human created from an unrepentant devotion, the sniper quickly decided with an unwavering resolve that love was the most powerful thing in the entire galaxy—a raw purity that suddenly reached out to evoke healing and restitution through solely the grasp of her tiny fingers.

And it was with slight amusement and full reverence that Crosshair acknowledged how only a child of Y/N could have such an effect of him.

Hunter felt as he was was intruding on a private moment with the way Crosshair’s entire mood and expression finally shifted; hardened layers peeling back to reveal a raw core of delicate emotions—a demeanor in his vod that Hunter had not witnessed the materialization of in a very long time.

A tiny droplet on the baby’s blanket became the only indication to Crosshair of his emotions now manifested through his glistening eyes.

Worry and anxiety became evident on Hunter’s face as he carefully watched the silent tears now roll down his vod’s cheek and patter against the cloth swaddling his newborn daughter.

He’s crying... Crosshair doesn’t cry... Is he just utterly overwhelmed? Overjoyed? Scared?

Hunter reached out tentatively, unsure of what to do, at a loss for what to say.

Tell me what you need, kih’vod...

“Crosshair? Do you... want me to take her back now—?”

“Hunter,” the sniper choked out, unabashed in his unequivocal bliss. “She is perfect.”

Absolutely perfect.

—Such were the emotions of love and doting magnified upon the addition of another beautiful daughter; proof of Crosshair’s inflated eagerness at Rowena’s arrival evident through the scenario of Wrecker’s form nearly put to the ground as Crosshair practically shoved his way to get to the new baby girl first.

/// *** \\\

“—And he’s just SO nice, great listener, super cute, too—“

“I don’t like him.”

The now thirteen-year-old whipped her head around to regard her Ba’vodu, who nearly lost his grip on the girl’s ebony locks currently under revision of a new hairstyle.

“Uncle Crosshair, you don’t even know him.”

“I don’t have to. If any boy likes my niece, I don’t like him. It’s very simple, love.” Crosshair solidified his terse judgment with a twirl of his finger in signaling Alarasmé to revert to her original position, allowing him resumed access to the back of her head.

The eldest daughter of Hunter grumbled and crossed her arms, complying with Crosshair’s instruction. “You never like any of mine and Rowena’s friends. That’s hardly fair.”

“I don’t play fair, sweetheart. You should know that by now.”

‘Lara simply ignored her stubborn uncle in continuing with her story. “Anyway, so he approached me after a class, and guess what??”

The girl’s enthusiasm was utterly endearing, and her theatrics intrinsically drew a smile out of Crosshair. He decided to humor her.

“What, beautiful Alarasmé?? Enlighten your uncle Crosshair.”

Her barely contained excitement suddenly effervesced in the form of an absolutely delighted squeal that echoed the entirety of space and left a ringing in Crosshair’s ears.

“HE GAVE ME HIS HOLO FREQUENCY!!”

Crosshair was immensely glad Alara’s back poised to him possessed the inability to behold the deep scowl etched into her Uncle’s face in that moment.

But she was practically glowing with elation, and Crosshair wasn’t about to rob her of a childhood exuberance that was so authentically pure and wholesome.

But he couldn’t help himself—you’d think they were the sniper’s own offspring, what with the way he was utterly enamored and obsessively overprotective of his ori’vod’s daughters. Kriff. They were his literal undoing.

Crosshair suddenly emerged to behold two large pools of beautiful brown studying his face, searching for a reaction, silently pleading for his approval.

He swallowed his skepticism and disdain for some stranger, little more than a kid, contending for his niece’s beautiful heart; forcing his most genuine smile in response.

“That’s... really great, ‘Lara. I’m happy for you. Let me know if you want me to kill him.”

“Thanks Ba’vodu—hey, I can kill him myself, thank you very much—“

“Good girl, verd’ika. That’s what I like to hear.” Her assertation became Crosshair’s favorite part of the news; a sense of pride and borderline sadistic satisfaction culminating from her bold reassurance. He made no qualms of obscuring his pleased smirk from the teenager when her own suddenly reflected back at him.

“Awe. Do you feel better now, Ba’vodu?” Her animated expressions thoroughly amused Crosshair, reminding him once again of just how much the young girl favored her father’s personality the older she aged; his physical resemblance even more so.

Crosshair couldn’t get enough of it.

“As a matter of fact, cyar’ika—I do feel much better in knowing the four ex-Super Commandos in your life have done you justice by instilling in you the shameless instruction of kicking someone’s ass whenever needed. Yes.” He allowed a hand to deviate from her hair in playfully stroking her cheek before withdrawing; a sudden realization flickering. “You haven’t actually told your Papa yet, have you? You might want to—”

“No!” ‘Lara’s cry startled Crosshair. “Please don’t tell him—he is the worst and weirdest about this stuff, and Rowena already gives me a hard enough time, as it is!”

So you came to the most critiquing Uncle you have? He bit his tongue to keep from spitting out, recognizing the way that wouldn’t allay her distress.

Deep down, he also knew why both of his former Sergeant’s daughters spent so much of their time consumed with Crosshair—he was a good listener, typically calm and level-headed; not overly rumbustious, prying, or a downright troublemaker like the other men. While the sniper’s abrasive nature remained a steady inherence, his many unique forms of gentle conveyances resonated profoundly with the girls. Without fail, both females came to Crosshair for the deep conversations, always intrigued by their enigmatic Ba’vodu’s wisdom presented through his scope of very unfiltered perspectives. Sniper rifles, late night sweets, and new hairstyles were the focal point of their relationship.

Crosshair would allow himself some leniency—he was a pretty good Uncle.

Though he shifted full credit to their beautiful mother, who initially cultivated Crosshair’s soft refinement so many years ago; her two children further reinforcing that self-growth in the man.

Two children...

It‘s been five years since, but the pain of loss from what would’ve been a third child—a son of Hunter’s that never carried to full term—still heavily bore it’s remnants of poignancy.

It never got any easier to quell the grief.

“Cyar’ika... you have to tell him soon. That stubborn Daddy of yours will find out one way or another.” He chuckled lightly before softening his tone. “You know that.”

A sigh of defeat emitting from the girl tugged at Crosshair’s heart strings as he watched the way her eyes became acquainted with the floor for a long moment; harsh silence uncouth in the act of creating a palpable weight of melancholy to encompass the atmosphere.

An abrupt sound cut deep through disconcertment with the sudden clearing of Crosshair’s throat, an act that signified a redirected topic of conversing between the awkward Uncle and crestfallen teenager.

“Your hair is getting long, Alara.”

That seemed to do the trick, and Crosshair was satiated with the way her brown eyes lit up slightly and expression eased into a relaxed state as the beautiful smile that Crosshair found himself missing made it’s way to her lips once again.

“I know, Papa told me the same thing just this morning.” She stifled a laugh before continuing. “Said he was gonna grow his out even longer so that there would be competition. I told him you were gonna braid it again if he did.”

Crosshair chortled. His ori’vod‘s humor was so outlandish. “And I might just, anyway—what I wouldn’t give to see that again on your old man,” he mused in humored recollection, to which the young girl eagerly obliged in the shared remembrance.

Crosshair no more than withdrew his hands from the stylized hair before Alara’s own fingers instantly flew to splay atop her head in appraisal of the intricately woven locks. Both of Hunter’s daughters were modest in their hairdressing skills, but it was a unanimous agreement between them and their Uncle at an earlier stage that they preferred it this way—‘long chats and endearing head pats’—as the girls liked to call it.

Crosshair leaned back in the chair, analyzing his work in the form of a braided crown adorning the circumference of the girl’s head and spanning from temple-to-temple, before he allowed his own satisfaction to display.

The teenager flashed Crosshair a dazzling smile before her praise followed suit. “Nice work Uncle Cross; you’ve done it again.”

“I aim to please, cyar’ika.”

Crosshair eyed his niece for a long moment as a sense of urgency and obligation began to permeate his stance. Visible confusion danced across Alara’s features as Crosshair’s solemn gaze and hands now resting determinedly on her shoulders instantly perked her attentiveness.

“Alarasmé, I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.” The resolution in her voice faltered briefly as her head cocked to the side in nonchalant contemplation. “Unless it’s to finally beat Uncle Wrecker in arm wrestling—that’s definitely not gonna happen.” She giggled, and Crosshair quickly matched her humor before continuing in earnest.

“Promise me that you won’t ever let some boy or anyone break your heart. You and Ro are tough, like your momma. But that doesn’t mean you won’t always have four ex-Super Commandos on your side. So also promise me that you’ll never forget how much your family loves you.”

The girl remained silent for a moment in the absorption and intense processing of her Uncle’s heavy requests.

“That’s a lot of promises.”

“Promise me, cyare.”

“OK Ba’vodu—I promise.” She reaches up to swipe at the man’s cheek. “No need to go all soft, ram’ser.”

Ram’ser. Y/N’s favorite term for him.

“Hey, just like I have Papa’s heart, Uncle Wrecker’s, and Uncle Tech’s—” she tenderly continued, splaying a hand across Crosshair’s chest, “—I have yours, too. So mine can’t break when there’s already plenty of hearts to keep it company. Don’t worry.” She pulled the man into a tight hug before retracting and playfully prodding his shoulder, her eyes quick to sparkle with mischief.

“Now take me to the shooting range—I want to nail a target from ten klicks while sporting this hairdo.”

[cadelehane-blog]

O Brother, Where Art Thou | Drabble

He didn’t really have a haunt now that he was back home. All of his old hangouts had been in the Outskirts, or at Willow’s, back when these streets had been his old stomping ground. Now Caden just kind of… lurked. Downtown’s bars were decent and there was something resembling a nightlife if you knew where to look. It just all felt so distant, like the memories he had here belonged to someone else, someone not around anymore to feel their warmth and familiarity. 

In a lot of ways that was right on the money. Those memories, that person, they belonged to a version of Cade that he had to let die. Life made sure of that. The punches kept coming and, hit after hit, blow after blow, he’d had to shed the old skin and put on something new, tougher. He wasn’t who he used to be, and who he was now needed a new haunt.

Punching in the alarm code, Cade waited until the home security system blinked green before he opened the front door and locked it behind him. He was going to swing by the Blue Heron before dropping in on the nearby tattoo parlor, the next target in his crosshairs on this never ending job hunt. He’d gotten a callback from that auto detailing place, but Cade always had a Plan B. Always.

A puddle splashed beneath his boot as he stepped out of the squat building he now called home. As he started across the street to where his truck was parked, Cade’s brows furrowed when a familiar scent snuck into his lungs. He paused mid stride, nearly knocking into the umbrella doting pedestrian whose path he’d stopped in. An absent apology left his lips as he breathed through his nose, concentrating on that scent he’d recognize anywhere.

Gaze scanning the surrounding area, he peered up and down the street, searching the faces of passersby as he tried to locate the source. Following his nose set him on his original path, toward his truck and he immediately found who he’d been looking for the moment they stepped out from behind his C-10.

The smile that fought for control of his lips was one he barely managed to pin down. Caden wanted to grin and to laugh, to jog the distance still between them and take the younger male into his arms. Instead of doing any of that, he frowned a bit, brow furrowing as uncertainty gripped his heart in its fist.

Physically, Noah looked the same. His hair was longer, his form bulkier, and his eyes were harder than Caden remembered them being, but he looked mostly unchanged. Mentally, well, Cade could tell that the man standing across from him now wasn’t the kid he’d left behind fifty years ago. Not by a long shot. He could also tell that Noah was pissed.

“You attacked Max,” he stated in a level voice that didn’t do much to hide his anger.

Cade’s steps slowed as he neared his truck, his gaze not dropping from his baby brother’s for a second. Nodding curtly, he confirmed, “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

He stopped with several feet between them and it was a struggle to keep his hands at his sides. All he wanted was to take Noah into his arms and squeeze the living hell out of the kid. His punk brother was a man now, with an air of confidence that would’ve made their old man so goddamn proud. For a long moment all Cade could do was stare at him, then he remembered that Noah had asked him a question, and he had to shrug.

“He came at my beta, threatened her. I wasn’t going to let that go.”

A muscle feathered in Noah’s jaw. His dark gaze was hard and incredulous as he regarded Cade. “He’s your brother.”

“She’s my pack--”

“We were your pack!”

There was so much pain in that proclamation and Cade had to grit his teeth against it. He didn’t break Noah’s glare, didn’t flinch from the hurt hidden behind those rich brown pools. Slowly, Cade nodded in confirmation of both Noah’s point and whatever he was feeling in that moment. Both hands raised slowly, palms out, wordlessly conveying that he didn’t want to fight.

Remorseful and pensive, he stared pleadingly at his brother while prompting, “Come grab a beer with me, Noah. Please. Let’s talk.”

The scoff that left his brother was bitter, disbelieving. “Talk,” he repeated, shaking his head as he stared at Caden. “Fifty years later, you want to talk.”

“Yeah.” Cade answered truthfully, the only way he could. “I want to talk, Noah. I wanna explain, everything.” When it looked like Noah was going to tell him where to shove it, he spoke up before that caustic rejection could be spat at him. “Just give me an hour, Noah. Break bread with me. Have a drink. Just give me one hour, and then we can part ways if that’s what you want.” Though he hoped to a god he’d never believed in that it wasn’t and wouldn’t be by the time his hour was up.

Noah looked away, glaring up the sidewalk for a solid minute before he raked his hair away from his face with a curse. When he looked back at Cade it was with a sharp nod. He grabbed the handle to the passenger side door and let himself into the truck.

It was a quiet ride, the tension in the cab making it feel longer than it was. Cade didn’t try for small talk, just kept the stereo quiet and let Noah stew in his anger. There was no doubting that his brother was angry, the scent of it was sharp and thick like smoke. If Noah wanted to ask some questions, or vent some of his frustration, Cade would’ve rolled with the punches. But his brother was tight lipped the whole drive, so he didn’t push him.

Once they were parked they stepped out of the truck and walked together into the Blue Heron, finding a vacant booth in a quiet corner to settle into. A server stopped by to hand them menus, and took their drink orders before darting off again, promising to be back with their matching whiskeys in just a few minutes. The quiet persisted as they waited for their drinks.

It was only once they each had a glass of that chest warming amber liquid in front of them, and their server was off to do rounds again, that the silence was finally broken. By Noah, surprisingly, who was glowering across the table at Caden, looking half tempted to just get up and walk out without hearing a word of what he had to say.

“Alright,” he started gruffly. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

Caden pursed his lips then bit the inside of his cheek as his gaze dropped from Noah’s face to the glass in his hand. He twisted it on its octagonal corners, watching the whiskey within slosh around slowly. With a sigh through his nostrils, he fortified his resolve and met his baby brother’s glare again.

“I had to go, Noah. You know I had to.”

He shook his head, turning his glare out of the window beside them as his annoyance settled into his features. “No you didn’t, Cade,” he argued, turning his sharp gaze back onto him and burning him with its heat. “You could’ve thought about anyone but yourself for a fucking second. You could’ve stayed.”

Nostrils flared as Caden struggled to keep his own temper in check. Noah was hurt. He had every right to be, and he had every right to take it out on Caden now. He was allowed to be upset, but that didn’t make him right or make his accusations true.

“Is that what you think,” asked Cade, brow creased by his frown. “You think I left because I’m selfish, because I wasn’t thinking about the pack?”

“You got another explanation for me?”

He shrugged. “Me leaving was the best thing for the pack, Noah--”

“Bullshit.”

“It was,” Caden insisted. “I couldn’t follow Ben after what he did to our parents, and I wasn’t ever going to be down with the Accords. If I stayed I’d have either been killed or banished, and you’d be down a brother.”

Lunging forward with a snarl, Noah muttered through gnashed teeth, “I am down a brother. Fifty years, Caden. You were gone fifty fucking years, half my fucking life and all I had was Soren and Max.” He crossed his forearms on the table, his glare unmoving from their locked position with Cade’s. “He’s the one who stepped up when you left. He was there to pick up the pieces, cleaning up your mess, just like always. Max was here when we needed him, Caden. But where were you?”

He grit his teeth, reminding himself to keep his temper under control and keep his cool. When he took too long to answer Noah shook his head again, a look of disgust settling on his features. His top lip curled back and his glare could flay flesh from bone.

“Max was here, and you beat the shit out of him for it.”

“Okay,” Cade interjected, shaking his head impatiently. “I beat the shit out of him for coming at my beta. He earned that. He owned it. It’s over.”

“It’s bullshit. Your ‘beta’,” he repeated in a mocking tone that made Caden’s hackles rise. “He’s your family--”

“So is she. She’s my responsibility.”

“We were your responsibility, Caden!” His hand slapped down on the table and conversation around them died for a moment before the bar’s din picked back up. Noah was still glowering, his eyes still holding enough heat to set Caden on fire. His baby brother almost looked like he was going to lunge over the table and repay Cade for the damage done to Max’s face.

Instead his sneer deepend and he shook his head in bitter revulsion. “You had a pack. You had a family. You had a place. Why’d you want to replace us so badly?”

The anger fell away from Cade’s own expression in an instant. The fight left his shoulders and the heat fizzled out in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, the weight of everything he’d lost, of what he’d left behind, and all that he’d given up sat heavy on his shoulders. Holding Noah’s piercing glare, he answered, “I never wanted to replace you, Noah. I just… I couldn’t stay. I just couldn’t, okay? Not with Ben as Alpha Male, and not with the Accords hanging around our necks. If I stayed and challenged Ben for Alpha the pack would’ve put me down the second I tried to renege on that goddamn treaty.”

“So this all comes down to your pride, then?”

“Noah--”

“You kill the alpha, you become alpha - that’s our way. You couldn’t accept that so you left. That’s all I’m hearing from you, Cade, ‘I couldn’t,’ when the fact is that you wouldn’t. Because you were supposed to be Alpha after dad, and bending the knee to someone else was too big of a blow to your enormous fucking pride. Well, you know what?”

Noah shot out of his seat, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and picked out a few bills from the trifold. Tossing into onto the table, he glared down at Cade, seething, “I’ve got pride too, Caden. Too much of it to sit here and listen to your bullshit. If you see me around, do me a favor, stay the fuck away from me.”

“Noah--”

“Have a good night, Caden.”

His heart broke as he watched his brother storm out of the bar. Cade understood why Noah was mad at him. He didn’t fault him for all of that rage and hurt brewing just under the surface. He didn’t fault any of them. All Cade could hope for was that he’d be able to mend things between them now that he was back. With a little time he could set things right. They probably wouldn’t ever be like how they were before, but they were brothers. They’d always be brothers. They’d find a way back to each other. Cade knew because he wouldn’t stop trying until they did.

[cosmicdusttrails]

Two Inch Trust

This piece is Lance and Hunk-centric. Thanks for reading!

Title: Two Inch Trust

W/C: 2361

Rating: G

Series: Voltron Legendary Defender

Summary: The Velqi have mastered transporting large amounts of material through small containers. When the paladins attempt to rescue victims of an illegal slave trade, Lance is trapped and they aren’t sure how to get him out.

Archive of Our Own

Lance fixed the crosshairs on the alien’s head and held his gun steady. “Are you ready?” he asked into his helmet.

Allura’s voice filled his ears. “Fire at will.”  

The blue-skinned Velqi standing front and center on the stage dropped without warning and screams bounced off the amphitheater walls in a disorienting cacophony of noise. Keith charged, sword hacking in destructive arcs, and Pidge followed him in. Allura and Hunk crashed through side doors, stopping a rush of blue-skinned, maroon-horned Velqi from escaping that direction.

Lance took a deep breath, feeling his stomach press against the ground, and sniped the soldiers around the glass cage of prisoners. One. Two. Three. Brilliant flashes of light from Hunk’s cannon flared at the edges of Lance’s sights, but Lance kept his eye relaxed. Four. Five. Six.

“Prisoners clear,” Lance said.

“Roger,” Pidge responded, firing her bayard into the rafting. It dug into a metal beam and she retracted the green cord, launching herself over the stacked rows of seating and up onto the stage. Lance fired at the Velqi trying to climb up the front of the stage and the Velqi teetered limply off the stage’s edge.

Pidge dropped onto the stage with a roll and bolted to the panel on the glass cage. “Cover me, Lance,” she said.

“Sharpshooter on duty,” Lance said with a grin.

“Hunk!” Allura warned.

Lance jerked his gun over to focus the scope near Hunk just as Hunk spun around and open fired on the Velqi charging him. Lance released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Good shot, man,” Lance said.

“Thanks!” Hunk said.

“Lance!” Pidge called. Lance jumped and shifted his gun back to the stage. “They can take care of themselves. I have to know you’re covering me.”

“I am,” Lance said. “The sharpshooter covers everybody.” If he couldn’t be directly in the fight then he had to use his position to make sure no one got hurt. No one shot or stabbed. No man down. No cryopods.

“Prisoners free,” Pidge announced as a door cracked out of the glass wall. Nervous aliens in filthy clothes staggered free. Pidge waved for them to move faster. “We’re Voltron and we’re here to help! Hurry!”

“Keith, is the escape route clear?” Allura asked.

“Almost,” Keith panted.

“Lance!” Hunk yelled, making Lance wince as Hunk’s voice reached his ears without any interference. “Behind you!”

Lance yanked his head back from the bayard’s scope and rolled onto his back. A Velqi scowled down at him with sharp yellow teeth and cobalt eyes as she finished twisting the lid off a small glass container.

Lance lifted his gun to fire, but a sucking sensation yanked him up off the ground. His bayard slipped from his hand and he tried to scream, but suffocating pressure pushed him in from every direction. His suit squeezed against him and his eyes watered from the pain of—what felt like—collapsing in on himself. Lance crashed into something, one arm pinned beneath him and the air knocked out of lungs completely. His head spun too badly for him to grasp what he’d crashed into.

Lance rolled onto his side and struggled to force air into his stiff, aching chest. His ears rang from impact and he fumbled with shaking fingers to pull his helmet off, but his eyelids flickered and everything went dark. He only stayed unconscious for a second before light began creeping back into his vision in painful splotches. He sucked in a huge breath and barely stopped the answering swell of vomit in his throat.

The ground beneath him shook and it sent him slipping across the floor. Lance finally forced himself onto his elbow, chest still heaving for breath, and his helmet rolled in front of him over—over glass?

Massive blue fingers curled around the glass surrounding Lance. The finger pads pressed flat in places, and the force of the grip made the skin lighter blue.

“H-hey!” Lance gasped. Where was he? Who had a hand that big?

Lance was thrown sideways and sent tumbling and slipping. He struggled to keep his arms over his head as his armor clacked loudly against the glass surrounding him. His head snapped back.

Blackness.

Hunk knelt at the counter. A glass container, about the size of a standard Mason jar, stood on the table and somehow—somehow—his best friend was unconscious inside of it. Lance sagged limply against the side of the jar, his head drooping and his hands open beside him.

Two inches tall. Lance was two inches tall.

Lance groaned faintly and his fingers twitched.

“Lance! Lance, man, are you okay?”

Lance’s eyelids fluttered before going still again.

Hunk’s eyes flicked to Allura, who had leaned in closer, and he reached out to touch the glass. Keith pushed his hand off course.

“Dude, don’t tap the glass,” he reprimanded.

Allura gripped the edge of the table. “Stay awake, Lance. We must make sure you’re all right.”

Lance opened his eyes but his shoulders tensed and he closed them again. He moved his feet in slightly to gain some footing but did not move again. His breathing hitched.

Hunk leaned in closer. The backs of his shoulders ached with tension. “Lance? Buddy? You’re scaring me. Say something.”

Lance groaned and forced his eyes open again, slower this time. His brow furrowed as he tried to take in just how big Hunk, Allura, and Keith were. He gave up and closed his eyes. “I think…I hit my head.”

Allura stiffened. “Are you in pain?”

“Y-yeah. A bit. Like…I got bulldozed.” He took in a deep breath, opened his eyes again, blinked, and rubbed his face. “What happened?”

Hunk’s fingers tensed into fists but he kept his voice gentle. “Lance, we’ve got you, so don’t panic, okay?” Lance blinked at him. “You remember how the Velqi are able to capture and transport large amounts of people?”

Lance’s eyes widened slowly and he pressed his hands to the glass beneath him.

“Well, they kind of managed to shrink you and trap you inside this…jar.”

Lance tipped his head back to see the gray lid looming above him. His breathing sped up and Hunk saw Keith tensing out of the corner of his eye as Lance whimpered.

Words tumbled out of Hunk’s mouth as he rushed to console his best friend. “Pidge and Coran are researching right now and we’ll have you out in no time, okay? I promise, man, you’ll be fine.”

Lance forced himself to his knees and scooted forward, knocking against his helmet and sending it skittering across the glass. No one missed the winces as he moved. He pressed his hand to the clear barrier, spreading his fingers over its smoothness. His breaths began coming in shallow gasps.

“Lance, don’t hyperventilate,” Hunk said. “Look at me. Look at me. Okay. Slow in. Slow out. Do it with me. In. Out. In. Out.”

Lance couldn’t breathe in and out for as long as Hunk could, but he got the message and made a valiant effort to control his breathing. Hunk’s chest ached.

He pushed his own concern aside. “Good,” he encouraged softly.

“I’m getting Pidge and Coran,” Keith said, taking off without waiting for a response.

Lance’s eyes focused again and his hands shifted on the glass. “Do you know how to get me out?”

Hunk glanced at Allura and she took over. “This is some of the latest, most advanced science and nothing we’ve ever come across before. We’re not going to be brash about getting you out.”

“So you haven’t tried just taking the lid off,” Lance joked, but his voice caught and his forced smile faltered.

Allura shook her head. “No. We’ve contacted the Olkari for help and they are also researching.”

Lance’s expression started to fall, but just then, Pidge and Coran burst through the doorway and raced up to the table. Lance straightened up and his fingers slipped away from the glass.

“Lance?” Pidge said, panting. “How are you feeling?”

“All things considered? Pretty good.” He put on a broad smile but Hunk recognized the force behind it. Someone less familiar with him might be convinced, but Hunk sure wasn’t. He frowned at his best friend.

“In a different situation, I might be elated to have an incredible example of perfectly shrunk, undamaged, living mass,” Pidge said, tripping over her words awkwardly. “But I don’t like you this small.”

“Thanks?” Lance answered, squinting questioningly.

Pidge rushed on. “We just heard back from the Olkari and they said simply removing the lid should work.”

“Should work?” Keith repeated, frowning suspiciously. Or it was probably a suspicious frown. Most of his frowns looked the exact same. “I want to know if it will work.”

“If we want something that will definitely work, we’re going to have to speak to the Velqi themselves,” Coran said. “They guard their secrets quite well.”

“Then let’s go,” Keith said. “Everybody suit up.”

Lance slammed his fist onto the glass. “No!”

Even though his voice wasn’t nearly as loud as usual, everyone froze.

“No one’s putting themselves in danger for me. I can’t help you from in here and I can’t just—I can’t just let you all go in without cover.”

For a tick, no one spoke. The Hunk said, “Lance, we’re not gonna leave you like this. Let us help you.”

Lance looked down and sat back. The muscle in his jaw worked. After what seemed like years, Lance sighed in defeat. “Okay. Okay. But if it gets bad, promise me you’ll abandon the mission. No matter what.”

“We’re not abandoning the mission until you’re out of that jar, Lance,” Keith said.

“Then you’re not going!” Lance said. The irony of the fact that he, all two inches of him, was telling everyone else what to do when he couldn’t even walk a yard wasn’t lost on him, but he wasn’t backing down. “You can’t risk yourselves for me! What about Voltron?”

“You’re part of Voltron,” Keith snapped, his hands balling into fists.

Hunk stepped between them. “We promise, Lance. Okay, man? We promise.”

Lance studied the faces of his friends. None of them argued even though they didn’t look happy. “Okay,” Lance agreed. “Let’s do it.”

Hunk refused to let anyone else carry Lance. Through the entire infiltration, Hunk kept his grip steady on the jar and did his best not to shake Lance around. Hunk was so focused on keeping Lance safe and getting him out that he didn’t even reprimand Keith when he threatened a Velqi with a blade to her throat.

“Tell us how to get him out!” Keith yelled.

The Velqi remained quiet.

Keith growled and kicked her feet out from under her, sending her crashing to the floor. Lance winced. Keith spoke again, slower this time, like a dam holding back frothing water. “Tell us how.”

The Velqi coughed, trying to get air back into her lungs after having all the air forced out. She smiled as she coughed. “We knew you’d come back.”

Hunk stiffened and Lance pounded his hand against the glass. “No! We have to get out!”

“They led us into a trap,” Pidge breathed.

Allura activated her bayard and Keith pulled the Velqi to her feet. “One more chance or you’re dead.”

The Velqi eyed the whip but said nothing. A door crashed in and Allura and Pidge immediately turned to fend off a swarm of Velqi with harsh, cobalt eyes. Allura’s whip cracked as it broke the sound barrier and the electricity from Pidge’s bayard lit up the room and cast harsh shadows. Keith’s eyes flashed as he glanced between the fight, Hunk and Lance, and the Velqi.

Hunk stepped forward, doing his best to block out Lance’s growing panic (“You promised! You all promised!”). “Look, miss, I don’t know if you’ve heard the stories, but Voltron means business and we’re here to defend the universe. You’re currently in our way. We can go get our lions—” The Velqi’s eyes widened. “—but we’d both be happier if I didn’t have to do that. Tell us how to get my friend here out of this jar and we’ll leave.”

The Velqi looked to the others trying—and failing—to fight Allura and Pidge. Her face lost some color. “The…the jar is fingerprint sensitive.”

“To whose fingers?” Keith demanded.

“Mine.”

Hunk’s eyes narrowed. “Then open the jar.”

“And don’t try anything,” Keith warned, moving his blade closer to her neck.

“Hunk!” Lance through the coms in his helmet. “She could be lying, she could be trying to trick you into staying. It’s a trap, Hunk, you guys can’t stay. Don’t stay. Don’t do this for me. It’s not worth it.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Keith said, working the fingers on his free hand.

Hunk lifted the jar so he could look at Lance, who blinked furiously at brimming tears. “Lance, you gotta trust us. You always cover us. Let us help you.”

Lance’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. “Okay.”

Hunk offered the jar to the Velqi with his most irritated glare. She took the jar slowly, eyeing Keith the whole time. Hunk tried not to look behind himself to add visuals to the sound of the fight going on behind him. Allura and Pidge could handle it.

The Velqi twisted the lid off and it released with a loud pop. Lance flew out of the jar, rapidly changing size and getting bigger as he hit the ground and tumbled across the floor. Hunk raced over to him and dropped to his knees. “Lance? Lance, man, are you okay?”

Lance’s eyes struggled to focus. “Dizzy.”

“Okay. Take it easy. I’m getting you out of here.”

“Allura, Pidge, we’re falling back. Lance is free,” Keith said, stepping away from the Velqi but keeping his sword extended in warning.

“Roger!” Pidge said, electrocuting one more Velqi before retracting her bayard.

Hunk helped Lance sit up and then turned around. Lance wrapped his arms around Hunk’s neck as Hunk looped his wrists under Lance’s knees. “We got you, buddy,” Hunk said as he stood.

“I know,” Lance said softly.

[storiesof2018]

Against the Ropes

The cost of freedom is high...

That visceral mantra infinitely resonated through his veins against the bestial fringe conducted by Amora the sirenic-vengeful denizen of Asgard. The Enchantress was a viperous Noric spell caster who delivered a reckoning of sorcerous discord in Vanaheim siphoning cosmic essence from rooted extensions Yggdrasill, she was a deceptive spawn-a conjurer of blighted chaos, bounding her allegiance to Hela—the befallen demoness. After the nova-atomic ruination of Asgard when the fiery impaling Twilight sword of the Muspelheim devastator Surtur cleaved off the empyreal bridge, Hela's bloodthirsting-maniacal spirit was dragged into chasmic depths of Helheim—only to become resurrected when a valorous warrior of morphs into a true wraith of Dwarven legend: a dire wolf.

As the damnable knells of his warring humanity were careening a symphonious resilence into his Brooklyn spirit; every moment he was grippingly seized into a feral thrall, being cemented down to a pestilent reality of infectious-morphic possession. Around him, centuries of mortal dereliction and reverence became chilled visages of defeat etched into rows granite headstones—forgotten markers that were decoratively adorned with plump orange-fleshed pumpkins-beacons of amber light hauntingly contrasts against ghoulish sneers—the veristic ambiance of Halloween tradition.

The flavorous palatableness of decadent caramel and peanut butter-infused chocolate bars were shattered in heaps of desiccated leaves explosively ignited unslaked—predatory urges that he couldn't shake off. He was losing the fight. The wrapped candy undoubtingly served as baiting tactic of enticing craven—gluttonous prey to breach his reluctant kill-zone in daring-brazen traction. Against the chasmal bestial dregs of his mortal-razing wolven curse; Steve was detachedly isolated and shackled to an arid oak tree on the backlit environs of Green-Wood cemetery.

Emitting a growly cadence against his jutted fang incisors, in a rampant motion of a blinding thrust, unrestrainedly, Steve angled his canine muzzle up, evading another carious whiff of decomposed flesh that reekingly sailed in the frigid air. The roguish thickness of his golden-blonde fur bristlingly reacted against the miasmic stench of death greeted him in all directions- vitric incandescent of astral energy pulsated over stone headstones, beckoning with echoes of ghoulish assonances that ushered unprecedented -demonic resurrection of the Dark Verse. They were running out of time. A blearing onset of tears feverishly melded against the hawkish depth of Steve's crystalline azure irises as he unwaveringly gazed at the candlelit pumpkins that eerily lit up his passage of heart-wrenching execution.

Around him, blockades of unearthed coffins were mounted near the iron entrance gates, skeletal limbs hung lifelessly in dormant unison over rotted edges of mud-dampened wood, forcing him to inadvertently rear his canine head back against the phantom implosion of a celestial breach.

Unremittingly the wolfy Avenger felt the malodorous command of hellish butchery scourging through him—a carnal pulse of unquenchable hunger—teeming bloodthirst that wouldn't stave down. The furred sleekness of his long muzzle flexed on instinctive accord of his shifting paws. Dragging out a whimpering breath, Steve felt his twined incisor fangs pulse against implosive cadence of latent hostility. "I can't do this to em'..." he raspily choked off against growling strain, pinching his eyes shut against the raw unity of cacophonic—revamped aggression betrayingly rivaling with desperate echoes of his prevailing heartbeat throbbingly rigged to denotate like an incendiary rush of high-octane. "I can't..."

Hunger gnawed at him like fingers digging into his stomach, determined to cause him restless pain until he succumbed to the burning desire to sate his malice. Steve despised the feeling as if it were something as repugnant as a drug addiction that couldn't be kicked. He wouldn't know from experience, but he knew enough to assume the feeling was overwhelming, robbing him of all thought and cohesion as his world spiraled into a distorted reality where everything glowed green, marked as his prey.

He could feel the perverse presence of the blonde Asgardian sorceress that was trying to control him like a puppet on strings. He groaned and gnashed his sharpened teeth that dripped with saliva. He could smell them-two furry bunnies close by. Plump and ripe for the taking. His stomach growled at the thought of wrapping his fangs around their necks and chomping hard.

"N-No...can't. Won't..." He whined, collapsing near a headstone while his eyes spied the shape of a bouncing ball of cindery-brunette fur moving behind another tombstone, followed closely by a chubbier, slower blonde bunny that was busying himself by gobbling up pieces of chocolate bait.

"Don't worry punk, this furball s'not leavin' ya..." A gravelly murmurous drawl throatily challenged with alighted relevance of a brotherly promise; after shimming through the iron bars with gunned momentum, Bucky unerringly braced the pudginess of his chestnut furred body against eroded granite. Trudging into the rigged minefield was disarmingly fueled by full-measured recklessness. Every conscious breach of his thumping paces detonated a hair-trigger pulse.

Raptly scrunching his furred nose with an evident twitch, Bucky stealthily in a measure of cautious urgency, edgily he registered the sugariness of discarded chocolate-only a paw's reach from his tactical position-a distraction to arrest his banking resistance. He was being hammer-locked within a chimeral reality; every defiant pulse of his hellbent resolve felt soul-crushingly useless to ride out. Against his steeled vision's laser-edged periphery, involuntarily he gazed at the paunchy heaviness of the downsized Asgardian Thunderer's wobbling pace; his debauched, unkempt golden furred mass was sluggishly nearing the heap of leaves with telltale—gluttonous intent steering him towards a baited death trap.

"Damnit..." Bucky seethed out a dragging breath of his vexatious timbre, as he bracingly wedged against the headstone, readily with his sniper-honed poise in tactful ease, Bucky lowered in half-crouch against patent tension bolstered on his hind feet; utilizing extensions of shadow to keep him distant from the crosshairs. Against the floppy length of his drooping ears, silvered heat of grayish-aquamarine irises nakedly gleamed against stilted gravity that consciously roped him down. It was an escalating moment of unwarrantable heartache that he couldn't wage through: not without his best friend.

Evicting an vexatious onslaught of untrammeled hunger, the podgy Brooklyn lop grabbed of what appeared to be a half-shelled walnut for his arsenal, with a blinding swipe of a trigger paw, snarlingly with an underhand pitch, Bucky careened his effective projectile with unwavering variances of headlong-brazen precision undeviatingly at the indulging, rotund lion-haired lop, betraying his obscured position; while a myriad of chocolatey scents became mouthwateringly delectable for him to evade, he was knee-deep in the crosshairs. "Thor, you gotta keep it together man...!"

"Huh?" Thor had unknowingly fell beyond the plateau of adulthood and down to the baser instincts, one might expect from an easily distracted child. The air was fresh, the skies were cool, and his stomach growled with unabashed hunger as he savored down the rich taste of chocolate with big mouthfuls. Chocolate. He never knew Midgardians could be so brilliant in developing such sweet delicacies that could not be found in the other realms. It was mouth-watering and filled him with an unquenchable delight he licked his bucked teeth and grinned oafishly over at his companion who appeared rather glum of late.

"As you can see, Friend James, I am perfectly held together. You will not find a more fluid form of Asgardian might and vigor!" He demonstrated by bouncing on his hind legs with a small wobble but succeeded only in landing on his backside. "Oof! Perhaps that was an unwis-Ow!" He groaned when he felt something small hit his head. "Did you just throw a walnut at me?!" he suddenly became indignant.

"I'll admit it wasn't my best throw," Drawling back a terse quip scowlingly Bucky half- quirked his tiny muzzle while harnessing a swift variant of his tactical grace and ducked in mid-crouch his plushy form lower against the carved out pumpkin with defensive ease rapt over his disheveled fur. Quaking vibrations of an earthmoving crescendo hammered phantasmally against his flattened hind paws, glaringly Bucky drove the knifing intensity of his razored glacial irises towards emptied wrappers and smeared fudge stickily caked over Thor's furrier, blubbery mass. He was becoming exceedingly aware of his own unhinged cravings that penetrated him with a flashpoint throb as he rode on the edge of irrepressible hunger.

Quelling back a nauseous rush with chagrined effort, as intoxicating-appetizing scents were arrestingly stealing his warred resolve, Bucky emitted a scathing rasp that was tellingly apparent to a derisive scrunch of his twitching nose—they needed to gun for a breathless measure of untouchable distance. The driving—brotherly need to daringly rescue his best friend—little punk— from Amora's tenebrous-possessive conjury waged through him in a burgeoning tenfold; challengingly eliciting a suicidal—breakneck dash of hopping speed.

"We gotta pull Steve out of this..." Bucky urged out gratingly his deep-timbered resonance fringed into a squeak, as he lifted up his droopy ear against volumes of clamorous ferocity chasing Steve's panting breaths. Slivery traces of moonlight haloed of the wolf's grayish-blonde fur, while Steve deceptively grounded his adamant poise with a sentry-like vigil-the murderous stance of an executioner. They had one reckless—instinctual advantage; the warren of disinterred graves could be utilized as open burrows to hop into."M' not losin' him..."

The telltale steps of a looming predator encroached on the two bunnies as they felt the vibrations beneath their feet. Thor had been drowning in a sea of gluttony throughout the night. But the moment his beady eyes of blue and artificial green took in the looming shadow hovering over them like death itself, he was ripped back to reality and cringed with a sharp yell. "It would appear he hasn't lost us either, Friend James. Odin's Beard..." The fat bunny felt his fur rise on end as a guttural snarl bellowed through the vicinity. A flash of lightning lit up the skies and illuminated the chilling visage of a blonde timber-wolf. Thor could scarcely recognize the shade of cool azure blue in those merciless eyes that were consumed by sorcery. Steven Rogers was the most disciplined and honorable man he knew, but Amora's enchantment turned him into a hungry predator with a mouth-watering taste for rabbits...big fat rabbits like himself! "Barnes, if you plan to talk him down now might be the right time!" Thor boomed as he shrunk back clumsily against a headstone, leaving Bucky to stare down the big bad wolf.

'I gotta dreamin'... Bucky grumbled under breath ruefully, wobbling in a variance of cautious prowess from the headstone, heartache banked with a ricocheting throb in his pudgy form as he reactively tucked his furred paws, warding off clamorous pulses of adrenaline against knifepoint tension cuttingly piercing through the velvet silkiness of his dark chestnut fur. He was staking down his life-humanity in the damn crosshairs, disarmingly useless to engage the predatory aura that infinitely clashed against Steve's valorous-Brooklyn spirit, while he felt Amora's celestial-parasitic energy spawning a ghoulish legion around him.

The miasmal reek of skeletal decay made him choke on feverish breaths, scrunching his furred nose against the obstructive stench, Bucky thrashed a paw up with rapid ease while Thor grouchily headbutted a pumpkin with sluggish motion; unquestioningly clearing a spot to gorge another heap of potion-infused chocolate. 'Hell, does this guy ever quit...' he quipped snarkily, feeling unnervingly outrivaled by the obese Asgardian's hoggish, unrepentant caliber, as he moodily brandished a semblance of clamorous defiance.

Grimacingly, in a low-hop, Bucky edged a breadth closer to Steve's intimidating, chained proximity, a telltale flit of his droopy ears conveyed his unwarranted reluctance as he thready murmured, coaxingly. "Punk it's me..." He gazed up at the captive wolf's incisor fangs menacingly curving underlip to deliver a killing strike, as the growling cadence stuntedly deafened out his urgent timbre, his vision blearing against a fevered pinch of unshed tears. On the edge of reaction, a furrowing pinch tensely notched up over Steve's furred brow, glacial light detracted off his razor-slit pupils -manic aggression stalled in a heartbeat as the Brooklyn lop caught a drag of gulping breath, never betraying a rampant scrunch of his tinier nose. "M' Bucky under all this fur..." he croakily hitched.

Somewhere at the back of his thoughts, Steve felt a gripping sense of terror as he faced down the brown-furred rabbit that he knew was his oldest friend. The brush of agony in his chest increased every second as he was consumed by malicious thoughts of wrapping his jaws around the rabbit's neck and ripping it out. Hunger gnawed at him, turning his discipline into a struggle of wills. "R-Run, Buck…" He snarled through clenched teeth, saliva drooling from his incisors. The stubborn rabbit remained in front of him, fearless of the beast that was fighting to control his actions and the witch that was causing it. "C-Can't fight her…"

'Obey me, my Hound.' Amora's voice commanded his thoughts, filling his being with dread. 'Kill them all…'

"N-No!" Steve howled. His struggle caused him to pant heavily and thrash his paw blindly. His sharpened nails were like knives cutting through the air. He was angry, he was hungry, he wanted something to lash out against. Enchantress' magic entangled with his emotions, worming him into her thrall until his iris' were glowing an ominous green. Steve Rogers had vanished and the wolf had taken over. "Kill them!" The rabbits in front of him were prey. Food for his insatiable hunger. "DIE!"

The wolf charged in a sudden mad dash of speed and ferocity. Bucky and Thor scrambled backwards against a headstone. They were trapped and their end was imminent. They didn't scream nor did they tremble. They were prepared to meet their end together as warriors. Until their world was consumed by a burst of exploding magic as a magician's top-hat was thrown over them. The wolf collided head-first against the headstone-stunned and confused at the sudden intervention that saw the two rabbits disappear from his grasp.

"I think our two rabbit friends have had enough excitement, Captain Rogers." Said the smooth deep baritone voice. The wolf gazed up to see a man dramatically floating down from the sky with a red-cloak billowing from behind him. "You and your master, on the other hand, have a date with me tonight…" Doctor Strange landed across from the wolf who snarled menacingly at him as the clock approached closer to midnight on Halloween night.

You gotta move on...

It felt like his reality was inevitably threatening to pull the pin to detonate an emotional grenade within his grief-razed world; nothing was the same after cosmic snap-the scything purge of mortality ushered by the soul-butchering intergalactic Mad Titan-Thanos; prevailed humanity fostered onto the starvation of hope behind the barricades, echoes of valor dissolved in remnants of heaped ash. He trudged on the accelerated cataclysmic fringe of soul-wrenching failure, throes of anguish grappled him back to that incendiary moment when Bucky horrifyingly became obliterated into earthen mulch as the convergence of the astral plane imploded.

During five years of heartbreakingly enduring the grievous aftermath of the Infinity Gauntlet's atomic wastage; Steve never stopped looking back, he crossed quantum–dimensional paradoxes of time to bring everyone back at the moment Thanos heralded the apocalyptic reckoning of mass-annihilation; only to lose his best girl-Natasha-to the eternal-votive-trade of the Soul Stone. The stakes of infinite price were immeasurable snowy crags of Vormir; a lasting sacrifice of expandable love thrown over the edge of a celestial void- an elysian realm that harvested out souls like a lightning strike. 'Nat bet her life on it...'

Without the brotherly grace of Bucky's hand anchoring him out of throes of interminable heartache, Steve would have never walked on to face new daybreak. His snarky defiant best friend-his Bucky- pulled him off the ropes, got him back in the game, reigniting his dormant Brooklyn spirit. He couldn't look back into the vacuous drift: a beckoning resonance of stowed defeat. He lost everything in five seconds would he breached the quantum realm, never blinking as Natasha vanished into a strand of time with Clint Barton-beyond his reach. Love wasn't disposable; it was a visceral pulse of a dueling heartbeat, a soul-mirroring cadence of a feverous dance. Natasha was more than his combat partner of tactical dynamic-a rebellious intimacy of evocative compromise. She had awoken him out stuporous grief that he punishingly harbored for Peggy Carter; gave him a chance to trust-love- -again in the betraying crossfires.

In the wake of soul-hammering ache that he warringly stowed back, with dismal traction of his impassive reserve, Steve guardingly isolated himself from the reconstructed Avengers Compound; bolstering the enhanced heaviness of his gladiator-like bulk against roughened bark of an oak near the forested lakefront, scones of amber harvest moonlight were ethereally captured in ripples, as the chilling breeze of late-October hauntingly rushed over his leather-sheathed muscles. He needed distance for pent-up ignitable release.

Within the renovated Compound, Thor's 'grand' return with the cosmic piratical ravagers -Guardians of the Galaxy was being welcomingly celebrated; barrels of Asgardian-brewed ale were stacked with indulging delicacies of imported chocolate. Moving towards a vacant log, achingly Steve eased down, resisting to join the reunion gathering-there was nothing for him inside. The denim of his threadbare jeans became stiff over the hard-edged muscle of his calves as he crushingly fisted the material with a clenching squeeze while heartsick tension inexorably gripped him in a tenfold of blinding urgency.

Thinning his sensuous chiseled lips into a feigned grimace that made dimples of his cheek stretch, he blearily gazed up at the hypnotic luminance of full moon above, desperately searching beyond the darkened vistas as he rode out another heart-splintering onslaught. Against disheveled blonde tresses feathering messily over his tear-drenched lashes, the cool azure of his irises grew piercingly stormier in the forested darkness as errant treks of wetness ghosted a feverish sting over his hawkish, angular features. Steve quashed down the urge to rawly scream out her name in a painstaking cadence of explosive agony; trying to hold everything back as he throat strained to release a sobbing breath. "M' sorry, Tasha..."

"Y'know I figured you were out here..." A murmurous drawl throatily cut against the brisk air in a suave-timbered pitch that Steve viscerally registered against phantom flexes of bone-deep tension; in the eclipsing contrasts of patent-bestial- menace as Bucky edged his sniper prowess invested in his nonchalant-honed paces swaggeringly towards the forested lake, keeping a measure of braced distance from the crestfallen First Avenger, who stared passively at the waxen effulgence glowingly haloing over them.

Grabbed in a Hugo Boss slim-fit jacket that intimidatingly delineated over heavy-sheathed cords of banded muscle, in a controlled, impassive stance, Bucky innately detected unwarrantable volumes of clamorous heartache- an irrevocable longing that wouldn't be staved down into soul-neutralizing dregs of reigned failure. Grazing his teeth over the pouty swell of his jutted underlip, he dragged out a tactful breath, his grayish-aquamarine irises silvered alight with telltale urgency. "Are you okay, pal...?"

Steve attempted what should have been a smile of reassurance but to Bucky, it looked more like a grimace of uncertainty. "About as okay as I can get..." Steve answered shifting his gaze towards the starry skies. He avoided his best friend's gaze knowing without needing to look that he could see right through him. In a time long past, Steve never felt the need to hide from those he cared about-especially since he had no one and nothing except for his mom and Bucky...until all he had left was Bucky.

And now he had once again come full-circle, feeling the burden of heartache and loss weighing heavily on him. He wasn't the same kid from Brooklyn anymore who took comfort by opening up. Opening up allowed too many people to get close-people he cared about and ultimately lost. Mom, Peggy, Tony...Natasha…He thought by shutting himself away, he could move past his grief by being a soldier, an Avenger. But now...

"Actually...No. I'm not all right." He answered with a deep exhale. "And I don't think a party is gonna help me, Buck."

The edged rawness of his Steve's hitching timbre was betrayingly strained, Bucky felt his stubbled features tauten against a viscerous slash of razored penetration infinitely gouging over his heart as his best friend unquestioningly barricaded him within torturous extensions of latent anguish-the loss of 'Tasha' to celestial devoid of Vormir was a hammer-blow to the heart-Siberian bloodlines that surgically mutated-weaponized their expandable bodies into lethal-heartless instruments of mechanical agility and tactical precision, never made him abandon a mercy shot when he pulled the trigger on her in the Odessa crosshairs. She deserved redemption-daybreak: not a flatline afterlife.

Forcing himself to lower into a crouch of sniper ease, inches from the occupied log, vexatiously, against a fisting pulse, Bucky dragged his leather motorcycle sheathed fingers with painstaking traction over roughen dirt, not clashing with the teary blur of Steve's azure depths-incarnate echoes of phantom grief. "I know s'it's been a rough slide for ya, Steve..." he murmured croakily in a gravelly drawl, pulling his shapely lips into a half-grimace, ruefully. "Hell, I wasn't there when you needed me..."

"This isn't on you, Bucky," Steve answered some form of his usual self returned to offer his friend the reassurance he needed to know that he was in no way to blame. The pain in his chest festered and ached each time he found himself turning to say something to Natasha. Asking her if she wanted a friendly spar or go have lunch together. Only for the painful reminder that she was no longer there to stab him in his heart, making the void inside grow deeper. Blinking repeatedly, he spared his friend a short glance and felt his somber mood take a more emotional turn as his eyes misted and he fought furiously to withhold his tears.

"Even if you had been here...there was no changing her decision." He shuddered, knowing Clint would agree with him. Natasha fought her oldest friend to prevent him from sacrificing himself for the soul stone. Natasha never believed herself to be a true hero, fearing her past would forever define her legacy. There was no stopping her from taking that jump...unless maybe he had been there himself to do it first. "Some things I suppose are just meant to be…"

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and Steve had hoped time would make it easier. But even after six months had passed, the ache in his heart hadn't stopped and his nightmares about her falling off that cliff hadn't stopped haunting him, just like the Red Skull's words when he had returned the Soul Stone.

"The Soul Stone does not return what was given. It is sentient, it craves life-encapsulates it. Those sacrificed to its power will forever wander the soul world."

"Sometimes life just isn't fair." Steve couldn't stop a single tear from escaping him. He thought life after death would grant peace to those who were benevolent souls, especially those that sought redemption. The thought of Natasha being trapped there… Steve suddenly rose up from his seat, struggling and failing to banish the chilling thought that made his insides twist.

Inwardly he seethed and felt a build-up on the anguish that made him want to punch something. His pulse beating wildly, he could distinctly hear his name being called and Bucky attempting to pull him back.

A cyclonic implosion of white-heat electrified through a bank of encroaching cloud masses that bridged a funneling vortex over the darkened lake- an elysian dimensional breach had irrevocably ushered thunderous dissonance to boomingly echo as spastic lightning forked every two seconds in eclipsing convergence of an atmospheric tempest. Clenching the hard-edged planes of his stubbled jaw against reactive tension, Bucky angled his head, wolfish chestnut tresses flittingly whipped-lashed over graven cheeks as he unerringly braced into an aggressive-honed stance, furrowing his brow into a pinch, confusingly. "Steve..." he rasped out breathlessly as voltaic salvos of incandescent amethyst struck down around them. "W-what kinda storm is this..."

"One we shouldn't need to worry about," Steve replied with a detached voice. If he were in a leisurely state of mind tonight he would have paused to admire the atmospheric spectacle that bathed the night sky in brilliant hues of indigo blue and lime green. It lasted only a moment before its radiance diminished over the night skies. Steve for a moment thought he had seen something in the midst of the tempest. They looked like carvings-runes. He shrugged tiredly, wondering if he was seeing things after going nearly twenty-fours without sleep. "You should get back to the party, Buck. Selina is waiting."

Steve looked at his friend with a somber smile. "I appreciate what you're doing here. I know moving on won't be easy, but without you here it makes a world of difference." Without Bucky, Steve knew he would have no one. He ignored the knife-stabbing pain in his chest and kept a cool expression as he patted his best friend on the shoulder. "Go on, I'll be all right. I think I'll be heading in-in a bit."

The edging directness of Steve's fractured deep-timbered was underlying penetrative, against his unstinted chagrin that raptly stamped over the bristled ruggedness of knife-edge cut features, Bucky felt the unrepented echoes of guilt-ridden heartache grievously mounting into full-acceleration.

Steeling him to wage against the prevalence fed by a maelstrom of anguish, Bucky tucked his motorcycle-gloved into pockets of his leather jacket, aggressively his shapely lips pressed harsher into a taut grimace of feigned tension, stiltedly, accepting the chastened revelation that his best friend-little punk was shrugging him off—unstable distance needed to be widened between them. A despondent cast melded nakedly alight in Steve's downcasted azure irises as the flit of his dark lashes caught errant tears-he wanted to be left alone. "Don't do anythin' stupid out here..." Bucky urged in a gravelly drawl, scathingly, before pivoting on his tactical boots in a variance of reluctant traction. He sucked back a choking drag of breath. "I-I can take a damn hint when M' not wanted..."

Steve knew he had unintendedly hurt Bucky's feelings by his curt dismissal. Something he would need to apologize for later when he was in brighter spirits. But he couldn't bring himself to offer any form of consolation right now. In a moment where he felt stretched and drained of all energy.

The part of him that once longed for the simple life of finding a beautiful dame to settle down with was a fantasy he had stowed away when he lost Peggy Carter to time. He locked away that dream and focused only on the fight. It wasn't the peace he wanted in life, but it was one that gave him purpose.

But that was only when Natasha was by his side. Always by his side, fighting more battles with him over the years anyone in his life-time, including Bucky. She made the fight feel as close to home as he could ever hope. The dream he kept locked away had slowly begun to push through the cracks, giving him that lost hope that he could find a life he always wanted with the Russian beauty who had unknowingly claimed his heart.

But now she was gone. And with her, so was his will to keep on fighting.

"There's days I wonder, Buck, how much longer we can keep going on like this." He says to his friend before he can walk away. The solemnity in his voice made him sound years older. "Fighting and fighting, never seeing an end to the war. Never finding that warm, apple-pie life that we hoped was at the end of the line. Half the time it feels like we're rabbits hopping in circles with wolves at our backs."

His eyes closed to shutter the offset of a tear that threatened to cascade down his cheek. His hands closed into fists in his pockets and the blonde released a shaky breath before meeting Bucky's gaze. "When does the fighting stop?"

As the validity of those retriggered words gripped him into a knifepoint deadlock, everything had inadvertently reversed in that naked moment of a soul-deep throb; the raw tension clashingly racking through him, became stormily evident in his glacial aqueous irises as Bucky with controlled effort driven by ignition of a timeless cadence off Brooklyn resilence-brotherhood; he didn't want to become a disposable extension of quench-out heartache, while trudging on the inevitable-reckoning fringe of a denotative -apocalyptic- powder-keg.

With a vehement shift of his measured paces, impassively Bucky neared his slump-face best friend's side."It doesn't..." he answered back in thickened-pitch, murmurously, his shapely-wide lips tugged half-heartedly with a telltale pinch. A glide of errant wetness sheening over the broad planes of Steve's hawkishly-cut features starkly resurrected invulnerable defeat-a chastening penance "There's always gonna be a fight puttin' us against the ropes, Steve," he drawled in a hitching rasp, throatily."We just gotta keep swingin' when the hits come..."

It was an answer Steve knew to expect. Life without war it seemed was as impossible as life without death. It was an inevitability that couldn't be staved off forever. War was like a virus always lurking; waiting to break out and spread. It just never occurred to him how much it would become a part of his life-of both their lives. He was once a kid who wanted to be a painter. A man who wanted a quiet family life. But he chose to become a soldier, and soldiers always had someone to lose no matter the circumstance of which a relationship was formed. Steve lost partners, friends, family. He needed to make peace with himself after the endgame. It wouldn't be long until the next fight reared its way in, but until then, he had to find peace.

"Let's hope we won't need to be swinging for awhile yet." He said with a soft smile, not quite reaching his eyes. He looked at Bucky in a new light, seeing a man who had endured countless years of mental torture and battles but had managed to find his way to adapt to a normal life much easier than Steve ever did. He envied his friend, but at the same time, he was happy for him. Before he could say anything more, they were both interrupted by a voice calling for them near the compound.

"Hey Cap! Bucky! Pizzas arrived. You guys coming in? I'd hurry, I don't think Thor plans on slowing down tonight." Scott Lang said with a shrug. He held a vodka bottle in hand, wearing black clothes and a Halloween shirt that acutely forbid the presence of clowns. Scott hated clowns apparently, Steve thought with an amused smirk.

"You should get a move on, Buck. I'll be a few minutes," Steve gave his friend an encouraging nod, grateful for the talk he'd given him.

Against the bordering grip of vestigial relevance, Bucky nodded smirkily, his grayish-aquamarine irises glinting alight with echoes of boyish naughtiness; tellingly evident to the wrinkled lines of crows-feet deeply bracketing at his pinched temples-a gracing deliverance of eternal brotherly promise felt graspable-indestructible to ward off. Breaking distance from the rivalrous aura of isolated solace, Bucky did a half-spun on his tactical boots; Scott's dark-hazel irises widened dumbly in frank amusement while sheepishly mouthing 'jeez' at the Siberian beast machine's gladiator-like bulk menacingly shifting accord of poised intimidation underneath his leather jacket.

"I ruined the moment again, didn't I?" Scott uttered out ingenuously, narrowing his dark gaze, he uneasily pressed his lips into a half-grimace. "Don't worry, I totally respect lasting friendships and you guys have yours as a museum exhibit which is very cool..." He continued, humorously without being off-beat in comedic tenor. "Luis wrote our two names in the prison's bathroom stall with a permanent marker, can't be scrubbed off."

In a controlled motion of his gloved hand, furrowed his brow into a tenser pitch, Bucky unerringly grabbed the Vodka bottle out of Scott's leaden grip as he clumsily reeled back. "I got this, Lang..." he quipped huffily under tight breath; the diesel- roughened smokiness of his Brooklyn drawl edged huskily suave in nonchalant tenor, as his pursed lips quirked up, toothily back at Steve. "S'just try not to get caught in the rain, punk..."

"I'll do my best," Steve replied. He watched as both Bucky and Scott went back inside the newly rebuilt compound. It was bigger than it was before with more room to spare for new members but somehow feeling even emptier than it ever was before. With Tony in a coma, and Clint having returned home to his family and Natasha... The compound's only permanent residents were himself, Bruce, Scott, Sam, Wanda and Thor. Clint, Peter Parker and Carol Danvers only paid periodic visits each month that never lasted more than a couple of days. Then there was Bucky and Selina whom often treated the compound as their hotel between their travels. A home away from home.

It was nice to see familiar faces still keeping close but there was a stigma on the property each time he would walk near the apartment that used to belong to Natasha. Used to in the previous iteration of the building before Thanos had levelled it. Pepper had it rebuilt from the ground up with Natasha's room and what few belongings of hers that they had scoured from the ruins intact. The first night it of its completion Steve had spent the night inside of her room, staring blankly at the ceiling in deep thought, trying to piece together some semblance of closure now that one of his closest friends in life was gone.

Every night after that, the pain of her absence had increased to the point where he couldn't be anywhere near her room, knowing she would never again occupy it. They would never again spend a late night of quietly sharing stories about their past before sitting together to watch an old movie he had missed out on. The last one they saw being Schindler's List. The next one they would've seen but never having gotten around to watching was a favorite horror movie of hers she recommended called "The Witches". A movie she had once saw as a wayward girl from the Red Room.

That was how they spent their nights together in the five years they believed they had failed. Steadily, their relationship had begun to change. He felt it, she felt it too. The pull, the attraction-the undeniable trust they placed in each other that was born eight years ago when they were on the run from Hydra. The night before Scott had came back, they had come close to breaching that barrier that had been in place for so long. The line between friendship and romance. They were both battle-weary and wanted nothing more than fall back into blissful normalcy that had been denied to them for so long.

Tears trailed down his cheeks. Rather than hastily wipe em, Steve allowed them to flow. He had to grieve. He had to accept the fact she was gone and never coming back. "Natasha…" He spoke up to the moon, looking to the heavens where he believed all benevolent souls passed into. "Nat...Its tough without you here...Without you helping me to keep me on my feet." He sniffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Sometimes it feels impossible to believe this is how things are...how they'll always be. I thought I would be the one to go long before anyone else. Old man Rogers finally biting the bullet while the war goes on…I miss you, Nat."

He swallowed, feeling his chest constrict with pain that sent chills throughout his whole body. "More than you probably would've thought you deserved. But the truth is you deserve more than any of us. The universe owes you a debt it can never repay. Wherever you are...I just hope you're at peace...And that I'll keep on fighting for as long as I can. Because I know its what you would've wanted…"

The more he spoke, the more it felt like his words were becoming lodged in his throat. It got to the point he had to pause to collect himself. His disciplinary training as a captain kept him together to the point he avoided sobbing. But the cracks in his composure began to show as the tears dripped off his jaw. He breathed deep and released a shaky breath.

"There's more I want to tell you...More I should've told you while you were still here. It's become my biggest regret. One I'll have to live with...Until we see each other again." For a moment Steve felt the void in his chest grow even steeper the further he moved into delicate territory. The shortness of breath he was experiencing could've been explained as a mere overwhelming of emotions that he'd kept bottled for so long. But in truth, he knew it was because he was wrestling with his greater instinct to soldier-up and stow away such a compromising notion that made him feel like the small little guy too who was too nervous to speak to women.

The ache in his heart needed relief and the only way of doing that was to unburden the revelation he'd kept hidden for so long. Shedding a tear, Steve released a deep breath. "...I loved you, Natasha. I always did...I always will." He sniffed. "I guess it just took me too long to realize that living in the past was pushing me further away from having a future I wanted with you. Peggy Carter might have been my dream girl...but you were my best girl."

The imploding resonance of grievous-unendurable heartache grew into beckoning volumes that agonizingly intensified against a half-wake deadening that rapidly shunted an eruptive throb. Mistily, with the dregs of stowed reverence, Steve's teary azure irises blurred out the silvery cast of moonlight, harboring onto visceral desperation rigged through his veins, everything felt utterly defective against stemmed regret that he condemningly allowed to grapple him down. It hurt to breathe-to force himself to trudge onto a victory road without her. Like several ex-G.I's, the warranty of embracing the homefront again was a naive-reckless illusion; after returning from the battlefield, nothing was left to claim: not even a dance.

He wanted questions answered on the snowy crags of Vormir-if there was a grip of chance for Doctor Steven Strange to breach the celestial dimension and reserve those irretrievable 'five seconds' in the quantum realm with the archaic energy of the Time Stone. Maybe the interminable cost of getting her back was unforgivingly stacked up at high price; if he engaged another time heist mission, he would lose a good friend close to the heart by the bargaining extension of the soul-driven penance on the fringe of a cosmic elysian: blood was always payment. Fostering onto a razor-thinned visage of hope wasn't enough. He wouldn't let her become a phantom memory of guilt that he stowed in his threadbare sketchbooks. "You gotta shake it off, Rogers..."

Against the forested contrasts of near-darkness, with balletic-swanlike grace in her advancing prowess, a visceral breach of chaste feminine allure that enticingly became a sensuous-elemental force; a vixenish charade of weaponized to atomize a heartbeat-the sirenic arsenal of combative fusion-a Siberian cadence incarnate ardently echoing a wanton play of intimate challenge.

A cast of moonlight exposed the delicate suppleness of her vibrant pearlescent features that were hauntingly shadowed by the hooded Gothicesque cloak draped over the curvaceous of her svelte exquisite-honed body; disheveled length of her silken ombrécopper-platinum blonde tresses became distractingly evident as she paced closer to his adamant-isolated proximity with a ghosting semblance of tactical ease on casual accord. "I'm not surprised to find you like this, Rogers," A jaunty quip, cannily rasped with a huskier pitch, banteringly, watching as etched lines belied the plusher arch of his sensuous chiseled lips, raptly setting into a firmer grimace."You're really terrible at starting a new life..."

The chill Steve felt travel up his spine nearly had him shaking in his shoes as that familiar voice suddenly spoke to him. Could it be? No...it couldn't. He couldn't calm the racing of his heartbeat nor find it within himself to move in the seconds that followed. He could recall only one time he had become frozen in shock and that was the day he had discovered Bucky was alive and then known as the infamous Winter Soldier. Like on that day, Steve felt a combination of disbelief and dangerous hope. Slowly he turned to look towards the small pond at the edge of the compound where an ethereal cast of moonlight bathed the scenery with an incandescent glow.

What he saw was a lithe hooded shape walking towards him. The longer he stared with waking trepidation, it appeared more like she was gliding on the wind. She possessed the grace of a balletic swan. It was familiar and enchanting. His hope began to grow and so did his apprehension. "Nat?" He called when she was only a few feet in front of him. The memory of her the last time he saw her was so fresh he immediately recognized her signature Black Widow attire beneath the cloak and the stylish long braided ponytail that was a blend of coppery red with flecks of blonde at the bottom.

Her face, angelic and beautiful as he remembered. The shimmer of life reflecting off her teal eyes caused him to freeze in a state of awe and crumbling emotion. This couldn't be real. He had to have been dreaming. When he saw her nod to his call, Steve couldn't control his emotional uplift. He took two quick steps forward and embraced her close into a warm hug. "How is this possible?" He asked trying to keep his composure when he felt like breaking down into sobs.

For a compromised breach in that breath-stealing moment, nonplused shock impassively etched over the smooth broader planes of his hawkishly-set boyish features; traitorous anticipation carnally thrummed in her veins; she detected a viscerous agony deep-rooted in phantom volumes crescendoing in his heartbeat when she gazed into the banking penetrative embers of his oceanic azure irises rawly bleared against fevered wetness that dampened the fringe of his lashes.

His ironclad and unshakeable resistance that made his valorous battle-ready spirit legendary against titanic strife and barbarous carnage were irrevocably cleaved apart. Thanos had shaken him down when the celestial energy of the Infinity Gaunlet had reaped the unforgiving defecation of mortality over Wakanda's jungled battlegrounds, eradicating his teammates-Bucky into heaps of sifted atoms-erased from his reigning symphony of cosmic tyranny.

Five laters later, Steve couldn't dodge another fist-hammering blow to heart when Clint Barton returned from the quantum time bridge without Natasha ever-present at his side. Now, a splinter of hope was gleamingly alight in his vigilant aqueous depths in that suffusive wake of an addictive revelation—the intimate rush of their beckoning heat grew into a decadent-earthen fragrancy of minty vetiver and ambrosian cherry explosively detonating the urgent proximity of their passion-driven arousal. Feeling the bulkier-wide solidity of his tauten chest flex rigidly against the cushioning swells of her neoprene-clad breasts was the starving response of mortal vassalage that she unreservedly craved to slake."Nothing lasts forever up there... it's just harder to get back when you finally wake up on the edge ..." she murmured raspily, the silkier lushness of her quirking lips grazed fervidly over his wetted cheek in sensuous ministrations of intimate precision of ardent-incarnate heat. "It's like a fallback from eternity..."

Steve hung onto her every word as if they were something as precious as a long lost treasure. His thoughts painted a dire and grisly image of what she was describing on Vormir. Clint never went into much detail about the dark realm that served as the final resting place for his best friend. No one blamed him, nor did they press. Steve was a man who grew up believing that a divine power guided their lives and listened to their prayers in their moments of despair. Miracles were something to be mocked and seen as fairy tales in this day and age. But he never stopped believing that such things were possible, even if they occurred in the smallest measure.

But this...this was something beyond expectations. It felt too good to be true…

As he slowly withdrew from the hug, he didn't relinquish their proximity. He kept his hands on her small of her back; afraid that if he let her go she would vanish on the wind just as quickly as she had arrived. He searched her eyes and was drawn by breathtaking allure of their depth and emotion. It was tempered, guarded. "I missed you, Nat…I thought I'd never seen you again." he found himself saying with a pained swallow. "But Clint said there was no coming back from that. He said there was a Stone Keeper there that mentioned it." Slowly he guided her to sit down beside him on a bench. She kept her hood up as she stared into deep space. "Nat?"

A viperous ascension of deception had pulsed a birthing communion of rabid vengeance, predatorily her grayish-teal irises glinted with a tactile demand of ignitable ecstasy-he was carelessly disarmed and separated from his best friend-Bucky. With delicate ease, she lowered down beside him, shiveringly gliding her leather-sheathed palm over his roughened knuckles with answering-ephemeral- a contrast of feminine reverence-enough to increasingly distract his questioning resolve. "Let's just live in the moment, Rogers..." she imploringly rasped, watching his broader jaw evidently set into a reluctant clench-he wanted a harboring reality to believe in again. She had to play down the memory card- trusting variances of their grounded-tactical partnership. "Don't you trust me, Steve..." she breathily urged, waiting for him to breathlessly engage the amorous cadence of mirrored fusion.

It was a question that puzzled him in a moment in what should have remained joyous after months of unrelenting grief. He furrowed his brow and looked at her intensely. "Of course I do, Natasha. Its just...hard to believe you're back. We saved the universe because of what you did. But losing you...it hit all of us hard." He needed her to understand just how delicate things were. He could imagine how Clint and Bruce would handle her resurrection as it appeared. Steve took a moment to openly scrutinize her, wondering why something felt off about this whole thing. And then he realized, she was unblemished... almost as if she hadn't endured any kind of trauma recently...like falling to her death.

It was a superficial detail that shouldn't have bothered him. He tried to stow away the doubt creeping into him that things weren't amiss. That Natasha had come back to them-to him-by the will of some kind of divine intervention. "It hit me hard, Nat. If there was something I could've done-"

"I knew the extent price of getting that damn stone in our hands..." The apparitional force of expandable betrayal was counterpoised, as the possessive flexion of the cool, tentative delicateness of her lithe fingers controlled rigged tension, featherily delivering a stark tracery of faux promise that wouldn't detract the measured gravity of her strained confession. "I couldn't let Barton take the fall not when everything could be reversed..." She dragged her fingers in kneading tack over the taut-corded muscle of his leather sleeved forearm with seductive pressure that arrestingly coaxed his downcasted azure irises to stare at the voluminous curves of her readied lips. "I came back to care of unfinished business that I left here and maybe a dance..."

A flush of heat surged throughout Steve's body when he realized what she was saying. It carried with it a flood of memories that they shared over the years where they toed the line between friendship and something much more. Natasha had always been the teasing sort-flirtatious even in their more exhilarating moments in the field where they fought and danced in ballets of violence that made them work like a well-oiled machine. She had always been hesitant to explore something more serious between them, and he had been too consumed with the fight to seek her out. Could this be their second chance to explore what could've been?

The suspicion he felt had fled as he gazed into her eyes with a softness that spelled longing. "I always hoped you would ask." He said nothing else as he brought his hand across her cheek, testing the waters. She didn't recoil nor shy away from the contact but leaned into it. His heart hammered in his chest and he knew this was the right moment to confess his deepest feelings.

"Nat, I-" Before he could reveal the sum of his affections, he could feel her hands latching onto the hem of his shirt as she pulled him towards her, discarding any notion of tenderness and sentiment. She brushed her rosebud shaped lips onto his own and kissed him, firm and possessive, it shocked him into mind-screeching halt.

Sensing his reeling ease to break their evocative rhythm, grazingly with a painstaking drag of her teeth, raveningly Natasha caught the throbbing swell of his jutted underlip, awareness of his visceral surrender ratcheted against incendiary clashes of fusing heat as the bruising edge of the kiss-like a feverous rush of the burgeoning exchange that searingly branded over his bones, against shifting pressure of their rivalrous-mirrored sync that dizzyingly conceived naked-rapturous havoc of addictive ecstasy.

A throaty moan was hushedly deafened out into a breathless fever-pitch cadence of exquisite abandon, she urged him to chase the demanding tempo; captive in ardent surges of the heart- rampaging intensity fueled stoking deliverance, with no breath of hesitant release. Willingly against the sensuous reality of liquid-boneless heat; keeping his eyes closed, Steve felt his aching lips stretch flaringly wide under the angling crush of her deepening, lusher mouth in urgent-carnal- tenor beyond euphonic measure of restraint: nothing would be reined back.

Unhurriedly, answering his driving need, with virile tenderness invested in blinding motion, adoringly Steve rested the graven-edged curve of his flushed cheek against her jaw almost reverent as her head titled instinctively back and she ravenously supped feverish saltiness of his errant tears gliding over the plushier arch of kiss-swollen lips."Do you want this moment to last forever, Steve?" she murmured in a drag of breath, smokily through the headier depths of their sweltry recaptured kiss; feeling the corded heaviness of his muscled bulk growing revealingly tauter as her lithe palm splayed caressingly over the white material of his undershirt as skeins of verdigris energy incandescently fused into Dwarven sigils over resilient thickness of his enhanced flesh.

It was a blighting infection to curse-weaponize Midgardians into bestial extensions of Nidavellir; to chimerically become executing sentinels of the underworld (Hvergelmir). The celestial effusion railed graspingly through his veins with a soul-arresting unity of chastened throes-a vessel of astral resurrection to herald the rapine-merciless demoness of Asgard's merciless butchery-Hela. "Or just five seconds...?"

Breathlessness was one of the many things Steve was feeling. The taste of her kiss had left him reeling due to its tempting allure that made him want to fall deeper into their passion. But the calm part of his mind that wasn't fogged by emotion and desire, made him realize something about this was...off. He didn't know what he was expecting. The speed of things happening tonight was nearly overwhelming. Natasha was still alive, she wanted to take a dance with him after so many years of traipsing around the bush as friends.

Her words didn't sound like the Natasha he knew… It was then that a painful thought entered his mind and the hope he felt in his chest began to wilt as wariness took hold of him. He didn't push her away, a part of him still caught in the heat of the moment where he wanted to surrender to the latent feelings for her he'd kept bottled up for so long. For a moment he hesitated to indulge his doubt, but knew there was no turning back from it.

"Natasha…" He said to her with a serious voice, gazing into her unblinking teal eyes that looked oddly hypnotic. "What was the last thing you said to me before Vormir? Before…" He swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing her answer would prove or disprove his suspicions.

Reacting to his sonorous timbered drawl, Natasha felt the intimate gliding trace of his roughened fingers becoming tenser over the sleek length of her garbed forearm, capturing her pulse as echoes of infinite distrust tumultuously flashed guarded light of in the hawkish depth of his azure irises, as chiseled edges of his broad jaw set reservedly evident to patent tension warningly clashing against her revamped seductive beckoning like a careening blade-he saw underneath the fracturing charade. Lifting the delicate litheness of her palm up to his flushed cheek with an ardent-guileful contrast of tempered reverence; Natasha whispered in a husky undertone, devious rawness fringed breathy in her jaunty challenge, as hard, angular planes of his features jutted out furrily against morphic-bestial strain- a wolven extension of cosmic divergence. "Is that an honest question, Rogers, or are you just uncomfortable with this play of affection?"

It was an evasive tactic, Steve knew. A play on words to distract someone from their doubts in a delicate moment where something was being concealed. Something Natasha had once taught him. Rather than fall further into this spell of passion that so nearly had him consumed by latent feelings, Steve put his hands on her arms and gently forced her away from him. The look in his eyes was hard with suspicion. "I think you know me well enough to know what makes me uncomfortable...if you were the real Natasha." Saying those words hurt more than a punch to the head from Thanos. The unblinking accusation in his eyes threatened to spill angry tears in this moment of creeping realization.

"Now I'm gonna ask you one more time…" He said with a deep foreboding voice, full of authority as he rose up to his full height. "If you're really Natasha. Tell me what was the last thing you said to me!" His muscles coiled with increasing hostility as he watched her calm demeanor begin to shift into something much more nefarious.

A definite implosion of soldiery valiance clashed against her infectious wake; chimerical heat thievingly gleamed in her steel-gray irises that ravingly belied a incarnate promise of soul-cleaving vengeance that bled into a sardonic curve quirking over the voluminous swell of her lip, as she taunted, raspily. "You were always one step ahead on the battlefield, carousing as a pathetic warrior of mortal liberty, you and Sergent James Barnes ruined my fated desires of reigning over Midgard, preying on HYDRA ranks like a wolf, so I decided to come back here and chasten you into a brutal reality of my will, Captain..."

His worst fear of this situation was confirmed in a manner that left Steve both puzzled and furious. The spill of tears that flowed down his cheeks were quickly wiped away the moment he realized he was undoubtedly facing down a shape-shifting imposter that appeared familiar with him. His eyebrows furrowed into a glare of suspicion. "Who are you really? What do you have to do with me and Bucky?" He demanded. Not-Natasha rose to her feet and faced him down with a haughty malicious gaze. It was a dreadfully wrong thing to be seen on a face he recognized as a deceased friend he cared deeply about. The imposter didn't keep him waiting much longer as she fully discarded the pretense she used to lure him into a thrall of distraction, and she became engulfed in a coat of green magic. It was ominous and chilling. The dread Steve felt in his stomach increased ten-fold when Natasha was no longer standing in front of him but instead a dreadfully familiar blonde that was the cause of many horrors he'd witnessed during the Howling Commandos incursion into Amsterdam. "Doctor Annette Ziegler?"

Feigning rapt disgust at the dumbfounded mention of a utilized charade of a German architect of the Iron Cross science division ushered by Doctor Armin Zola's metastatic tantamount of surgically amputated out mortal vitality with morbific-inventive conjury of obsessively jabbing shunts of mutative serum-devolving young allied soldiers-the POW hostages in dormant visages of bloated-out creatures that were torturously fattened to become executed in sanguineous HYDRA ranks. "That mortal charade was an extension of my deception, I am called, Amora, dear Captain ..." The Asgardian sorcerous-Enchantress- bluntly fumed with envenomed malevolence fringing in her ceremonious tone. "I became rather bored with HYDRA's blighted appetite for tapping veins of immortality, such craven ways as expected when cosmic deliverance falls into their ill hands..."

In fluid unison of her arcing hands, serpentinely, Amora threaded her lithe fingers over tousled platinum-blonde whorls, conjuring up jade-spiked headgear that ethereally appeared on the delicate contours of her temples; the unmistakable Nordic sigil of -Yggdrasill- the cosmic tree celestial-nine gateways was etched in the center: viridian skeins became ghoulishly infused in the sleek-ashen pearlescence of her flesh, merging into veined gauntlets of red aster that sheathed over her wrists like intricate spider-webbing. The fine-bone curves of her exquisite seraphic features were darkly poised in a vitriolic cast of telltale wickedness, as her steel-gray irises grew steelily viperous with soul-lancing intensity.

"Such calamitous devices to wield an extension of Asgardian power..." Amora whispered, seethingly, mirroring the iced azureous depths of his slitting irises."Armin Zola would have ushered your precious Bucky Barnes into dormant oblivion of the cattle stocks if you haven't obstructed his conquest..."

Steve felt little surprise that another of his enemies from the past returned to haunt him in the present day. But the fact that the sadistic Doctor Ziegler was in fact secretly an Asgardian sorceress the whole time made him feel uneasy. It also explained how she was still alive and looking no older than the last time he'd seen her. After he and the Commandos had blown up her lab, they were certain she had died in the blast when she refused to be taken captive. The experiments she was performing for Hydra, using innocent civilians as test subjects to create hybrid monstrosities...All the horrors he had shuttered away from the war returned with full force. It also made him realize why she had targeted him...and Bucky.

"So that's what this is all about? Bucky and I blew away your hideous lab, so you come back and wear the face of my best friend to seduce me?" He couldn't keep the abject outrage from his voice. He knew it was naive to think an enemy of his wouldn't resort to such a tactic to get back at him, but it still filled with righteous fury that made him wish he'd brought his shield out here. "You insult her memory. Whatever it is you think you're doing here, its not gonna work."

Raveningly with a breathless snarl, Amora's imposing valence of her efficacious poise became searingly infective against his virile resiliency that clashingly resonated under heavy-corded bands of tauter planes sculpting his widened chest-the invincible-warring strength that would inexorably meld into layers of canine fur-a morphic fusion was being ushered by cacophonous variances of anarchic mantra, cuttingly shunting through his veins with ferocious-animalistic heat grippingly conceived by the predatory divergence-rebirth of her mutative onslaught.

"You valorous fool, I did not come here to revel with your departed lover's face..." Amora gritted lashingly in sadistic pitch, and viciously gestured a hand up with ghoulish ease as demonical vehemence possessively arrowed within her lithe fingers like an incendiary pulse of suffusive phosphorus white of a vaporous nova explosively flaring against her opened palm; sulfuric miasma reekingly wafted against the October gales.

Piercingly driving the unblinking depth of his crystalline azure irises glacially at the virescent-astral tendrils; with tactical-honed vigilance, Steve harnessed gladiatorial evades of his athletic-combative fluidity, tensely dragging his boot with registered traction in adrenalized fruition: he wasn't backing down. "I need a mortal vessel to deliver an eldritch reckoning of incarnate vengeance, and unfortunately dear Captain, your prevalent humanity will be stripped into feral throes once the moonlight beckons you to howl a bestial cadence of surrender..."

Knowing a hostile situation when he saw one. Steve's natural instinct kicked in as his hand reached his communicator in his ear. "Avengers, I got a breach in the northern quadrant of the compou-" A merciless blast of Asgardian magic hit him square across the chest before he could finish his transmission, sending Steve flying across the lawn where he lay splayed on his back. The rapid beating of his pulse could be heard above his strangled groan of pain. He felt as if his skin had been thrown across a bed of hot coals that were causing his flesh to burn and sting. The absence of his shield made him vulnerable and he was at the mercy of a vengeful driven Enchantress who approached him with a swagger in her steps.

"What's the matter, Captain, not enough bite?" Tauntingly with vampiric ease, Amora crouched down a breadth to indulgently gaze at the atrophied First Avenger; forcefully bracing his thrashing mass onto his leather-sleeved elbows with bruising pressure on rigid accord edged in his heavy, well-defined muscles shifting with burgeoning tenor, as the bulked solidity of his shoulders arched with jackknifing momentum off the ground against the spasmatic onslaught that he couldn't ride out.

Blearily against a nauseous rush, choking off a voiceless whimper; Steve felt a contractive throb of skull-cleaving flexion of his lengthening jawbone in a morphic—outstretched strain that was excruciatingly notching as the curves of his swelling ears grew bushily pointer under disheveled blonde tresses; his twined incisors were rapidly jutting out with canine length over his bloodied underlip. Snarlingly in heaving pants, he railed out deep-throated volumes of predatory assession- a menacing resonance of clamorous aggression. Dementedly, Amora tilted her chin up with an unhinged jerk, she lowered her palms at her curvaceous side, relishing in the converging-enslaved thralls of his wolven infancy. "Feel the celestial essence of fallen Asgard become your unremitting salvation..."

It was at that moment, Steve realized what she was planning to do to him. Memories of her cruel experiments weren't acts of twisted science but rather of dark magic. It was a lethal tool she used like a human would use a gun. Her aim was directed solely towards him and the words she spoke were the act of her pulling the trigger. The moment the last syllable rolled off her tongue, Steve felt dread and pain unlike anything he'd ever felt pour into his body. It wasn't the white-hot one associated with injury or death. This was something evil and unnatural entering him and twisting him from the inside out. The glow of her magic made him feel as if he were being dumped into a world of blinding green light that seared every natural thought and instinct within his body. The deafening roar in his ears caused him to shudder and wish he could hold his ears. His limbs were paralyzed as if something had siphoned off every bit of energy inside of his body and was now using it against him.

Amora's beautiful yet cruel face hovered above him, hands splayed out as her magic began its work of undoing his humanly body from surface to bone. The sight of the full-moon high above robbed his focus until he could only gaze at it as if he were being compelled. It wasn't until he felt the snap of his bones that he realized the roaring he heard in his ears was, in fact, his own humanly cries that were soon replaced by the howling of a creature of the night.

Within the backlit lounge, the rave-up assonance of partying had blaringly amplified in symphonious volume, keeping his appreciative distance in the lounge area that had been reconstructed into an ultra-modern bar with electric neon contrasting against a row of matte black leather stools, Bucky narrowingly downcasted a unwavering glance of his steel-aquamarine irises at a untouched platter of stacked peanut butter sandwiches that Wanda amply had prepared in honor of their fallen teammate-friend Natalia.

Gripping a chilled bottle of vodka with deft ease of his bionic clutch, he owed it to Steve to keep that cherishing memory of Tasha close to the vest-their dynamical variants of sniping combat were harmonically elemental: Natalia was the cunning foxy vixen who daringly cross the Siberian wolf's kill site of weaponized supremacy in the rivalrous cadency of their combative dynamic.

The sterilized ranks of Red Room Academy-the Widow markers- were compromised with the defective insurgence—verminous echoes of humanity that Natalia had rebelliously ignited, performing balletic graces of traitorous defiance. She was the black swan of stage light-an elite operative of seduction. 'My nikogda ne lomayemsya ...(We never break)' Sometimes off the grid extraction -ghost recon missions like in Odessa when Natalia had brazenly hot-wired of HYDRA mountain-terrain vehicle with a targeted nuclear engineer tampered with his battle-tested limits of restraint—comradely mercy in triggered crosshairs. He never delivered an executing kill-shot at her.

'Ty ne mozhesh' bezhat' vechno, malen'kiy pauk...(You can't run forever, little spider)'

He regrets that he never found the time to sit down with her and apologize for their many near-death encounters over the years that ended with him putting a bullet through her. He regrets he never apologized to Stark for taking away his parents, even if he knew to expect a repulsor beam through his heart rather than forgiveness. Too many crimes he didn't willfully commit but Bucky still felt the weight of their guilt.

Suddenly feeling somber, he took a swig of the margarita that Scott had prepared for him and let the soft punch of alcohol momentarily dull his nerves. It lasted too brief before his super-enhanced metabolism washed it out of his system and he was once again feeling stone-cold sober. His blue eyes wandered and took in the homely lounge area where many new friends and acquaintances were getting into the Halloween spirit.

Over by the well-stocked bar stood an enthusiastic Scott Lang preparing another round of drinks while bopping to an upbeat rock-song from a band he'd come to identify as "Queen". Sitting on the bar stool was a very imbibed but also equally exuberant Avenger that till now Bucky would have never assumed to be the Mighty Thor- the Norse god of thunder. Bucky never judged people based off their appearances but he had never imagined the famed Asgardian powerhouse to be so...jolly.

Having heard what the Asgardian had been through over the past few years, Bucky considered this a good sign of recovery after living through so much woe and loss that would've destroyed most people. Speaking of recovery, his stare now shifted over to the nearby couch close to him where he saw a relatively warm sight that put a smile on his face. '

Wanda sat at the back of the couch, wearing shorts and a tee with her hair tied into a ponytail. She seemed to be animatedly engaged with her phone as her fingers rapidly typed away a storm of text messages, ignoring the Halloween movie playing on the gigantic tv. Bucky knew the young Sokovian woman better after having spent time with her after Germany...and the Snap.

Needless to say, to see this kind of life being breathed back into her set him at ease in a way a big brother felt about their little sister coming out of depression. He knew a certain Sorcerer Supreme was to thank for this big turn around. "You know back in my day, when a girl smiled like that, it meant there was one lucky guy not far behind. I take it your friend, the wizard, will be stopping by soon?" He asked her with playful ease watching as a soft blush colored her cheeks.

Registering the suave timbre of his gravelly drawl croakily underlying nonchalant-Brooklyn- charm, in silent vigil, against warring attentiveness, Wanda quickly swiped the lock screen of her mobile phone to power-off; under silken auburn-burgundy tresses that stylishly draped over the delicate fineness of her shoulders; penetratingly her grayish-hazel irises roved at the lounge's bar, amethyst neon gleamed over Bucky's thatch of wolfish chestnut, his shapely lips broaden with a smirky quirk as he disarmingly gave her a sidelong glance, the crows-feet bracketing his temples evidently crinkled with brotherly sweetness alight that she wouldn't discard.

"We're nothing more than friends, Bucky..." she returned wistfully in raspy pitch, trying not to dredge up staved-patent heartbreak that she guardingly barricaded. Vision was more than an evolving synthetic android of vibranium that had been conceived by the plaguing extension of Ultron's binary coding nexus-he functioned with a human spirit-a heartbeat- until that intergalactic Mad Titian's crushing monstrous hand savagely extracted the Mind Stone out of his head, leaving only a gun-metal alloy husk on Wakanda's battleground.

After spending a few months at Clint Barton's farm, Wanda amply welcomed solitary peace, despite the immeasurable-constant heartache stowed to her love-Vision that she couldn't banish. Returning to Manhattan, Wanda tested grounds of relevance- sentiment, embracingly rediscovering her faith in the benevolence of humanity that once viewed her as a destructive mutated spawn of HYDRA; and how connective-kinetic- devices of Eldritch incantations could be wielded out of the chaotic Multiverse planes. It was like breathlessly composing an intimate symphonic capriccio of sorcerous energy with the mystical, snarky virtuoso-Steven Strange. He was preparing her to become a sentry of the astral gateway.

Feigning vulnerable tenderness suffusing the elfin contours of her waifish features, sheepishly, Wanda drew out a hitching breath, lowering his glass, Bucky attentively quirked up an eyebrow against dismal thinness of her accented voice."Doctor Strange helps me distract myself from what I feel every day when I know that Vis isn't coming back..."

Bucky nodded feeling the somber emotions coming from her that reminded him that "The Blip" didn't bring everyone back who suffered at the hands of Thanos. Though he didn't know the android Avenger, and his only encounter with him having been hostile, Bucky knew what Vision meant to the others, especially Wanda. "I didn't know Vision as well as you and the other Avengers, but from what I've heard, he cared about you a great deal, Wanda." He said with a compassionate look.

"And he probably would've come up with some logical explanation about why its good for you to be trying to move on." Bucky watched as Wanda listened to him intently, hanging onto his every word though he could see the ache in her eyes. "This Stephen Strange seems like a great guy. All I'm saying is, don't be afraid to look beyond friendship."

"You mean that you weren't afraid to look into Lina's eyes and tell her what you feel?" she asked knowingly, downcasting her gaze at her leather-sheathed hand, in the moment of breaching her guarded resolve, a tectonic pulse of astral crimson surged burningly through her veins- arcs of ignitable energy that was a chimeral divergence of sorcerous fusion ghosting twistily over her poised fingers as she incandescently melded vaporous skeins of morphic flares into an emotive silhouette of a feline over the bar top, a breadth from his robotic hand. "If I had a chance you like to embrace humanity again with someone who sees a heartbeat in stone, I wouldn't waste a moment, James..."

Bucky nodded appreciating the gravity of her statement. "Someone saw a heart beating inside a human terminator, fresh out of the ice. Nothing is impossible for people like us, Wanda. We just gotta know when to take that leap of faith and make a move." Inwardly, he hoped Steve would one day find the strength to move on after losing two women in his life before ever getting his chance to dance with them. Before Bucky could convey deeper words of sentiment and his experience with Wanda, they both hear FRIDAY chime in. "Attention Avengers: another guest as arrived at the foyer."

"Please tell me its the pizza man. My appetite can only handle so much candy in one night," Thor grumbled as he took a drink of something Scott finished preparing for him. Seconds later, the blonde's eyes widened and he downed the drink in one go, much to Scott's bafflement. "I like this drink. "A Bloody Mary", you called it, Friend Scott? The Lady Mary who invented this drink should be most proud." He sets the glass down in front of the pint-sized Avenger and grins. "Another!"

Bucky's attention shifts away from the scene at the bar and feels his blood-pressure rise when a familiar lavender perfume touches his senses, followed soon by the soft clicking of high-heeled boots entering the lounge. Wanda smirks at his comical expression frozen at the sight of one Maria Hill making her way towards them.

"Just routine check-in boys," The sternness of a feminine undertone of Agent Maria Hill edged distractingly within the backlit proximity of the crowded bar, the haloing strips of neon lighting delineated over the black kevlar of her tactical garb; she was a vigilant night hawk of global surveillance; resourcefully dexterous in stealth recon missions, and always 'riding shotgun' with ex-director Nick Fury. Her raven tinted brunette tresses were neatly fastened into a knotted chignon, not detracting the cool rigidness of her alabaster features that were hawkishly cut as she fluidly side-stepped over globs vodka-infused tomato juice messily shattered on the granite flooring. "Fury wants Cap on a jet to Berlin for hardware upgrades pronto..."

Her genuine presence was imperative within the Compound, briefing Steve with omega-level threats detected on the orbiting grid of Stark Industries satellite network, every contingency was operative with the cyber utility of AI tactical defensive system (E.D.I.T.H.) that was granted binary access to the Queen's web-slinger Peter Parker. Rebuilding an underground SHIELD base in downtown Berlin was a vital countermeasure that Agent Everette Ross had set into high gauge after the defection of the Accords. With a resurrected cabal of HYDRA spawning infectious extensions, the Avengers were issued the green-light protocol. Her reason for engaging a ceremonious audience with them was a faux charade of deception.

Keeping her distance grounded from the bar, her smoky-cerulean irises caught Bucky revealingly stiffening with leashed tension shadowily brandished over his stubbled-graven planes as the heaviness of his jaw tautly clenched, evident to whirring robotic sync of his cybernetic hand that intimidatingly flexed on defensive accord—he saw through her invidious semblance of deceptive contrast. "This is a high priority order, Barnes..." Maria addressed, tonelessly. "Stark left Cap an encrypted file that can't be discarded..."

"Cap is in no shape to be flying back into the field. Have you seen him, Hill? Has Fury?!" Bucky demanded heatedly. Wanda, Thor, and Scott looked at him, sensing his frustration and the tension that oozed off of him. He stares down Fury's henchwoman and shrugs disappointedly. Too many people thought of Cap as just as gun to aim and shoot back in the day. It was beginning to look like not much had changed. "If you put him back out there, you're just giving him another distraction to help stow away all the pain he hasn't dealt with yet. Sooner or later he has to face it. The longer he doesn't, its gonna take a toll." Bucky wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but he was worried about Steve's inability to find a life for himself away from the fight. If the fight was all he had, it would drive him over the edge eventually.

The intrusive decadence of her unslaked-vitriolic thirst of betrayingly fractured against her stoic reserve; with a subtle arch of her eyebrow, Maria's pale-rose lips half-quirked into a stretching grin as she leveled the steeliness of her unwavering gaze at him. Indulging on bloatedly divesting the hunky ruggedness of his boyish features into a wretched vessel of indolent -craven-pudginess was raveningly clamoring her stalled intent of ushering Hela's condemned spirit out of the bedrocks of Helheim. "Before you whip this at Fury, Barnes," she rebuffed in firmer pitch, bluntly. "You should know that the encrypted file is a contingency protocol that Stark designed if loose ends weren't cut on Vomir..."

That name inspired only dread in the stomachs of all those present. The place that Natasha Romanov paid the ultimate price so that the Avengers could succeed. Her final resting place. Thor suddenly appeared like he hit rock bottom along with Scott-both men instinctively reaching for another drink. Wanda's once cheerful look suddenly became a mosaic of remorseful expressions. Bucky was just glad Steve wasn't in here to be listening to his. His jaw tightened and he took a menacing step towards Hill.

"That's a road Steve doesn't need to go down. Especially now. You want to discuss contingencies? Tell Fury to ask his friend Danvers." Bucky said with a dismissive edge to his once cool tone. He didn't give it any thought as to why Hill's poker face showed the faintest hint of dark amusement nor why she didn't put up more a protest as he turned to take his leave. "It was good seeing you Hill. Give Fury my regards." Bucky turned and marched his way out of the lobby, determined more than anything to cool off. He might stop by the gym for a few minutes to work off some steam.

The stoking ferocity of his bridled aggression impelled in Bucky's storming momentum as he begrudgingly tried his damndest not to glance over his tensing shoulder—his glacial aquamarine irises searingly zeroed on her indifferent stance while he vanished into the upper level that would direct him to the training room; unaware that Hill uttered under breath, vilely."Enjoy wielding your mortal strength while you still can, James Barnes..." Shifting her waspish gaze at a bowl of overpriced chocolate bars displayed on the bartop, as she nauseatingly listened to the hearty resonance of the blubbered-gut Asgardian royal's jovial chuckle, Hill curved her lips into a poised sneer, driving the conniving intensity of her gray-cerulean irises snidely at Thor Odinson's hoggish-revolting stash. "Once you revel in a bite, all of you foolish Misgardians will become worthless hostages of my will incarnate ..."

Her magic poured permeated the building like an invisible pestilence ready ravage everyone in its way; seeping into the very molecules of the sugary treats the humans...and Asgardians indulged in by handfuls.

If a certain thunderer weren't so intoxicated by an alluring mixture of alcohol and candy, he would have felt the magical rift in the very close proximity. Instead, Thor finished his cup and frowned at the growling in his stomach. By the Norns, where was that pizza man? He was beginning to consider taking Stormbreaker and flying to the parlor itself to pick up their dinner. Should the parlor face an electrical outage in his current mood, he would not be held to blame. Grumpily, Thor reached towards the candy bowl and picked up a snickers bar. He bit into the chocolate covered peanuts with a sour look. On the couch, Wanda lazily shoved a caramel bite into her mouth while reading from her phone.

Both Avengers grimaced at the bitter aftertaste the candy left, oblivious to the wicked smile forming across Hill's lips as she made her way out of the foyer. "Happy Halloween, Avengers." It wasn't until minutes later that a disgruntled Thor felt a painful pull against his skull as his ears began extending. Wanda suddenly doubled over and groaned. Scott meanwhile had become too imbibed from so many cocktails that he was snoring softly on the bartop.

Within a darkened spacious quarter of the Avenger's Compound, as blissful drowsiness overrode her, Selina intimidatingly registered the bulked heftiness of graven corded muscle-the virile contrast of intimate heat bodily suffusing a feverish onslaught through her veins, Selina clashingly felt the robotic shifting of his alloy bionic arm heavily spooning over the suppleness of her velvet sheathed curves in reverent tenor of naked accord; mechanized coolness of his bracketing palm featherily traced a distractive-hypnotic pressure, delivering a sensuous voltage over the sleekness of her pearlescent flesh.

In that ardent -mirrored stillness of being cushioned by gladiator-honed solidity that melded against her, a vixenish quirk ghosted kittenishly over her pillowy-full lips as a throated resonance of masculine snoring deafened against her ear, the unkempt length of his chestnut tresses wolfishly caressed a ticklish glide over her freckled shoulder-beckoning a novel relevance of need flaringly become orchestral in a riotous volume of their heartbeats, as she blindingly dragged her lithe hand from underneath the curved pillow in alarming reaction to nauseous dampness infused with chocolatey peanut butter reekingly wafting over the matted ravel of sheets. "Urgh-" she moaned in a threaded breath, raspily, scrunching her nose against the intrusive stench. "Buck...Don't tell me you were midnight snacking on Thor's free grabs again..."

A soft resonating chuckle crawled up her skin that left her feeling flushed with heat. "Its Halloween, kitten. Can't hold that against me." Bucky playfully ran his hands up her side, watching as she nearly recoiled on contact and casting him an unamused look. Right. She's ticklish, and kittens don't like to be tickled. His mood may have been somber only a half-hour ago after his chat with Steve, and then frustrated after chewing out Hill. But once he caught whiff of that blood-rushing scent of lavender coming from his room and he felt as if the weight of the world had been relieved from his shoulders.

And now he here found her, still fully dressed wearing tight jeans, black heeled boots and a leather jacket. Her travel bags were left near the wall. She had just gotten in if he were guessing. One look at his bright smiling features, accentuated by the crow-feet at his temples, was enough to show how much her being here meant to him.

"Didn't think you'd be back here in time. Everything go alright in Venice?" He asked, knowing she had been chasing some valuable excavated find before it wound up on the black market.

"The job would have been more thrilling if you came, handsome, but I did leave on an explosive note..." she rasped, purringly, evident to a devious glint naughtily melding in her coffee irises half-smudged with kohl mascara that made her appear untouchable like an Italianesque Botticelli siren against the shadowy contrast of their room; a galvanic pulse-careening them into addictive drags of evocative tension. The urgent heat of their aligning bodies was bakingly surging a denotive rush of incendiary possession as her lithe finger shiveringly traced a phantom brush of chaste—feminine demand over the dimpled cleft of his stubbled chin; bracing muscled flesh of his forearm into the cave-in softness of the mattress, quirkily, Bucky answered her wanton invitation as he edged his shapely-wide lips in a breathless thrust over the exquisite curve of her jaw in unhinged abandon. "Just a few tankers docked in the wrong place for a matchstick throw..."

"There's always a next time," Bucky murmured, planting a soft kiss against her collarbone while his skilled hands began to slowly peel off her jacket. "And believe me, I don't plan on staying behind. I really missed you." The dramatic onslaught of this night had filled him put him on-edge and right now there was nothing he wanted more than to immerse himself in the passion of this unexpected reunion. For weeks he'd worried about Selina, having wished he could've gone with her to chase her next thrill. But he had opted to stay for his best-friend who needed him. But now she was back.

And as his lips began a tentative exploration of her neck up to her jaw, he never felt more invigorated-he felt alive. Meeting her eyes, she smiled into them again, playful and coy but with obvious desire as he hand traced her cheek and his thumb brushed her lips. "You can't imagine how much."

"Well don't keep me guessing, Barnes..." she coaxed, huskily, as the cool pressure of his bionic-vibrainum fingers metallically gentled in kneaded sync, as his palm slowly cradled over the delicate edge of her jaw with reined heat-a starving accord that became mirrored in beckoning pulse of invested reverence over the decadent plushness of her silkier underlip—a tempered caress of his gliding thumb stealingly graced feathery chasteness that enticingly melded a sensual reckoning of amorous-liquid fusion."Careful or I might feel guilty..."

Under the flit of her lashes, as his chestnut tresses shaggily ghosted her flushed cheeks, Selina caught the smokiness of his grayish-aquamarine irises mesmerically gleam as shadowy heat eclipsed over the hard-angles of his roguishly chiseled features as the gaping stretch of his bruising lips headily throbbed cherishing precision of wet heat delivering an errant sheen in the wake of breathless need-the silvery light of his heavy-lidded gaze smolderingly razored with electrifying heat, alight with echoes of visceral urgency."S'just feel me, darlin'..." The murmurous timbre of his Brooklyn drawl scorchingly trapped between the fine silkiness of her alabaster skin. It was a nameless craving that wouldn't quench, holding them mindlessly captive as the desirous thrall of reality began to kickstart their passion-driven ignition.

In a blinding thrust of his bristled jaw of bestial variance, he branded an open-mouth kiss hungrily on her shoulder, against rampant demand that propelled them onto the ignitable fringe of glorious-painstaking ecstasy. Sinking bonelessly into the mattress, through crushing pressure of virile ferocity, devouringly stretching her recaptured mouth wide, Selina felt his coaxing readiness of urgent challenge as she lithely twined her arms over the bunching corded planes of his muscled back, anchoring herself in a succession of coupling moans that were intensifying as they edged deeper into aphrodisiac mania of soul-devasting havoc—a crescendoing duel of abandoned supremacy of their untamed odyssey.

There was no more room for words as they fell into a crescendo of heady passion. Bucky's mind had reverted to its primal instincts that demanded attention. His lips trailed a wet path up her neck until finally, he captured her full wide lips. Hot, empowering, energetic. There was no chasteness involved here as their lips became locked in a firm but amorous dance. The taste of mint and strawberries slipped past his lips and onto his tongue. Bucky felt burning heat encompass him as his hands cupped Selina's face and coaxed her in, deepening their flavorful interlock that was punctuated with deep breaths and noises of pleasure. He could feel her meeting his pace, her pale white digits raking through his hair with one hand slipping into the collar of his shirt. They briefly parted for breath, their intense gazes locked and spelling more than words could. Selina ditched her jacket and Bucky began to make short work of his shirt.

They needed each other. But what neither could have anticipated nor hear was chaotic noises coming from the lobby of the compound. Bucky felt a tingle of unease and discomfort move through him, even as their kissing resumed.

Shatteringly against the rushing tempest of irresistible white-heat that arced through her in a contractive intensity as she dizzily clung the surging-fevered pressure of his angeled lips with a crushing thrust -a rapturous command of stoking hotness; a blood rush careened them onto the intoxicating fringe of mind-wiping voltage that explosively ratcheted them into heart-thundering oblivion.

Each moaning cadence of stolen breath was roughly threaded as Bucky hungrily ravaged his kiss-bruised lips deeper into her plushier mouth as the arrowing glide of their noses crushed in mirrored—tempestuous accord. Lolling her head against the wedge of pillows under tousled wavelets of mahogany, achingly on her own violation, Selina widened her lips as he demandingly tugged with addictive—breathtaking rhythm—driving them into an eruptive release of intimate havoc.

With an incredulous flex of her drifting ministrations over the bracketed ridges that hunkily edged over tauter-defined curves -washboard V-ridges of his sculpted abdomen fringed by the black Armini of his unbuttoned shirt, Selina felt a heavier layer of jutting pudginess was ballooningly registered in clangorous fruition of banked alarm-a mutative tracery of globby flab saggingly fused over the virile litheness of his braced hipbones as he vertiginously arched his back on his cybertronic forearm against a knifing strain of his throbbing gums. Starkly in unwarranted reaction, with blank intensity deadened in her coffee irises, she watched Bucky's nose chubbily scrunched in a waggish rapt-twitch as chestnut skeins of fur morphically deforming his fleshed hand."J-James look at your hand..."

Bucky didn't understand what she meant until he got one long look at his hand and fell into a confused stupor. Whatever it was he was expecting, it wasn't the alarming sight of his hand becoming encompassed by patches of thick itchy fur. "What the hell is this?" He shook his hand repeatedly, thinking for a second he had some kind of furball stuck to him, but his range of motion felt restricted-heavy. He felt as if he were carrying layers of heavy clothes and his skin was sagging. His confusion grew to panic when he saw that the fur wasn't just covering his hand, but also spreading rapidly across his body-his fat body... "Selina, get back!" Bucky yelled as she reached out to touch him. He stumbled backwards, his mass causing him to lose traction and fall off the edge of the bed, pulling the sheets with him. The repugnant taste of spoiled chocolate traveling up his throat until he felt like vomiting it all up. The part of his mind that hadn't succumbed to hysteria was running through a list of possibilities about what he was experiencing. The only conclusion was magic. Something or someone was doing this to him!

"Lina...Arghh..." Gnashing his teeth against convulsive pressure of his lengthening incisors that disturbingly morphed protrusions of bucked curves that bone-splittingly intensified against jutting pulses of an infective-bestial extension as he sulkily dragged a pinching graze, treks of blood slicked over his stubbled chin.

Wrenching his reared head crushingly back in thrashing blur of his grungy wolfish tresses against the mattress; the knife-edge cut of his graven- thickening cheekbones flabbily melded into rubbery-plumpish chubbiness—a bulbous pudge expanding horrifyingly furrier. Grimacingly with dredged up resilence, his thrusting bionic clutch desperately gripped onto the drape of sheets in mechanized variance as his throated groans excruciatingly coupled against raw-edged panic as his bulkier mass exponentially dwarfed underneath the curtaining sheet.

"T-This can't be happenin'..." Bucky railed out, chokingly as the pukey rancidity of peanuts and chocolate became vaporous reek against quivery breaths, his sensuous-wide lips furrily hung agape on devolving accord-nothing could be warded off. "Grahh..." Onrushes of neasous heat were rackingly amplified in his veins as Selina's dark pupils owlishly widened, paralyzingly evident to a breathless gasp as the droopy length of his outstretched ears were became floppily swatched with patches of brunette fur: bunny ears.

It all happened so quickly, but it still felt like a long drawn out torture as if his body was being unmade from the inside out. His mass decreased giving him the feeling some unseen force was sucking the life out of his body. His skin was prickling with discomfort that never seemed to abate but grow stronger. He itched, he felt hot and trapped in the sheets he was wrapped that for some reason were twice as large as they were a few minutes ago. "W-What's goin' on?!" The more confused he became, the more his anxiety began to creep up to the point he was convinced he had to be dreaming all of this. His voice sounded high-pitched, almost chipmunk like. His movements were wild and imprecise as if his traction had been lost along with all feeling of his body.

When he finally tore through the sheets, he released a loud cry and inhaled as if he were suffocating. His attempt to jump away from his trappings sent him bouncing across the room where he landed with a crash against a night-stand. "Ow!" He yelled, having hit his...dewclaw, against the wood. The strange sight along with the realization that he was looking at his own foot trapped him in a thought-maze that made the room spin and his vision to blur. He could distinctly hear Selina calling out to him.

"J-James..." Shudderingly in her panicked utterance, Selina feigned jack-off desperation resonating through her veins; in an unwarrantable tenor, she reeled back against the draped wad of sheets with deadened momentum-a bone-racking shunt of penetrative numbness, propelling her back apparitional drift of resurrected-paralyzing heartache when the genocidal cosmic Titan snapped the Infinity Gauntlet on the forested grounds of Wakanda, the scything astral energy tectonically purged souls in a reaping wake of chimerical eternity; that apocalyptic reality had devastatingly stolen her sniper wolf-Bucky into a celestial realm—she wouldn't lose him again.

Tearily, harnessing controlled deftness of her lithe hand, she lifted up a discarded piece of torn denim while bracing herself with instinctive-visceral poise, Selina unblinkingly gazed at the doughy pudge of dark chestnut fur thrashingly wobbling in clumsy-tactless succession evident to a boyish cadence of throated squeak adorably emitted from the floppy-eared lop's tinier muzzle—she wouldn't abandon him, not when he was delectably precious to hold in her shielding embrace—a little furry cutie.

Bracing her palm in a heart-driving reaction to deter his frantic hopping, Selina tellingly felt the damp velvetiness of his pudgy form bodily collide against her wrist-he was nakedly captive in throes of banking-neasous distress with no avail. "Easy ..." she rasped in coaxing pitch, tentatively sweeping her thump over the droopy length of his flitting ear as the Brooklyn lop rapidly panted out spastic hitches of choked breath-she needed to pacify him down a contractive pulse fatally breached his tiny heart.

Suppressing back a terse breath against roisterous emotion, painstakingly Selina kneaded a chaste glide over his tensing back, as his glacial aquamarine irises smokily betrayed his impassive stubbornness."Hey, Cute boy..." The melodic snarkiness of her undertone gently anchored him back to her open-unwavering reach, as she innately recognized a deceptive aura sinisterly breaching within the Compound; Bucky was definitely targeted in vengeful crosshairs of serpentine—infectious conjury. She needed to get him out of the room. "You're snug with me, remember..."

Bucky would be the first to admit he was in a full-fledged panic the moment he realized what had just happened to him, and worst it wasn't a nightmare. He was a small, fat ball of pudgy fur that couldn't control his mounting hysteria that saw him in a world that was much larger and more frightening than he could have imagined. Was this what it was like for Scott? Would he be able to turn back? Could anyone human understand him? What if someone decided to hunt him for breakfast? What if-what if-. He couldn't control the rapid beating of his heart that made him falter and sway. He felt close to passing out until he felt a surprisingly gentle touch rub warm circles across his furry back. That...That felt pretty good.

He felt his teeth clatter together and his hind foot thump involuntarily. That's when he remembered he wasn't alone. "I remember, darlin'." He murmured, leaning his head against her palm. "Can't believe what's happening. How did this happen to me? We gotta to ask the others. Find out what's-"

"Argh...!" Roaringly a masculine utterance blasted against the door in feral pitch, as rotund fluff-ball of shaggier golden-blonde fur-the leonine Asgardian heir of Odin's throne bunglingly hammer-pounded batter ramming force of his tinier fore-paws; driving all pent-up momentum with indignant brazenness fueling his reckless intrusion.

Defensively, in tactless poise, attuned to the Asgardian's rash intentness, feigning a tenser scowl, Bucky hopped on the pillow with stunted agility, dragging his floppy ears as he beadily glowered aggressive heat melding in his aquamarine irises down at the fuzzier-tubby lop; Thor rebelliously wobbled in doltish pace a breadth near the unwelcomed bedside."Friend Barnes, so you're hopping around in small form as well..." He grumped humorously, his voltaic- cerulean depths became smugly alight evident to his quirking muzzle, as he dodged the edgy chestnut lop's stink-eyed glare. "This isn't the worst magic of the Nine Realms can throw at us...I have fair hope we'll probably change back."

"Thor?" Bucky snorted, torn between amusement and anxiety as the situation dawned on him. If he wasn't the only one to have been turned into an animal, there had to be a threat nearby. "What the hell has happened to us? One minute I have poseable thumbs, then next I have floppy ears!" Bouncing on the sheets he comes beside Selina and looks at her quizzically. "You don't feel sick or anything do ya, Lina? Whatever this is, it had to be-" That's when Bucky saw Thor trying to bite through the wrapper of an uneaten candy bar that had fallen off the nightstand. "Its the candy."

Steeling her incredulous gaze narrowingly at the Reeses' wrapper Thor was piggishly gnawing against the orgasmic-debauched wake of unslaked hunger, unassailably Selina detected an ephemeral inducement of aromatized conjury meltingly seeped within the gooey peanut butter caking underneath the lardaceous, stubbier lop's bloated-out girth. "It was that damn Halloween stash..." she breathed, threadily, as Bucky's downcast grayish-sapphire flitted stiltedly down at emptied wrappers. "Someone decided to play a sick game of Trick or Treat with the candy..."

"No...It's not the candy I had recently..." Thor grumbled with indignant pitch, sottishly, licking off a gooey remnant of peanut butter, his furred girth bulbously flexed against the wake of his gorging-piggish indulgence as Bucky vexatiously gnarred in huffish cadence, readily lasering his steel-aquamarine depths to an untouched pillow on the mattress's edge with unrelentingly precision to shove it down. Slobbily chewing on the orange wrapper, the burly golden lop nonchalantly gestured a stubbed fore-paw to the opened door that he vigorously busted through. "I recognize this furry conjury from Asgard...It's someone having a bit of fun," An evident gleam of unbridled mirth naughtily grew alight in his beady cobalt irises as a jovial grunt stuntedly deterred Bucky's hopping-breakneck momentum. "This will be a good challenge for us..."

"A challenge?" Bucky couldn't contain himself as he lundarted off the mattress, onto the pillow then onto the floor in front of Thor. "Well, I'm glad you're taking this all in stride, Simba. But turning into a bunny wasn't at the top of my fun-list. Hair-dye in my shampoo? Ants in my sheets? Shaving cream on my pillow? That's a prank! Not being turned into a tubby rabbit." He ranted, though Thor just continued to lick at the candy crumbs on his mouth with a blank if not bored look which served to only agitate Bucky all the more. "Give me a name, Thor. Who could have done this to us-"

That was when they all heard a crash coming from downstairs followed by intensive shouting. Not a moment sooner, Bucky and Thor were hopping their way down the corridor with an exasperated Selina up ahead of them. What they found downstairs in the lobby was a bewildering sight that none of them could have anticipated.

"You! You're Bucky's girlfriend, right?! Can you tell him to get down here! There's a super-powered rabbit going ape-s***, and I don't have my suit!" Scott cried from behind his fortified position behind the bar-counter. Across the no-longer immaculate lounge, a tiny scarlet red force of nature was bouncing off every piece of furniture in a mad panic. Scott ducks as a wave of kinetic energy slams against the counter, shattering shot-glasses and sending fruit and alcohol spilling all over him. "Where did everyone go?!" Scott yelled.

Harnessing a balletic variance of agility, in whipcrack reaction, explosively Selina vaulted over the bartop, as her dark irises unblinkingly watched a svelte weasel-like form of vibrant copper frantically scamper over a barricade of lounge cushions, in a panic-crazed onslaught. Pulsing scarlet veins of kinetic energy deafeningly cannoned the brunette-furred lop-Bucky- off the granite floor in the hostile wake of destructive crimson salvos ethereally arcing over them; Scott hastily squatted down into a back catchers stance, and effortlessly caught the propelling rotund—stunned pudge-ball in his opened palms without stumbling traction. Giving him a curt smirk for his daring attempt of heroics, Selina demanded in urgent pitch, breathlessly. "Get their furry asses out of here and find Rogers..." She drove her intense gaze back at the lanky- Slovakian mink distressingly shimming through a cushioned space near an upturn coffee table, emitting pained squeaks."I need to calm Wands down before the whole place drops on us..."

"No! Selina, its too dangerous!" Bucky cried out, as he slips through Scott's hands and tries to bounce towards her. He was suddenly enveloped into massive arms and was brought against that Scott's chest, and that ridiculous Halloween shirt he still wore. "Let go of me, Scott!" Bucky practically growled against the now bewildered Avenger who suddenly looked frozen in comical shock.

"Bucky?" Scott looked at him funnily. "Either I had too many vodka's or you have some kind of shape-shifting superpower you didn't tell us about. Or was I the only one that didn't know?" He rambled. Another wave of kinetic energy slammed against the wall. Scott ducked behind the counter still holding Bucky. To his befuddlement, there was another furry lop now squatting over a pile of spilled cucumbers and was digging in with a startling appetite. "Who is this?!" He wasn't sure how he found himself suddenly surrounded by destructive rabbits, but Scott knew something unnatural had hit the compound and it all happened while he was asleep.

"Damn it, Lang. Let me go! She needs help!" Bucky argued.

"She can handle herself better than you can right now, Bugs."

An incendiary pulse of telestic scarlet fierily imploded with cacophonous tremors, strobing demonic energy hellishly striated over granite flooring, cleaving elevated pieces furniture, dauntingly branching over the bartop with unstable-denotative rabidness of incanted-possessive mantra of Noric utterance. "Dårer, du hindrer kreftene mine ...(Fools you dare to obstruct my power...)"

Against the lancing force of merging tentacles; electrifyingly in a blurring rush of acrobatic graces fueling the detonative momentum of her stoking adrenaline, Selina lithely pounced off the counter in a blood-raiding variance of combative precision, bracing her palms over the floor with balletic accord as she grounded effortlessly in mid-crouch on the sleekness of her toned haunches. "L-Lang get them out of here...Now!" In a bone-whipping jerk, viciously she reared her head up, as mahogany tresses unkemptly draped over her tensing shoulders, and roved the knifing intensity of her coffee irises at chestnut lop thrashing aggressively in the muscled lankiness of Scott's cradling arms, she gritted snappishly."Or I'll enjoy locking your tiny ass in a Gotham safe that isn't uncrackable..."

Scott looked suddenly pale with fright at the thought which ironically caused Bucky to look at him smugly. "She's one kitten you don't want on your bad-side. Trust me, Lang. She'd eat ants for breakfast if push-comes to shove." Bucky chortled.

Propelling the vixenish svelteness of her rodent form, clashingly Wanda bounded onto the cushion in defensive ease as she motionlessly crouched on her tinier hind-paws, rampantly aware that soul-morphing convergence of a heralding-deistic unity in the astral—Élivágar gateways were on the butcherous fringe of a chimeric—damnable resurrection of the vampiric Asgardian demoness—the rapacious, massacring blight of the Nine Realms: Hela.

Uttering a high-pitch squeak, the lasering incandescence of the mutative- telekinetic aura that was haloing galvanically over her silken auburn fur in sorcerous—fissionable contrast as her irises beadily gleamed with surging crimson that melded reddishly into voltaic heat as she witchily twirled a clawed-paw in psionic sync, manically seizing a discarded shard from a vodka glass with a possessive command. "Y-You will not touch me..." she warned squeakily in raw cadence, conducting the serrated piece with throat-gouging trajectory, berserkly aiming the unhinged flares in the exposed direction of where Scott was strenuously hefting up the chubbiest of the ensorcelled lop bunnies. "Stay away..."

The assailing direness of the moment felt suicidally pernicious to engage, steeling herself with tentative ease that belied a hijacking reluctance of vestigial-cunning urgency, as she remained in mid-crouch, Selina unwaveringly edged on her bare arches a breadth closer to Wanda; readily in deft measure of caution, she reached out her lithe hand with a dynamical beckoning of sisterlike trust, coaxingly as she flexed her swift palm open for the distressed mink to protective curl into."Cool it down, Wands," she rasped breathily, as Wanda sveltely nuzzled her tinier muzzle over the delicate suppleness of her braced wrist. "You're in safe hands..."

"That's enough excitement for us tonight!" Scott did what seemed to be reasonably the best option in terms of self-preservation and that of the little furballs in his grip, and that was to high-tail it out the glass doors and into the outdoors. Inside the noises of uncontrolled devastation continue to shake the walls of the compound and send tremors through the ground. Scott didn't make it a few steps outside before the dark-furred lop that he had come to identify as Little Buck, slipped out of his grip, raced up his arm and bounced off his shoulder. "Hey, wait! Where you going?!" The rabbit didn't stop as he raced onwards. "Where the hell is he going?"

He looked at the remaining blonde fuzzball that was nonchalantly scarfing down a small carrot. "Where does all that go?!" He wondered aloud. "Unless you wish to find out, I suggest you put me down, Friend Scott." The bunny spoke with a deep majestic timbre that was familiar. The words had the intended effect as he immediately dropped the blonde lop on a side bench.

"Steve?! Steve where are you?!" Bucky called desperately, bouncing off his feet towards the area he had only spoken to his friend an hour ago. "Oh no…" What he found was an all too familiar sight. One that he left behind inside his bedroom only minutes ago. Steve's empty clothes lay tattered on the ground, but even more, alarming were the tears in the fabric indicating some kind of wild animal attack... "Not you too, Steve... This is bad."

Laggingly enforcing warrior-honed ferocity in his wobbling paces, chubbily Thor bounced near the impassive-despondent Brooklyn lop's side, an errant tracery of heated wetness feverishly dampened velvetiness of Bucky's chestnut fur-heartbreak was devastatingly grappling him onto a condemned fringe into soul-materializing oblivion. As a floppy ear lifted in reaction to hiccuping squeaks that were boyishly whisper-soft, with a measure of vicarious grace, Thor dragged the rotundity of his plumpish mass a hairbreadth closer the buck-tooth sniper.

"We need to find the caped Wizard..." He urged broodily, as his beady cerulean depths roved over Asgardian sigils that were hauntingly etched in the dirt by typhonic witchery that infectiously branded the earthen plane- a diseased incantation that he remembered Hela branded in his father's throne room-Válaskjálf-when she used the Eternal Flame to resurrect the ghoulish-skeletal cavalcade of entombed warriors of Asgard's victorious battles under Odin's reign. Angered, he thumped a forepaw down with bone-crushing momentum "I swear by the grace of Odin, we'll get our friend Steven back..." he avowed, thunderingly. "Trust my rage, Barnes..."

Thor's strength and courage had always been a guiding force for the Avengers in their most dire conflicts. Bucky had only fought beside him on a few occasions since the Endgame, but he knew he didn't make promises lightly. Neither did he. He promised Steve he would always look out for him. No matter what. Till the end of the line, he would always have his back. Turning around he sees, to his relief, Selina coming to meet, gently cradling a mink enchantingly adorned with burgundy- auburn fur in her arms. "Whoever took Steve is gonna learn the hard way what a kid from Brooklyn can do. If they push, we'll punch. And when we do, they won't be getting back up."

Against the putrescent stench of carious flesh reekingly enwreathed over him, groggily emitting a throated resonance, listlessly he felt anchored the subduing heftiness of erosive chains of Dwarven iron forged on Nidavellir; chiaroscuro glyphs of basalt firelight veined into obsidian stalactites that were fused within a cavernous -sepulchral labyrinth as demonical pulses became an orchestral mania that screechingly caromed throughout the fiery chasmal void of the Nine Realms: Muspelheim.

Shifting his bulkier wolven mass in deadened ease, consciously against feverish drowsiness, Steve dragged a fore-paw over gutted-out skulls that were ghoulishly deformed by the scorching cascades of bone-charring magma smelting over jutted crags behind a monolith throne. He was shackled on the edge of a galactic inferno, his blonde-golden fur bristlingly tensed against the phantasmatic contrast of unslaked malice that felt soul-stealingly penetrative. The nectareous-intoxicating decadence of cherry fugitively ghosted over the shagginess of his disheveled fur- a seductive conquest that was heart-ravaging to evade. That phantom—ambrosial scent of the lusciously voluminous lips of his best girl wasn't real-just a noxious apparition of execrable deception. He was downplayed for a lovesick-naive fool.

"Hragh...W-Where am I-" he rasped growlingly in panty breaths, as the vigilant intensity of his azureous irises hawkishly flashed over tenebrous environs that sulphurously converged with draconic heat. On instinctive accord, ferally his long canine muzzle scrunched as his curved incisor fangs barred at the intrusive second, he registered the poisonous—maniacal wickedness of the Asgardian Enchantress—Amora. 'This can't be good, Rogers...'

"I am glad you see you have awakened from slumber, dear Captain..." The malefic raspiness of an invidious cadence doomily slithered over his smoky-blonde fur in possessive scourge against his evident vigilance; sitting haughtily in regal poise with a jade-crafted goblet embellished with twined Noric serpents clutched in the litheness of her covetous fingers, in vexed tenor, Amora grudgingly detected the prevalent variants of his warring, battle-tested resistance. The grayish steeliness of her irises manically glinted with ophidian intensity, as she nastily gestured a blatant hand over fiery skeins pulsing in obstructive columns of volcanic bedrock."Welcome to the forsaken realm of Muspelheim, where you remain my shackled hound as your precious Midgardian home descends into the reaping wake of Hela's glorious carnage. ..." she raved out, euphorically. "You will serve as my wolven executioner as Thor's pitiful blood will herald my reckoning..."

Steve could only glare at her with wolfish animosity spurred by a chilling thought. "What did you do?" He had believed that Annette...Amora's vendetta only had to do with him and Bucky given her history. But the mention of Thor brought a new list of questions that he knew wouldn't be answered. The hellacious landscape that surrounded him boggled his mind but the only thing he could feel was apprehension for his friends back home. "What did you do?!" He raised his voice, the noise greeting him was a wolfish bark that sent vibrations through his whole body.

Against snarling resonance predatorily straining up his throat, in breathy pants, the chained dire wolf menacingly angled his long canine muzzle with racked defiance brandished over tauter-graven edges hawkishly delineated the roguish virility of his golden-blonde fur; the lucent azureous heat of his slitting irises piercingly echoed with the invincible resurgence of his bestial vitality was untamed as feral volumes surrenderingly amplified with an orchestral dirge of cacophonic-unquenchable vengeance. Fierce tension aggressively rode over the bulkier heaviness of his canine form, raggedly Steve barred his incisor fangs in jutting traction. "Answer me...!" he snarled in deep-throated cadence, gratingly. "M' not gonna ask again..."

Malefically, Amora tilted her goblet etched with Asgardian sigils of Níðhöggr-the serpent of the Hvergelmir- down with a virulent flex, painstakingly conveying the stygian rabidity of her possessive-ravening thirst. With the calamitous-apocalyptic devastation of Asgard -the Eternal Flame that conducted ghoulish resurrections of Einherjar warriors needed to become ignited again for Hela's ascension of murderous-conquering warpath. Her new leashed pet would become a harbinger of noxious strife-by her slaughterous command the unbeatable paragon of liberty-victorious champion of mortal hope would soon morph into a wolven dreadnought of Hela's bloodthirsty ranks. "It is a simple answer, my valiant Captain, I've entombed your humanity to serve as my Nidavellir vargr (wolf) of execution on wretched Midgardian ground when dark twilight is heralded ..."

"That won't happen." Steve said with a defiant growl. His stalwart defiance had manifested into anger; not just because of what Amora had done to him but because of what he knew she had done to his friends and fellow Avengers. She was on a warpath that began with him and would end with every life standing in her way. "Whatever you have planned is gonna fail. It took just me and Bucky to stop you back in the day. There are more of us now than you can handle, magic or not." A certain Sorcerer Supreme had come to his thoughts and Steve could only hope that Strange was on top of things back home.

His defiance earned him a dark scowl on the face of the sorceress who drummed her fingers on her armrest impatiently. Steve opened his mouth to say more when he was suddenly struck by an unseen force that wrapped bruising pressure on his throat and every bone in his body. A canine yelp came from his throat. He struggled and watched as tendrils of green sorcery poured from Enchantress' fingertips and made their way towards him.

"You know I could have your warrior strength abandon you, Captain," Amora hissed, sneeringly, the possessive arcs of virescent-morbific- energy raked bone-gripping ministrations over the bracketed muscle of his arching back; the passive coolness of his azure wolvish irises silvered ferally with a deadened clash of phantom resistance—every hypnotic pulse of the Enchantress's assaultive mantra draggingly became a stuporous cadence—exponentially amplifying with a soul-arresting inducement as her gauntleted wrist flexed raveningly in commanding succession. "You will embrace the incarnate powers of Vanaheim or I will take vast pleasure of making you submit into a disgraceful runtish whelp ..."

Steve couldn't bite back a retort of any kind. The unnatural sickening feeling that entered his body made him feel as if he was being drawn and quartered within. As if every bone, nerve and molecule was being split and reshaped into something ruinous. A strangled groan growl escaped his latched throat. His paws dug into the dusty surface beneath him as the whips of magic wrapped around him, digging into his fur covered flesh and exerting Amora's will over him. Dimly he was aware of the feeling of growing bigger, stronger...angrier. The roars of hellfire that made up Muspelheim were silenced by the beating of his own pulse that had sounded like war-drums. He arched and howled causing the fires to roar and a billow of flames to escape with his breath.

His mind was being broken until he felt himself being dragged away into a dark cage. All that was left was the honed instincts of a soldier now coupled with the malice of a deadly beast.

A kriger

That was his name. And all Midgard would know to fear him and revere the name of Amora the Enchantress.

177A Bleecker Street...

After crossing through dead zone environs of Washington Square Park, poised on her razor-edge stiletto-heeled boots on a traffic gridlock, vehemently with a measure practical ease, Selina roved collective intensity of her brandy irises, undeviatingly the length of her black Valentino long coat exquisitely contrasted over her curvaceous litheness as she errantly shivered against the drafty Eastern gales; Selina roved collective intensity of her brandy irises, undeviatingly over a Victorian-Gothic three-story brownstone edifice of the destined-occultic proximity-a harbor point of refuge; the Baroque- Romanesque pipe-iron oculus melded over glass to resemble the Eye of Agamotto in the center buildings' Mansard roof. A dimensional valance of the Dark Verse pulsed infectiously with the caliginous energy of a demonic scourage of astral implosions throughout Manhatten.

With the instinctive reaction of a pulse-arresting earshot against the whooshing obstruction of congested traffic, as iron-straight mahogany tresses stingingly whiplashed over the kittenish fineness of her elfin features, rigidly, Selina gripped the cloth handle of a duffle bag that she thievishly swiped from a fenced basketball court when a group of teenagers from Harlem-projects were competitively distracted shooting hoops. With a devious variance of cool nonchalance, she didn't react to the continuous thumping of racking vibrations in restless unison-definitely the Asgardian chub-ball- against tense bones of her delicate wrist.

'Let me guess he's a Sherlock fan...' A derisive quip of snarkiness fringed in her breathy undertone, in succession of her feline-honed momentum, she vanishingly sauntered over the crosswalk with brazen precision in fervent tempo, involuntarily, until she reached the extension of steps unmistakably inscribed with Tiberian Eldritch sigils-the deceptive passage of the Sanctum Santorum. "This better be the place..."

Stephen Strange quietly sipped on his chamomile tea while silently pouring over an ancient tome he'd borrowed from the Kamar-Taj library. He made a mental note to bring donuts next time as to not incite Wong's prickly reception. The last several months had been exhausting on him ever since he was revived from death after being dead for a little over 5 years. He hadn't aged but he'd missed out on a lot. From Christine's promotion to Chief of Surgery to an uprise of interdimensional conquerors trying to attack Earth when it was learned the Sorcerer Supreme was no longer defending this reality. To think there was a time when he thought being overworked meant signing forms all night.

But now something else loomed on the horizon. It was only last night that one of his magical alarms had been triggered and he was alerted to the possibility that Earth was once again getting an unwelcome visitor. It was Asgardian in origin and it was located near the Avengers' compound. He had assumed it was Thor or a friend of his to arrive so close to Avenger territory, but now he wasn't so sure. That's what led him to seek out Wong and this tome on known Asgardian sorcerers and witches who might still be out there.

It was close to 3pm when he heard a knock at his door. Firm, insistent, commanding attention. He wasn't expecting company. If it were Wanda she would've texted or called beforehand. The knocking resumed, louder than the first time. Stephen shrugged as he rose to his feet and made his way towards the foyer. His loyal companion floated and wrapped itself around his shoulders. "Don't get excited, its probably just a UPS delivery boy." Stephen unlocked the door and was confused by the familiar yet unlikely face to be standing on his door step.

"You're Selina Kyle. Barnes' girlfriend. I assume this isn't a social call?" He asked pointedly. He wasn't listed, so that meant he had to stop giving out his address to superheroes and their significant others.

"I make it my hobby to find places I'm not invited too," A deviant play challengingly quirked over her full-bow lips, as she huskily purred, easing down the hefty duffle bag atop of a black-ochre table where untouchable imperial Qiang spearheads adorned; detecting tension stacking between them, distractingly she braced the sleek planes of her garbed back against the wooden edge, keeping her gloved palm readily flexed on her sidearm 9mm Glock-if he needed effective motivation- if the angles of the game were rigged.

The generous exception of heart-on-sleeve charity was overrated-nothing was ever free to gain, she refused to become an expendable player of the sorcerous-chess-play of vengeful theatrics. "Look, I'm obviously not here for you boys to give me a tour ..." she quipped, briskly, dragging her teeth over the pillowy swell of her underlip, while evading the smug-face, virtuosic maestro of the Eldritch arts scabrous glower of grayish-azure that melded like quicksilver of draconic heat. The hawkish-cut maturity of his suave features brusquely conveyed a rapt of pretentious indignance of his mock-serious demeanor, as the high collar of his scarlet cloak flapped annoyingly over his goateed-jaw. "Someone had fixed a game of sorcerous interest..." she gritted out, stingingly, drawing back a terse breath. "The Compound playhouse was attacked, I'm guessing you already got that call...?"

"I suspected. When I talked to Wanda last night, she said everything was fine." He said now feeling apprehensive to have his theory confirmed. And to add to his anxiety, he hadn't heard from Wanda since. A short tense silence followed as he just stared into Selina's eyes, feeling like he was back in the ER about to digest some unfortunate news. "How bad was it? Is Wanda all right?" He asked.

Narrowing her dark irises fleetingly down at the zipped duffle bag, against reactive impedance, fostering guarded poise, Selina lithely glided her palm with deft ministrations of pacifying tenor nakedly over the pudgy masses thumping crankily in telltale urgency for breathing space; a plaguing hailstorm of apparitional-prosaic-conjury was surgically excising out humanity into verminous-disposable strays. Composedly against knifing onrushes of vein-shunting heartache, decisively Selina utilized an impassive charade-blood was already on her name-her rigged tolerance- love for Bucky- was measured on a hair-trigger in the crossfire of damnable reality. Tugging at the zipper with painstaking flexion, she rasped in a flintier undertone. "I can't really answer that..." She paused to bait out a breath, shakily. "They're not...Human anymore..."

Stephen once prided himself on his intelligence and ability to adapt to new conforms, but despite all that he'd seen and been through he had a hard to accept what he was being told. "You're really not kidding me, are you?" One look in Selina's eyes told him this wasn't some kind of rib and she hadn't come all the way here to waste his time. He noticed the sports bag she brought was an odd choice of luggage for an elegantly dressed woman to be carrying around. And then he saw the small vibrations shake within its interior, and understanding dawned on him. "Show me."

Registering genuine urgency in his cavalier timbre, haphazardly, Selina reached inside the stuffed bag on a tracery of visceral accord driven in phantom rush of ardent reverence hinged in her caressing tenderness, the cool leather of her gloved fingers kneaded chaste pressure over velveteen silkiness of chestnut fur, as the sugary amora of grease-fried doughnut wafted up a blubbering, lumpish golden mass noisily munching on a glazed piece to quash long-starved hunger that exponentially aromatizing him into gluttonous dregs.

Reeling back on defensive traction stubbily of his floppy paws, in scathing reaction, the boyishly rotund lop-Bucky- pinched his tinier muzzle, distressingly hitching out a throaty squeak of as he aggressively conveyed rapt disgust over Thor being a boisterous party-crasher within his snug proximity. "Yeah...I know it wasn't a smooth ride, handsome," Selina rasped coolly, sliding her palm with assuaged delicacy under the doughier pudginess of the droopy-eared Brooklyn lop's girth, securing him temperately in the cradling embrace of her sleeved arms as he unabashedly nuzzled echoes of reined affection with his twitching muzzle adorably while cushily pillowing himself against her forearm-achingly vulnerable. "This furry charm-boy right here is... Bucky."

"Strange." The chestnut furred lop sat on his hind feet and stared up at the sorcerer with an animated expression that no ordinary bunny could make. Quick as it was, he was soon captivated by how immaculate and spacious the interior decor of the house was. It was quaint more than it was spartan and it resonated with his older sense of style. "Wish we could've met under better circumstances. Nice place you got here. I hear you serve drinks with unlimited refills."

Seeing a talking bunny was something Strange hadn't anticipated but after fighting alongside a talking raccoon, he wasn't the least bit surprised. He was however curious. "Is that so? And who would've told you about that, Mr. Barnes?" He asked with an inkling of suspicion.

"Hold on, Wizard...I'll be right out." A hearty cadence of a masculine timbre boorishly arrested Strange's perturbed gaze, as the bulgy leonine bunny clumsily hopped out of the duffle bag in a tactless high-bounce, the floppy drag of his lengthy ears slashingly bashed against the bronze neolithic-dynasty arrowheads. 'Oomph-' Each detached shard clangorously raining down on the reddish-auburn mink who skittishly lurched back on careening traction with her stubbed paws as Selina kept her gloved palm unerringly bolstered on the wooden edge, not wavering her grip. Emitting a thunderous gnarl, flabbily, Thor wobbled a breadth closer to Strange, in a clunky pace, as the scarlet cloak- lashed up obstructing his sluggish momentum, ignoring Bucky as chestnut lop puckishly quirked his scrunched-up muzzle, toothily jutting out his buck-teeth-almost sweet-rollin' the moment. "Don't start with me, Wizard, as you can see I'm having a really bad day..."

"Thor, knock it off, man..." Bucky shrugged feeling his patience wearing thin after being trapped inside of a duffle bag for nearly an hour with the fussy Asgardian lop.

"Thor, huh? Your visits to my home are becoming a weird habit, Mr. Odinson. But at least your new form should make you a more manageable guest." Despite his initial dread over the situation, Stephen couldn't help but feel himself smirk ever slightly at the sight of what could only be described as a lion-bunny of blonde fur wrinkling his nose at him with distaste.

"Yes...It's good for a laugh. Wizard..." Thor grumbled under breath, tetchily, as the razored heat of his cerulean depths were stormily intensifying while he gazed at Strange's chiseled-sculpted lips obstinately quirking into a contemptuous grin, tellingly playing off his smug deviousness that belied nonplussed annoyance. Furrily, with a twitch his pudgy muzzle, Thor eased on his stubby hind-paws, reining down a headlong momentum to propel his ferocity into Strange's trimmed-goatee jaw."Honestly, this form isn't the worst I've been changed into...Being turned into a frog wielding my hammer, that was a good challenge..."

"Good to see you're taking this seriously, Thor." Bucky resisted the urge to give the Asgardian lop a whack with his hindfoot. His cavalier attitude to their predicament was nothing if not annoying but it also made Bucky realize if being turned into a frog was the least of Thor's worries, he didn't want to know what could've been worse for them in this instance. "But we guys from Brooklyn don't like being in a tight spot we can't punch our way out of." Whoever did this was playing games with them and it made him wonder if a certain Trickster wasn't as dead as Thor believed him to be. "You sure your brother isn't the one behind this?"

Against grievous echoes that despairingly he stowed back, in a drag of telltale reserve, Thor lamented, his floppy ears draped over his fore-paws as his furry head eased down, naked gleams of straying tears dampened his shaggier fur, as he choked-off a breath, merciless apparitions of Thanos's skull-crushing hand, the vicing pressure of sacrificial deliverance-salvation- that he felt when the cosmic energy of the Power Stone veined in his flesh as stacked corpses of massacred Asgardians-became lifeless silhouettes of utmost failure in a nightmarish reality where knells of victory became silenced. "As I told my adventurous friend, Sweet Rabbit, I watched that genocidal maniac crush his neck..." Unthinkingly, he swiped a forepaw over his muzzle, sniffily. "Sometimes I wish for him to return..."

"Right...sorry." Bucky felt remorse almost immediately for bringing up the mention of Loki. Despite the Trickster's villainous exploits, Thor had watched him die and there was no disputing what he had seen. But it still begged the question of who was responsible for their predicament. Strange who had silently watched this banter unfold was suddenly stricken by the sight of a mahogany-scarlet colored mink climbing out of the bag. It was female, small but carrying a powerful aura that felt all too familiar as he felt his heartbeat slow to a stop.

"Wanda...?"

As smooth gruffiness of his austere timbre sonorously breached her tinier ears, slinkily, the dwarfish auburn-burgundy mink pounced out of the bag with undeterred momentum, reddish kinetic skeins haloed a gravitic pulse over the arrowheads, squeaking in a low pitch, quiveringly in urgent accord, Wanda brushed the lanky svelteness of her enchanted form against Strange's rigid forearm-the morphic overture that chastened her into cursive throes was an extent of unnamable vergence.

"I-I know what's coming..." Wanda chirped in squeaky pitch, evidently flexing her lithe paws as she telekinetically constructed a crimson Eldritch tendril into three-ring Asgardian sigil. "It's a power I never felt before..." Her jeweled beady irises mirrored the hawkish allure of Strange's grayish-azure depths, urgently. "We can't protect ourselves like this...Death is coming."

Whatever shock and sorrow Stephen had been feeling by Wanda's transformation was dispelled as he listened to the urgency in her voice that begged for attention. His dear witch was attuned to certain frequencies in their reality that even he hadn't tapped into. Her mind was augmented, giving her clairvoyance that was invaluable to the Avengers but it was also a waking curse to her depending on what she'd see. And whatever it was she saw had caused alarm to set into the room. With great tenderness, Strange scoops her into his arms and begins rubbing soothing circles into her back. His cape wraps around his shoulder as if to blanket her comfortably.

"Let's talk in my study," Strange says. With a poof, they had all transported to a different room within the house. Bucky groaned loudly at the feeling of hard pudgy mass landing almost fully on top of him.

"Aauugh! What was that?" He groaned trying to shove whoever landed on top of him.

A vertiginous rush arrested her pulse as in a breathless gasp, rampantly Selina felt the sleek contours of her garbed back collide numbingly against a baroque-style bookshelf; as Tibertian journals and manuscripts precariously barraged down with avalanche-like force. "Next time warn a girl..." she rasped, bitingly, papers messily slashed over her mahogany tresses as she reactively surged her arm up with a lighting-fast jerk of her thieving precision, fluidly clutching a book while she pushed explosively the alarmed floppy-eared bunnies under a wing-back chair with shoving urgency invested in her balletic-honed graces of as more books disturbingly rained onto the wooden flooring.

With echoes of tactical athleticism rioting his wobbling prowess, against the feverish onslaught of dizziness, Bucky joltingly bounced onto the Victorian upholstered chair; his heartbeat frantically accelerated. "Hey, you need to distract them fast, Tricks..." Selina pressed, scratchily, gazing at her sniper-lop crouched paralyzingly low on his pudgy girth, "These little fuzzballs can't take the heat of distress."

"Right. Where are my manners?" Stephen only then realized what Selina meant and was quick to pick off a fruit and veg bowl he kept and had it set on the floor in front of the two distressed bunnies. The sight of fresh produce caused their bellies to rumble and their hysteria to ebb before they pounced, consumed by their primal instincts, to sate their hunger. Strange gently set Wanda down on a sofa cushion, caressing her head. "I need to know everything that happened last night. Every point of view if it helps." Strange said, shifting back into focus as he faced Selina. "Were there any other Avengers affected by this attack?"

Registering his concise deep-timbered undertone skeptically teeming with valid interest, as glacial steeliness of his piercing irises arrested her reluctant pulse, infuriatingly Strange had breached her vehement charade as the draconic intensity edged within his unwavering glower, felt like a scalpel, dissecting her feminine resilience- calling her bluff.

Curvily, Selina caught the lavish swell of her plushier underlip kittenishly with a painstaking drag of her teeth as she purred, breathily, flashing a gaze down at the chestnut lop gnawed messily on a carrot. "Look, everything happened fast when Bucky got his downsized makeover..." she rebuffed, trenchantly "I'm not sure if Rogers was playing frisbee toss on the grounds..."

"Steve vanished." Bucky cut in after wafting down a sizeable piece of carrot. His nose wrinkled as he tried to shut away the tempting smell of vegetables that somehow had the appealing smell of a mouth-watering steak to him. Thor meanwhile continued to shamelessly devour an apple all the way down to its core, blissfully ignorant of the conversation. "He was outside the compound. Couldn't have been more than an hour before the three of us were turned. When we went outside after, we couldn't find him. All we found was those symbols in the ground that Thor leaves behind each time he decides to make his flashy exits." Bunny shot a glare at the blonde who merely chewed while looking at him with a bored expression.

"And the candy you ate, that's what triggered all this?" Strange asked, thoughtful.

"I only had a couple pieces. Thor probably had enough to fill a classroom of kids." Bucky grumbled.

Stephen glanced at the quiet mink on the sofa and watched as she bobbed her head at him to affirm his theory. "So we're dealing with an Asgardian who by all accounts, had a bone to pick with a few of you."

"What makes you say that?" Bucky wondered confusingly.

"Only a few of you were turned. Not Ms. Kyle, not Lang. Rogers is missing; either taken captive or lost somewhere on the property that none of you have located. Anything you'd care to add to this discussion, Thor?" Strange asked with a hint of annoyance as the blonde bunny began making a mess of food on the floor.

Grimacingly as he waged against irrepressible throes of voracious hunger racked through his veins, Thor hefted up his beefier mass strenuously and hopped onto the vacant cushioned wing-back armchair; recognizing that the expense of his Aseir vitality-the blood of Odin was measured on the sword's edge of prevalent-unsated vengeance. He remembered armored cavalcades of his father's Einherjar soldiers being diseasedly enwreathed by viridescent-phantasmic salvos of conjuring infective mantras, grippingly morphing them into verminous rodents-it was butchering wake conducted by a traitorous-mephitical siren: the Enchantress.

"I know of whom you speak of, Wizard..." he countered, gruffly, with hinged temperance, he recalled Odin condemning her to Gjöll-the ice river that bridged souls from the living realm."My father called her the Enchantress of Vanaheim, a deceptive maiden who had tried many times to ravage Asgard when I easily dismissed her affection..." he snorted, heartily. "Clearly I was the best choice...on Asgard."

"Well that explains why she would be after you, but what do Steve and I have to do with her? Or Wanda for the matter," Bucky pointed out. Unrequited love was a dangerous thing that made human beings react with bitter feelings of jealousy, even violence. Add magic and gods to the mix and things would take an explosively weird turn.

"Maybe our mystery guest has been around longer than we would've thought, Mr. Barnes." Strange said as he shifted through the pages on the book he had been reading before his guests arrived. "I've learned of a few Asgardians who've lived among us humans for a long time, and some made their presence felt more vividly than others." He at last found a page he had just read earlier. "Amora." Lifting the book up, he holds it open for Bucky and Thor to look at. "Ring any bells?"

Bucky felt an inkling of dread the longer he stared at the drawn portrait, feeling as if he had seen that face before. A breathtaking blonde beauty with cold eyes that made her look nothing but cruel. The tome was old, the ink of the illustrations however were crisp and clear that they painted a vivid picture in his mind of a face that haunted him during the war. He flinched at the piercing feeling of a migraine in his head that came with the memory of green nails digging into his neck, ready to snap him like a twig. He could feel Selina's hand on his back, and it was only then he realized he had been trembling.

A soul-quaking blankness owlishly widened his grayish-aquamarine irises as Bucky mortifyingly felt bone-chilled surges of paralytic heat immobilizing him with possessive contrast; floppily his lengthy ears drooped over his quaking fore-paws as he became vomitously smothered by an implosion of soul-racking distress. "No...Can't be her..."

Panting out heavy drags of breath, the chestnut lop's furred muzzle gapingly stretched wide in a pulse-razed tempo of a voiceless squeak, while Strange underlyingly feigned a deadpanned countenance. The bestial strength of Bucky's gladiatorial invincibility-the predatory-resurrected entity of the Winter Soldier was thumpingly materializing in anguished fruition of jackhammering ferocity of unstabled heartbeat-he was edging into fatal shock. "Bucky..." Thready, Selina urged in fevered-pitch, kneading the litheness of her fingers over his dampen velvet-like fur, the coaxing pressure of her chaste ministrations soothingly delivered a tenor of hushed grace-reverence. "Settle down, handsome..."

"Yes, why don't we all settle down..." The brawny Asgardian lop challenged, huffishly, steering his cerulean irises wanderingly towards an oak Elizabethan side-table where a plate of chocolate-dipped biscotti remained untouched by his cantankerously scrunched-nose rival-James; bouncily hopping off the chair in thunderous—headlong speed, Thor bounded closer to his sugary revels, only to be deterred by slashing whoosh of Strange's flitting cloak as the scarlet-auburn mink impishly writhed the svelteness of her lanky form sneakily around the table's curved leg, snagging a piece with her delicate-fanged muzzle. "Put that down, Wanda..." he demanded, boomingly, thumping his fore-paw down. "It's already been claimed..."

As Wanda and Thor began chasing the same dessert, it took a minute for Bucky to feel his pulse slowing into a downward spiral once Strange had set the book aside. He had been confused at first why he felt as if he were on a rollercoaster going close to a 100mph. But he was reminded that his new body didn't have the nerve-wracking endurance that came from a peaked superhuman soldier.

"Take deep breaths, Mr. Barnes." Strange said, easily falling back into his old profession of managing patients. Once he was certain the brunette lop was calm enough to proceed, the sorcerer leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed. "I'm guessing that's a familiar face to you?"

"Ziegler. She was a Hydra crony in Amsterdam. I'd never seen evil in a woman till I met her." He shuddered, remembering the pit of withered bodies he, Cap and the Commandos had discovered outside of her lair. Human beings; men, women and even some teenage children.

"She killed over a 100 people in her lab of horrors, turning them into freak experiments that Skull would use against us. Innocent people. They were used as lab-rats and then discarded like trash. She almost killed me and Cap if Peggy Carter hadn't rigged the place to blow. We all thought she died in the blast..."

Evicting a retraction of unwarrantable heartache, composedly, as the amber sconces of lamplight flitted entrancingly over the ivory-white pearlescent of her elfish features, Selina adoringly traced her feathery caresses with heart-driven promise. As she caught the flexing rapt of his soul-careening distress; each gentled—intimate drag of her fingers headily bunched the rubbery suppleness of Bucky's adorable—downsized form under the angle of her ghosting palm, tantalizingly invested with cool stillness; the chestnut lop mirrored her tentative-ardent rhythm, drowsily nuzzling his furrier head against her leather sleeve as she anchored him back into a tamed vigil.

"Okay, Tricks," Selina whispered in a breathy undertone, sultrily, while the Eldritch neurosurgeon's lapis-azure irises strikingly narrowed with clinical intensity at the exquisite precision of Selina's hand gracing a contrast of tactile heat gingerly over jutted swelling of Bucky's rotund girth, as he pudgily shifted in her tensing arms."Obviously we need to crash this Asgardian witch's resurrection party and drive her ass back into the ground ..."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, Lina," The brunette short-round lop drawled in a boyish timbre, slurringly in throatier pitch; keeping his tucked hind-paws unwaveringly braced on her cradling sleeved forearm with visceral-arrestive fervency; involuntarily Bucky pinched his twitching muzzle waggishly, the denotive reality—hope of being freed out of the soul-condemning dregs of the Enchantress's morphous curse was irrevocably rigged on a powder-keg. He wouldn't allow his kitten to become a furred-mutative extension of Asgardian bewitchery- a disposable vermin like him. Fostering onto his warred stubbornness, Bucky grazed his pudgier muzzle over her palm with an urgent rush, murmuring against a heavy drag of breath. "I've already lost my good looks, can't let that witch take you...If I gotta stay like this to keep you safe, hell, Lina, it's definitely worth it..."

"As heartwarming as your selfless act would be Mr. Barnes, it would be in vain if the threat of Enchantress goes unchecked. Her master is someone not to be reckoned with, as Thor would tell you if he could think any further than his stomach right now." Stephen said with a dry look as he watched the fat blonde ball of fur who had climbed into the fruit basket and struggled to right his posture. Wanda meanwhile snacked on her treat with the same elegance he found to be endearing in her human form. He couldn't let her stay like this. His personal stake was the same as Selina Kyle's who was determined to restore her lover to his true form. "And there is Captain Rogers to consider." He reminded the lop whose ears drooped even further.

"Steve…Damn it. Who knows what she's done to him. Isn't there anything you can do, Doc, for me and Thor? We can't just sit on our furry a*** and do nothing!" As much as Bucky dreaded the thought of seeing Ziegler...Enchantress again, he knew they collectively stood a better chance if he and Thor were back in true-form.

"Asgardian magic has its own unique set of laws that are different from the ones I practice. As much as I pride myself on my intellect, it's still not something I have mastered. I could very well turn you both into roaches if I tried tampering with it. Our only solution is to either force Enchantress to undo her spell, or find another Asgardian who can." Strange calls his cloak to his shoulders and runs a loving hand across the back mink's head. "Stay safe, Wands." With a quick circular gesture of his hands, the sorcerer opens a rift and through it falls Wong who lands on his backside with a startled yell. His eyes immediately land on Strange and he puffs up with outrage.

"Stephen if you-"

"I need you to babysit." Strange cut in tersely, confusing the librarian who looked around at the surrounding company. "Well, actually, its bunny-sit. Ms. Kyle and I have business to see to."

A cataclysmal twilight of being conducted out of the Dark Verse; the astral gateway that Eldritch sling-ring fierily scythed the airwaves near a cluttered bookcase, exponentially Selina was on the invisible doorstep of a concussive pandemonium-a butcherous warzone of soul-plaguing chaos. With tactical ease against the vitreous pulse of mystic conjury, she readily clutched her brandished Glock; she glanced down at her adorably tenacious sniper-lop and dazzlingly flashed him a coquettish smirk as he roguishly scrunched his tinier nose.

"Play nice, handsome," she wheedled, snarkily, as baldheaded Master of the Mystic Arts stood near the bookcase of shelved Noric literature-maps- with unflappable-studious decorum etched over the jowelly pudginess of his Asian features, Wong tellingly stowed a passive measure of rapport with his grouchier diligence of allowing a thievingly evasive siren of Gotham invade his isolated library-sanctum."Try not to get caught by grumpy Kung-fu panda over there..."

"Keep her safe, Strange." Bucky urged the sorcerer who had by now placated an irritated Wong into doing what he asked. Strange gives Bucky a simple nod though he wasn't at all comfortable with the act of leaving a highly destructive and oafish bunny to have free-reign over the sanctum even with supervision.

"Not that she needs it, but I will." Strange offered. He had a hunch on where to begin their search for the Enchantress. With Asgard gone, it was likely she was occupying another of its realms while using one of the branched gateways to slip into Earth. Without the power of the Bifrost, there were eight possible entry-points into Midgard by which she could enter. He just hoped Selina Kyle knew her limits when it came to dealing with magical foes. "Shall we?" He says to her as the rift opens and on the opposite end could be seen a green field in daylight with an ancient fortress looming in the background.

Bucky holds Selina gaze as she gives one last look. To say he was worried was an understatement. But the strength and coyness in her eyes reassured him. His kitten knew what she was doing. And there was not a force in the universe that should underestimate her skills. She followed Strange through the portal as it lingered open, almost temptingly. Bucky wished it would close faster before he did something he might reger-

"Hey, wizard! You forgot to refill the basket!" Thor boomed. Faster than Wong and even Bucky could comprehend, the fat blonde rabbit raced and hopped towards the portal at top-speed.

"Thor, wait!" Bucky yelled. His feet were carrying him across the floor as Wong made stop him. The librarian crashed into the floor just as the rift closed behind the two lops.

"Idiot." Wong groaned, both at Strange's ineptitude for leaving doors open and for his own surprising inability to catch two bunnies. He only hoped the third one wasn't nearly as destruc-

A vase on the table suddenly exploded with red hex energy. A very sheepish looking Wanda looked at him innocently. This was going to be a long day.

"D-Doctor..." A gnarling breath chokingly rasped against his canine incisors; Steve angled his long muzzle to grip onto the animate scarlet cloak's billowing length with a vicious thrust of bestial-wolven- ferocity; Doctor Strange poised his scarred fingers with inventive, gestural motion, intricately weaving veins of astral energy into fiery crescentic sigils, as the Dwarvish mantra of Amora's possessive spell cast effusively became volumes of a rhapsodic concerto within aphotic vistas of the Multiverse plane.

Ferally, as he sniffed against the obstructive-vaporous reek of carrion flesh oozily wafting out of ground-ravaged coffins, in a predatory rush, Steve panted out ragged breaths, as his lucent azure orbs chimerically gleamed murderous heat, apparent to his unstaunched rabidness-bloodlust. An implosive throb of soul-deep valiance-his Brooklyn spirit- cacophonously deafened as bulkier enhanced cords of fur-sheathed muscle hulkingly flexed in hostile succession.

A vicious cadence of eruptive-monstrous abandon gratingly throttled against his barred incisor fangs as he reared his canine head back, arcing his bushy tail with defensive-intimidating poise that fleetingly conveyed valorous echoes of soldiery resilence. Half-crouching in a heavier stance on his furred haunches, a beastlier contrast of slitting-wicked ferocity reigned in his blood-crazed azureous depths-a possessive extent of the Dwarven curse that Strange keenly recognized. "W-Where are they...?" he snarled, demandingly in guttural pitch, slashing a massive fore-paw over discarded Snickers and Kit-Kat wrappers-nothing would detract him from engaging his targeted-wimpish- prey."Answer me!"

"You're not yourself, Captain Rogers. Hurting your friends is the last thing you would want." Stephen braced himself as the creature that used to be Earth's greatest champion, growled at him with vicious malice. Whatever Enchantress had turned him into was unlike any animal to be found on Earth. It resembled a dire-wolf but the gargantuan shape of his mouth/teeth were almost dragon-like. Kriger. He kept calling himself. If Stephen hadn't endured lifetimes of torture and death from a cosmic evil, he would've felt more than the tremor of unease moving through him as "Kriger" growled at him. "So would be attacking me."

The Kriger roared and did just that, lunging at the sorcerer who promptly gestured his hands and forged the ruby Rings of Raggadorr to defend himself. Several yards away from the fight, two bunnies struggle and poke their heads out from a top-hat.

"What was that?" Bucky groaned. One moment he and Thor were staring into the literal jaws of death that used to be his best friend, the next moment they were inside of a hat. He was treated to the bewildering sight of Selina crouched beside him on the roof of a jeep outside the graveyard, looking at him expectantly. "Lina? Its not what it looks like-"

"Why am I not surprised..." Selina gritted out, seethingly, against the unkempt sleekness of her mahogany tresses, her tigerish coffee irises narrowed vexedly at chestnut furred lop who unabashedly crouched low on his hind-paws within the Victorian-style top hat as the fiery portal vanished. Balletically harnessing up her motionless poise on the jeep's roof, she became a curvaceous-lithesome silhouette against the backlit contrasts of brownstone environs around them; kinetic incandescence of crimson salvos eerily arced over the cemetery grounds, as the iron gate barricaded the skeletal cavalcade demonically mobilized out of coffin-buried trenches as headstones became razed to earth-shatteringly unleash worm-infested denizens—soulless zombiesque husks manically possessed by clamorous—effusive mantras of telestic resurrection.

In the flurrying reaction of a whipcrack earshot, blurringly Selina tensed against the mordacious potency of carrion decay and rancid pumpkin, as she gripped onto the razored-brim top-hat as the length of Bucky's drooping ears furrily caressed the delicate contours of her leather-sheathed wrist. "Well, I guess it's not Halloween without a dance," she quipped under breath, ruefully, feeling his jutted buck-teeth headily graze an evocative reverence of sensuous-virile heat that ardently blazoned a heart-driven promise. Answering that visceral call of bunny affection, betraying her stony glare, against errant blear of wetness, unblinkingly Selina kneaded her palm achingly over his satiny chestnut velveteen fur, holding onto him for another fevered moment. "Always the charm-boy, huh, Barnes..."

Bucky would have responded with his own quip if he weren't so alarmed at the horrific sight that began to take shape. Skeletal arms began to breach the surface of the graveyard. Boney, with decayed bits of flesh tearing off their frame that dragged their way out from beneath the Earth. It was like a horror movie come to life and Bucky couldn't fathom how such a thing could be possible. They numbered in the dozens, maybe more. Old decrepit bodies from over a century past began to limp and stagger their way out of the gates and onto the streets towards them.

"Just great! Can't they find someone else to play with?" He squeaked out, suddenly feeling overcome with the urge to bury himself deep inside of the hat he and Thor had been shoved into. Wait-Thor! "Care to lend us a hand, Thor? Or you know, a hammer?!" Bucky lightly pushed against the blonde lop who conveniently decided now was the best time to take a nap after so many hours of stuffing himself silly.

"Ham-Hammer..." The lion-haired bunny mumblingly snorted with indignant cadence, listlessly tucking himself further into the hat, the beckoning-thunderous echoes of his invincible Asgardian spirit were latent for summoning Stormbreaker as the chubbier sniper lop bodily slammed his podgy mass against his balloon-out girth in urgent-fiercer variance. "Oomph...We don't need hammers, friend Barnes, just more of those fried cakes that I can easily ravage..." he chuckled, mirthfully, oblivious Nordic sigils of Amora's celestial incantation meltingly veined the pavement as the dead-walker legion advanced reekingly passed the entrance gates: a death march.

It was a run off the world moment, adrenaline revved paralyzingly in their veins, a rhapsodic ecstasy ghoulishly converged on the vacant street as transatlantic energy bleedingly amplified into volumes of an earsplitting upheaval of white-noise. Thumping on his stubbed paws, scowlingly Bucky caught the aromatic-distractive scent of a Starbucks brew, dampening over a heap of discarded-emptied NYPD uniforms as his steel-aqueous irises beadily careened knifing intensity over the sidewalk adorned with remnants of stolen humanity. "S'it's gettin' worse..." Stammeringly, whiskey-roughen huskiness of his murmurous drawl staked down that infinite revelation that Amora would tragically utilize the streets of Manhattan as her execution-harvesting ground. "She's gunnin' everyone down..."

Impeding Bucky's hellbent-soldiery- momentum of rebelliously bouncing out of Strange's hat with swift clutch of her gloved hand; Selina undeviatingly readied her Glock with head -decapitating precision as one exsiccated corpses jerkily limped with deformed prowess near the gridlock; hollowed-out eye sockets of ashen flesh eldritchly heated with apparitional embers-a rabid pulse of orcish blood-thirst."Damnit..." she hissed out, breathlessly, jumping onto the jeep's hood without breaking her crouching stance, intensified fiery glyphs destructively ricocheted off storefront windows. Thrashing against black feltlike borders of the cramped magician hat, driven by reckless instinct, Bucky hopped out, daringly propelled down the windshield at breakneck speed on his fluffy rear.

"There's too many of em," he yelled above the sound of gunfire as Selina let loose bullet after bullet into undead skulls. Bucky wasn't sure if Selina knew what she was doing or just replicating whatever she'd seen in a horror movie involving zombies, but she was grim focused and unrelenting. Bucky felt small, terrified of being swiped up and crushed-or worse eaten! A soldier would retreat but an Avenger would fight on, even if the odds were stacked against them. "There's gotta be somethin'." His sights landed on scattered debris. Plastic bottles, newspapers, trash cans… Trash cans!

He had less to work with in the past. Hopping across a short distance, Bucky leaped and threw his entire weight against the side of an overturned trash-can, sending it rolling across the ground slamming into the brittle knees of the undead. They tumbled and spilled over onto the ground which brought them at eye-level with a soda can punching their skulls. "Still got it," Bucky grinned a buck-toothed smile before pitching- dashing and kicking another trash-can towards the mob of marching undead. In the skies above could be heard the growing roar of thunder.

An incredulous pinch twitchily rapted over Bucky's muzzle, as sloughed bones viscidly glozed into oozing-bloodied resin; ghostlier skeletal denizens wavered in demonic traction, lagging on veined pulses of the astral plane of Helheim—a stygian-ruinous entity was mortifyingly fringing out of Dark Verse's gateways, as the blighted wake of Amora's soul-plaguing conjury harrowingly swarmed around them—the Asgardian demoness-Hela was coming.

Against the carious rush of decomposing—wormy flesh breaching her detected proximity, with a deceptive variance of tactical ease, Selina emptied her Glock 9mm in rapid succession of point-blank gunfire, shredding through deformed contours of jutted bone, in a feverish blur, she glanced over her shoulder, against disheveled curtaining whorls of mahogany, fleetingly, her brandy irises caught voltaic pulses of bluish-white heat blindingly forking strobes of incendiary electricity-lightning-against hurricanic gales as shadowed masses of concussive thunderheads deafeningly encroached over the downtown Manhattan."I think this midnight party is going to get explosive, boys..." she quipped with terse snark, raspily, as Bucky's droopy, furred ears alarmingly perked up with a dumbfounded nose-scrunch, a thunderous momentum careening over the darkened horizon with torpedoed ferocity—the Nidavellir battle-ax Stormbreaker was being hailed.

In seconds the candescent sigils of silvered Asgardian glyphs—Odin's prismatic three-ringed seal became searingly etched in the concrete at that irrevocable moment the shaggier, porcine blonde lop heftily thrust his fore-paw out of the hat with beckoning flex as he jovially belted a throaty guttural cadence, evident to a broaden—chucklesome smirk, gaping his pudgier muzzle into skyrocketing—brawling rapture as he felt a bone- electrified torrent of lightning surging in his veins, roaringly. "Yes...I'm still worthy!"

The sight of a pudgy blonde lop raising a mystical axe-hammer was shocking enough to Bucky and Selina. What neither of them had anticipated was what happened after. A lightning bolt descended from the skies, loud and commanding as all chaos came to a stand-still. The area was enveloped in a burst of light, almost blinding to those in the closest proximity. Selina pulled Bucky against her chest and took cover behind an overturned vehicle, holding him close. A roaring wind blew through the vicinity, becoming a whirlwind of electricity that spiraled towards the skies. Once it vanished, a bunny no longer stood in place, but a newly restored god of thunder!

Thor looked perplexed by the outcome as he looked down at his newly restored form, clad in his Asgardian armor and cape. That confusion lasted only a moment before his eyes focused on the encroaching horde of undead corpses that staggered towards him. The Asgardian's eyes crackled with electricity and Stormbreaker roared with anticipation as its wielder charged and began to cleave his way through the dead like a hot knife through butter.

"Thor?!" Bucky squeaked in awe and disbelief. "How?!" Looking down at himself, Bucky was disheartened to see nothing was different. He was still a small, vulnerable rabbit being cradled protectively in Selina's arms.

As Thor's guttural roars bearishly deafened with the hungrier rawness of infinitely conquering the obstructive battleground, as barraging salvos of bluish-white energy, while Stormbreaker destructively boomeranged through Amora's skeletal legion, creating a gruesome hailstorm of bone shards and tattered dirt-smudged clothing akin to an explosive depth-charge of a grenade blowback. Intoxicatingly with unslaked aggression, of high-voltage momentum, the fattish-grizzly Asgardian delivered a hammer-shock against the cement, seismically ensuing a groundbreaking force that caused manhole lids to propel crushingly against parked vehicles.

In blinding reaction of acrobatic-phantom graces, notching up her feline-like agility Selina rushed into the alleyway, vertiginously collapsing on her knees as the litheness of her arms tautly strained to keep her sniper-lop preciously cushioned-snug- against the voluptuous swells of her neoprene-clad breasts, he was being achingly driven with boyish feistiness, involuntarily shifting his chubbier bulk against her cradled embrace, as the racking cadence of his hind-paws thumpingly demanded release.

Caught in an incredulous deadlock of hinged-stark- awareness, Selina immediately grazed her leather-gloved palm over the metallic plates of Bucky's G1 dog tags as she painstakingly eased him down, adoringly kneading his velvety-soft fur with chaste pressure, and kittenishly quirked up her full-bow lips as she caught a heave of stifled breath, teasingly. "I'll admit you do make a cute fluffball, Barnes..." She nipped on her underlip, thievishly gazing into the glacial smokiness of his beady aquamarine irises-she knew what needed to be done. "...but I need a Brooklyn boy to dance with tonight..."

Bucky certainly couldn't argue with that. The stakes had changed and he was a liability out here on the battle-field. The ground shook with thunderous vibrations that were the result of Thor's unleashed rampage on Enchantress' horde. The sight of the Avenger stirred a deep feeling of inspiration from within. A calling that took him back to a time when he was more carefree but also a force to be feared and reckoned with. A glint of metal caught his eyes, close in his proximity he could also smell the old nickel/copper that invoked a storm of memories. The stainless steel dog-tags were tucked safely inside of Selina's shirt. His beady blue eyes were hypnotized by the sight of something that was as much a part of him as Stormbreaker was a part of Thor.

What if?

He felt Selina flick her finger at his nose, grabbing his attention. She looked down at him with an arched eyebrow. 'My eyes are up here.' Her expression seemed to say. It suddenly made him realize where he'd been staring and he would've blushed if it were possible. Smooth, Barnes. "I'm gonna need those back, darlin'. Trust me, I think this will work."

The froggish suaveness of his gravelly Brooklyn drawl underlying became a headier rush in soul-arresting cadence, unadulteratedly with rampant-banking urgency, feverishly Selina angled her head down, as mahogany tresses disheveledly curtained over Bucky while she unerringly removed the metallic chain off the lithe curvatures of her leather-collared neck, as the mordacious reek of charred bone septically wafted off corpse-heaped trenches behind the Greenwood iron gates-the the second wave of ghoulish rancidity-a prophetic reckoning had converged over the blackout environs. Against that apparitional onrush, Selina clenched her delicate jaw with racking strain, as she deftly graced the metal-plated wartime service dog tags over the unbudging chestnut lop's pudgy neck."This better work..." she rasped, bluntly.

The closer the dog-tags got to him, the stronger he felt this magnetic pull that called to him. It was powerful and true. The chain came around his neck with the steel tags coming down torso. He closed his eyes and felt a white light engulf his whole world. Selina had stumbled back onto her feet, watching and hoping until the light had vanished. Bucky stared at two hands in front of him. One of them rough and made of flesh, the other polished and constructed with indestructible vibranium. He was back. It was a feeling as empowering as the tactical garb of the Winter Soldier he wore from top to bottom. The terror he once felt at being such a small and vulnerable creature made him appreciate the strength he now possessed, and the one who helped him to rediscover it.

He looked at Selina with stormy blue eyes, filled with raw intensity that nothing needed to be said. He took two steps forward and pulled her close for a quick passionate kiss. His lips molded over hers, desperate and firm, an outpouring of love and relief for something he feared he would never get to experience with her again. His arms enveloped her into a tight embrace as the dizzying kiss slowly dissolved into a tentative nuzzling of brows. "I'm back, darlin'. Ready to finish this?" He asked with a dangerous smile on his lips.

An untamed-quenchless rush felt suffocatingly implosive as the melding ardency of their kiss-swollen lips became lingeringly contrasted by tactile graze as Bucky's roughened thumb featherily branded a visceral promise over silken pearlescent contours of her cheek exquisitely delivering sensuous-aphrodisiacal heat of masculine reverence. The starving urgency exquisitely arced through her veins in a blinding rush, as her lithe fingers traced over the graven cut of his stubbled features, every defined-angle of virile-hunky ruggedness-the boyish suppleness of his chubbier-fuzzier visage was no longer prevalent on tauter- athletic solidity of heavy-banded muscle underneath tactical Kevlar.

"I thought you'd never ask..." Selina purred sultrily, quirking her pillowy lips into a devious smirk, foxily as the bristled rasp of his knife-edge jaw hotly razored against her flushed cheek, under unkempt tresses slickly askew over their temples, Selina breathlessly mirrored the roguish steeliness of his grayish-ultramarine irises with piratic decadence of her coffee depths as she deceptively slipped the Glock in the readied-mechanized clutch of his bionic hand. They were fringing on demonical-ruinous oblivion-a grueling requiem that sinisterly exorcised humanity.

Gearing up for one last stand on the mortal ground would bring them a breadth closer to eternity. With thieving precision, on her stiletto heels, Selina distractedly sashayed back to the Jeep, half-crouching down, while swiftly reaching behind a rear tire and clutched her new piece of hardware to orchestrate a grislier ritornelle of bullet-raiding mayhem: Heckler & Koch MP5K-PDW submachine gun. "Don't worry I brought a back-up piece..."

"That's my girl," Bucky took the Glock and with Selina beside him moved back out into the fray. They might've been outnumbered when they began but now they stood as an army against the putrid horde of undead littering the street. Dozens laid smashed in heaps of bones and smashed skulls. Down the street could see titanic flashes of light where Thor was cleaving a path back towards the cemetery. Bucky and Selina rushed down the street, picking off any remaining undead that were attacking frightened civilians screaming for help. Bucky smashed the skull of one zombie into dust with one swing of his cybernetic fist. The pelting explosion of lead shattered any others moving in on a pack of teenagers hiding on a school bus.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Selina who unloaded the full roar of her submachine gun on a group of 5 undead, not missing a single shot. Bucky's eyes widened as he glimpsed a zombie coming up on her from behind. "Lina! Look-" She spun on her spiked-heel and smashed the undead with a roundhouse kick before it could get a step closer to her. "Out…" He smirked at her with approval as they met each others eyes. His smirk vanished in place of shock as she threw a throwing knife in his direction. It found its mark, hitting a zombie skull that was coming at him from behind. How'd he miss that one? Looking at Selina, he flushed. "I saw him coming."

She rolled her eyes at him humorously.

Together they make it to the cemetery where Thor was wrestling what looked to be an undead rhino with his bare-hands. "What the hell is that thing?" Bucky wondered. In the graveyard could be seen flashes of light and the rippling of a red cape. Strange locked in battle with a similar-looking beast that Thor was fighting, only very much alive. "Steve…"

Undeterred by the kinetic crimson glyphs of Strange's counter-attack, malignantly against a choke-off snarl, Kriger thrust his canine muzzle against the draconic-bestial tenor resonating within the enhanced corded muscle bulkily flexed underneath grayish-blonde fur; the slitted crescents of his vitreous emerald irises gleamingly fused white-hot intensity of predatory-bloodlust- savageness, a pulsing murderous-deadened heat that fueled his inexhaustive-deadlier momentum.

With a controlled sidestep to evade the dire-wolf's thirstier approach, Strange adroitly whirled on his boots, keeping his shaky hands poised to compose astral strands of energy into a geometric shield. "Argh..." Jutting the curved edges of his twined incisor fangs, on viperlike accord of surging -breakneck aggression, ragingly, he yanked at the vivacious scarlet cloak with a jaw-gnashing assault. "C'mon..." he gnarled out, frustratingly against venting, throated pants, relentlessly tugging with a harsher grip in vicious tow as if the defensive cloak became a plaything of tug-a-war. "G-Get off..."

"Don't let him break free," Strange whispered to his cloak that wrapped around the oversized demonic wolf in a vice-grip. The sorcerer had come close to being bitten and maimed many times in an effort to subdue the beast without killing him nor sending him into a pocket-dimensional prison.

Steve Rogers deserved better than that, but already the sorcerer felt his options dwindling the longer he was unable to knock the beast out. Through the corner of his eye he had seen both Thor and Barnes return to the fight, both of them surprisingly back in their true forms. He would have to ask them later how the enchantment was broken.

His attention once again focused on the Kriger who tried to bite a hold through his loyal relic and partner. Strange recited the strongest spell he knew that was powerful enough to tame an Asgardian bilgesnipe. The kriger unraveled and roared, swaying on groggy feet as slowly his resistance began to ebb. "Go to sleep."

"Steve!" Bucky fought and shot his way through the swarms of undead, fearless and determined to reach out to his transformed friend and help Strange bring him back. Something had begun to change in the grim atmosphere surrounding them. The very winds seemed to howl with foreboding with a crackle of lightning illuminating the skies. It didn't seem to be coming from Thor who until now had kept his theatrics minimal to not cause any collateral damage.

Something terrifying was coming.

His suspicions were confirmed when a mystical portal suddenly ripped through reality across from him, barring the way into the cemetery where Strange and Steve continued to fight. Bucky skidded to a halt, feeling dread come over him as he watched an old but familiar face come through.

Against the synth pulse of a transcendental-galvanic breach, the Vanaheim Aphrodite haughtily emerged out of the sorcerous valance of her conjured-hellish- domain of Muspelheim; every voluptuous curve of her statuesque exquisite form was maniacally honed for vampirish-demented seduction. Adorned over the cascading sleekness of her lengthy platinum-blonde tresses wing-curve headpiece of viridian emerald with golden elfin runes was aesthetically braced over her villainous, sirenic features.

Quirking her voluminous lips into a noxious sneer, Amora glowered her steel-gray irises penetratingly at the dumbfounded blankness tellingly etched over Bucky's pinching, stubbled features."Well, this night has become disappointing..." she hissed out, vilely. "It seems you cleverly figured out how to get your worthless humanity back, Sergent James Barnes...That pathetic victory won't last, as I chasten your Midgardian soul into dormant oblivion..."

Bucky rarely felt uneasy when it came to facing down enemies. Even charging a Mad Titan head-on with only an automatic rifle was a moment that didn't fill him with disquiet. But this was an exception. The flawless features of the blonde beauty across from him was a sight that would have once made him blush with awe if he believed he was looking at a normal woman. It was a mask that hid the ugliness from within. A deceptive, evil soul that hungered for power and exacting suffering on anyone that challenged her. He had been one of those brave enough, believing she was nothing but a crazed Hydra lapdog the moment she strapped him to her table and began to scald him with strange objects that he now knew to be magical in nature.

A venomous sorceress who had killed hundreds of innocent people, and who tried to take away his humanity. He wouldn't be running from her tonight. His jaw clenched and his posture became poised. "Ziegler. Or is it Enchantress? I don't really care. You picked the wrong fight to go for a second round." His fleshy digits curled on the hammer of his Glock while his metallic ones discreetly drew his combat knife from his belt. "You hurt millions of people, including my best friend. We Brooklyn boys take that personal." Bucky kicked the skull of an undead corpse at Enchantress' head to disguise his attack then charged in with his knife held high...

Easing her gauntleted hand up sorcerously, with viperous ferocity Amora commanded a shockwave pulse of telestic energy the massive rootlets of desolate trees, ragingly Bucky gunned his intimidating momentum at boot-stomping pace, dodging the arcing slash of his tactical knife, Amora flexed her wrist, as the ground implosively tremored, razed coffins frighteningly toaster-popped against the collapsing fissures as roots colossally bulged out, poised to impale him."You dare to insult me with pitiful weaponry..." she yelled, mockingly, shifting a carnal glance of soul-stealing hunger at his beautiful-thievish kitten vaulting acrobatically over a bullet-riddled heap of skeletal corpses. " For such a heedless turn of mortal valor, I will relish watching your lover's soul cling on the knife-edge of my mercy..."

Bucky then knew true fear; more than anything he could have experienced or comprehended before when he saw Enchantress focus on Selina, and realized what she meant. An abyss entered his body and he felt his very life being sucked into it, leaving him a cold and trembling mess. Enchantress relished the fear in his eyes and with a gesture of her hand, struck Selina with a burst of light that caused Selina to react as if she had been gut-punched. She didn't know what hit her, not could she stop to think. Her eyes land on Bucky, empty without a spark of life to be seen. And then she fell.

"NOOO!" He cried from the bottom of his soul, falling into a downward spiral where his painful reality obliterated his sense of focus. "LINA!" He shed tears uncontrollably, his body fighting desperately to free himself from the plant roots that had ensnared him in a torturous restraint that prevented him from rushing to her side. His mind desperately searched and watched her, realizing to his mutual relief and horror that she was still breathing, slowly. Her eyes were open and unblinking, but more alarming was the fact that she didn't respond, and she was vulnerable to the staggering ghouls of undead marching towards her.

"What the hell did you do?!" Bucky yelled at Enchantress.

The ragged gravelliness of his deep-throated anguish felt sobbingly convulsive as a maelstrom of heart-grippingly defeat unslaked her calamitous hunger; bodily thrashing against the obstructive roots in aggressive tenor flexing over his bracketed ridges of heavy-sheathed muscle straining under frayed layers of Kevlar, Bucky gnashed his teeth, bleedingly choking on voiceless hitches of snarling breath, in feverish rush, he jerked his head back with neck-breaking force-a stuporous throb of catatonic- irrecoverable heartache tragically destabilized robotic- mechanized sync of his grappled bionic arm. He wanted to surgically hammer-drive a stake through the Enchantress's parasitic heart without a breath of mercy.

"M'gonna kill you..." he belted out in slurring pitch, rabidly, jutting out his stubbled jaw in beastly-livid ferocity as his wolfish brunette tresses damply webbed over hard-angles that delineated his bristled cheeks; the banking wetness of floored rawness of his glacial aquamarine irises nakedly knifed stormier with an excruciating onrush of blearing tears against the immobilizing pressure of a disinterred vine that snaked crushingly over his throat in paralytic succession. "G-Grah..."

Sneerily, with a serpentine variance of her tyrannic poise, Amora raised her hand to painstakingly deliver a cobra-strike into his ensnared throat."Your beautiful love has fallen into numbed throes of my power, Sergent Barnes if she prevails after this frightful hour...She'll become a generous extension of the Casket of Winters..." she raved, tauntingly, only to flinchingly reel back as careening whoosh of thunderous-scything precision cuttingly propelled towards her-Stormbreaker. An eruptive flex of bone-racking disgust quaked over pearlescence coolness of her sirenlike-witchy features as she raged out, ballistically. "Odinson...!"

Stormbreaker returned with a chilling whoosh back into Thor's outstretched hand. The blue of his eyes were mirthless despite the flat smile that was graced across his handsome features. "Amora. It's been a long time." He said with a cavalier voice that matched his swagger as he slowly approached the emerald sorceress. "You look well," casually he swats an undead grunt close to him as if he were swatting a fly crossing a spring meadow. "In fact, I would say you are looking greenier and far more diabolically vicious than ever. Though I can't say it is good to see you. That you survived Ragnarok when so many of our kind didn't, must mean the Norns have a sadistic sense of humor that they allowed you to live if only to continue torturing me further."

"You should know me better, spawn of Odin, I never stake my reign in one place..." Amora chimed, vauntingly in scabrous pitch, fiery virescent skeins incandescently wreathed over the barricaded roots. "Hrr-agh..." Against effusive—throated strain, Bucky's shapely-wide lips gapingly widened in rampant heaves of breath against the vicing pressure of contractive ministrations of throat-strangling vines, his lengthy roguish chestnut tresses dirtily lashed over the graven-edges of his tauten jaw, as the roots exhaustingly dragged him in a possessive fringe closer to a vacant trench—grave in demonical succession as phalanx of skeletal fingers twistingly clawed against vein knots of roots, macabrely slashing over the graphite alloy-vibrainum of Bucky's cybernetic arm."Asgard was damned by Odin's grisly betrayal that he concealed into the abyss of his failures..."

As the Enchantress irately registered the shaggy-bearded Asgardian's hastened burliness crashingly advancing to the ghoulish proximity of her resurrected warren, bludgeoning his with unstoppable-adrenalized momentum, the steeliness of her venomous-grayish irises flashed relishingly over a beer-bellied protrusion underneath his forged Nidavellir-steel armor. "I see the rapacious nature of that squalid hog-Volstagg has made you like a true king of Asgard...Fattened by his conquering revels, Mighty Thor..."

"Does that mean you no longer seek my affections? If that's the case, perhaps I should have indulged my appetite for mead and boar a lot sooner to spare myself your obsessive pursuit." He snarked with a dry look which served to only increase the Enchantress' agitation towards him. Thor glanced at Bucky and Selina, seeing how helpless they were-caught in the crosshairs of the Enchantress' wrath that spelled disaster for those in her way. In their youths she and Loki had been almost inseparable in their pursuit of magic. Thor wondered just how much of a negative influence she had on her brother or vice versa.

"It is I you hold grievance with. Not Lady Selina, not James. Let them go, and you can have me." Thor would have surrendered himself willingly if he believed there was a chance of sparing the lives of his new friends and allies, but as he watched the Enchantress' magic begin to entangle James in a vice-grip of death with the veiny thorns, he knew that she would offer no such mercy. "Enough!" He yelled, the fury manifesting with stormy orbs of electricity.

As Thor readily grounded himself into a battle stance, voltaic heat of pulsed electrifyingly over the angular curves of his eye sockets, a combustible intensity was amplifying into a thunderous-elemental fusion as strobes of arcing bluish-white energy radiated over the cemetery, lancing through skeletal torsos of her zombied cavalcade in phantasmic sync."You dare strike me down, Asgardian hog," Amora snarled out in teeth-gritted pitch, as Thor challengingly raised Stormbreaker with a hammer-grip.

Mephitically with an unhinged shift of her footing, Amora fixed her callous-vitriolic gaze back at the fissuring trench as tangled vines graspingly hoisted Bucky's thrashing-bulkier weight over the emptied grave, while he blindingly gored the stabbing precision of his combat Geber knife clutched his leather-sheathed hand, driving unmerciful-desperate force into the thickened root-his wolfish tresses unkemptly whip-lashed in a thrashing disarray over his tensing, bloodied features. "You have no idea what I wield for victory in the dark twilight..." she admonished, raptorially, glancing at the orange-fleshed of girthier-rotund pumpkin-unmarred by the carving knife. "Allow me to show you by damning this Midgardian warrior to a vessel of earthen harvest..."

Bucky couldn't speak, feeling the vines wrap around his neck like a noose preparing to choke the life out of him even as he fought and struggled to cut himself free. The veins had thorns, and as they pierced him, he felt as if his blood was on fire-invaded by an unforgiving force that he came to identify as magic. Dark magic that began to twist and mold him, bloating his gut into a horrific expanse that began to turn orange. What was happening to him? What was she doing? The questions rushed through him until he felt overwhelmed by its weight.

Thor's anger had reached its zenith. A consequence that acted as a double-edged blade, dangerous for both himself and his enemies. With a bestial roar, he lifts Stormbreaker and throws it in Enchantress's direction, only for the Asgardian sorceress to open a miniature portal with her outstretched hand. Stormbreaker flew into the rift before it was promptly sealed, sending it far beyond Thor's reach. Thor stared blankly in mute shock, realizing his error that would have made Loki both groan and laugh at his stupidity. With the opening, Amora commanded her veins to enwrap Thor in the same state as Bucky, twisting and piercing the god of thunder who struggled and roared at her in defiance. "You will pay for this, Amora!"

"Asgard would have been ruled by celestial titans purged into Helheim," Amora condemningly rasped against a viperish hiss; the galactic chaos bringers-Deviants-mutative hellions of the wasteland planet- Morag- that were punishingly banished during the Iron Ages of blood-ravaging warcraft, as the cosmic elements of Infinity Stones were forged -weaponized to deliver soul-reaping -sanguineous tempest of unquenchable carnage if the astral crossways-dimensional paradoxes were breached-if the branches-realms of Yggdrasil were obliterated. Mad-Titian was a rogue descent, seduced by the starvation of cataclysmic wake of soul-butchering defoliation that would have freed his ethereal sires. "The Deviants that were cast into the realm of useless mortals will conquer again once my heralded Queen scrapes off your wretched filth..."

Ravening in unhinged ecstasy, sadistically Amora gestured her lithe hand to shunt venous pulses of penetrative energy freakishly into the jutting massiveness of rubberized, globular flesh inflatingly burgeoning underneath Bucky's Kevlar garb as the mutative-fattened strain of gourd-size chubbiness was saggily glozing out viscid carroty fluid over tauter ridges of swelled bracketed flesh; he was syrupily oozing treks of pumpkin juice. "It's amusing to watch such masculine beauty rapidly dissolve into a bloated vessel that will be a dormant extension of these carrion-infested grounds."

Her dominance exerted, the sorceress reveled in the power she now boasted that gave her complete authority over her enemies. A soldier out of time reduced to a mindless animal, a jaded assassin diminished to a fatten pumpkin...and an unrequited love being torn to pieces for refusing her. Soon all of Midgard would exalt to her and know to worship her powe- The world unended suddenly in a manner that sent the Enchantress teetering and falling into a great nothingness. Her alarmed scream cascaded until she shattered through a water of reflection, causing mirror shards to explode into her surroundings. She laid flat on her stomach, confused until her experienced mind took in the signs. She was still in the graveyard, but no longer just.

Enfolding vitreous spectrums glimmeringly became implosive like conjured prisms that weaved around her, incensed by a display of Midgardian trickery, seethingly as she braced her palms over reeking dirt, Amora reactively careened a verdigris salvo against the crystalline barrier; nothing penetrated through-the scarlet cloaked Eldritch sorcerer-magician- unflinchingly ascended in front of her with draconic tact maddeningly invested in his unwavering stance. "This foolish trick will not contain me..." she railed in biting cadence, nefariously. "There will be no dawning of united hope, accept the reality that the vitality of your precious friends will soon diminish, and when your defeated corpse lays at my feet, my beloved Captain will feast on your heaped bones.."

"Right now he's taking an overdue nap, he won't be doing any fetching within here." Strange snarked with a fearless look. Ordinary men would perhaps grow timid beneath the livid glare the Asgardian sorceress was now giving him. But after standing in the presence of a cosmic evil that killed him hundreds of times in so many horrific ways, he found the likes of Thanos and now Enchantress to be nothing but deranged aliens with delusions of grandeur. But still dangerous, he knew not to underestimate them.

"The Mirror Dimension is a gateway that we lowly Midgardians learned to access for thousands of years. Something I gather, an Asgardian sorceress would think is trivial and beneath her." He let that insightful hang in the air for Amora to absorb. If the fury on her fair features was any indicator she knew exactly what his condescending words implied. "You won't get out of here unless I say you can." Her response was what he expected, a roar and a salvo blast sent in his direction. She hit only air as the salvo passed through him and he stood looking at her with a blank look.

A decoy. Images of Ikkon. Loki would be proud of that, or maybe annoyed at being copied. Enchantress didn't stop, her ire and pride demanded nothing but the satisfaction of bringing this new adversary underfoot and stabbing his neck with her heeled boot. Strange extended his power, creating multiple decoys to stay ahead of his enemy but careful not to expend too much power. The defense would only last so long against a being that boasted not only super-strength and power, but also stamina. "Vishanti," Strange breathed, conjuring an eldritch blade of sparks that he used to move in and engage.

Enchantress grinned evilly, conjuring her own blade before meeting Strange head on. A balletic dance of sparking blades and magical pulses rang out through the dimension, shattering grave-stones and any objects that were contained with them. Enchantress was agile and trained in physical combat, using a series of kicks and twirls to feint Stephen to expose him for an attack. Were it not for the Cloak yanking him backwards in-time, Stephen knew her blade would have dug into his ribcage. Bearing down on her opponent, Enchantress lunged and brought her blade down only for Strange to conjure a Seraphim shield, causing sparks to explode, blinding the Asgardian's vision.

Strange could see his opening and resolved to finish this. "Crimson Bands of Cyttorak!" His hands sprung forward and viscious tendrils of flame and sorcery reached out and ensnared the witch from head-to-toe. Strange commanded the dimension to up-turn as he began to spin the Enchantress around like a lasso, bringing her smashing through trees and gravestones into his trajectory before slamming her to the ground. She laid still, but breathing. Strange wiped a bead of sweat from his face. And Wanda said he didn't work out enough, he thought dryly. His thoughts were taken by a painful groan close by. No longer focused on Enchantress, Strange rushed towards the open graves where Bucky and Thor were still trapped in a planting of veins.

What he saw nearly made him ill as his first surgery. Their bodies were growing in putrid mass of flesh and plant, a horrid conjury of human and pumpkins. "Hang in there, Barnes, Thor. This isn't exactly my area of magic, but I will try something." He would spend the next couple of minutes practicing a number of spells that did little except to slow their transformation. It was then the Enchantress began to stir and laugh at him.

As vampirish intensity chillingly melded in her smoky-gray irises, Amora disarmingly extended out her opened palm, the arrowed edge of her gauntlet pulsed in taunting steadiness."I know that the sentiment of affection is weakness of mortality," she chuckled, witchily, as crimson skeins flaringly ghosted over her flexing wrist, morphing vaporous energy into a quartz orb that she exhibited with a torturous play of deft tenderness, hefting the orb up for Strange to heart-stoppingly gaze at the half-stunned, auburn mink trapped inside. "I've discovered a way to shackle your heart within the devices of my conjury...I will admit this little vermin was easy snare in my coils after I poisoned her with my friendly bite...She accepted thralls of defeat, just like you will..."

And just like that, Stephen felt the balance of power shift away like a landslide, crumbling every advantage he might have created in this confrontation that was now affecting him in a way he wasn't prepared for. He might've been Master of the Mystic Arts who fought titans and cosmic entities with all the bravery and poise that a man in his position, with nothing to lose, could afford. But that all changed when he met Wanda. And now...now he could feel it. The fear, the anxiety gripping him over a situation where he had no control. In the operating room he wrestled with that feeling until he perfected his craft enough to master those feelings with success.

What success could he hope to attain here? "...What have you done to her?" Stephen asked once noticed the mink was barely conscious, stirring in the manifesto prison the evil sorceress had created. Stephen didn't know how she got to Wanda, or if Wong was even alive, but the only then that kept him from on a knife-edge was the thought of risking Wanda's life by doing something terribly reckless-like attacking in a fit of rage.

The suffusive wake of her soul-crippling onslaught felt bankingly glorious as she registered desperate utterance in Strange's deep-timbered undertone that was betrayingly visceral with a raiding throb of unbidden heartache; every phantom measure of his valiant-ignitable resilence had become excruciatingly deadened by her infinite anesthetic of unwarranted failure, it felt like a neo-dissector was arduously severing through his bones-the abducted mink's soul was expandable as she rapaciously straddled him down into calamitous-unavailing throes.

Brandishing up a feigned grimace errantly over his silvery-goateed jaw, reservedly with painstaking traction, Strange descended to ground level as the dimensional aura was telekinetically ushering verdigris energy-hunger- out of the Nordic empyrean realm of Hvergelmir, while Amora distractingly held the imprisoning glass bauble effectively akin to open-handed bargain-a new gambit to play off the rigged decks. "I can sense the urgency you stow back, it reeks off you..." she hissingly scoffed, clashing with the electrified heat of his unblinking azureous irises as she possessively glided a lithe finger over the smooth glass of her orb. "If you wish for this little vixen to go free, yield to the unity of my power..."

A year ago, Stephen's answer would have been a sharp and immediate "no". His devotion to his work had once alienated him from those he cared about. Christine Everheart was one of his biggest regrets. But the silver-lining of losing her, of being a loner, meant he could do his job more efficiently-without compromises. But he was empty, lifeless and bitter. Until meeting Wanda, he had lost touch with how important life was worth living. And now he was at risk of losing her, and failing his duties all at once. He felt trapped and teetered on the edge of a total collapse. Without the Time Stone to aid him, he couldn't even count on a do-over if things went bad. He could do only one thing, and that was choose the only option that felt right to him.

"All right...I'll surrender to you if you let her go." Stephen's turbulent mind went into overdrive, searching desperately for one last trick up his sleeve. When his eyes fell on the slowly stirring Kriger, he felt there was perhaps only one chance left. Slowly he beckoned his Cloak towards Enchantress. A distraction to keep her eyes off of him, and on his loyal companion that floated, laid out like a rug. Discreetly, Stephen opened a portal with a slight-of-hand. A round domed object slipped through out-of-sight. Enchantress flicked her gaze back at him with suspicious eyes, gauging his intent. Stephen hesitantly dropped to his knees, hands held low at the same time Enchantress dropped the mink into the cloak.

The moment she did, she reacted like a viper catching its prey and folded him in a paralyzing grip of vines and magic. The Cloak took off at top-speed, carrying Wanda to safety, leaving Stephen at the Enchantress' mercy. Her hand latched around his throat, causing him to gasp and groan at the vicious sinking of her nails into his skin. Her eyes are intense and malicious to match the grin on her face.

Forcing bruising pressure over the virile resiliency of his broad nape, with a rushing surge of cobra ferocity, scratchingly, the baneful pythoness strafed the litheness of her tenser fingers deeper into his exposed pulsing vein; irrevocably not easing her rabider grip with an echoing flex of choked mercy. Slamming him down in back-breaking tenor, her voluminous lips stretched breathlessly, flashing a razored-length of viper fangs. "Join your felled friends in my conjured oblivion as Hela purges out your wasted soul..."

The gateway of the astral plane-the Dark Verse was being cleaved as tenebrious-inky glyphs luridly imploded a conducted breach within the atmospheric vistas of Greenwood, darkish verdurous of cosmic magery ominously webbed over the earth-razed headstones, a chimeric-apparitional fusion of war-harvesting bloodthirst symphoniously resonated as incandescent voltage tearingly strobed as the vampiresque-feminine silhouette of Odin's bane haughtily emerged, the spider-like edges of an ebon necro-iron headdress arced demonically in rabid poise-the dimensional bridge of Helheim had been anchored.

With euphoric reverence of the slaughterous demoness-the homicidal commander of the Einherjar Berserkers-traitorous oathbreakers to Odin, Amora hastily dropped on her armored knee, welcoming her deific empress with a telltale convey of reined exaltation invested over the ashen fineness of her seraphic features. "So this is what Midgard has come to," Hela fumed in a resonance of mocked-disgust, huskily. "Odin's pitiful mercy will no longer reign, as I unleash my conquering storms of destruction over these mortal insects..."

The sight of the Asgardian goddess of death unsettled Stephen in a way that Dormammu didn't. Hela's malicious gaze was riddled with bits of insanity that were tempered by a sharp focus, knife-piercing and deadly. It spoke of ages of imprisonment and suffering with only hatred being a guiding force. She would casually snap the neck of anyone who so much as annoyed her, let alone challenge her. If that wasn't alarming enough, it was the fact that in her hand she carried along an all too familiar weapon, crackling with electricity. Stormbreaker had apparently found a new owner after being thrown through a magical rift. The goddess of death now wielded the power of thunder and lightning. Strange felt his heart collapse into his stomach at the revelation. He steeled himself when her emerald eyes landed on him and she flashed him with a grin that made him blood run cold. He didn't shy away from her gaze, but knew better than to provoke her in such a delicate moment as she stood surveying the battle-ground and the lines of undead that bowed to her.

With scorpion prowess in her rapine advances, gazing down at her servant-Amora, fiendishly Hela thrust Stormbreaker to a queenly level of her black armor-clad shoulder, impeding her zombied death-marchers with possessive-imperial command. "As firstborn of Odin, I was sired to become the executing raider, unstoppable as blood marked victorious requiems..." she yelled blaringly in growlier pitch, her shadowy grayish-virescent depths hungrily fixed on vacant trenches. "The province of war reaped havoc over the Nine Realms...When I am done with this befallen world, the horizons of daybreak will be smeared with red when the betrayers of Asgard become unworthy for Valhalla ..."

Strange was beyond outnumbered and could only hope that the last piece he set in motion would help turn the tide. His blue eyes searched and could see Barnes. His body was almost unrecognizable at this point. His limbs were completely transformed into olive green vines, all muscular definition still noticeable but unresponsive as he blearily clung to consciousness. His torso had been molded into an orange pumpkin with the only bit of himself still human was the part of his face still visible. "Selina..." Bucky called weakly, a tear shedding from his eyes. "Steve..." His heart was heavy with despair, believing he failed those he loved and called family. Was this how it was supposed to end for them? Alone, miserable in defeat? He prayed, hoping and believing that God was looking out for those that still kept Him in their hearts. "Please..." He called.

Nearby, the Kriger rumbled from his sleep. The residual magic that kept him unconscious began to ebb, bringing him back into a chaotic frame of mind and a burning hunger within. He needed to feast. To carve a hole in the bodies of those his Mistress commanded him to kill. His demonic eyes blinked repeatedly, cringing at the sight of a bright light reflecting off of a metal object in front of him. His paw reached out and swatted only for him to recoil at the force that reflected back at him. A soft ding echoed in his ears, causing him to growl and whine. What was this? Beady eyes focus and take in the shape of a dome circular object with flashy colors of red, white...and blue. The colors were flashy, curiously they were also a source of deep awe, invoking from within a sense of...loyalty. Truth...Liberty...Justice.

He understood.

But more importantly, he remembered.

A moonlit night, lost in a storm of regret where he threatened to drown in his sorrows. He had been uplifted by a mortal-a man...a friend. "B-Bucky...I'm with you..." He growled. And then he roared, collapsing and shaking as if he were under a mental assault from an unseen foe. It was from a force within, buried deep beneath a grave of malice. Memories came like a flood, ceaseless and devastating as they washed away all resistance until he could do nothing but...remember. The agony of his spasms went unheard beneath a clap of thunder that began to pour rain down on the cemetery. The Kriger roared and rolled, feeling the magic within begin to pour out of him like a poison being sweated out. He searched for relief and the shield shone like an anchor to keep him afloat. He latched onto it like a lifeline. At that exact moment, a bolt of lightning struck and a burst of light engulfed his vision. Fur and scales peeled away to reveal hard planes of muscular flesh. Blue eyes opened and a gasp of air followed. "Till the end of the line..."

It was an invincible mantra of a brotherly covenant of kids of Brooklyn revving bone-deep as he blearily gazed into the vibranium of his shield in beckoning-soldiery- urgency, the wolfish disheveled length of blonde-golden tresses were shaggily curtained over the hawkish-graven cut of his broader angular features that were roguishly bristled; under the dark navy blue of his patriotic tactical Kevlar uniform the enhanced flexion of heavier-ridged cords of Adonis-honed muscle bulkily rivaled the feral cadency of the Dwarven curse that stealingly divested him into an Asgardian Wardog. Draggingly in a conscious variance of gripping traction, forcibly Steve braced the rough-leather of his fingerless gloves over uplifted granite of a demolished headstone.

A viscerous rush of stoked adrenaline feverishly in his veins as he clashingly steered the niveous azure of his stormier irises hazily at the morbidly roundish orange-fleshed pumpkins uglily entangled within gnarled barricades of vines-deformed-fattened trophies that the Enchantress would devouringly harvest out. "W-Who are they...?" he choked-off in stammering-throatier pitch, breathlessly, shifting the piercing rawness of his vigilant gaze at cloakless Doctor Strange. "Doctor-"

"There's no time, Captain. You're our last chance here. Make it count," Stephen cut in, straight-to-the-point. His bedside manner was never one of his finer qualities, but in this instance it was all Steve Rogers needed to hear. It's what wiped away that look of befuddled confusion and turned it into that inspiring look of valor that led so many soldiers into battle. He stiffened and groaned as the vines holding him began to grow tighter, squeezing every muscle in his body with painstaking strength that robbed all breath from his lungs. It was enough to draw the attention of the Vanaheim sorceress and the goddess of death who snapped their eyes to him...and then towards Steve.

"Impossible! You dare to take my pet from me!" Enchantress roared. She was prepared to end the life of the upstart Midgardian conjurer who believed himself her equal. With one flicking gesture her enchanted veins would rip him bloody shreds. That all halted the moment she met the pulverizing edge of a shield thrown at her face.

Steve's body was like a motorcycle roaring across the field at breakneck speed, his feet kicking up dirt as he sped and soared. The satisfying clank of his shield hitting Enchantress' face causing her cry out, gave him an added boost of adrenaline as it was sent bouncing back. His hand held out and caught the shield as it came back. The onrush of speed saw him react unpredictably as he rolled and lunged high, narrowly avoiding a scalding projectile thrown at him in retaliation by the blonde sorceress. Steve landed next to Strange, using his momentum to bring the edge of his shield down on the vines wrapped around the wizard's arm, chopping clean through them like an axe through wood.

In her viperous tenor of macabre regality, Hela gestured her knife-like fingers haltingly with deterred poise at Amora while in spookish tread she ghostlily neared the strappingly handsome legendary soldier with infinite-quenchless bloodthirst gleaming rampantly in her quicksilver-ophidian irises under the curved aesthetical malachite-jet fringe of her demonic spidered-legged headgear. "Yield your warrior spirit to me, darling boy, and I will grant your friend a quick death..." Hela lashed out vilely, a disgusted quirk etched deeper into the pale-ashen fullness of her scowling lips, as Steve unerringly braced his vibranium shield against his raised fore-arm with defensive reaction, amusingly Hela extended out her gauntleted hand on lethal accord of murderous intent, shadowy-nitrous veins of astral ether morphed into a sharpened length of an ebon Necrosword that savagely jutted out of her opened palm-a weaponized instrument to orchestrate the battle knells of soul-reaping carnage."The choice is yours, mortal soldier..."

Steve would have felt inwardly shaken at the sight of the Asgardian goddess of death were it not for the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It was a fuel that kept him running, kept him on a reactive edge rather than an inactive one. The howling winds were loud and whipped through the cemetery, causing him to raise his shield to block a piece of debris coming towards him. That was when he saw Selina. His blood ran cold at the sight of her motionless body collapsed over a mound of dirt just near the gate of the cemetery. Her eyes were wide-open and for a moment, he felt fear that grip his heart, robbing all breath from his lungs at the possibility that she had been killed. Another loss that he and Bucky would endure. But as he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest, he knew that wasn't the case.

She was paralyzed in a trance. Alive. But still in danger. The groaning and shuffling of the Enchantress' drones permeated the atmosphere, instilling dread within the First Avenger who watched as they approached Selina's helpless form. "Selina…" Not thinking twice, Steve charged forwards, leap-frogging over a large headstone and kicking the skull off a mangled corpse in his way. Hela and Enchantress both looked on, the former mildly intrigued at the thought of engaging a formidable mortal while the latter was filled with vengeful fury, desperate to be unleashed upon her longtime hated enemy.

"I got you," Steve flung his shield towards necks of a trio of undead, severing exposed spinal cords and skulls in one go. His aim was true, the vibranium tool bouncing off every surface and maiming each of the undead in the way. He leaped forward and scooped Selina up into his arms, carrying her towards cover behind a mausoleum. Meanwhile, Strange worked efficiently with the distraction caused by Steve. His freed hand forged a sling-ring portal beneath him, causing him to fall through with the vines still attached. Enchantress was shocked and couldn't react in time before the portal closed, severing the vines and her power over the Midgardian sorcerer.

"NOOO!" Her vicious screech echoed throughout the cemetery.

Steve propped Selina up against the side of the wall, gently brushing her hair from her face and patting her cheek. "Selina. You got to come out of this. Buck….Bucky needs you." He breathed with a weary look, hoping desperately he could reach through to her.

"S-Soldier boy..." The featherlight pressure of chaste-virile heat was a thermal contrast of urgency traced soothingly over the pearlescent contours of her sleek-elfish features, beckoning shivered-delicate precision nakedly coupled with tentative echoes of brotherly reverence. Against the slumberous barrage of warding drowsiness, with instinctive traction of vomitous accord, Selina braced herself against the stone wall, underneath the fringe of her lashes, she feverishly caught odious bulges of gnarled vines and black-jaded racemes-spires gothically forming a bone-impaling stockade around marble tombstones as a decayed surge of Hela's skeletal-zombied armada clawingly twisted erect from dirt-heaped trenches, hollowed-sockets glowingly radiated crimson embers of astral hellfire."I guess you'll owe me some rest later..." she quipped, breathily.

Steve would've responded with a quip of his own, but then both he and Selina were alerted to the crackling sparks of a familiar sight breaching their hiding spot. A sling portal opened and Doctor Strange stepped through, fully freed from the vines with his cloak once again wrapped around his shoulders. "Strange," Steve's shoulders sagged with relief.

"Good you're both safe," Strange said. 'For the moment.' Steve helped Selina to her feet as they both took a moment to collect themselves. Rain began to pour over them, only adding to their exhaustion after such a lengthy battle that appeared to have no advantage in their favor.

"We need a plan of attack," Steve voiced out, urgently. "We need to call in Banner, Scott, everyone that we-"

"There isn't time for that." Strange discouraged. "Hela and Enchantress individually represent a global threat. Together? The entire galaxy could very well be at risk if they're allowed to carry out their goal unopposed. They'll attack the Asgardian colony first and then they'll reap all life on Earth, turning every soul into monsters to serve them."

"Yeah, unless we can hammer down on this homecoming party" Selina hinted deviantly, the frigid murkiness of October downpour was tangly drenching her mahogany tresses, flitting the brazen-thievish rawness of her coffee irises shiftily at the Dwarven-forged ax-Stormbreaker covetously gripped in Hela's unshakeable clutch-a dynamical conductor of her resurrected-unslakeable vitality out of the Dark Verse gateway."Soldier boy and I will keep the wicked queen distracted while you, Tricks," Lithely, she gestured a gloved had to his Tibetian golden sling-ring that mystically accessorized his surgery-marred fingers."Use that fancy ring of yours to slam a door on this Asgardian hag..."

"Its up to the three of us, Captain," Strange said, agreeing with Selina's proposal. Time to call in help from New York, Wakanda and New Asgard would just give the two Asgardian goddesses time to enact their plan and begin scourging all life on Earth.

Steve for his part, understood the gravity of the danger but was nonetheless concerned about engaging another threat with so few numbers. They nearly lost Tony after the Endgame. But now they were at risk of losing more if they left Bucky and Thor to continuously suffer against the Enchantress' magic.

Seeing Steve's apparent conflict, Strange stepped forward, venturing outside his comfort area as both a physician and a sorcerer. "We can do this. We just need you to lead." 'To be worthy.'

Steve's jaw tightened with newfound inspiration as he felt a tingling of anticipation from his finger-tips. He could feel it calling it to him. "Then let's give em' hell."

Detecting the abandoned resistance—weakness of her fleeing Midgardian opponents, impassively Hela clutched on the knobbed branch handle of Stormbreaker, arcing the curved hatchet-Uru metal edge with a scything command towards Greenwood's iron gates-preparing to siege the Norwegian sanctuary into corpse-filled bastion of her earthen domain as white-hot-meteoric salvos of ethereal light flaringly assailed out her veins-ushering a cyclonic firebolt to irrevocably snuff out traitorous—plagued souls of New Asgard.

"They called this a mighty weapon for Asgardian kings..." she uttered out with hellacious spitefulness in her raspier pitch, the length of black cloak flappingly billowed like a pennant over her metallic-armored shoulders as she thunderously hefted the ax up to electrify the louring banks of darkened cloud masses over the eastern horizon with dimensional incandescence—a spectral beacon of her nightmarish-massacring warpath.

"In my veins channels the Eternal Flame, that will conceive such eldritch deviances of resurrection that I can only wield and once the corpses of this realm fall, they will become useful extensions of my shadow-crossed ranks..." Against the Gothic- smokier contrast shadowing her murderous irises, Hela sneered at the gratifying sight of her younger brother-Odin's champion defeatedly imprisoned within a bulbous-ogre-sized pumpkin vessel. "Well, dear brother it appears, I will reign over the Nine Realms while you waste your last days straining for breath..."

"I believe this bloated fool of Thor's Midgardian friends was the one they called James Barnes..." Amora snickered, currishly, the frenzied smokiness of her grayish irises became snakily alight with vehemence as she haughtily stood at the breadth of the globbing, protrusive—bubblier mass of rubberized orange-hued flesh that was heart-wretchedly being solidified—plumped within the cradling ensnare of rooted vines as torn frays of tactical Kevlar stickily glided off the ballooning, fatter rotundness of an unmoveable—dormant pumpkin. "Shall I allow him to prevailingly burgeon as a morphing symbol of your conquest, Mistress?"

Hela's cruel smirk was matched by Amora's malicious offer. Before the goddess of death could impart her acceptance, her honed senses screamed at her of an incoming threat that arrived with all the swiftness of a prevailing wind. She reacted only a moment too late before her headdress was struck hard by a roaring disk. The clanking metal of vibranium was as deafening as a gong echoing throughout the graveyard, causing her to recoil with discomfort. Amora was the second to suffer as the shield bounced off Hela's headdress and struck the blonde sorceress square in the face, causing her to stumble and curse in Old Norse.

"Get away from my friend." The voice of valor and defiance entered their midst. The goddesses turned equal parts irritated and bemused to see Captain America catch his shield, standing his ground. The mortal man stood mighty in his uniform, taller than even some of Asgard's warriors, and with a focus that could rival Odin himself.

"So this was the mortal who turned into the Fell-beast," Hela gritted in baleful pitch, her wraith-like poise engagingly beckoned a dead-pass challenge of their weaponized-arsenal to conduct tempests of war; arrestingly mirroring the fiercer valiance stormily melded in his cool azure irises-a battle-tested pulse that determinedly rode over the graven-edge contours of his dirt-smudged jawline, as the leather strap of his tactical helmet loosely clung over his uniform's collar. "I desire for him to be kept alive, as I have a much grievous fate for this soldier to endure in the gorges of Helheim..."

"Hela." Steve's focus was on the intricately clad emerald and raven goddess of death. "Thor told me about you." Thor spoke much about what happened to him and Bruce in space. About Hela who had single-handedly overthrew Asgard's armies, killed Thor's friends before taking his eye. She was an older sister he knew nothing about, but was arguably more powerful than him. She made Loki's handiwork look like a child's play in comparison. The turmoil Steve felt over this confrontation threatened to return before he stowed it away as he looked at his two allies beside him. Strange and Selina stood their ground, their attention landing on Enchantress had a score to settle with the Sorcerer Supreme.

"I would ask you to stand down and leave but I don't think either of us is willing to do that." It was rhetorical but necessary to gauge his opponent's perception towards diplomacy. He expected it but nonetheless clenched his jaw as Hela flashed him an amused grin that was chilling.

"Smart boy." She taunted. "Though perhaps not quite if you think you can stand your ground against me."

She was arrogant or perhaps overconfident. Steve wondered if all Asgardian villains were this way and predicted to hear the words "kneel", at any moment. He wouldn't. Not for Loki-not for his older sister. Something in his eyes gave away his conviction which prompted Hela to raise her eyebrows at him curiously. "Well then lady, looks like we're in for a long night." Steve said.

He waited with baited breath as Hela gave Enchantress a nod of approval. With that, the Asgardian sorceress launched herself forward towards Strange, a sadistic laugh escaping her lips. "Stand back and cover me," Strange yelled to Selina who immediately rolled away behind a headstone, narrowly dodging a burning blast of magic and began opening fire on Enchantress.

Steve and Hela stood across from each other, silent and assessing. Her height put her nearly at eye-level with him, her sultry figure was athletic and spoke of ages of experience. Her fingers were wrapped around the hilt of Thor's new weapon-Stormbreaker-and she wasn't shy about demonstrating her needless advantage over him as they began circling one another.

Bracing his shield against the taut-ridges of his Kevlar-clad bulk with a defensive variance of his controlled footing, tensely Steve became attuned to grislier dissonance of her butcherous thirst as the vitric-jade of her spider-edged helm imposingly emitted a miasmic aura, demonically commanding her zombied denizens to march a flesh-ravaging assault into the streets while her predatorily readied to deliver a merciless throat-slashing assault, she was impressed by the unwavering traction of his battle stance, the explosive-blood rush was intoxicating to discard. "So you have chosen death to be your fate..." she jeered, mockingly, leveling Stormbreaker with executing precision to cleave open his chest in with frontal thrust. "I will make your blood rain over the corpses of your worthless friends.."

"Not gonna happen," Steve threw his shield, hoping to distract the goddess long enough to move in for a frontal assault. He charged and rolled towards her, twirling to deliver a whirlwind kick against her solar-plexus. It felt like hitting a brick-wall. His momentum only caused her to stagger but she barely looked phased as she laughed at him and proceeded to backhand him across the ground.

Steve landed hard on his side, but knew the damage could've been much more severe in that Hela was toying with him. He charged at her again, narrowly avoiding her as she brought one of her scythe-like blades down towards his head. He raised his shield to deflect the blow, but the force of her strength caused him to tremble on his feet. She kicked the shield and him with it, sending him rolling on his back.

Vibrations shook the Earth. Blue eyes widened with realization. He dodged left and right as the ground suddenly began exploding with grisly blades. Years of discipline added with sharp reflexes enabled him to maneuver through a maze of death. The blades were demonic and long, protruding from the Earth as if they emerged from hell itself. His arm was narrowly saved by his shield that was scraped in a shower of sparks. Steve grittled his teeth and leaped high using his shield as a surf-board to sail overhead.

As expected, one of the blades plunged upward into the center of his shield, propelling him upward into the air, bringing him high up. Steve closed his eyes and focused, reaching out and feeling a rush of energy travel up his arm. The stormy winds howled and thunder clapped, causing the skies to blacken and arcs of lightning to lance down into the graveyard as a confused Hela looked on. Shifting her gaze between the grave where her diminutive brother was withering away and then towards the skies.

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor..."

A thunderous—incanted mantra of Odin's voice clashingly rumbled over the blackened vistas, with a contractive strain of his thrusting hand, impressively harnessing eagle-like graces of his descending, acrobatic momentum over the obsidian protrusion of jutting spikes barbarously elongating to impale him. The soul-driven tenor of his virile resilence surged underneath the silvery navy-blue kevlar, tauten bands of sculpted muscle bulkily flexed with amplified as Steve readily answered the Nordic warrior's cadence, ushering an incarnate reality of cacophonous tempest as voltaic nacreous strobes of whitish amethyst cyclonically propelled an electrifying wake from the bridged dimensional gateways of the Multiverse —a hailed —arrowing ferocity that wasn't sired in the wombs of mortal blood.

Confusingly, in feigned alarm, Hela staggered back over a leveled coffin, her slitting irises widened as incendiary salvos of lightning quakingly lanced heated —careening voltage into the cemetery ground, blindingly singeing the maggoty skeletal corpses in ricocheted succession: Mjolnir was coming. "No...How is this possible, I destroyed that cursed hammer..." A breathless snarl razored out of her throat, gratingly."No mortal can be worthy of Odin's power..."

And just like that, Steve came down from the skies like a meteorite striking the Earth with titanic force. Soil and debris scattered into the air with a shockwave carrying it across. Hela recoiled yet stood her ground. Selina and Strange spared a glimpse from their entanglement with Enchantress and felt immediate hopeful by what they saw. Captain America holding Mjolnir aloft with an unbreakable posture. His veins hummed with a vibrant energy fueled by the arcs of electricity encompassing his body. His close eyelids opened to reveal blue eyes glowing with raw power. Their sights were set on the goddess of death who gazed at him with disbelief.

"You may want to rethink that." And then he charged, bursting with speed and the telltale humming of a twirling hammer in his grip. Hela's shock was violently knocked away with a hard swing, Mjolnir's vengeful might smashing against the side of her head, breaking away a piece of her headdress. Steve didn't give her a moment to react as he dived in, using his shield to block a forceful kick from her boot, the recoil wasn't as overwhelming to him as before. His strength and adrenaline carrying him onward as he began raining a flurry of attacks-shield, knee, fist and hammer across Hela's torso until he felt an equally powerful force clash against Mjolnir in his grip. Stormbreaker was the obstruction, held securely in Hela's hellish grip-emerald green eyes burning with anger.

"You honestly think you can strike me...!" Hela lashed snarlingly, with a hostile counter, she pivoted on her spiked heel in vicious traction; in whirling precision of a slashing thrust of her gauntleted hand, with predatory-hone reaction, ghoulishly she forged darkish mordacious vapors that contrasted into retractable ebon shards of obsidian Neoswords, against the frenzied maelstrom, penetratingly throwing heart-lancing strikes into granite stone and jutted out skeletal torsos. The viscid fluid of smelting decay misted rancidly over gaped-opened trenches; orcish death-walkers screechingly crescendoed into a cadaverous pandemonium of bone-sloughed heaps as the fiery—astral glyphs of eldritch -driven energy were being telekinetically wielded by Doctor Strange across from her kill-zone.

"I know what makes a soldier fall when the mercy of defeat is granted, boy..." The vampiric- serpentine demoness taunted in malevolent pitch, arcing Stormbreaker with executing poise to lethally graze a skull-cleaving assault over Steve's helmet. "Give that wretched hammer to me, and I'll make you an extension of my eternal ranks..."

Gnashing his teeth with a full-throated snarl, roaringly, in lightning-quick reaction, as cool wetness rainily dripped over his sensuous-chiseled lips, Steve defensively braced his athletic bulk into a low split-crouch, angling his shield with his tense forearm, as he dodged a flurrying barrage of knifing hailstorm, bodily gunning his propelling ferocity to batter-ram her with a combative—sledgehammering rush. On a vigilant fringe of his accelerated pace, to duel against the mirrored cadence of tactical supremacy, he called up warred reserves of his enhanced agility—pushing himself to the full-measure limit with headlong momentum as he bruisingly clutched Mjolnir as throbs of blood oozily dripped off the archaic handle.

"Not interested, lady." Was Steve rough response after narrowly dodging a protruding blade hellbent on impaling him. His offensive attacks had done little other than wake-up Hela to the reality that he wasn't an ordinary soldier that could be easily squashed like a bug beneath her boot. His disciplined mind worked in sync with the reflexes of his body; carrying him through Hela's relentless flow of attacks as he searched for his opening. He had been observing her attack patterns. She relied heavily on her ability to summon these demonic blades from outta nowhere and create a more hazardous environment for him than a mine-field. Mjolnir and the shield in his hands kept him in the game. One of her blades was aimed for neck, and a second for his stomach. The hammer smashed one, the shield deflected the other.

The cosmic power flowing through him hummed as if instructing him on his potential-what he could do. Arm raised high summoned lightning into his grip, enfueling him to the brink he felt ready to burst. He released the energy by driving the hammer down against the surface. A shockwave expanded and swept across the cemetery, shattering gravestones and propelling Hela backwards. She held her ground but was distracted long enough for her to miss the edge of Steve's shield colliding with her face. A loud gong rang out, stunning the goddess of death who suddenly felt all air escape her lungs as Mjolnir was thrown smashing against her stomach, knocking her down.

"This is for Thor," Steve murmured, summoning Mjolnir back into his grip. Hela shrugged off her damaged headdress, eyes filled with raw fury and raised Stormbreaker. It was time to finish this. Both raised their weapons to the heavens, calling the lightning to their sides as the winds carried them up high. They rumbling clap of thunder was deafened by the collision of two godly weapons causing an arc of lightning to split open the sky. Hela and Steve came crashing down, falling...falling…

Seeing this, Strange pulled both himself and Selina into the Mirror Dimension while a bewildered Enchantress was left to gawk at the sight of a shockwave of lightning slamming into her.

"Where are we, Tricks...?" An incredulous tenor of Selina breathy undertone raspily echoed as vitreous barriers of mirror-like glass prismatically kaleidoscoped around her; against a feverish shunt of nausea, dizzyingly, in rampant traction of her planking elbows, half-exhausted, Selina arced the svelte contours of the litheness of her neoprene-clad body with balletic poise. Gritting her teeth in vehement strain, her dark irises fleetingly blurred against a sonic blast of lightning, vaporizing the zombied husks as dissected bones splintered in that explosive wake, tarry gloze of liquified-carious flesh viscously trekked over the headstones. "Okay, now that's little gross for a girl to see..." she quipped vixenishly, clutching onto her Glock with a reactive flex. "We need to curb this witch party now..."

"I think its over," Strange said after a moment of watching and waiting for the sounds of battle to resume over the now demolished graveyard. The entire area was littered with debris and enveloped in clouds of dust. The storming droplets of rain had lessened into gentle taps that neither Strange nor Selina could feel. Their hesitation was discarded when they took in the sight of an injured and unconscious Enchantress laying splayed out on the ground. "Stay close," he cautioned. The sparking wheel of magic opened a hole in front of them and the sorcerer beckoned Selina through. They stepped back into their dimension, breathing in the pungent stench of decayed flesh and wet soil. Droplets of rain come down on them and on Enchantress laying at their feet.

Thinking quickly, Strange created a magical rune beneath her, trapping her within its ring. "She won't be going anywhere… But where are they…" He wondered searching and unable to see beyond the blur of their surroundings. Had Hela and Steve done the unthinkable and destroyed each other?

Quelling down a shiver of racked numbness, ephemerally doing her utmost brandished an impassive charade over her elvish features, Selina registered heart-crushing-infective urgency pulsing throughout the ghoulish environs-they were on the blinding edge of hope. Feeling a bruising pinch of her nails against her fisting-gloved palm, she gnawed on the underswell of her lip, under the fringe of her mascara-curled lashes, her gaze searchingly towards an obstructive barricade of upturned coffins; she found a brawny masculine silhouette valorously garbed in patriotic tactical Kevlar, standing in a victorious stance with his legendary shield gripped in his leather-gloved hand. Hard-edged tension rapted over Steve's roguish, bloodied features as he glowered fiercely down at his defeated opponent-Hela-being reined into submission with Mjolnir weightily braced over her armored breasts. "Soldier Boy..." she called out, keeping herself distant. "I guess you like to bring the dance to a new level, huh?"

"Something like that," Steve smiled, glad to see Selina unharmed. He could make out the shape of Enchantress waking up with Strange speaking to her. A hardened resolve took form on the Avenger's face in the aftermath of what had to be his most grueling one-on-one fight he'd ever had. Enchantress and Hela had come to wreak havoc on what they assumed to be a weak and battered world, with heroes too weary to return to battle. Remorse filled Steve's heart as he considered those who were caught in the crossfire. His thoughts were disturbed by the dark ominous chuckling of his defeated opponent. The right side of her face was scorched by the devastating collision of Mjolnir and Stormbreaker. Were it not for his shield, Steve knew he would have been more than just scathed.

"You will never see true victory, soldier..." Vitriolically, Hela grimaced in a wraithlike seethe, the spidered appendages of her ebon headdress gouged into the reeking dirt as she twistily angled her head on straining accord, shifting her murderous gaze at the swelled -out pumpkin fattening into a colossal blob of dormant flesh. "My failure of a brother no longer prevails to your mortal reach...He will tragically join Odin when our horizon breaks..."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Strange cut through the ominous tension with a commanding presence. Steve and Selina stepped away as they watched a portal begin to open directly beneath Hela. "Might want to hold onto that, Captain." Strange nodded towards the hammer; still keeping the goddess restrained as she now began to struggle and curse with realization. "Farewell goddess of death, I'll tell Thor you said hello." Hela released a roaring scream of fury as the earth beneath her fell away, sucked through into void of time and space. And then she fell into the dark, bitter cold of Nifelheim. Steve caught Mjolnir at the right moment just as the portal sealed behind her. She was gone.

Against the vertiginous onslaught fringing a torturous pressure through her veins, breathlessly Amora felt the feverish slickness of bloodied rivets graspingly contrast over the ashen pearlescent of her arms, delivering an infectious strain of thorn-like Nordic reddish skeins in Eldritch accord. With a reptilian variance of unhinged reaction, the Vanaheim sorceress waspishly flashed a glint of venomous heat at Doctor Strange as the infusive utterance of his celestial incantation of Yggdrasill's light ethereally melded the electrical pulses of Stormbreaker into circlet glyphs-the astral fusion he adroitly composed out of the Dark Dimension. The rigid suppleness of her ashen flesh coiled with cobra-like ferocity as she railed out a throat-crackling snicker, crazily. "You damn fools have unfortunately lost this engaging battle, the mighty Thor and your beloved Sergent Barnes will soon become soulless vessels of earthen decay..."

Warding off paralyzing traction of heart-stabbing momentum on her stiletto heels, Selina neared towards the entanglement of vines stoppingly, careening-rampageous apparitions of desperation excruciatingly became soul-crushing in a breathless onrush of grappling throes of knifing heartache as her brandy irises mistily flitted blank rawness over a lumpish-bulgy orange pumpkin-a mutative deformity of a ballooning prisoner was irrevocably cradled within the mudded depths of the emptied trench.

Angling her chin over her tensing shoulder, as mahogany tresses clingily webbed over her fevered cheeks, Selina felt the errant frigidity of drizzling wetness, the downpour had become a cool-deadening anesthetic; in that denotive moment of starving grace, she blindly clutched onto a gnarled vine, and with a controlled-rampant- precision, her gloved hand edged deeper, as she chastely kneaded reverent pressure of beckoning-intimate- heat over rotund bulbous flesh of the pumpkin's expanding mass. "B-Bucky..." she choked out voiceless hitches of suffocated breath, threadily, caressing her splayed palm over rubbered solidity of the unmovable pumpkin, while Amora's crackling hyena- laugh deafeningly stole the visceral cadence of eternity that became too agonizing for her to answer. "No...P-Please come back..."

Steve had witnessed many gut-wrenching and horrific sights in his lifetime. Witnessing Bucky's many brushes with death always appeared to be a constant that each time it happened he feared it was the final time. The pain never lessened, it only grew. And so nothing could compare to the stark reality that his best friend wasn't just lifeless, but was now completely unrecognizable in the twisted barks and veins that enveloped the grave he was thrown into. Both he and Strange glanced between each other, both grim-faced and morose as they listened to Selina's gentle sniffles over the rotund pumpkin that was once the man she loved.

Gloved hands tightened into fists and Mjolnir returned to Steve's grip. He turned and glared at Enchantress with a tight jaw. "Turn them back now, Ziegler." He demanded. His threat was left unspoken as the hammer hummed with raw anticipation.

Repelled by his adamant stance, against vengeful blindness, Amora mirrored his silvery azure depths, that glacial intensity searingly pulsed with voltaic-stormier heat that melded in his veins; the heathen warren of carrion denizens-legions of mortal warcraft that she forged had collapsed; heralding installations of the slaughterous butchery of Midgard receded back into the fathomless gorges of Hvergelmir. "I find your wretched demands amusing," she hissed, damningly, feeling viscid sludge of liquified bones frothing gloopily over her gauntleted hands. "My powers are unbound and since you denied my Mistress a blood-soaked reign, you shall watch these fattened husks become cursive ghosts in the casts of your dark twilight, Captain..."

"Then I guess that means we won't be needing you anymore. I can think of a few good places to throw you. The Dark Dimension would be ideal..." The biting sardonic words of the Sorcerer Supreme gave Enchantress literal pause as she watched him stand in front of her. Something had shifted in his eyes that were no longer reserved with passive determination. There was an aura of conviction. A judge laying the sentence upon the guilty held at trial before him. The sorceress' first inclination was to dismiss the mortal's power but having been bested twice by him, she knew he was no mere novice. His power was great enough to send Hela to the icy hell of Nifilheim where she would not return. What would he do to her? Amora raised her hand, gesturing for him to stop. Steve exchanged a look with Strange, wondering how serious he was that he managed to intimidate the sorceress. "Unless, you undo your handiwork. Everyone you turned."

Enchantress left with no other option, valuing her own survival than the satisfaction of leaving Thor and Barnes to their miserable fates. Her hands folded together, conjuring a triangle sphere that morphed into an emerald Vanir glyph that expanded and burst as a shockwave of light across the cemetery. Steve and Strange looked around, pleased to see nothing had at least changed for the worst. "It is done. Now...release me, wizard!" She spat.

"I will. Don't ever return to Earth." With that, Strange opened a portal and watched as a screaming Enchantress fell through and into the dark underworld of Hvergelmir where a giant serpent would be keeping her busy.

A silence settled over the area; uneasy and timid. Steve and Strange walked towards the pumpkin graves, keeping a respectful distance from Selina who hadn't moved-who hadn't even reacted to the burst of magical energy that swept through the vicinity. Her stare was vacant and listless, as if her life had been drained into the branches that imprisoned the soul of the man she loved, leaving only a shell behind. Steve and Strange exchange an uneasy glance, worried that Amora might have actually lied to them.

And then something had begun to change. Strange could almost feel it. The cleansing of a dark aura that could no longer remain strengthened due to the absence of its power-source. The glowing orange embers of eldritch magic began to fade like a light being burned out. The vines that were entangled around the grave wilted and peeled, revealing a contorted mass of leaves and ripped clothing. Selina by now had realized what was happening, her coffee-brown eyes wide and unblinking with an undried tear staining her cheek. The groaning of the tree-limbs were like a roar of a dying animal as Enchantress' magic dispersed.

And then, alarmingly, the bulbous pumpkin had begun to expand; morphing as if coming to life before their very eyes until the ribbed skin turned into flesh. The thick round shell had turned into the form of a man who suddenly sprang to consciousness with a harsh gasp.

"What the hell happened?!" Bucky gasped, eyes wide in total fright and confusion until they took in the calming sight of Selina hovering over him. The last thing he remembered was her being paralyzed and surrounded by Amora's undead puppets ready to finish her off. The fear-the terror he felt in his heart had been too real, he thought he had failed her. But now...now… "Lina...You're...You're alive…" He reached up to cup her cheek, tentative and loving with a glistening of emotion in his blue eyes.

An evocative reality became cravingly grounded into stuporous drags of addictive havoc, while she gazed into the silvered heat of his grayish-aquamarine irises, under the wolfish length of his rain-dampened chestnut tresses, Selina felt his whisper-soft touch growing heavier against disarmed tenor that was intensifying with abandoned-intoxicating urgency; shifting against the ridges of corded bulkiness sculpting his muscled chest, she registered the virile smoothness of his larger palm bracketing a tentative flex of amorous pressure against the delicate underside her angled sleek jaw, gliding drift of roughened his thumb swelteringly graced a reverent pulse of sensuous heat over the lusher swell of her glossier delectable lips. They were reaching for an edge of a moment-the mirrored -headier cadence of a decadent rush-the incarnate resurgence of sweet victory that felt starvingly long-denied against the freakish sorcerous onslaughts infectiously conceived by Amora's portentous -doomsday conjury.

Smirking with a kittenish quirk on her full-bow pillowy lips, Selina hushedly became aware of the wafting rank of pumpkin juice drizzly infused over his naked, tauten flesh. "I think both of us need to shower, Barnes..." she quipped under a devious breath, snarkily, as the metallic graze of his cool bionic fingers caressingly threaded a fiercer grip of mechanized precision over her tousled mahogany whorls, in chaste-ardent steadiness that was exhilaratingly conveyed as their foreheads blindly touched with intimate contrast of wet heat, revving up a grip of sensual tension of their passion-driven arousal. "If we get this graveyard stink off, there might be time to dig into a few Halloween spoils..." she purred, naughtily scrunching up her nose. "Or maybe you prefer carrots..."

"Very cute, darlin'." Bucky snarked before bringing her in, poised and amorous as his lips feathered across hers and rekindled the passion that was feared lost. It wasn't a desperate nor lustful meld of intertwining lips, but a dance between two reunited souls who never wavered in their love. The kiss lasted a moment before they were disrupted by a loud boorish groan coming from the grave beside them. Everyone flinched but watched expectantly as a newly restored Asgardian King pulled himself into a sit-up position, groaning like a man who had the worst hangover.

"What did I miss? Did we win?" Thor groaned, grimacing at the taste in his mouth that reminded him of stale veg. His memories of the battle returned and he took in the state of the grave-yard, satisfied and relieved to see his friends were all present and alive, and Amora, he could only presume, was knocked half-way across the universe where she would not haunt him.

"Yeah. Looks like it, Thor." Steve said with a relieved smile.

"Good…" A belch escaped the thunderer who then noticed that Steve was holding Mjolnir to his side. His once most dependable and prized possession had once again found its way into worthy hands to save the day. "Show off..." Thor jabbed with good-humor. It lasted only a moment before the blue of his eyes widened and he felt his stomach rumble. He threw his head over the ledge and emptied the contents of his stomach, much to the amusement and disgust of those present he coughed up pumpkin seeds. "I need ale...Lots of it." He held his arm out and called Stormbreaker into his hands, determined to fly to New Asgard, drink away all memory of this terrible night; and maybe tomorrow finish that candy he left behind.

"Steve…" Bucky approached Steve with Selina on his arm.

"Buck…" Steve smiled, happy to see his best friend had cheated death yet again, and had his best girl keeping him up on his feet every step of the way. "This is becoming a bad habit." He said breaking the tension which earned him a chuckle and a soft pat on the arm from the bearded brunette.

"Don't I know it." Bucky studied his friend carefully. Looking at him again, he saw something he was afraid he'd never see again that night they talked. He saw life, he saw peace, and a willingness to move forward.

Pillowing her cheek against the ridged heaviness of Bucky's fleshed shoulder, grungily under tousled-damp mahogany tresses with an incredulous flit of her dark irises, Selina gazed at the mystical virtuoso as he remained trancedly impassive-locked in a telepathic stupor, the cavalier smoothness of his matured-goateed features raptly edged with stiff concentration as he quakily eased up his scarred pin-hinged fingers a painstaking hairbreadth over pulsing strains of astral energy that beckoningly veined out of a transcendental highway-the breached phantom crossways of the Multi-verse plane: something was coming out.

Keeping Bucky grounded at her side, he clumsily lost reined traction on his combat boots from bone-numbing exhaustion after being morphed into a bulging globular-sized pumpkin-it was hard for him to shake off. Shifting her brandy depth with jaunty deviousness alight, Selina detected the heartsick urgency Strange guardedly masked with a dismissive-snub-clench of his bristled jaw. "Let me guess, someone is calling on the other line of your mystic radar, Tricks?" she purred coolly, a play of slyness fringed in her undertone, he didn't react with his off-hand deadpanning tenor. "Well, don't keep them waiting..."

"I don't intend to," Strange replied. His level of concentration had changed ever since he'd become the Sorcerer Supreme. While the human mind could only perceive certain senses such as sight, hearing, taste and touch; his mind was now attuned to cosmic abnormalities and psychic connections. One more specific of which happened to be with a certain Avenger he'd grown quite fond of. He focused and began to rotate dual digits in a circular motion, opening a portal to the New York Sanctum where he had made an important drop-off hours ago.

The wheeling veins of Eldritch-telekinetic energy blazingly converged over the battle-ravaged cemetery; skeletal remnants became sifts of vapory dust against seismic pulses, clenching his beard-ragged jaw, tensely Steve hefted up his shield while Bucky scowlingly echoed his tactical intent, leveling straight-arm precision of the Glock with triggered readiness as reddish psionic flares of magenta consumingly whooshed over headstones. Gearing up his predatory-sniper-caliber, tautly Bucky pinched his furrowing brow, scanning over a white-stone mausoleum and Gothic statuary with the laser-edged periphery of his vision, not easing his grip on the hammer-lock. "I don't like this..." he drawled, throatily, advancing in mid-step with Selina defensively crouched low on her neoprene-clad hunches near an opened trench."Waitin' for your call, punk..."

Steve wasn't sure what was happening, nor why Strange had just opened up a portal but knew that it wasn't to bring in another hostile entity for them to fight. He calmly gestures for Bucky to stand-down as his eyes take in the sight of a familiar face stepping through the portal.

"Steve..." Within a measured rush of a heartbeat, curvaceously garbed in her burgundy Victorian-steampunk- leather jacket that gothically contrasted a corset-like brocade, Wanda hastily emerged out of the sling-ring portal, raspily beckoning for him in urgent pitch, evident to the elfish sleekness that waifishly belied her Sokovian visage, keeping her sleeved arms forcibly extended wide in telltale strain against the rupturing implosion of the dimensional barrier. "I-I have something to show you...There isn't much time before the gateway closes..."

"Wanda." Strange and the Scarlet Witch greet each other with a heartfelt embrace that could be felt by everyone present. The younger woman smiled and laughed at something sardonic he whispered into her ear, and she responded by whispering something into his own. Strange suddenly looked stunned by whatever it was he was told. Steve, Bucky and Selina exchange uncertain looks, wondering what was up with all the secrecy.

"Doc, Wanda? We all right here?" Steve asked worriedly as Wanda's eyes focused on him.

"You have an appointment, Captain." Strange said, barely containing the smile on his lips as he opened up a new portal. This one leading to what appeared to be an open road in an unknown location. Steve looked between the portal to Strange, and then back towards Wanda, uncertain what this meant.

In those rigged seconds of effusive urgency, heartily Bucky edged a measured step closer to Steve; heart-crushingly fostering the Brooklyn covenant of their unbreakable brotherhood, he needed to let his 'little Stevie' go, the infinite battleground they crossed was barren against the promise of new daybreak-echoes of prevailing valor would never be deafened. Straining a crestfallen quirk of his shapely-wide lips, evident to the Brooklyn covenant of unbreakable brotherhood deeply graced in the bracketing crow-lines of his glacial aqueous irises, smirkily, Bucky murmured out against dredged up croakiness of a breathless pitch, whisperingly, giving him an encouraging nod."Go for it, punk..."

Something had happened, Steve knew. Everyone appeared to realize that. Steve was almost afraid to wonder what though inwardly he couldn't stop thinking about the one face he wanted to see at his side more than any other. One that was beside him through thick and thin for so many years since waking up in this new century. But one look at Bucky who gave his nod of encouragement was enough to uplift him from his somber trepidation.

"Hold onto this for me." He says, handing Bucky his shield. "Till next time." He and Bucky share what almost felt like a parting smile, but both knew this wasn't goodbye. Mjolnir would find its way back to the compound with Strange's help. All that was left was the way forward. He had to move forward, and in this instance, it was quite literal. The twirling sparks of magic that created the gateway stood in front of him and Steve felt as if he were about to step into his future. Everyone watches as he steps through with the portal closing behind him.

"Think he'll be all right?" Bucky asked Selina, nuzzling her cheek. Steve didn't need a guardian or keeper, but a part of Bucky would always worry for his best friend who he looked out for since childhood.

"I think Rogers is going to have the ride of his life, handsome..." Selina rasped knowingly; the virile muskiness of sandalwood nakedly caressed over the pearlescent flesh of her delicate elfish features in a headier rush of their melding arousal, a feverous volition that she gloriously craved against drags of restraint. Flitting her lashes against blearing onrush wetness of errant tears, Selina registered the intimate wake of their evocative-rivalrous sync-a tempered demand for her abandonment he commanded, hungrily.

Every tenor of sensuous pressure ignited a slow-burning fever that wouldn't be quenched; she felt the waging—chaste precision of his bionic hand was shiveringly touch-driven that dueled with her rapid pulse as she kittenishly twined her lithe arms over the broad corded thickness of his nape, blindingly a decadent surge of wet heat of the plushier fullness of her lips ghosted an intensifying promise of boneless mania steamily over the hard-edged planes of his stubbled jaw, as she purringly urged. "You do owe me a Halloween spoil, Bunny Boy..."

Wordlessly he leaned in and claimed her lips in a deep kiss full of promise to make good on her claim later that evening. Inwardly, Bucky felt as if an invisible weight on his shoulders had been lifted and the future would begin to look much brighter for everyone. -

Dawn had begun to peak over the horizon, bathing the skies with a mosaic of colors from vibrant pink to warm yellow. It was a beautiful canvas that the artist within Steve could appreciate as he stood on an open road out in the country. He wasn't sure where he was at first. But one look at a nearby sign told him he wasn't too far away from the facility outside of the city. He silently took in everything; the trees, the fields, the every brightening skies and wondered why he had never stopped to appreciate such a calming atmosphere that could feel like home.

Of course, it only felt like home when it had those closest to you to share it with. He knew he wasn't alone. He had Bucky, he had Sam, he had Wanda, Thor, Selina, Tony-everyone that he could call friend and family. A solemn heart could always yearn but push forward…but it could also be rejuvenated.

'Please Nat...Don't let go...Dammit...'

The desperate flex of Clint's vicing grip had anguishedly stolen her pulse in a tenfold; she felt the nether frostiness of galactic wasteland of Vormir chasmically resonated through her veins in the soul-crushing moment of surrendering herself to the elysian bridge of captive apparitions-souls that were harvested on the sacrificial fringe. It was a trade-off run that she had unremittingly geared up for; a votive-suicidal choice that was measured by the ultimate-immeasurable price of her disposable-infective blood. A contingency extension that she conceived where they downsized into the quantum dimension; knowing the inevitable stakes were high. 'Whatever it takes...'

The damnable-surgical cadence of the Red Room had been finally silenced. In the heart-gouging moment of throbbingly registering the straining-urgent ease of her best friend's bloodied hand on the edge the icy crag; they had one chance to reverse the soul-reaping-genocidal energy of Thanos's cosmic Infinity Gaunlet. The incarnate legacy of the Black Widow had been cleaved with an unforgiving price-she had betrayingly lost her fostered sister Yelena to the surgical devices of that ability-copying parasite Taskmaster who had deceptively composed in the underground ranks-harmonic industry of weaponized-combative- marionettes.

'I use to have nothing...'

She wouldn't give Clint Barton to the Soul Stone; that one part of herself that kept fighting to do the right thing, stoking the battle-tested extent of her undeterred-grievous choice to voluntarily fall into the celestial rift of eternity: staking down her expandable deliverance of viscerous redemption. Everything was beyond reach from the mortal plane-the visceral throb of unbidden-contractive heartache wouldn't staunch out. She needed to get back to him-Steve.

After being side-tracked with greenlight missions of SHIELD, harnessing deceptive-tactical calibers of warranted spycraft; Natasha kept herself unbreakable like granite-distant to the limits of her heart; the killing stage of the Red Room Academy had exorcised out her resistance for combative supremacy tested in the blood-smeared crosshairs. When Hawkeye-Barton's arrow delivered precision of mercy in a market sector of Budapest, she became a defective Widow operative-a Sleeper Agent recruited by the underground 'tradecraft- installation helmed by Nick Fury, utilizing hard-core mechanisms of calibrated survival, becoming a fugitive of her own unforgiving-butchered past.

Then, on the flight-deck of Helicarrier, she met the awakened First Avenger-a soldiery descendent of paragon ranks of American heroism; Steven Grant Rogers was a modernized-valiant-hearted- tenacious 'Perseus' who had daringly cut off the tyrannical head of HYDRA with unquenchable and enhanced resilience when malodorous fumes of bloodshed vented out of the battlemented frontlines of war-torn Europe. He braved the impossible-sacrificed everything to finish the mission when the interminable odds tragically flipped against him.

At first, Natasha emptily valued him as the boyish patriotic 'eagle boy' as Fury selected him to determinedly command the united Avengers when the Chitauri armada invasion ushered by Loki had destructively ravaged over downtown New York, after that day victorious day, open grounds of breached trust didn't falter; nothing was the same-Natasha had found her new dance partner-just like Andromeda.

Now, she felt detachedly anesthetized-grappled out a chimerical paradox, almost like vertiginously wading against a relentless undertow-only half-awake to feel the electrified beckon of love's charity-a retractive grip of anchoring salvation. Becoming aware of the elemental callback as fiery sigils of kinetic magenta ethereally barraged around her-a symphonic resurrection that manifested as celestial branches of Yggdrasill morphed into paradisiac beacons of eternity.

Brandishing a poised semblance of tactical nonchalance, inadvertently Natasha braced the supple planes of her leather-garbed back against the chrome handlebars of parked vintage Harley Davidson, her grayish-teal irises searchingly flashed with catatonic echoes of warred resistance as the knifing questioned careened through her veins: did everyone that nightmarishly dissolved-harvested into sifted heaps of ashy mulch on the battlegrounds of Wakanda come back...?

She had waited patiently unlike a woman who had been given a second chance that she didn't say anything. Not a word, not a sound to give her away as he shuffled about the road, turning a corner until he spotted her behind a cluster of trees by the curb.

Steve ground to a complete halt, unable to mask the look of emotion on his face once he realized who it was he had been brought here to see. The face that haunted his dreams and waking nightmares for months now, and until last night he wasn't sure if he would've ever seen again. "...Nat?"

She stood leaning back against a Harley Davidson, decked out in tight blue jeans, a brown leather jacket with her crimson-colored locks pulled back into a braided ponytail. A small watery smile was across her rosebud lips, but he couldn't, for the life of him, bring himself to succumb to the empowering feeling of total joy. Not after what happened last night.

It couldn't be her... Could it? They stood across from each other in silence, neither making a move forward, but Steve struggled with himself as he took a step forward, and then another, until he was in front of her. His heart beat rapidly in his chest the closer he came and took in that blood-rushing scent of lavender and citrus. That was too familiar to be faked...along with the flecks of blonde mixed with her copperish red locks in her braid. It was her-there was no doubting that.

His heart began hammering so hard he thought it might burst as he gazed into her misty teal eyes that were fighting to withhold their emotions. "What was the last thing you said to me?" He chided almost playfully.

She gave him a watery smile as she tucked in her bottom lip. "Well, I guess it was more than five seconds..." She teased.

And just like that, all doubt vanished from inside of him and his joy soared to unimaginable heights. He raced to her and lifted her up into his arms, crushing his lips to hers in a breathtaking kiss. His heart was quaking inside his chest, making him feel breathless as their lips moved and they breathed into each other like they had dreamed of doing for so many years. It was therapeutic, it was life-giving and shattered the barriers that had been between them for too long.

Steve held her in his arms, almost afraid to let go until she coaxed with a reassuring smile that set him at ease. Neither of them made an effort to wipe the trickle of tears from each others eyes as they basked in each others warm presence. "There's so much I want to say to you, Nat. There's a lot I should've said. I-" Steve began, recalling the remorse he felt last night. His eyes must have revealed so much, or maybe it was the kiss itself, because his words were halted as she cupped his cheek.

Against the stark pressure of wonderous-unfeigned heat that rode stealingly through her with an incendiary-hungered pulse of aphrodisiac voltage as the rampant firestorm of white-heat arced rackingly in her veins; a tenor of novel resistance was caught in a rushing drags of her breath as the bruising shift of his sensuous-chiseled lips over her flushed cheek hotly edged deeper into a vibrant—promise—release of starved ecstasy. Utilizing the ardent flexion her sirenlike caress—a recapturing touch of feminine compromise, her lithe fingers exquisitely traced phantom—feverous delicacy of a kneading pressure over the graven-edged heaviness of his beard-roughened jaw that branded a definite revelation. An exhilarative pulse of naked ferocity tempestuously fueled amorous rhapsody, under her heavy-lidded gaze, Natasha stiflingly mirrored the oceanic intensity of his cool azure irises fringed with tear-dampened lashes: nothing ever felt so real.

Angling the voluptuous curvaceousness of her svelte form dizzyingly against tauten-planes of his bulked solidary—the invincible reality of him garbed in navy-blue Kelvar-a fusing-boneless contrast of sensuous tactilely as the cushioned swells of her lusher breasts; a dynamical—mirrored rhythm that was breathtakingly glorious in a rapturous accord of headier—intoxicating urgency. A ratcheting pulse of naked desire tempestuously fueled amorous rhapsody, under her heavy-lidded gaze, Natasha stiflingly mirrored the oceanic intensity of his cool azure irises fringed with tear-dampened lashes: nothing ever felt so real. "Let's just go for a ride, Steve..." she huskily urged in a smoky undertone with a foxier cadence and blindingly lifted a black visored helmet off the motorcycle's saddle, thrusting it against his armored chest, teasingly. "We both need to live again, don't you think?"

Truer words couldn't have been spoken except for the ones that didn't need to be said. There was a time for that later tonight. Right now, it was a new day and Steve couldn't think of a better way to spend it than this.

"I'm driving." He accepted the helmet with a gracious smile and then straddled himself into the front of the motorcycle. It had been months since he had driven his Harley Street 750. Some who drove bikes were either thrill-seekers who chased the sunset, or troubled souls looking for an escape. Steve drove because he appreciated the simplicity of a nice quiet ride made even more special by the dame who settled herself into the seat behind him. Once Natasha was fully situated behind him, Steve throttled up the engine, feeling it purr beneath his seat as two arms wove around his waist, hugging him close.

The sun was climbing higher into the sky. All was quiet in the countryside to the two souls who drove on empty roads with no clear destination in sight. Neither Steve nor Natasha cared. The road to this kind of tranquility had been loud and chaotic. Their focus had been to save all life, to give the universe another chance at sustaining itself in peace or war. For Steve, much had changed over the past few days, for good and for worse. But if he learned anything it was how important the fight was-and how it gave him this second chance to find the happy ever after he'd always been hoping for. Was it all worth it in the end? It damn sure was.

Natasha saw the world in a whole new light as her gaze watched the passing scenery. From the fields of oak trees, to the streaming rivers, to the robins flying overhead. There was a beauty she had never fully appreciated. But being given a second chance at life made her want to live in a way she had denied herself as the Black Widow. Family was important-Yelena, Alexei, Clint...and Steve. She wouldn't be afraid to embrace that vital part of her existence that was truly worth living for. Her arms tightened around Steve's waist as she rested her chin against his back, smiling as she looked to their new future together.

The End