#and whenever i think of crash-hide-soldiers

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

we're drunk and in love (but i'd never tell)

Summary: At the Last Light Inn, you and Rolan get to know each other a bit better...

Pairing: Rolan x gn!Tav

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, sexual content (to a certain degree)

Words: 3k

A/N: I had realized I had wrote nothing on Rolan's tail in my previous fics, so I had to fix that. Enjoy <3

Tagging: @tripleyeeet @fictionobsession @elfinbloodbag @adequate-superstar @sapphiccloud (if you don't want to be tagged, or if you want to be added, let me know <3)

\_/

Sitting at a table in a corner of the Last Light Inn, you and the rest of your party have managed to drink an incredible amount of alcohol. The pile of empty mugs and bottles stands perilously on the unsteady wooden table and some of them have even crashed onto the floor, littering it with pieces of broken glass and sticky remains of booze.

Karlach and Gale are somehow still drinking, caught up in a game of their own of which you don’t know the rules but that Astarion seems quite too eager to referee. It’s quite entertaining: the tiefling, barely even tipsy with the biggest mug of ale you’ve ever seen in her hand, and the wizard, muttering something unintelligible in his drunken haze, a bottle of wine tightly held in his grip which, despite his complaints about the cheap taste, keeps meeting his lips every few minutes. Mostly whenever Astarion reminds him that the game is still on, with that mischievous smirk of his cutting his face.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel have quietly opted out from the drinking game, but have instead entered a staring contest filled with insults going from one end to the other and back. Wyll, sitting in front of them, tries to ease the tension as best he can, with no other result than finding himself at the end of some drunken — and not too subtle — threats from the both of them.

Despite the nearby amusement, your eyes keep drifting away from your companions further into the Inn; precisely, to the spot next to the counter where Rolan is leaning against as he chuckles at Cal and Lia’s drunken shenanigans. You can’t help but focus on the crow’s feet appearing around his eyes and the way his features soften everytime he looks at his siblings, hiding his smile behind his pint.

Every once in a while, when his siblings are too busy bickering with each other, Rolan’s gaze also wanders around the room, skimming the clientèle quickly before stopping on you. Everytime he does, your eyes meet as if they’ve been searching for each other all night, lingering for as long as they can before Cal and Lia demand Rolan’s attention back to them, or someone in your group calls for your opinion for whatever silly question has crossed their minds.

“Hey soldier!”

With a quiet sigh, you move your gaze from Rolan’s and turn to Karlach. You immediately notice the smirk on her face — mirroring Astarion’s — as she rests her head on her closed fist. “Fancying someone, aren’t we?”

You roll your eyes and take another sip of your drink as she and the vampire chuckle at your ever so slight embarrassment. “You should really care about your own personal life.”

“I’d truly rather not think about it,” Astarion hums, stealing Gale’s bottle and taking a sip. “Besides… this,” — he says as his fingers move between you and Rolan — “is much more fun.”

“Ch’k. And pathetic.”

Turning to your side, you find Lae’zel staring at you, spine straight as a mountain and arms crossed on her chest. She would look even more intimidating if it weren’t for Shadowheart sleeping on her shoulder.

“If you want him, go and take this ridiculous pining far away from me.”

“Wow. Really?”

“You know I’m nothing short of a romantic,” Wyll starts, kind and sympathetic as ever, although his smile trembles as he continues, “however, I must admit this is quite unbearable to watch.”

“Thanks for your honesty, Wyll.”

“He does have a point,” Karlach nods before smiling and winking at you, “and I’m sure the tiefling would be more than happy to get railed by you ‘til dawn.”

“Yeah, I-” — you pass a hand over your face, your cheeks burning as many filthy thoughts start filling your brain — “I got that, Karlach. Thanks.”

“Oh, don't be so awkward about it,” the barbarian roars as her laughter almost makes the table shake, “you also deserve some good-”

You stand up, way too quickly given how much you’ve drunk until now. Your head swirls for a moment before it settles back down.

“I’m leaving. And you should all get back to camp.” Your eyes move to Gale as he’s sleeping with his cheek squished against the table, his face flushed by all the alcohol. “Especially him. And Astarion, stop giving him the wine.”

The vampire, who had just handed the wizard his bottle back, takes it away once again with a smirk and drinks another sip from it, earning a disgruntled groan from the drunken man next to him.

You sigh, downing what remains of your ale before piling the mug with the others on the table. “Try not to die while I’m gone.”

As you walk off, you hear a loud clapping, accompanied by some whistling. You take a deep breath as you rub your eyes, trying to ignore the attention that your companions cheering has brought down on you. You suddenly remember the poison vile in your bags… mixing the deadly content in Gale's stew has never seemed such a good idea.

“What was that about?”

Stepping closer to the counter, you turn to Lia, her questioning eyebrows raised mostly with amusement than actual curiosity.

“Just a drunken bet,” you lie, leaning on the wooden surface and sliding until your elbow doesn't meet Rolan's. Even if he notices your not too subtle maneuver, he doesn't move away.

“I love bets!”

Cal’s speech is slurred by the alcohol as he speaks. He tries to take a step forward but helplessly stumbles back, leaning against his sister for stability. Lia rolls her eyes and sighs in resignation but doesn't move away.

“What did you bet on?” she asks again, taking a sip of ale.

Despite the drunken haze blurring your mind, you notice her gaze has suddenly sharpened. There's a glint of mischief behind her eyes, as if she's already seen through your true intentions and is simply wanting to tease you about it. You wouldn't put it past her — especially if it were made to get a reaction out of Rolan — and, normally, you would never indulge in her teasing.

Normally.

It's been a while since things have been nothing but abnormal. And there's a way too abnormal amount of ale running through your veins for you to hide the desire you feel for that sarcastic tiefling.

“We were merely wondering if I could manage another kind word from the snarky wizard,” you shrug, turning towards Rolan with a smirk as you lean — ever so slightly — more into him. “After all, I think I've deserved it.”

 The tiefling next to you scoffs, chuckling softly as he takes a sip of his mug before meeting your half-lidded gaze with his own. “I've thanked you once already.” He leans closer, his face stopping a few inches away. “Don't be greedy.”

A teasing smile pulls his lips on that last word, contradicting that last word as the tiefling keeps staring, his eyes darting to your mouth and then back to your gaze, almost daring you to press your mouth against his and savor the lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue. An invitation you’d gladly take on, if Lia’s gaze wasn’t still piercing through your right temple.

“Perhaps,” you utter softly, tapping your fingers on his arm. “I want something different than your gratitude.”

Rolan raises his eyebrows, his pupils widening as he looks at you. Despite the surprise painted in his eyes, his smirk doesn't quiver once.

“The ale makes you quite bold.”

As your hand moves up and down his forearm, you lean closer to him, until you're whispering into his ear. “If you like that, I could be even bolder, away from prying eyes.”

When you pull away, the smirk has left the tiefling's face. His cheeks, already flushed because of the cheap booze, are the same shade of red as the blood running through his veins — perhaps even darker. You chuckle lightly at his dumbfounded expression, the back of your fingers brushing against his scorching skin before you walk past him. You sway ever so slightly towards the stairs that bring upstairs, stopping just before the first step and leaning against the wall. Waiting.

“Lia.”

The summoned tiefling turns to her brother, whose gaze is still focused on you and your smirking face. “If you could leave the room to us for… an hour or so,” Rolan continues, his words stumbling over one another. “I- we need to discuss some important business,” — he nods to himself — “magic… wizard-y business.”

“Yeah,” she hums while swirling the remaining contents of her drink, a grin on her face. “I bet your dick has a lot of unfinished business with that ass.”

“Lia!”

His whisper is so loud that for a moment it seems to bring back to the present moment even Cal. His head, however, falls soon back onto his sister’s shoulder. Chuckling devilishly, Lia downs her ale and asks with a wave to the innkeeper for another one.

“I’ll give you two hours,” she agrees, cocking her eyebrows. “But you’re paying for the ale.”

Rolan rolls his eyes. “As always.”

“And tomorrow you’ll take care of this.”

She points with a nod to Cal, once again asleep and drooling all over her shirt as his snoring grows by the minute — a loud omen of how insufferable he will be the next day, complaining about his hangover. Rolan takes a deep breath before huffing it out, frustrated but unable to quarrel, given that you’re still waiting for him.

“Fine! I will do my due.” He turns to leave but stops, facing Lia for another moment as he gently squeezes her arm. “Thank you, sister.”

“Just remember this when I’ll need some business time of my own,” she screams at his turned back, but she might as well be talking to a wall. Rolan’s attention has left her and Cal, focusing completely on you and the way your figure is still leaning against the wooden, dirty wall.

As he steps closer, your brain finally catches on to what's going to happen in a handful of minutes and you can’t help the way your heartbeat quickens at the mere thought. You had often considered the possibility, fantasizing about the tiefling before going to sleep. They were simple dreams, delusions really, a way to ease the struggles of the day with a gentle thought to yourself. But there’s no time left for the fantasy: Rolan’s standing in front of you now, with his blood coloring his cheeks and his hand — real as the flesh and bones that’s made of — stretched towards you.

“Come. I’ll show you my room.”

You take it with a smirk, rubbing your thumb on his fingers when they close around yours. “Who’s the bold one now?”

He remains quiet as he pulls you with him into the stairwell. You leave behind the light of the tavern, stepping into a darkness so sudden that it blinds you. In the time that it takes to regain your sight, Rolan’s hands slither to your waist. You hold your breath as they gently guide you backwards until your back meets the wall. You don’t even see the tiefling’s face getting near yours, you simply feel his warm breath dancing on your lips and sending shivers down your spine.

There’s a pause, a moment of stillness as you both get adjusted to the novel closeness, to the warmth that spreads between your clothed bodies and the heaviness of his hands and legs, pressed against and between yours. Rolan doesn’t move back, giving away none of the inches he’s gained towards you, but he doesn’t even close the distance that separates the two of you, leaving you in a limbo of desire that’s slowly driving you crazy by the second.

You nudge your nose against his, smirking when you feel his breath catching in his throat. “What are you waiting for, wizard? A written invitation?”

The question still rings in your mouth when Rolan shuts it with his own lips. They simply press on yours at first, sitting awkwardly on top of each other like all first kisses turn out to be. Then you move, opening and closing your lips onto his bottom one as you've pictured so many times in your dreams, and the dance begins. A dance made of drunken mouths and tongues desperately looking for one another, for a momentary pleasure, and perhaps for something more than a fire that extinguishes in the span of one night.

With all your attention focused on the way his teeth teasingly graze your jaw, you almost forget his hands; that is until they grab your ass and pull you even closer against him. Your fingers dig into his arm as you whimper ever so softly, mentally cursing the leather and clothes separating his bare skin from your touch.

A second later, it all disappears.

His mouth. His hands. The painful and blessed heat rushing through you. Completely gone.

You open your eyes to find Rolan staring at you, his golden irises piercing through the darkness like a lighthouse in a moonless night.

“Come now,” he whispers, a quiet order that you’re more than happy to comply with.

He slides his hand back into your grip and you follow him as he guides you up the stairs. You’re unsure how — despite the alcohol that's flowing and clouding both your brains — you manage to climb the two stories without faults or stumbles; what you know for certain is that the second the door closes behind the tiefling, your hands are pulling him back in before he can utter a single word.

Your mouth sloppily moves on his with the hunger of a starving wolf. With your fingers stroking and pulling his air, you drink in the soft moans that escape his lips — coal to feed the fire that burns within. His hands go back to your hips, squeezing them before his fingertips make their way under your shirt. The grazing touch of his claws on your bare skin is enough to make you gasp.

“Losing your breath for so little, my hero?”

As his whisper and the shivers caused by it linger on your skin, you grab him by the collar. You can feel him swallow as you do, his throat brushing against your knuckles.

“When I’m done with you,” you hum softly, taking a few steps back and dragging him to the bed, “you’ll be lucky if you still remember your name.”

You're not used to giving — or receiving — this kind of gentleness: your hands always find themselves more at ease when covered in blood than wrapped in the gentle hold of a lover. Yet, this softness seems to spring naturally from you as your fingertips inch tentatively along his bare skin, patiently tracing the shape of his bones and muscles instead of devouring every inch of flesh in sight. Despite your newfound care, his chest trembles under your touch, his shaky breath mixing with a soft whimper when you climb in his lap, legs spread and knees pointed on either side of him.

With his face even more flushed than ever, Rolan opens his mouth. Whatever thought crosses his glowing eyes, nothing leaves his lips other than a breathless sigh as he silently and wide-eyed stares at you. Chuckling softly, you turn him around and sit him down on the consumed mattress of the inn. You undo his belt and the knots of his leather bracers, despite the alcoholic numbness slowing your fingers down, before messily helping him out his light armor and tunic.

“You look scared.” You drag your fingers along his jaw before settling them on his burning cheek, your thumb caressing his cheekbone. “We can stop here, if you want. It's been a lot of fun already.”

Rolan chuckles quietly but his eyes don't leave yours. “I'm many things right now. Drunk, mostly. In utter awe of your beauty, most definitely. But frightened?” — he holds his breath, shaking his head ever so slightly — “How could I be afraid of something I desire so deeply?”

“And doesn’t that scare you?”

“Wanting?”

“No,” you mutter softly, your thumb digging deeper into his skin. “Not wanting.”

Since you’ve been old enough to recognize it, you’ve known the thrill that desire can set alight within you and others. You’ve cherished it deeply, abused it at times and chastised yourself for it afterwards. Because where there’s wanting — where affection and love and attachment grow stronger — the looming threat of losing’s always following closely behind. You’ve witnessed that pain, tested out on your own skin, and it never left you. It’s constantly with you, a sleeping presence that lives in the back of your mind, awaking like clockwork at the slightest hint of closeness and intimacy and filling your head with dark whispers that always manage to draw you away. From what was left of your family. From friends, lovers and anyone else you’ve ever cared about.

Even now its honeyed whispers stick to your ears, a reminder that despite the rush flowing through your veins — despite the kindness that spills from your heart, this will be one of the many nights spent with a stranger in a dirty inn in the middle of nowhere. After all, you might’ve met before and bickered like an old married couple before parting ways, you might’ve thought endlessly about his hands roaming your naked body every night you were apart and you might want him just as much as he wants you, but Rolan remains nothing but a stranger.

“Then what-”

The tiefling’s words are lost in your mouth. The same gentleness from before spreads from your lips as you softly push yourself more into him until he’s laying down on the covers. His hands glide along your legs as his tail also wraps around one of them, with its pointy end brushing along your inner thigh. You can't help the sighs full of pleasure that slip through your kisses while that involuntary response continues to tease you. Or the way your insides seem to stir at Rolan's moan when you gently squeeze the bulge in his pants.

“Just relax, wizard.” You linger once again on his lips, a smirk pulling your mouth when you move away. “I'll take care of it. Then if you want, you can return the favor.”

He nods with a mischievous smile. “I’d be delighted to.”

As you keep kissing, slowly getting to his waist, you feel his muscles relax more and more under your touch. His breathing slows, getting more and more regular by the minute. Too regular in a way, unwavering even when your hands start pulling down his pants.

Chuckling lightly, you kiss him again, deeper this time. You move to his jaw, then lower, leaving a trail of spit and sloppy kisses from his neck to his chest. When you look up at him, he’s closed his eyes while his head rests on the mattress, mouth slightly open and lips shaking every once in a while whenever your tongue laps over a sensitive spot. Everytime you feel his chest tremble, you stop and torture that part of his skin, revelling in his quiet — and not so quiet — whimpers.

Another noise escapes his lips seconds later, a vibration that shakes his entire body and stops your movements on the spot.

“Are you kidding me…”

Rolan’s sleeping. You poke him in the abdomen with a finger but he doesn’t even flinch. You’ve definitely underestimated the amount of alcohol he’s managed to drink, or simply his resistance to it.

It would feel almost insulting, falling asleep like that with you about to give him head, if only he didn’t look so peaceful.

“You’re lucky you're cute,” you whisper with a pout as you get off him, ready to go back to camp and take care of your arousal in your own tent. However, as soon as you try to take a step from the bed, something pulls you back. Lowering your gaze, you find Rolan’s tail still wrapped around your leg.

“Really?”

You tap gently on it, pulling it to loosen its grip around you, but your maneuvers only make the tail tighten more. Sighing heavily, you consider every option that could aid your silent exit, but there isn’t one in which you don’t wake the wizard up. Then, as the weariness and alcohol start to take over your tired limbs, you consider staying. Not leaving, for once. Daring to want something more, something that lasts longer than a night. Maybe something that could last forever.

The mere thought awakes the dark presence in your mind. It’s louder than normal, ringing in your head like the most annoying headache. You push your hands into your eyes, rubbing quickly to soothe away the pain but to no avail. Normally at this point, with the reminder of the pain of losing so close, you’d be running away without thinking of anyone but yourself, selfishly guarding your heart like the frailest of glass sculptures.

However, once again, there’s nothing normal in your life lately.

Ignoring the shadowy voice that’s now screaming in the back of your head, you slip in bed with Rolan, snuggling next to him in the small space left. As soon as the mattress tilts under your weight, the tiefling turns towards you, his face resting so close that his nose brushes against yours with every breath.

You stare at him for a long time, taking in every detail in his face until the candle in the room runs out. Even when the shadows have wrapped you in their arms, your eyes keep searching for him in the dark. The longer you look at him — at the way his lips curl or the few scattered freckles on his cheeks and nose, the quieter the voice in your head gets.

When the door opens again and Lia and Cal step in, you’re still awake, still studying his features — the voice is a mere whisper. You hear Lia mutter something to herself, probably about the fact that you’re still there, but her voice is soon replaced with the sounds of regular breathing and soft snoring. It doesn’t take long after that for you to also give in to the pull of sleep.

However, before you shut your brain off, you let your hand slip in his hold. The last thing you feel before Selûne welcomes you in her realm is Rolan squeezing your hand.

[callofdudes]

I have another HC to share with you! Ghost and Soap in the many timelines in the multiverse have lots of Deja vus together. They both always feel like they have met somewhere before and whenever they say something familiar, they pause, and stare. They don’t know why they stood still for that, but they did and both would get a flash of being in the same place but a different time. Never to be able to explain it but they both just feel like this is where they need to be. :D

I know this has been sitting in my inbox for a while, but I feel now is a good time to bring it up.

Simon and Johnny know each other. Well, they did.

Ghost knew John. Out in the snowy plains where they huddled under the branches of a naked tree, breaths of cold air mingling among the fallen snow.

They whisper softly and mutter about the harsh conditions as they talk over their strategies. It's hard to talk strategies and think about the enemy when you're freezing to death and the only warm body next to you is each other.

They know each other. They know each other's smells. Crashed in the same bed after a long mission, not necessarily romantic or anything else, just two men two need rest and the closest body to them while cooped up in a safehouse.

John and Simon know each other wherever they go. Everything they find themselves they always... Know.

Simon was shot, the remains of his body melted into the uniform he wore and his dog tags barely showing the name of an honored fallen soldier.

John kissed that same man's forehead, promising his brother in arms he'd avenge his death. And he did. So he thought.

John was killed. That was it...

Simon and John know each other.

Simon knows John though he's scared to watch him. Simon sits in the corner of the school yard at recess, watching that cute boy laugh and kick around the courtyard football with his friends.

He hides deeper in his sweater hoodie as he watches John. There's just... Something about him. A weird familiarity. He couldn't call it comfortable because truly he didn't know what that was yet.

But John was different. No one noticed Simon, he tried to hide. But John did.

Piercing blue eyes recognizing him as they were assigned for school projects. Staring into each other's eyes John recognized something in the lidded soft brown gaze that was shaded under the big hoodie.

They knew each other. It was something strange. Back at their age you might call it soulmates. Hell, they even stole a kiss or two behind the school building with racing hearts unsure of what this was for them.

Simon was scared, scared of everyone, but not of John. John made something turn in him, a familiarity he couldn't place. Among the wretches of a horrible school life John made him feel different. Like he was known.

John and Simon always know each other.

Whether it's that sweaty photo of football star goalie in the newspaper as Simon works his boring job that makes his insides tighten and his brain hurt. He recognizes the lad, though the familiarity must just be the popularity he's gotten in recent months.

They always know.

Even when it's that stubborn man with a charming smile serving up latte's while his eyes clearly watch the tall man sat at the corner table mulling over writing on his computer. Having order two cups of tea and written seven chapters of the man behind the counter. They're enamored with each other in every universe. In every scenario.

I'm the grocery store aisle when they meet gazes while cliquely going for the last bag of saltine crackers on the shelf.

Looking from deep brown to electric sea blue and seeing something deep. Knowing. Familiarity however much surface level it may be, they know.

John knows Simon, when he gently hits his lieutenant's arm, telling him he'll be waiting for him. Because it's comforting, it's natural. Whatever it is he's just like this with Lt.

Simon rolls his eyes because it feels good, something about this touch is different. Makes him feel different. It'll always be different. But he let's it slide because... Well he isn't sure why.

Johnny is shot and killed... Simon goes after Makarov alone to avenge the bond he had with his fallen brother. So, so much more than that. He dies fighting for his soulmate.

Even waking up, looking up through lidded eyes to the man smiling down at him. Having grown his hair down, a soft hand stroking his shoulder.

"You awake eh' Simon?"

Simon hums, taking John's hand and placing it against his cheek, leaning into it. John smiles softly, cupping his head and kissing his forehead, pulling him closer. Simon wraps his arms around him.

Johnny has always been that one. There's just something unexplainable. No matter what happens or what decisions they make, the universe will make sure they are with each other.

Because they aren't truly whole alone, and no matter where they come from or where they go, they'll need each other.

Whether it be walking out the days of school and stealing kisses behind the school building. Or that stupid goalie winking at the giant reporter, patting his bicep and taking the mic, telling him he'd give him the private scoop over coffee.

Whether it's Johnny making the move to bring the tired author another cup of coffee, giving him a gentle smile and telling him he's got him covered.

Whether it's simply handing over the last box to the random stranger with the weird mohawk and joking about both their diets being shit, sharing shopping lists and chuckling as they're both headed to get instant noodles.

Or whether it's simply after a long, fulfilling career in any of these, laying down into retirement and content to spend the rest of their lives in each other's arms, at each other's side. Because that's where they're to be.

They're Johnny and Simon.

Sergeant and Lieutenant.

Brothers, lovers, whatever it may be. There's always a way that they end up together...

[clownery-and-fuckery]

More!!!! Nemec, Fireball and Howzer content brought to you by yours truly ✨️ I'm so devastated by the pain I'm inflicting upon them.

Rex and Echo found Nemec and Fireball in a bin after they defected. They were homeless, jobless, all the lesses and preparing to sell their limbs for food

Fireball bit Echo because he thought he was a threat. He claims Echo tasted awful all the time. Echo blames living with Hunter and the others on that

But really, Nemec and Fireball weren't doing well at all- they had abandoned their squad, after they defected, and when their brothers didn't join, they were hunted down. They were half dead when Rex and Echo found them in that bin

Fireball hasn't really gotten over it, yet, he's unintentionally aggressive and always keeping them stocked up so they never end up where they used to be

Nemec says he's over it, but he isn't. He's just quicker to put others ahead of himself, because he doesn't want others to go through the things he did. It wasn't fair, and he won't leave another behind

That being said- the rebellion is hard. It's not safe, they're jumping from mission to mission, base to base, they're tired. They're suffering. They find joy where they can

That's why Fireball enjoyed learning from Gregor how to cook. He shadows him whenever he can come around, follows every recipe he leaves for him- when they can afford it, Fireball gives them the best homecooked meals.

They work well together- Nemec looks UP to Rex. Working with him is a dream come true. He tags along with Rex all the time, like a shiny, and even copied some of his older moves once (gave Rex a RIGHT fright. He wasn't ready for Nemec to throw himself off a wall)

Howzer loves his brothers. He misses his squad- but he loves his brothers. He's always making sure they know it, too. He's always shadowing them, hovering- he trusts them, he understands they are trained soldiers, they can handle themselves.

^^ he's always with them. He's always protecting them. He would lay down his life from there.

Nemec and Fireball are among the youngest clones in the rebellion- at least, the youngest allowed to fight- Echo debated hiding them like the shinies who hadn't any real experience and Nemec and Fireball BEGGED. i mean on hands and knees. It freaked him out, honestly

They thought they were ready- they were, kinda.

Freeing Howzer was basically him realising it was just the war all over again. Because that was a child. Why is a child freeing him? (Ignoring he's only like a year older....)

In happier(ish) times, Nemec liked to slide alone cruisers without his shoes on, gliding through the halls in socks because he got around faster

^^ hes crashed into so many things. He once crashed INTO the medbay while going in for a slide-related injury.

Fireball thinks its the best mode of transport- he does it all the time

Howzer thinks its a hazard. They laugh at him and slide away.

Fireball always said he'd get a cool scar like Commander Cody one day, and Nemec often told him he wasn't gonna hold his face together if something like that actually happened.

^^ he would. In a heartbeat.

Nemec only has the one scar from the war- and it wasn't because of any battle. He fell during his scout.... his chin has a scar. Fireball told everyone it was a separatist droid he fistfought

(Howzer didn't believe him....)

Greer is like that one cousin they don't see often, but when they do its to go smoke space weed while Howzer, Rex and Echo plan their next move

(No, he doesn't actually give them the weed... he doesn't think they can handle it)

Samson and Greer are the sound siblings that let the others blast tunes and fuck around when is their turn on watch- they're only responsible when they're on perimeter. Inside patrol?? Crank the radio up. The ones outside will handle things

Samson helped Nemec and Fireball repaint their helmets when they joined to welcome them (and he also punched Nemec because he forgot he was there... that bunk had always been empty, okay?)

I have more... always, but take these :)

[back-and-totheleft]

Spotlight On: Persona Non Grata (2003)

"I think right now the problem is rather emotional, rather than territorial. Rather psychological than logical. Two angry people that cannot hear each other any more. The Middle East is full of tongues and short of ears." 

-Shimon Peres, Prime Minister of Israel, Persona Non Grata (2003)

In 2003, Oliver Stone directed an HBO documentary on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict during the Second Intifada. The film follows Stone's interviews with Israeli prime ministers past and present Benjamin Netanyahu, Shimon Peres and Ehud Barak. Also interviewed are Hasan Yosef of Hamas, the (masked and anonymous) leader of the al-Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade and random citizens of both sides. There's also a Michael Moore-esque subplot about the quest to secure an interview with Palestinian president Yasser Arafat, which results in only a brief superficial meeting.

Stone's film crew arrived in Jerusalem on March 23, 2003 but spent a significant chunk of time filming in Ramallah, West Bank until Israel launched surprise attacks against the city. We watch onscreen as the shocked crew views live news coverage and a political liaison reports to Stone that Israel does not care about the safety of the crew or famous American director and will not grant safe passage. Cameras document the production unit finally fleeing through the Qalandia checkpoint, thanks to a last-minute intervention and escort from the Canadian embassy. (The U.S. "didn't do shit" for them, Stone summed up later.)

Typical of the severe cinéma vérité style of Stone's early documentaries, Persona Non Grata plunges viewers into the conflict immediately with little history or context. At this time, Stone did not make his nonfiction for beginners. There is little text onscreen, mainly just identifying the interviewees by name. Subjects are allowed to speak at length without interruption and the conversations are rarely edited into soundbites. The constellation of crew and cameras which surround Stone and his subjects are always visible. The film doesn't take obvious sides, though at points it's clear that Stone - a former soldier of the American empire who fought against a guerrilla insurgency in Vietnam - is more comfortable with the guerrilla Palestinian fighters than the pious Israeli politicians in suits. (Grunts recognize grunts.)

Oliver Stone's own Jewishness is never mentioned in the documentary, though it's interesting and somewhat fraught. According to his memoir Chasing the Light, Oliver's paternal family was full of learned rabbis (originally from Poland) who disliked leaving their enclave in New York's Upper West Side. Oliver's grandfather, Joshua Silverstein, was the wealthy owner of New York's Star Skirt Company until he sold it and invested the proceeds in the stock market shortly before the October 1929 crash. The family fortune was destroyed. Still reeling from that disaster, Oliver's father, Abraham Silverstein, was then so deeply scarred by the rampant antisemitism of the 1930's that he changed his name to the more "American" Louis Stone. According to Oliver, his father was repulsed whenever he encountered the Orthodox Jewish community in New York, believing they made themselves open targets, and he frequently told his son to hide his Jewishness identity because "the pogroms will come back" and "they" were waiting to take little Jewish children like him. 

In that environment, young Oliver was never given an education in Judaism and, in the early 1990s, he became the devout Buddhist he remains today. That was also the decade when Stone met and became business partners with Arnon Milchan, the former Israeli spy turned film producer. Milchan brought Stone on his first trip to Israel and Stone would visit the country a few more times, most recently last summer to receive a lifetime achievement award from the Jerusalem Film Festival. Milchan's ardent Zionism did not rub off on Stone, who's gotten in hot water over the years for openly criticizing Israel's foreign policy, specifically AIPAC and Israel's 2024 attacks against Gaza civilians. 

So what is Persona Non Grata? I think it's a weary reflection of its director's ongoing struggle with conflict and violence. As a two time Purple Heart recipient and Army combat veteran, Oliver Stone has devoted most of his career to grappling with himself as both a victim and perpetrator of violence. Nearly being killed - and becoming a killer - in the service of what he later discovered was a racist, colonial war in Vietnam remains his primal wound. (It's also likely why he's shown in the doc as nonplussed about being in a war zone surrounded by tanks and snipers.)

The film's title (Latin for "unwelcome person") is a deliberate choice. Is it referencing Stone himself and his attempts to interview Arafat, or to Arafat, or to the Palestinians, or to the Israeli leadership? Maybe all of the above. Of course there's no real ending to the documentary, because how could there be? Instead, old soldier Stone wanted to observe this never-ending conflict. So he came, he saw, and left without answers - just heartsick resignation. 

Watch Persona Non Grata (2003) here.

[silencedfalcon]

Writer Share Tag

Wow. It's been a long time since I've been remotely active on this post, but I was tagged by @joeys-piano to share some writing for this. So.. here we are!

Tagging anyone who sees this post and would like to do it~

A quick excerpt of an AU that a friend and I are creating for a TTRPG Pacific Rim-based campaign with our OCs. Writing below the cut:

Caspian’s eyes have been faraway more often, recently.

It’s started since they touched down in Sparr, Ral knows. He’s seen bits and pieces of Caspian’s memories, the gist of what happened before stuttered out in fits and starts in their bedrolls at night, seen the way Caspian looks devastated, fearful, heartbroken whenever he brings up Sparr. But this time, they have no choice. The amount of money offered had been too large, and they’ve been going without a couple meals a week, and though Caspian had jolted at the request he’d promised, wan smile and worry in his eyes, that they’d be fine. That he’d be fine.

Liar, Ral thinks as he sinks into a crosslegged position next to Caspian’s prone body, gathering him in his arms and shifting the mess of blankets and pillows under him so that it’ll be more comfortable. Then again, he reflects, it isn’t Caspian’s fault entirely — neither of them had really expected the toll just being here would take on him.

He brushes a finger under Caspian’s eyes, wide and glazed as he stares off into the distance.

Ral’s always known their bond is an anomaly; Caspian’d said as much back when he first asked, and then explained a little more when he asked again. In the relatively short time they’ve known each other, the ghost drift he feels now is a thousand times stronger than whatever he’s felt before, in the army with other soldiers; where the normal bond is nothing but a threadlike connection, inside his and Caspian’s heads it’s an entire realm on its own, seascape and sky and calm. It’s big enough for them to retreat into, a little space where they can carve themselves into each other and be one in spirit. Just for a brief moment.

Even without seeing Caspian, Ral already knows he’s in there; he can feel how the Drift’s adapting to accommodate his consciousness inside, a little restless presence mixed with melancholy and fear and longing.

Pressing a kiss to Caspian’s forehead, Ral lies down in the little nest of pillows and blankets and makes himself comfortable.

He tries not to think about how, when hiding in the Drift, Caspian resembles the patients with symptoms of severe Drift consequences — unresponsiveness to surroundings, no bodily control, glazed eyes — before he, too, sinks into the Drift. It’s always hard to describe the space — the sensation of sinking is normal, of course, but how do you explain being able to see without your eyes, or touch without your body, or hear without your ears? But that’s how it feels to sink into the space — already, he can perceive Caspian’s faint outline on the edge of the little beach in their minds, half in the sand and half in the water, letting the waves lap at his feet and legs as he stares upwards into the sky. It’s a matter of nanoseconds before he realises Ral’s there, and the tendril of consciousness that unfurls to beckon him closer is still sad, but a little inquisitive, a little hopeful.

S ta y? Caspian asks.

Always, Ral responds, joining him, twining their hands-legs-feelings together, melding into him.

They stay like that for a long time, listening to the waves crash gently onto the shore, even as the sky continues to shine above them.

[furymint]

🎀- favorite story

writer ask game!

i usually like my longer things more bc i generally put a lot more effort into them so i tried to pick smaller ones this time! and i selected two for this one bc im 1) indecisive and 2) don't enjoy shoving angst down ppls throats so alternative answer GO

moonlight | wc: 1,064 

I pick this one. The first couple paras are top-heavy and jumbled, and i think they could stand to be a little more organized. still, i like imagery. their purpose is even more important in coveying nol's solitude and the setting's lack of judgements. the characters dont have to pretend anything for strangers' eyes here.

the visual of nol alone in this run-down train station alone + dropping to the floor when it erupts into noice also really stayed with me. 'soldier ducks for cover bc loud noise' is a p strong trope which i generally avoid even if it's true to life--so getting to use it when he's not surrounded by people really helped deafen its dramatic effect and make it more raw. v happy w it.

and banter between nol and elliot is smth i havent written in a p long time. i rly love their talk + the way they touch and bump onto eacb other. the lack of audience shines here: they giggle and act as friends, fuss about nothing, hate to separate and invite another into their circle for a ride home--even if it nets them time away from eyes again. it's rushed at the end but I'll take the L there. anything after my cutoff is self-indulgence since the piece said all it needed to, but it’d be nice to break my Productivity Only brain and continue where it stopped.

game over | wc: 1,674

i think this one is particularly notable for how well it succeeds in what i meant for it to do. yeah, its meant to be dreadfully sad, but it gives a sharp look at that helplessness which elliot so often embodies. he's a coward and he's passive and he only acts when he has control of a situation. otherwise he listens, relegates, and works after the fact. there are so many failures in him so its nice to really tear one out and make something compact from it--even if it comes with some heavy handed self-hatred.

i recognize that self-hatred in elliot's reflection is something that could approach the modern writing sin of melodrama, but i dont think anyone reading elliot or my writing at this point expects me to outgrow some old-fashioned languishing.

imo, one of the most unsatisfactory ways a narrative can be written is to make a protag's life hell because an evil bad guy just rly likes to see them suffer. passive martyr protags are ego-boosters centered around the reader’s self-pity or satisfaction of giving pity. active stupid protags are cases for reflection and understanding. it's far more worthwhile for a character to ruin their own life than to constantly be a victim.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

the knife

© @jamesbrnes

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Once a week, Bucky cleans and sharpens his knives, but this time, the easy task takes another path.

word count: 1.936 words. (i know, it's long, but it worth it).

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! knife!kink, sir!kink, praising!kink, foreplay (female receiving, use of a knife), language, mention of bodily fluid.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Who in their right mind wouldn’t feel hypnotized by the way Bucky has to dance a knife between his fingers?

Once a week it’s all he does during the day. Clean and sharpen his knives, after spending the whole morning training with them, while you can’t stop looking at him amazed. And horny. You feel like a slut, let’s be clear. You can’t help but imagine how good his hands make you feel whenever he touches you, whenever he grips your throat, whenever he pulls your hair. But, mostly, he’s too stupid to notice it. Even innocent you could say.

So, there you are, sitting on the sofa in front of him pretending to be reading a book, while his fingers grab a cloth with too much care to clean the blade of his favorite one. The one you got him for your first anniversary. A mini-machete with a black leather handle and golden ornaments all around it. When Bucky saw it for the first time, he fell in love.

As soon as he raises his oceanic eyes towards you, yours fall to the pages trying to hide the bunch of emotions within your chest and your lower belly. You can’t help but lick your lips clearing your throat, a gesture that makes him giggle putting down the machete over the table. In complete silence, Bucky stands up to stretch his arms to the ceiling, before leading his steps dangerously closer to you. Pressing your lips to contain a guilty laugh for being caught in action, you look at him through your eyelashes.

“You have something to tell me, doll?”

You shake your head swallowing greedily, about to choke on your own saliva.

“You sure?” He inquires then, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

Fucking grey sweatpants. This time, you nod with your head, whilst he is sitting by your side. Bucky grabs the book between your hands, tossing it above his shoulder to somewhere on the floor, without putting his eyes away from yours. You gulp again, starting to feel some difficulties to breathe staring at him placing his arm made of vibranium over your shoulders. There’s no gesture on his face when he raises his left hand to your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“C'mon... Tell me what you want”.

His lips brush yours, driving you insane and racing your heart, as his firm tone of voice slides itself between them. A shiver runs down your backbone, drying your throat as the heat floods your guts. But you can’t think of a single word to say. Bucky waits patiently a couple of seconds, nodding at the end as —for him— the game has started. He puckers his lips, about to get up from the sofa pulling his hands away from you. And you stop him. Of course you do. As soon as you can react. You grab his cold wrist to push him back, almost falling on top of you.

Bucky’s laugh fills the whole room, getting comfier between your legs while your fingers get tangled in his long brown hair. Using the tip of his tongue, he licks your lips at the same time he crashes his pelvis against your needed core. You can’t hold a loud and pleased moan, closing your eyes and hearing another laugh coming from his mouth.

“Last chance, doll. Do you have something to tell me?” The soldier grunts onto your lips.

“Just… touch me, please”. You’re almost sobbing so anxiously, when Bucky starts to rock his hips between your legs, creating a very satisfying friction.

“No, doll... We’re gonna try something new”.

Your eyes widen in surprise, curiosity, and confusion, touring the length of his metallic arm until reaching the long fingers grabbing the mini-machete you gave him. You gasp uncontrollably, while his other hand snakes up your thigh to find your panties under the baggy shirt you’re wearing. One of the shirts you usually steal from his wardrobe. Bucky brings the blade to his teeth, holding it there to sit up and help you to strip. In less than a blink, you are completely exposed to his attentive and lustful blue eyes.

You spread your legs for him without the needing of being asked for, showing him in all its glory your warm cunt shining in your arousal. Bucky would give his life for digging his hard and twitching dick in your pussy right now, but he has another plan. One that you are going to enjoy anyway. Leaning over you with the machete now back to his hand, his left forefinger goes straight to your folds; wetting it with your sweet juices in a soft stroke.

“Open your mouth”. He demands with such a raspy tone of voice, bringing the handle of his knife to your lips.

You welcome it in silence, delighted, hornier than ever. Twelve inches of leather that you suck and lick pleasantly for him. You cover it with your saliva, swirling your tongue around it as he marks the rhythm inside your mouth. Meanwhile, his index finger helps you to calm your anxiety, giving enough attention to your swollen clit. You can’t think, you can’t moan, you can’t breathe. You two haven’t started and you feel already that you could cum in less than a sigh. Bucky sees it in your eyes, and he can’t hide a petty smile growing on his face. He loves to tease you.

“Have you been feeling like this all day, uh?”

Pulling away the handle from your mouth, he drags it over your skin, down by your collarbone and the small space between your breasts. Slowly, too damn slowly. You don’t know how he can control himself this good when you’re about to cry. You need him so much. All the time. But days like these… You need him twice as much.

“Yes…” You just mumble weakly as the wet handle reaches your abdomen continuing his path down.

“Tell me what you want”.

“Put it inside me, please…”

“Please, what, uh?”

“Please, sir”.

You can see your boyfriend breathing through his parted lips, catching his air at the moment he watches you whimper when the leather slightly touches your clit. You are so beautiful for him —legs opened, hard nipples and begging.

Placing his flesh arm under your waist to raise a little your ass, Bucky plays with the handle up and down your slit, making a pressure that causes you to grunt annoyed. He giggles inevitably, sliding it slowly into your wetness, and you can’t help but arch your back pleased when the knife starts to stretch your walls so torturously and deliciously. When his cool fingers touch you provoking you a soft chill, and you feel it’s completely inside you, Bucky moves back his hand with the same slow pace.

He’s driving you crazy. He knows it pretty well. He doesn’t enjoy anything more than the fact of having you under his control, under his power. Gripping his warm hand around your throat, he makes himself some space by your side on the sofa. Now, his lips can touch yours, drink your delighted sobs, look at your eyes from closer.

“Do you like it, baby doll?”

“Yes… Yes, sir… I li— like it, sir”. You utter with a broken thread of voice, nodding with your head briefly.

“I know. I can feel it. You think I don’t notice…” He whispers in a hum, sticking his forehead to yours, tightening the grip around your neck. “But the truth is… I do it on purpose. I always make sure you look at me. Anyone else, but at me”.

Oh, there it is. These insecurities he always hides masterfully, but the ones that claim your attention the whole time. Bucky needs you too. You were the first person who didn’t treat him like an assassin, nor like a monster. He lives to make you happy. He can’t think about the idea of losing you one day, just because he doesn’t give you enough. But he is. He is more than enough. And you prove him every single day since you met him.

“Please, sir… I wa— want more… faster”. You plea against his lips, placing your arms around his, softly swinging your hips at the rhythm of the knife he’s using to fuck you.

“You want it faster, uh?” He repeats playfully, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek at the end.

“Please…”

And Bucky pleases you. The move of his wrist makes the pace increase a little. The handle goes somewhat deeper, carefully to not hurt you. He twists it making you moan, stir, bite your tongue. Bucky is well-aware of what you like and how you like it. And he wants to make you cream his mini-machete to remember that day whenever he uses it in a mission, far away from you.

A wet, dirty noise starts to make an appearance when the thrusts into your soaked cunt are more constant, just like your satisfied vocals echo the room. Bucky spreads kisses all over your face, keeping his fingers around your neck to keep you close.

“God… you’re such a good girl taking my knife this good”. Your boyfriend can’t help but purr onto your ear, feeling how he could cum in his sweatpants just by looking at you so damn needy for him. “And I swear… it’s not gonna be the only one… I’m gonna make you fuck all my knives, doll”.

Just imagining it, you feel the tickles concentrating in your lower belly. You feel your juices spilling down your buttocks and staining the sofa. This man is going to be the death for you. But if you have to die… Is there any other better way?

“C'mon… do your magic…” He encourages you, getting closer to your lips.

Bucky doesn’t give you the chance to moan in a reply, tucking his tongue into your mouth to devour it. The pushes to your g-spot become eager, harder, and well-aimed; wanting at all cost to make you cum. And as soon as he feels your legs shivering, he goes faster. You can’t control it. The orgasm is growing inside you easily as a forest is set on fire with a match. Crying out with his tongue invading your cavity and dominating yours, you tangle a hand on his hair arching your back as you find a new position that gives you some more pleasure. But you can’t hold it anymore.

Bucky is stealing your air by gripping your throat tighter, kissing you so impatiently, and you can’t hold it anymore.

The soldier swallows the loud howl that borns in the deepest place of your soul, feeling the explosion inside your stomach as you jump inevitably into the abyss of heat. But he doesn’t stop. He continues rocking the knife inside you, wanting to hear you a little more. Wanting to hear his full name mixed with your delighted whining and your growls. It’s never enough for you, nor for him. And now you want him inside you.

“Please… Please…” You cry pushing his metallic hand away from you, making him toss the soaked knife with your juices to the floor. “Please, sir… Fuck me… I beg you… I need your dick”.

“'Course you need it, my little angel… You need it all the damn time, don’t you?” He doesn’t sound angry, but his voice is rougher than ever.

He’s upset because you have forced him to pull out his mini-machete, but soon Bucky forgets it when he is buried deep inside your cunt. His cunt. Only his.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!! support the writers 🤍

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[klutzyroses]

Hlo again the anon from the tomboy Emma headcanon...sorry to keep disturbing you but would you please write about it but with IkeRev and instead of Clavis being scared of Emma can you switch it to Edgar and Lance being afraid of Alice

Again I won't mind if you won't the art was more than enough. Love overload bye!!

That, I can do for you, anon! Enjoy!❤

IkeRev HCs: Sexy tomboy!Alice

How do they react to a tomboy, bold and more curvaceous Alice?

When Alice first drops into Wonderland into Ray's arms, he almost buckles under her. For one thing, she was taller than he was, and she had fallen so fast, she had almost flattened him. When he got a good look at her, her tall stature, her gorgeous figure, he knew almost immediately Cradle was about to be taken by storm.

When Jonah attempts to capture her with handcuffs, he never fully got the chance to actually get them on her before she slapped them out of his hands and put them on him, shocking the daylights out of both him and Edgar. No one, especially not a woman, had ever shown the Queen of Hearts such defiance, such insolence, with no sign of regret or remorse and they honestly had no clue how to respond at all, even when Oliver came to snatch her away, they could only gape after them.

Oliver learned very quickly a very harsh lesson that day. You cannot, will not speak to Alice however you please. Before he could finish the word "idiot", she had already kicked him in the back of the knee hard enough to make it buckle as she told him off, demanding his respect.

"Who do you think you're talking to? Did your mother never teach you manners!?

Blanc had to save him from getting his other knee ruined by her before he could say much else.

When she was accosted by that guard who heard her "insult" Jonah, he was on the receiving end of the beauty's roundhouse kick, so fiercely it sent the man crashing to the floor before Luka and Seth could actually step in. It was at that moment Seth Hyde had discovered love and the moment Luka Clemence developed a slight fear of women and just...the slightest bit of a kink...just the slightest.

Upon hearing Jonah and Lancelot's threats towards her, she levels an icy glare at them with the most devilish, sly simper as she stares the Queen of Hearts dead in the eye and very boldly proclaims;

"Actually, I think you will enjoy serving under me, Jonah Clemence...or rather, on top of me? If you prefer that.

Dead silence. Nobody knows what to say to that. Not the Black or the Red Army. Especially not Jonah. All he can do is gape, looking somewhat like an owl at the daring temptress.

Alice's reputation was sealed at that moment. And when offered to become a part of the Black army, she was adamant on actually being an actual active member, not an honorary member in name who may be needed from time to time. Nobody was really sure what she meant by that until she suddenly came into headquarters one day wearing the tightest uniform ever seen.

Soldiers were left in shock as Alice strutted down the barracks, her hips swaying in the form fitting black leggings and the heels of her black boots clicking with every step as the voluptuous new recruit absently flicked her honey colored hair out of her face, driving every man there just a little crazy. Sirius nearly had a heart attack upon seeing she was wearing the standard vest...except it was open around her navel and chest, making no effort to hide her sculpted abdomen or her ample cleavage, not to mention that there was clearly nothing underneath the vest either.

Turns out the little lady is not so little.

Ray had considered making her change, as she was distracting the other soldiers, but whenever he was about to bring up the issue, Alice would bat her eyelashes as she leaned closer to him, pressing her large bust against his chest, a knowing smile on her lips.

"What is it, Ray? What about my uniform?"

"Well, it's...uh...you know..."

"No, I don't know, I'm afraid. Care to enlighten me?"

"Uh.."

Ray never gets round to actually doing it.

Luka is often on the receiving end of her hugs, when she is overcome by how sweet he is. She positively buries him in her embrace, unknowingly stuffing him into her breasts.

The majority of the blood in Luka's body is now in his head.

Seth just wants to eat her up. He will always want to dress her up in different designs, often catering to the fact that she is not too inclined to dresses and skirts, always complimenting her figure in whatever provocative attire she chooses.

Fenrir has found a friend for life. He will always invite her to cause some mischief with him, though he can't help but get a little shy when he gets a glimpse of her curves through her uniform.

Upon her first time on the battlefield, nobody was certain what to expect from Alice, as she insisted on being there. The Red army, led by Edgar at that time, most certainly had not taken her seriously, only intending to bring her back to Lancelot.

That changed within seconds when she suddenly produced a whip attached to her thigh and unleashed her strength upon the poor souls. She was quick, agile, precise, deadly even.

Edgar had expected many things but what he didn't see coming was the whip latching around his wrist and tugging him towards the buxom soldier until they were face to face, only an inch apart.

She stared at him dead in the eye, her deep blue eyes piercing into his own fearlessly.

"Now I have a message for your King. If Lancelot wants me, he can come get me himself. I'm wide open for him."

The lewd implication behind her words is not lost on the Jack of Hearts, as an involuntary shiver runs down his spine, whether it was of anxiety or lust, he wasn't sure. Perhaps both.

It was definitely more from lust when she punctuated her words by moving her lips to his ear.

"I'll be waiting."

And slyly nipped his ear before letting him free.

Lancelot had not been prepared for the report Edgar had brought back. Not at all.

Jonah was mostly seething, but had a hint of worry and desire in those amber eyes nobody dared point out.

Lancelot frowned, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of dread as he mulled over the message sent to him by Alice. Indeed...Alice the Second was far more dangerous than any opponent he had ever faced.

She soon becomes the Black Army's greatest weapon. Mostly because the enemy either is afraid of her or lusts for her too much to do her any harm. Either way, the scales of battle had very much tipped in the Black Army's favour indeed.

🌸

[boldlyvoid]

the guy at the rock show

she/they reader x Spencer Reid

request for @boba-king-iroh ♥︎

summary: Y/N lost their parents when they were 17, finding a new home and solace in Penelope Garcia and taking the Garcia name. They're the top forensic specialist in D.C, in a band and they drive a motorcycle... not to mention they are madly in love with the cute doctor who works with their sister.

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, getting together, love confessions, friends to lovers, idiots in love, PDA, secret relationships

word count: 5666

a/n: there will be a smutty part 2 eventually because I can't not do that

THE PLAYLIST THAT GOES WITH THEIR SETLIST IF YOU WANT TO LISTEN WHILE YOU READ

Read on Ao3 here!

Taking Garcia’s last name wasn’t something they had to think hard about, Penelope basically raised them; she was like a sister, a best friend and a mother, even a bit of a fairy godmother to Y/N.

They met when Y/N was 17, they were sitting at a support group for dead parents in D.C. Right beside the lovely, overly cheerful, always helpful, Penelope Garcia. At first, Y/N couldn’t stand her, wondering how a person like that could be running a group for mourning people, it made her sick.

It wasn’t until she heard Penelope’s story for the first time, knowing how similar it sounded to her own and how, actually, you can take your grief and turn it into something beautiful. After the meeting, they pulled Penelope aside and gave her a big hug and a thank you.

It was the start of a lovely friendship, one Y/N didn’t know they needed until they were smothered in all the love you could possibly imagine.

The age gap between them wasn’t too big, Penelope was 10 years older than them which meant she was always one step ahead of Y/N and full of advice. Be it fashion, boys, girls and everything in between. They bonded in a way that was unbreakable, they were each other's family.

Penelope even helped her get into med school before she eventually switched to forensic science. Taking on the FBI academy, unlike Penelope, and joining the bureau officially. Penelope was there for her every single step of the way, making her career possible. She loved her dearly and wanted Y/N to succeed more than anyone in the world.

Getting to introduce herself to people as Agent Y/N Garcia, not to be confused with technical analyst Garcia, was one of the best feelings in the world.

Not many people ever mistook them, however, for whatever Penelope was, Y/N was the exact opposite.

Y/N preferred all black everything, she didn’t enjoy partying or close contact or the in-your-face-ness of Penelope’s way of life, she loved her band and motorcycle and being alone. They were quote-unquote edgy, not just for effect, but because it was how they felt the most comfortable, it was who they were and they liked it that way.

They were possibly the best Forensic Specialist the FBI had, keeping her in DC for all the most important cases. Helping her avoid Penelope and the BAU team as much as possible. They were great people, she didn’t hate them at all, it was just a lot of energy that they didn’t have to give to 7 other people all day long.

Spencer was the only one she could tolerate. Rather, he was the one she wanted to spend the most time with, even more than Penelope. He understood Y/N in a way others didn’t.

He was also quiet, like them, he didn’t pick on them or call them mini Garcia, baby-baby girl, or infant as some of them started to call her more recently.

He called them Y/N, he talked to them about star trek whenever he was visiting Penny, and he respected their pronouns. Using both she and they interchangeably, when he spoke of them, unlike most people who only used she and her because it made more sense in their small brains.

However, she wasn’t the only one who got teased. Spencer did as well, almost more because he was around the BAU team constantly. She hated hearing them bully him, he didn’t even count it as bullying but it’s basically what it was sometimes.

They put him down, they didn’t clue him in on things, they called out his stims and didn’t let him finish his sentences, especially when it had to do with his hyper-fixations. He was the brightest light in the room and they just picked his brain till he wasn’t useful anymore, before trying to turn out the light. It made Y/N furious.

They got called Mr and misses genius when they were on a scene together, remembering the first time she ever had a case with the BAU which was also the first time she snapped at someone for being mean to Spencer.

Someone asked Spencer a serious question, to which he did his fucking job and answered. Giving as much detail as humanly possible, being the absolute genius he is and should be praised for, only to have Emily poke him in the cheek and say; “wow, he’s so life-like?”

“Well yeah, cause he’s a fucking human who deserves respect from the people who use his brain all day,” Y/N cursed under their breath from the crime scene, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Leaving the sweetest man on earth to find them later and give them a hug. Thanking them for all that they do, and appreciating what he has to offer. That’s when she realized she liked him, more than just the guy who sometimes sleeps on her couch because he’s friends with her sister.

It was difficult being surrounded by men unlike Spencer, specifically the older men in her field who didn’t understand anything outside of money, guns, and violence. The worst part of the job being the politics in the background; the hierarchy and ass-kissing all because she worked in the nation's capital.

They were sure it was probably better in a smaller facility, a local police station where no one knew her and they could finally have some peace and quiet.

But she’d miss Penelope, and Spencer too for that matter.

At first, they’d hide in their room when Penelope brought him over for movie nights or when he crashed on the couch after bringing her home drunk from the bar. In the early days, she worried that he was going to be her new boyfriend, taking all of Penelope’s free time and leaving Y/N with nothing.

But then he started coming over all the time just to hang out, sitting on the couch with nothing to say, being the third wheel while Y/N and Penelope spent time together. For the last 7 years.

Over that time they had many conversations alone, she learned that he was really smart, he was a lot younger than most of the team because he blew through high school by the time he was 13, and he was genuinely the sweetest man in the whole entire world.

One time, Penelope was running late when Spencer showed up at the door with chips and candy, ready to watch his weekly movie with his friend. Only she wasn’t going to make it home in time, and Y/N didn’t want him to have to go back to his apartment all alone.

“You can come in and watch it with me if you wanted to?” She offered, smiling softly. “What was it you picked for tonight?”

“It was Penelope’s night to choose, so you can pick instead if you want?” Spencer offered right back, walking in like he owned the place.

He was more confident now than he was in the beginning, but that was probably because he was 23 and she was 18.

Back then he’d barely look at her and sometimes he’d shake when they made eye contact or when she got drunk and hugged him goodbye after a long night with Penelope. He was like that with Penny in the early days of their friendship too, apparently, so she didn’t feel too bad about it.

He warmed up eventually, making her wait 7 years for him to do something about the growing feelings they both shared.

“You like Marvel movies right?” She bit the inside of her lip as she waited for his answer. Watching him walk around the kitchen for a bowl that he could put his snacks in.

“Yeah they’re great, I haven’t watched past the second Thor, I think the next one is another Captain America?” he’s all smiles as he joins her on the couch, closer than normal, as close as he’d sit with Penelope, but then again she was a cuddler and Y/N wasn’t.

Sometimes Y/N would come out of her room to find Spencer’s head on Penelope’s lap, resting on a pillow as she ran her fingers through his hair to soothe his perfect mind after a long day. A few times she’s walked in on him crying or even sound asleep in her arms. They had a friendship Y/N admired, they were each other's person.

They comforted each other in the exact way they needed it; Penelope giving him the physical touch he craved and he would often compliment her. He was always telling her she was the best and buying her gifts to show his appreciation, calling her the most beautiful and smartest person he knew. He knew that she needed to hear it, needed the reassurance that she was still a good person and he made her believe it.

It made Y/N love him more seeing how much he cared for her sister.

“The winter soldier is the best!” She gushed, sitting close so they could share the chips as she waited for the movie to load up.

He was very quiet when he watched movies, smiling and laughing at the right parts but typically he paid so much attention it was like he was a statue. Y/N spent more time glancing at him than the actual movie.

“Is there something on my face?” Spencer asked, nervous when he noticed her glance at him for the 100th time that night.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she panicked lightly, swallowing quickly before looking away.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I just think you’re fascinating,” she whispered because then she didn’t really say it, and it didn’t really count.

“Oh,” he smiled softly, leaving it at that and forcing his attention back on the movie.

After a while, Spencer started to get even closer. He put the bowl on the coffee table and sat back almost on top of her, reaching an arm behind the couch so that Y/N was right against his side. He had done it with Penelope before, confident in this little living room, almost forgetting it was Y/N beside him.

Y/N rested her hand on his knee, rubbing her thumb over his jeans in a soft little circle as she pretended to watch the movie. More concerned with Spencer’s breathing and the feeling of his hand inching towards their shoulder than anything else.

Then they heard keys at the front door. Pulling away from each other quickly to curl up on opposite sides of the couch and pretend they weren’t just cuddling.

“Hey, you still came!” Penelope cheered, a little drunk from whatever she was doing before.

“I’d never miss a night with the Garcia’s,” Spencer smiled at her, looking calm and collected as ever while Y/N turned bright pink.

“Oh, I love Bucky! Oh my god let me go change and I’ll come watch too!”

That was just the first time they ended up cuddling, certainly not the last.

—

It wasn’t often that Penelope was too busy to spend time with Y/N, rather the contrary. Sometimes Y/N had to beg her to leave her be at certain events. Like when their band was playing at any of the local bars and Penny started inviting everyone she knew to come and watch her sister play.

It was embarrassing, to say the least, but Y/N loved her support.

When Y/N peaked her head out to see the crowd before a show, normally Penelope was sitting in the front with a drink and at least 4 friends, cheering and chanting their name, ready to rock out to their covers.

Tonight she didn’t see Penelope at all, she knew she wouldn’t, Penelope was in London visiting Emily with Derek for the second time in the past year, leaving no one to come to the monthly show Y/N’s band put on, or so she thought.

Spencer came all by himself.

He was sitting in the front, at a table with a bowl of pretzels and a ginger ale, not interested in the drinking or the socializing, just there to support Y/N. It made her feel giddy, like a schoolchild seeing their crush at recess.

It was so nice of him that it gave her butterflies, and normally that didn’t happen. They could go on and play a show in front of ten thousand people and feel nothing, but the second Spencer Reid was there to cheer them on, they were a mess.

“What song are we doing first again?” Y/N asked Evie, their lead singer and best friend outside of work.

“Who are they?”

Y/N was taken aback, “What?”

“You’ve never been nervous, who came to see you?” Evie clarified her question.

“No one, for fuck sake, I thought we left all the profilers at home tonight?” she sighed, shaking the nerves out of their body as they jumped up and down lightly.

They paced back and forth for a few minutes to wear down the nerves but only managing to make herself sweat to death and discard the leather jacket she always wore on stage. She walked in a circle aimlessly, remembering the setlist in their mind and how the spotlights typically made it so they couldn’t see the crowd anyway so it’s not like she could fuck up by making eye contact with him.

And it’s not like it was the first time he had seen her play, Spencer comes every month with Penelope, he liked a lot of the music they covered from when he was an emo teen in university. They’ve bonded over it before sharing albums and records back and forth, but she was still scared shitless at the prospect of him caring about her enough to come alone.

Especially when he hated being in situations like this in the first place.

It was their turn to go on, the manager of the bar gathering them and telling them to go on and so Y/N started walking towards the stage door, only to be pulled back harshly by Evie’s cold hands.

“Don’t forget your sticks, god who do you wanna fuck so bad it makes you this stupid?” She placed the drumsticks in Y/N’s hands, “get it together.”

“Sorry, it’s the guy in the sweater vest, front row,” they whispered in response, putting their head down and heading to the stage before she could tease them about it.

“The Forensic Lyricists are here once again folks!” The Manager introduced them to the crown, “get ready for them to dig up some classics!” Always the same dumb joke before every show.

Opening with crushcrushcrush by Paramore, thank god she remembered, it was an easy song to play as they warmed up and pushed the nerves away. They could play it in their sleep, with their eyes closed, and so that's what they did.

Eyes closed, mouthing the words as the adrenaline of the night took over the anxiety and made them go insane, like most nights. They didn’t need drinks or drugs to feel hyped at most shows, all she needed was a smile from penny and a good luck text from Spencer.

Playing by memory until she felt more confident and then getting into it. “They taped over your mouth, Scribbled out the truth with their lies, your little spies…”

“Crush, crush, crush, crush crush two, three, four!!” Y/N sung backup for each chorus, finally getting into it.

“Nothing compares to, a quiet evening alone! Just the one, two! of us who's counting on! That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again.”

They tried their hardest to push the images of that night on the couch with Spencer out of their mind as they sang along, trying to harmonize and cover the backup for Evie as best as she could.

“Let’s be more than this now!”

She always took the bridge, as the drummer and the most passionate one, it only made sense. Y/N always got the crowd on their feet, roaring along as they jumped to the beat.

“Rock and roll, baby, Don't you know that we're all alone now? I need something to sing about. Rock and roll, hey! Don't you know, baby, we're all alone now? I need something to sing about! Rock and roll, hey! Don't you know, baby, we're all alone now? Give me something to sing about!”

“Nothing compares to, a quiet evening alone! Just the one, two! of us who's counting on! That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again, let’s be more than, noOoo!”

She had a crush on Spencer fucking Reid and one now noticed as they tried their hardest to focus on the words when all that came to mind right now was his body heat and how good he smelled and how nice it was that he came to support them.

“Nothing compares to, a quiet evening alone! Just the one, two! of us who's counting on! That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again, Let’s be more than this, more than thiiiiiis, oooooooh, mmmmmmhmmm,” she sang the ending of the song along with Evie, their harmony sounding more perfect than any performance before.

Critics always said the performance is better when you mean the words you’re singing. With that, they accepted their crush on Doctor Spencer Reid after 7 long years of knowing him. They pushed through nerves so that they could go and see him after and do something about it, now that Penelope wasn’t home to tease her for it.

Leading right into Dear Maria, Count Me In. Their bass player, Kat taking the lead for her favourite song. Being an all ‘girl’ punk band was her idea, and now they all enjoyed taking turns singing their favourite songs in front of mostly strangers, once a month.

Every single song made her think of Spencer in some way as she remembered the rest of the set, it had 5 songs in total and each one included at least one reference to something she knew about Spencer.

It was hard to not think about him while he stood at the edge of the stage with everyone and bopped his head along to the beat, a smile growing on his face as he also noticed the little references to them in the songs.

The Rock Show by Blink182 was going to hit a little too close to home as she sang the words all but to him, making eye contact with him as he moved to the best spot to see them play, much like Penelope would do every time.

She didn’t realize how much this song actually represented her life before tonight, starting to sing her song alone while Spencer watched. Deciding on the spot to dedicate it to him in the most fucking obvious way possible, taking her chances because he must have come for a reason.

“Hanging out behind the club on the weekends. Acting stupid, getting drunk with my best friends, I couldn't wait for the summer and the Warped Tour, I remember that it's the first time that I saw him there!”

Spencer was smiling then, noticing the lyric change as they made eye contact, nodding along as he watched. Genuinely enjoying himself and the show, it was lovely to see. She couldn’t help but smile against the mic as she sang and played. Wondering how his face will change with the next verse she watched him from the corner of her eye.

Her bandmates turning to see her as they played their guitars, nodding in agreement at the lyric change, they knew what she was up to. It wasn’t the first time they used the stage to bring someone home with them.

“He's getting kicked out of school cause he's failing. I’m kinda nervous, cause I’m sure all his friends hate me! He’s the one, he'll always be there, I took his hand and I’ll make it I swear,

“Because I fell in love with the guy at the rock show! He said what? and I told him that I didn't know. He's so cool, gonna sneak in through his window. Everything's better when he's around. Can’t wait until my parent goes out of town, I fell in love with the guy at the rock show!”

Spencer’s smile was priceless, it made them even more confident to sing all the words, wanting him with zero shame, it’s not like anyone who knew him would know about this.

“When we said we were gonna move to Vegas I remember the look your mother gave us 17 without a purpose or direction We don't owe anyone a fuckin’ explanation”

“Because I fell in love with the guy at the rock show! He said what? and I told him that I didn't know. He's so cool, gonna sneak in through his window. Everything's better when he's around. Can’t wait until my parent goes out of town, I fell in love with the guy at the rock show!” Making the softest eye contact with him, they moved their whole body to play to him.

“Black and white picture of him on my wall, I waited for his call, he always kept me waiting, and if I ever got another chance I'd still ask him to dance, because he kept me waiting!”

“I fell in love with the guy at the rock show! He said what? and I told him that I didn't know. He's so cool, gonna sneak in through his window. Everything's better when he's around. Can’t wait until my parent goes out of town,”

“I fell in love with the guy at the rock show!” She had never been this passionate while playing this song in all the years they had played it together.

Her bandmates taking the lead singing, “with the guy at the rock show!”

“I’ll never forget you,” she sang in the middle of their chants, “I’ll never forget you, I’ll never forget you, I’ll never forget tonight, I’ll never forget tonight…”

She shot a wink at him before turning back in her seat to face the drum set the best way. The last two songs were Evie’s and Kat’s, she covered the backup vocals, making the occasional glance towards Spence as she thought of him.

Counting down the minutes till she could go see him.

Come a little closer by cage the elephant, an obvious title with lyrics that would clearly bring every memory of brushed hands against lower backs as they slipped past each other in crowded rooms, lingering as long as possible before they were gone again. Goodnight hugs when Penelope was already asleep and he could hold her a big longer and tighter, resting his head on her shoulder while she rubbed his back and breathed him in. And that night on the couch, not to mention all the mornings she walked in on him sleeping peacefully, brushing the hair out of his face, softly, in the hopes he didn’t wake up.

“Come a little closer, then you'll see, Come on, come on, come on, Things aren't always what they seem to be… Do you understand the things you been seein' Come on, come on, come on! Do you understand the things that you've been dreaming… Come a little closer, then you'll see! Come a little closer, then you'll see!”

And even when he did she had a coffee ready for him when he sat up and smiled, giving them a few hours alone before Penelope would wake up. Talking all morning about star trek and dr. Who, smacking his knee as he made jokes that genuinely made them laugh while trying to keep her voice down so they didn’t wake Penelope.

Not many people made her feel like that in her life.

“Come a little closer, then you'll see! Come a little closer, then you'll see!” Staring at him, enticing him to do it the next time they had the chance.

The intro to I’d Do Anything by simple plan was one of her favourites to play, smiling wide as she began to drum as her best friends sang the words.

Waiting for the chorus to sing the words at Spencer, really sending the message, he wasn’t dumb, not in the slightest, he would get it. He had to, she had already been so obvious there was no turning back now.

“This could be the one last chance to make you understand,”

Her arms were starting to hurt as she played along with the most energy she has had in years, playing like a teenager whose parents just died and she needed to hit something, once again. It was freeing, playing with what she could only imagine was love in her chest instead of anger. It’s how she was supposed to play.

"I’d do anything Just to hold you in my arms To try to make you laugh Cuz somehow I can’t put you in the past I’d do anything Just to fall asleep with you Will you remember me? Cuz I know I won’t forget you,"

Focusing on the drumming and ignoring the lyrics as her bandmates covered the lyrics, letting her go hog fucking wild on the drum set, almost kicking the chair out from under herself as they kept going. Joining for the chorus again before beating the shit out of her drum set.

I close my eyes And all I see is you I close my eyes I try to sleep I can't forget you Na na na And I'd do anything for you Na na na Naaaaaaa

“I’d do anything!” She closed her eyes as she pushes the words past her vocal cords, again and again, passionately playing the drums as her hair flew all over the place, worried she might break the sticks as she played.

“Cause I know I won't forget yoooou!” She plays the end of the song, snapping the left drumstick in half before throwing the right one into the crowd, right into Spencer’s hand, sending him a wink before saying goodbye to the crowd.

Sweaty as hell from playing the drums, they brushed their long black hair back behind their ears and in a low ponytail so it would fit under her motorcycle helmet on the way home. Putting their leather jacket back on and heading into the main bar to find Spencer.

“Hey,” he smiled as she walked towards him, the drumstick now resting in his pocket as he approached her.

“I can’t believe you came here all by yourself?” Y/N laughed slightly before pulling him into a thank-you hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it, I’ve been coming for a year now, it’s always a great time,” his smile was perfect, his teeth were so white and straight and she wondered how they’d feel against her neck.

“It’s been that long?” She pretended that she didn’t notice, biting their lip as he ran the calculations in his mind.

He nodded with a soft, pressed-lipped smile, the Spencer classic. “Yep, it’s been exactly 14 months straight now.”

“I know you don’t like bars and loud noises and people you don’t know, or germs which makes this like a nightmare of yours I guess because of the close proximity of people and the germs being spread as everyone screams in a crowd,” she ranted before he was pulling her into another hug, “so this means a lot to me,” she finished her thought beside his ear for only him to hear.

“Anytime,” he whispered as he held her, his arm on her back and chin resting on her shoulder.

“Did you need a ride home?” She offered, thinking about how nice it would be for him to wrap his arms around their body as he sat behind her on Patsy, her motorcycle.

“Yeah, unless you wanted to go to your place and watch another movie? I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting,” he spoke just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Yeah, I’d love that, it’s been lonely while Penny’s gone,” a smile erupting on her face as she got the reference, “come on then.”

She took his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers and dragging him backstage towards her locker. She had a space to keep her things for practice and other shows she did during the week, keeping an extra helmet and jacket in the locker for nights like this, however, normally it was a cute stranger. Not the man she’s been crushing on since she was a teenager.

“Oh, you brought Patsy,” Spencer’s face went white.

“Did you not want to ride her? Come on, everyone wants to ride her at least once,” Y/N teased him as she put the helmet in his free hand.

Her bandmates staring at her with proud smiles as she took the guy from the rock show home; the one in the sweater vest from the front, the one who was the most into the whole show, they both gave Y/N a wave and a smile as they slipped out the backstage door.

They walked out to the parking lot, still hand in hand with their helmets in the other. Stopping at her dark purple Suzuki GS650 GT, it was her most prized possession because it used to belong to her parents.

She put her hair in the right spot before putting the helmet on, sitting down and starting the engine, revving it for everyone in the lot to see as Spencer put his helmet on and threw a leg over the seat, nervous as ever.

He fit behind her perfectly, just enough room on the seat for his chest to press against her back as he placed his hands gingerly on her hips. It made her laugh.

“You’re going to want to hold on better than that pretty boy,” she teased him before revving the engine once more, kicking the kickstand up and speeding out of the parking lot.

Spencer gripped her tightly as she took off down the street, taking the longest route possible to her home. She didn’t hit a single red light for at least 5 blocks, zooming through traffic as Spencer squeezed the life out of her.

He felt amazing, his hands were so big as he fully wrapped around her, reaching around completely so his right hand was on her left hip and vice versa. He was so close she could feel his heartbeat against her back.

He was nervous, he flinched every time she turned and held on even tighter somehow.

So she did another lap of the block, around the park’s bend so she could lean the bike as far as possible as Spencer’s fingers dug into her hips fiercely. Breathing deep enough that she could hear him over the engine, but he wanted her to keep going. Not ready to let go of her yet, this is the closest they had ever been to each other.

When she finally pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex, they bumped over the curb and his hand grazed Y/N’s boob, he pulled back so fast it was barely there, she just shook her head and laughed. Parking the bike and putting the kickstand back down.

Spencer let out a sigh, relaxing against her as he rested his chin on her shoulder again.

“Have fun?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he laughed, his voice deep and dry from breathing with his mouth open, it was cute.

He got off first when his legs were finally able to work again, still vibrating from the rev of the engine he walked like Ariel when she got her legs. It was priceless, no one has reacted like that after getting a ride from them, not even Penelope.

She took her helmet off while still on the bike, shaking her hair out of the ponytail as provocatively as possible before getting off. Spencer’s jaw fell open once more as he watched, breathlessly, just as she expected.

Either he liked them before and never told them, or he was going to start now.

Either way, it excited Y/N to their core, taking his hand once more and leading him inside, this time they could be as close as they wanted to and no one was going to walk in on it. She stopped at her locked apartment door, looking at Spencer as softly as possible so he’d know her feelings were real.

“I know this will cause the teasing we already get to skyrocket, so if you wanted to keep it between us, I fully understand,” she whispered.

“Is that what you want?”

He was so sweet it made her heartache, never before had anyone made her feel like this; like she wasn’t in control of her body or mind, like an override in the system her brain and heart chose Spencer and there was no stopping them.

“I just told a whole bar of people that I’m in love with the guy at the rock show before taking you home in front of everyone,” she laughed, “I don’t care if people know, I just hate when they tease us, they belittle everything we do like we’re 17 forever, it’s not fun for me.”

“I hate it too,” he pressed his lips together awkwardly once more, “I’d like to keep you to myself for a while.”

She cupped his face in her hands and pulled in, pressing her lips against his as they both tried to repress their tightlipped smiles. Finally, finally kissing after all those years staring at each other's lips while they explained something, passionately as ever with the most attentive ears.

“Exactly, me too,” she smiled wider as she pulled back from him, unlocking the front door and pulling him inside for that movie he mentioned.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 (dm me if you want me to remove you)

[ginwalt]

woah can you maybe please write a prequel with wanda x r getting together, and maybe carol and nat meeting r for the first time? (in reference to that amazing last post of yours!!)

A/N: Okay soooo this took a little bit longer than expected lol,,, I tried incorporating Wanda and R meeting but it was nearly 7,000 words before I even got to Carol and Nat meeting R. (Also the writing was horrible) so I scrapped that and started over with just Carol and Nat meeting R.

Warnings: gun wounds and blood.

Word Count: 3k

Read the first one here.

--

"Do we have to tell them? I don't see why we can't just live our entire lives without Natasha and Carol knowing."

Wanda looked over at you with a raised brow, "Y/n, you are overreacting. Natasha and Carol can be a bit protective," you shot her an incredulous look.

"A bit?"

"-But, it isn't like they will kill you. Now stop pacing; you are wearing a track into the carpet." You halted your nervous loop and rubbed a hand over our face. Wanda's roommates and self-proclaimed mother figures were on their way back home from a mission. They had been gone for a few weeks, and the job had gone off without a hitch. In an uncharacteristic display of optimism, your girlfriend suggested that this would be the best time to tell them about your relationship. They were bound to be in a great mood from the mission's success so, the chances of them killing you were slimmer. Hopefully.

Outside of missions and monthly SHIELD meetings, you had little to no interaction with the two superheroes. The only one-on-one conversations you have had with Natasha or Carol have crashed and burned with you stammering and avoiding eye contact until awkwardly parting ways.

Wanda, having read your anxious thoughts, cradled your face in her hands and smiled. "Sweetie, I'm sure they will love you. Now, we have a decent amount of time before they get back..." she trailed off and moved her hands so that they looped around your neck. Your girlfriend tilted her head so that her lips were barely grazing your jawline. "We should use that time productively." Shuddering, you scrambled to straddle her lap with your thighs. Wanda chuckled at your eagerness and captured your lips with her own.

You arched your back and leaned further against her as she traced her hands up and down your back. You let out a small gasp as she settled them against your ass. Then, squeezing playfully, she grinned into the kiss and slipped her tongue past your parted lips. You pulled away and let out a breathy, "Cheater."

Wanda nipped lightly at your lower lip before poking out her lip in a fake pout. "Oh, I know. I'm awful."

You scowled and clenched your thighs and fists, using your leverage to switch your positions; you pinned her against the couch cushions. "And mean," you pecked a kiss against her jaw, "and terrible," a harsh bite to her collarbone, "and a bully." Wanda arched her back into your body as you continued to pepper her neck with slow kisses. You wrapped your arms around her back and moved her legs so that they were locked around your waist. Sitting up, you hastily pinned her against the window sill.

Wanda gasped and clutched at the back of your shirt, "Oh, you are going to be in so much trouble after this."

You lapped and sucked at the pale column of her neck for a moment before parting to peer up at her with a smug grin. "Says who?"

Wanda reached up to trail her thumb over the bottom of your lip before leaning in closer to your ear, "Keep kissing me like that, and I might consider not turning that perky little ass black and blue." You smothered your breathy moan in the crook of her neck. Quickly, you grasped at the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head. Wanda followed suit by returning the favor.

You opened your mouth to say something else when both of you froze. The front door had slammed open. Before either of you could react, there was a sound of tramping boots, and suddenly, you were sent flying across the room by a strong hand. Gasping, you slid across the carpet and landed against the opposite wall. Your vision cleared to reveal Black Widow and Captain Marvel standing over you in a fighting position.

Wanda quickly ran over to the two of them and wedged herself between you and your surprise assailants. "Wait! She's not an attacker, I promise!"

Carol loosened lightly. However, she did not drop her fists, "We saw you struggling through the window and assumed there had been an attack."

You could not see your girlfriend's face from your vantage point on the floor; however, you assumed it was glowing red. The witch sheepishly crossed her arms over her bare stomach. She was wearing nothing but black pajama shorts and a matching bra. In any other situation, that would be enough to have you opening your legs then and there. However, after tonight you had no inclination to have sex ever again. "Natasha, Carol, this is my girlfriend, Y/n," she gestured to you as you scrambled to your feet.

Despite being dressed in a sports bra and sweatpants, you felt naked as two pairs of eyes settled on you. "Hi," you squeaked, offering a small wave.

Carol's eyes lit up in recognition, "You're that nervous little hacker Fury hired awhile back."

You felt your cheeks heat as you looked down at the carpet, "That's me."

Natasha's look of shock slowly morphed into a grin that one could only describe as sadistic. "So, if no one was under attack, that means..."

Wanda buried her face in her hands, "Please do not finish that sentence."

The assassin held her hands up in surrender, the smirk never leaving her face. "I didn't say anything. Now let's sit down- with all of our clothes on- and talk about this." You kept your gaze glued to the floor as you snatched your shirt and pulled it back on. You sat down next to Wanda, careful not to let any of your body touch hers. Glancing up, you saw Carol and Natasha peering down at you like a hawk would a field mouse.

"How did you two meet?" Natasha asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Wanda scratched the back of her neck, "We met in our programming class and then again at an on-campus coffee shop."

"And how did you hide this from a former Kree soldier and an assassin?" Carol asked.

"I would usually invite her over when you and Nat were away on missions," the witch explained.

"So this isn't the first time you have attempted to stain our new sofa?" Natasha asked. You suspected the question was rhetorical.

"Wanda, could you go upstairs for a minute? We would like to have a little chat with miss Y/n alone," the assassin requested, a too-sweet smile on her face.

You looked over at Wanda, silently pleading for her not to leave. Despite being telepathic, Wanda ignored your internal screeching and nodded, "I'll be in my room." As you watched her go, you started praying to whatever deity was up in the sky to keep you safe.

Natasha and Carol sat down on either side of you, shark-like grins on their faces. "So, Y/n, what are your plans for dating Wanda?" Carol asked, peering down her nose at you.

"Uh, what do you mean?" You shrunk further into the crack in the cushions. The back of your neck had started becoming slick and hot with nervous sweat as you looked anywhere but at the two women.

"I'm sure you are aware of Wanda's past and how much she has lost. The last thing we would want is for you to... reopen old wounds," Natasha said. Her voice was like sharpened steel as she stared you down.

Your eyes widened in shock as you looked over at her, "I would never hurt her, miss. Wanda is the first real relationship I have ever had, and I have no intentions of screwing that up."

Carol sighed and rested a hand on your shoulder. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden contact. "You seem like a nice kid, Y/n. But, if you ever have sex in our living room again, knowing we'll be coming home soon. It will be the last thing you ever do."

You nodded and looked down at your lap. "Yes, ma'am."

--

From that day on, your interactions with Natasha and Carol were even more painful than before. Because, now the two had taken to "hazing" you, as Wanda described it. They would walk up behind you as silent as a panther ready to attack before barking an order at you. Every time this happened, you would nearly fall out of your seat, completely messing up whatever work you were doing on your computer. Usually, it would be something as simple as getting them a coffee- a task that was typically reserved for the interns. However, you scampered off without complaint and grabbed them what they needed from the breakroom.

"They will settle down, Y/n," Wanda assured. She was sitting on your desk, completely disrupting the research you were currently doing on one of your monitors. Her chunky combat boots were propped up on the armrest of your desk chair as she used her magic on a pen resting across from her.

"Natasha and Carol hate me, Wan," you groaned.

Wanda snickered and flicked the hovering pen at you with a streak of red magic. You huffed and pushed it away. "They don't hate you. If they really did not like you dating me, you would have been fired from SHIELD already. Nat and Carol can be protective, that's all. I think they are actually quite fond of you."

You scoffed, "That might be pushing it."

"I'm serious. Whenever you come up in conversation, they will always refer to you as my 'little hacker' or 'that cute nerd.'" Wanda hopped off your desk and planted a sweet kiss onto your cheek.

"They will grow to accept you, I promise."

--

That acceptance came on a rather stressful mission. It was your first time out in the field, and you were armed with nothing but a handgun and a taser. Your job was to hack into the terrorist organization's database and steal information about the location of their bombs and alien tech. In addition, Natasha, Carol, and Wanda were sent with you to rescue valuable hostages the terrorists were keeping in the basement of their HQ.

Natasha was sent with you for protection, much to Wanda's displeasure. The idea of leaving you alone in a den of wolves made the witch want to wrap you up in a blanket and run out of there. However, Carol needed Wanda's abilities to get to the hostages. So, that is how you found yourself shimmying through a ventilation shaft behind Black Widow. It was unbearably hot in the vents as you tried to maneuver through in sweat-slicked clothes. Your hair was clinging to your face in wet strands as you backed up to allow Natasha to kick open the slatted hatch below you.

She hopped down and looked around the security room before motioning for you to leap down. With far less grace, you jumped down to the tiled floor with a muffled grunt. Then, sliding into a desk chair that sat in front of over twenty different monitors, you set to work. Your fingers flew over the keys as you glared a the screens in front of you.

"How are we doing, Y/n?" Natasha called over her shoulder. Her gun readied in her hands.

"They have really advanced firewalls," you grunted. "But, I think I can figure a way around them."

"I hear footsteps," the assassin called. "Hurry up back there."

Your hands were cramped painfully as you reached into your pocket to grab a flash drive. Shoving it into the USB port, you fired off the last few commands. As a loading screen popped up, the metal door to the security room boomed open. You leaped out of your chair, hand reaching for your gun immediately. Six armed soldiers charged towards you, and the Black Widow with firearms and other weapons raised.

Natasha pivoted on her feet and kicked one of the men's guns from his hands. The rifle skittered across the tile and landed near the desk. Without looking back, Natasha shouted, "Get the flash drive, and go."

You glanced at the half-complete loading screen that was flashing a 5-minute timer. "What about you?" Natasha didn't reply, instead opting to turn her focus back to the man she was currently wrestling to the floor. Two other soldiers surrounded her while the three remaining ran towards you.

Scrambling to remember any combat you had learned in SHIELD training, you slammed your taser against one of their temples. The man convulsed and fell away from you with a cry of agony. Your hands shook violently as you tripped over the desk chair to recover the now complete flash drive. Another scar-faced man grasped at the back of your neck and pulled you towards him. You grunted and squirmed in his grip as the other one raised a gun to your head.

A loud bang sounded, and the gunman was toppling to the ground, blood leaking from his neck. The man holding you fell to the floor with the sound of another gunshot. You stumbled forward, away from the bodies. Grabbing the flash drive, you turned to face Natasha. Your relief was cut short when you saw a man, seemingly playing dead on the ground as he aimed his gun towards the assassin's head.

Crying out, you lunged into action faster than you could think. Your strides cleared the room in two healthy bounds as you tackled the soldier. You managed to get in two good kicks and a headbutt before another sickening bang echoed through the room. It took you a minute to register that the blow did not come from Natasha. You stumbled back and slowly peered down at your stomach. A stain of crimson was now leaking from a hole in your shirt.

Your vision grew bleary, and your ears were stuffed with cotton. Was that red stain new? You thought dimly as your feet fell from under you. You heard another shot, now much fuzzier and far off. Then, before your body could hit the floor, you felt two strong arms scoop you up. No, you decided, that stain had not always been there. It was blood; you were bleeding.

"Oh," you muttered, looking down at your leaking abdomen. "Thass not good," you slurred, peering up at the person carrying you.

Your brain vaguely registered them as Natasha. She looked down at you with an expression you had never quite seen before. "You have to stay awake for me. Can you do that?" Her request was quiet and strangely shaky.

You furrowed your brows; Natasha was never shaky about anything. You didn't like it. "Iss alrigh' Nat, you aren' hurt. What 'swrong?" If the assassin wasn't injured, then why was she crying? The Black Widow never cried.

"I know I'm not hurt, kid. That isn't the problem," she assured you with a humorless chuckle.

You winced as her running jostled your wound, "I think 'm hurt, Widow. Hurt real bad." Tears gathered in your eyes at the agony radiating from the hole in your abdomen.

"You're going to be alright, sweetie. I promise." Natasha held you closer to her chest.

"I'm glad I got to you, though," you continued. "Cause you and Carol already don' like me so, you definitely wouldn' be happy if I failed you."

You felt Natasha's hand go to cradle the back of your head. A gentle kiss was placed on the crown of your head. "We don't hate you, I promise. You're a really sweet kid. I'm really proud that Wanda found you."

Despite the black dots consuming your vision, you felt your chest explode with joy. "'N Carol too?"

Natasha chuckled, "Yeah, and Carol too." Then, as the last of your vision faded, you felt a smile rest on your face.

--

The first thing you registered when you awoke was the sound of beeping. It was annoying as all hell and caused the pain in your skull to worsen. You were warm, almost to the point of discomfort, and your abdomen was radiating a numb tingling. Almost as if it wasn't there at all.

Cracking your eyes open, you took in the dim room around you. It was a bedroom made up of plain oak furniture and eggshell walls. A guest room, maybe? Beside you was an IV that was hooked up to your forearm and a heartrate monitor. On the bedside table was a vase of expensive-looking flowers and an orange pill bottle.

You peeled back the three blankets that had been stacked on top of you to see a thick layer of gauze wrapped around your stomach. You were dressed in a sports bra and Captain America shield boxer shorts. Where was everyone? Who was everyone? Gritting your teeth, you slid out of bed. Nauseating pangs threatened to buckle you as you gripped at the IV stand next to you. You limped towards the door, the metal stand used as a makeshift cane. You scrambled to open the door with clammy hands. Once you stepped into the hallway, you realized where you were—Wanda's house.

"Wan? Are you here?" You called, your voice hoarse. Down the hall, to your right, you heard two doors fly open. Natasha, Carol, and Wanda came rushing out, eyes wild with concern.

"Babe, what the hell are you doing out of bed," your girlfriend asked, hands hovering around you as if you were a house of cards. You attempted to bat her hands away before stumbling slightly at the effort.

Carol rushed to your side and wrapped an arm around your waist. "Shit, kid, take it easy. Don't want to reopen that bullethole, do we?"

"What happened? Did we get the flash drive," you looked between the three of them.

Wanda shook her head and started leading you back to the guest bed. "Of course, that's the first thing you are worried about after nearly dying." She gently settled you back into bed and pulled the covers back over your body. "But, yes, the flash drive and the hostages are safe in Fury's possession, thanks to you."

You scoffed, "I'm just the techy. I didn't really do anything," you shrugged. "Besides, you three were the muscle."

Natasha scoffed and stepped forward, "You saved my life, Y/n."

Picking at a loose thread on the blanket, you shook your head, "I wouldn't go that far. I'm sure you could have handled it."

The assassin shook her head, "I didn't realize that he was still alive until you were on top of him."

Carol smiled and ruffled your hair, "You did good, kid. Thanks for saving my wife." Your answering grin was nearly blinding.

[heliads]

Time Can Heal (But This Won’t) Chapter Three: Bloodstains

You’ve been a lone demigoddess, daughter of Hecate, ever since your home of Hellas sank beneath the waves centuries ago. You loved the Darkling until he crossed you and you fled the Little Palace. Now you’re disguised as a mere cartographer. Can you face him again, knowing what he’s done?

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There was no way around it, no way to avoid it. Like it or not, you would be returning to the only place you’ve ever truly called home since you left behind the sinking shores of Hellas, past a people who would never rise again. You had seen Os Alta built, walked the newly constructed halls of the Grand and Little Palaces with the Darkling before you knew enough to run from him. This is where you’ll be going- not to a new future, but a chance to drown in all the memories you’ve tried so hard to forget.

However, you’ll have to survive the journey to Os Alta first. You’re not here as an esteemed guest or prisoner, you’re here as a double, a lure. Someone who can be killed so that Alina Starkov walks out alive. You know this as well as your ice-eyed Darkling who rides next to you, who thinks nothing of you but that you share a name with a woman he thought he could manipulate. That is all.

So you force your gaze away from the Darkling and back towards your hands, which grip the reins of your offered steed. You mentally catalogue the scant few weapons you had on you before you were dragged along after Alina- two knives, a medium length dagger, and the small pistol all First Army soldiers were forced to have on them. You’ve never particularly cared for guns, though- they’re dirty, loud things, nothing compared to the damage you could wreak with a syllable from your tongue. Then again, if it came down to it, you’d rather have a pistol in your palm then risk using your magic in front of the Darkling. In the end, you’re here to stay hidden, not reveal yourself in the most dramatic way possible.

That being said, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. You’ve learned long ago to listen to the voices that whisper past your ear, speaking of dangers lurking in the woods and ill-intentioned beings who wait for women who walk alone. Some are remnants of past protection spells, and others are shades from the Underworld who’d managed to conjure up some corporeal strength and warn you of an attack. You are the last living Hellenid to walk the earth, and so they feel duty-bound to protect you. Through you, your people live on, and so even the dead watch your back.

So when the voices come, you listen. Your eyes flicker shut for just a second as you listen, past the thump of your heart and the pattern of horse hooves on the dusty ground. The carriage rolls noisily some distance in front of you, and then you hear it stop. Around the bend, you hear the disgruntled mutterings of the guards even though they’re too far for a human ear to pick up. A tree has fallen down, blocking the path. You know it’s a trap even before the shots ring out.

You hear the choked screams of men falling with arrows through their throats and eyes and begin to panic. They’ve come for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner who could damn the Fjerdans to a lifetime under Ravka’s watchful eye. They’ve come to kill her. You sense the Darkling rearing his horse beside you, and his stallion picks up into a canter. You don’t have to say a word, just listen to his commands to his men. There are more men attempting to circle behind you and pick you off, you can distract them and the remaining attackers trying to get into the carriage.

A Heartrender turns to you, gesturing for his fellow Grisha to follow you. “Come, Alina! We have to get you to safety!” This command is far too loud for any self-respecting Second Army soldier to ever utter, but to the Fjerdans, it is nothing out of the ordinary. Ravka already swears by its legions of witches, why shouldn’t the ice-haired drüskelle believe themselves above the pathetically obvious Grisha? They follow you without a second thought.

You wait a minute, listening to the sound of boots crashing through the forest floor after you, then jump down from your horse in one swift motion. Your knives appear in your hands and you sprint towards your attackers, knocking them down again and again. You slam the hilt of one knife into a Fjerdan’s nose, and you can hear the bone shatter as if it was your own. Light flashes off of the Grisha steel blades as you slash and stab, drawing blood without taking a break. 

A small part of your mind gleefully notices the way the Fjerdans are running towards you now, drawn towards the sunlight reflected by your knives. They think you the Sun Summoner now, all because of metal polished to a shine. And why shouldn’t they? You have enough power to tear this continent in half, to let the sun pierce the planet’s very core. Why shouldn’t you be feared? Why shouldn’t you be the Sun Summoner yourself?

The man in front of you cries out, and you come back to your senses. Your eyes follow your knife, twisting in his windpipe, and you withdraw it hastily. You wipe the scarlet blood on the grass before turning to fight another Fjerdan attacker, but none come forward. You realize that they’re all dead, either by your hand or by the Heartrenders. Although, you notice with a sickening twist, most are killed by you. You’re supposed to be a shy First Army soldier, and you’re not exactly playing your part quite right.

Across a clearing, you see the Darkling helping Alina to her feet. She looks stunned, most likely due to the body of a Fjerdan lying at her toes. It’s been sliced perfectly in half- so he’s used the Cut. No wonder she looks as if the world has just been exposed for being woven from nightmares. She glances over at you and blanches even further. Shame twists in your gut as you realize your hands are covered in blood, none of it yours. You were borne of a race of warriors, fighting has been in your history for as long as Hellas has stood. To Alina Starkov, however, this is a massacre like she’s never seen before. You carefully sheath your knives again once you’re sure there’s no blood left on them.

You stare at the bodies, forcing your eyes to remember every last detail. May your gods or their Saints watch over them, wherever they may go. You don’t have enough coins to place under their tongues as per the Hellan tradition, although even if you did you couldn’t risk drawing the Darkling’s attention with such a specific ritual. Instead, you burn their faces into your mind. Memories and legacies were how your people retained their power, and being forgotten was a large part of how they crumbled away. At last you can remember these men.

A voice sounds from in front of you, and you look up hastily. “Do not pity them. They attacked the Sun Summoner, your friend.” The Darkling stands before you, something strange in his eyes. You’ve seen this look before, a few centuries ago. You had been careful to hide the true extent of your magic from him, perhaps knowing even then that he would want nothing more from you then the power you could give him.

In that long ago instant, you had let go, allowing your spells to run wild as stallions through the air. You were attacked, yes, but you had used it as an excuse for true bloodshed. It had been so long since you had truly tested your limits, always making sure to hide what you truly were, even from the other Grisha. You wanted to see what you could do, just this once. Even then, you were just scratching the surface, but the wash of inky emerald over the scene threatened to drown out the world. Bodies dropped, trees were stripped of bark, entire buildings crumbled despite the strongest of foundations. 

The few other Grisha present looked at you with true horror, but not the Darkling. No, he looked at you as he does now, with a sort of hunger that could consume entire countries and never be filled. He saw no girl or lover, he saw a weapon. He saw you standing before him, pulling a blade from your chest and offering him the hilt. He’d take it, not caring (or even relishing) your blood still dripping from the blade. The things he could do with you were unimaginable even in your worst nightmares, and it would never be enough. The worst part is that you thought you might go along with it, that you’d be willing to watch the end of the world with him.

This is how the Darkling looks at you now, a weapon ready for the taking. You remember hastily that he’s likely expecting something of you, so you duck your chin and do your best to summon up the modesty expected by the likes of Y/N Stassov, mapmaker and nothing more. “It’s just, well, a lot of death.” The Darkling inclines his head. “Maybe. Where did you learn to fight like that?” You don’t like this line of questioning, where it could lead. “The First Army. Sir.”

The Darkling’s lips quirk at the last minute honorific. “I’ve seen no First Army mapmaker who could take out a dozen Fjerdans with a pair of knives. Maybe I should send some of my soldiers to learn from your generals.” You panic, sure he’s testing you, then realize that he’s joking. Ridiculous. You force a smile. “I think they’re probably fine with their heartrending and all that.” The two of you have begun walking back to the horses now. The Darkling mounts his steed, then looks back at you. “Maybe so.” When he takes off, you’re not sure which scares you most- him figuring out who you are, or the idea that he would not look for you at all.

The Darkling calls for the party to take a respite that night, waiting until the moon shines low in the sky for everyone to tie up their horses and rest in a long-abandoned barn. Alina runs over to you as soon as she gets off of her mount, flinging her arms around you in gratitude. You can tell from the hammering of her heart whenever she looks at the Darkling that she hasn’t forgotten his use of the Cut, and probably won’t for a while.

“Saints, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this alone.” You can sense the eyes of the Darkling and the other Grisha on your back, and you know what’s expected of you. To them, you are no more than an otkazat’sya mapmaker, someone utterly unworthy of their Sun Summoner’s company. They’ll leave you to make your way back to Kribirsk when Alina is safe at the Little Palace, and they no doubt expect you to make her path easier.

So, you smile, smoothing back an errant piece of her hair into place. “That’s a lie, and we both know that. If you can punch an irritating officer or survive the Fold, you can ride a horse to Os Alta. Promise.” Alina rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.” You raise an eyebrow. “It totally is. Believe me. Now come on, chasing after you all day is exhausting. I intend to go to sleep right now.” Alina grins. “That sounds good to me.”

Despite your weary eyes, you can’t seem to fall asleep at all. Alina sleeps next to you, the few Grisha lookouts stand unmoving at their posts. Eventually, you get sick of tossing and turning and staring up through the rotting beams through the barn roof. You stand, making your way quietly out of the barn. If the sentries see you, they do not stop you. Evidently, they trust you enough to let you walk around, or they view you as useless enough to not stop you from trying to run. Either works for you.

You don’t go far, just outside of the doors lying at odd angles on their hinges. You take a seat on a rusting metal bench, leaning back against the faded paint of the barn walls. You stare up at the sky, eyes tracing the constellations. Somewhere up in the night, there were once heroes and monsters, prideful queens and stubborn kings whose stories were famous enough to warrant them a place amongst the stars. You’ve been looking for them for a while, though, and know that the skies are empty of all souls who were once cast up there. It’s just another reminder that you are well and truly alone. The last remainder of a long dead culture.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You startle, turning to see the Darkling walking out of the barn beside you. You manage to cover up your surprise with an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d woken anybody.” The Darkling shrugs. “You didn’t. I was already awake.” This feels somewhat surreal- here you sit, a false face and a fake history as a farmer turned soldier. Here stands the Darkling, looking just the same as always. It makes no sense, though- why would he keep seeking you out? Why would the general of the Second Army keep looking for an otkazat’sya soldier? He must know you, somehow. There’s no other explanation for it.

The Darkling clears his throat. “Thank you for speaking to Alina. I appreciate your words.” You dismiss the gratitude with a lift of your shoulder. “She’s my friend. I couldn’t exactly make her feel worse, could I?” The Darkling turns to look at you now, familiar quartz eyes seeming to tear you in two. “You could. You could have refused to play along with the role of double, you could have refused to fight by her side, you could have done your best to turn her away from us. You did none of that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I could have resisted a team of the most skilled Grisha in all of Ravka? I intend to keep my life.” Something almost like a smile appears on the Darkling’s lips. You’ve seen this look before, in sunset afternoons and deepest nights. It’s so familiar that it seems to cut at you like a knife. You almost want to call out to him now- know me, please. Remember me. If you look close enough, you will see the woman you pretended to love. We could pretend again, if we wanted to.

You silent the murmurings, and he speaks again. “All the same, it was appreciated.” You turn back towards the sky, partly to take in the sight of the night sky again and partially to hide the smile giddily appearing on your own face. How is that after all this time, all these hurts, he still has this effect on you? “Well, I want her to have some good memories after this. I’ll be shipped back to Kribirsk, I don’t really want to leave on bad terms.”

The Darkling remains silent for so long that you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, opened up too much. A simple mapmaker would never confide in a centuries-old Shadow Summoner, he must suspect something. Surely, hopefully, he does. But instead, he turns to you, a softness present in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It rounds the edges of his quartz gaze, making it easier to fall hard and fast. “You aren’t going to leave for Kribirsk. You’re staying in Os Alta.”

You stare at him, night sky forgotten. “What? But I’m no Sun Summoner.” The Darkling laughs quietly in the night. “No, but few of us are. I have a personal guard, the oprichniki. I would like you to begin training with them once we arrive.” The sentence is phrased so casually that it almost floats by you completely undetected. The monumental weight of the words, however, is enough to shake you whole. The oprichniki are not Grisha, so you would fit in, but they are the Darkling’s special guards. Only the toughest and bravest of fighters are selected, certainly not a mapmaker who’s best skill is pretending to be a Sun Summoner.

You tell him as much, so stunned by this that you forget to hold your tongue. When you remember who you are and who you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not, you wish you had remained silent. For some reason, however, the Darkling doesn’t seem taken aback by this momentary lapse. Instead, it just makes his lips twitch even more. He is most certainly hiding a smile. “I saw you fight, Miss Stassov. If you can do that without any of our training at all, I’d say you’re a good candidate.”

You lean back against the barn wall. “Oprichnik. Me.” You whistle quietly, letting the sound echo in the night air like the call of a dove. The Darkling inclines his head. “You are free to turn the offer down at any point-” his smile grows at your raised eyebrow- “Although it is not an offer I take lightly. You have potential. Besides, keeping you in Os Alta will be a support for Miss Starkov.”

You furrow your brow. “I thought you would want to separate her from her old life, not keep having ties to it.” It’s what the Darkling would do when you knew him. He would have cut out another mapmaker without a second thought. The Darkling considers this. “Perhaps. But if she feels too alone, she may draw in on herself and feel unwilling to use her power at all. You have your merits, Miss Stassov. Perhaps more than you see yourself.”

You barely hear him when he goes back inside the barn. He has always had this ability to disguise his footsteps, letting the shadows cloak him in sound as well as in sight. For once, it doesn’t trouble you. Instead, you’re troubled by the future ahead of you. If you were an oprichnik, a guard loyal only to him, there would be even more chance of the Darkling finding out that you were Hecari, the woman he’d loved and who had run from him, feigning death rather than stay by his side and fear his knife.

Being near him, though, it makes you think back to every moment you’d shared. Could it be possible that you had misheard? Would the man you know, the man drenched by moonlight who makes offers of joining the ranks of the oprichniki to mapmakers he’s barely met, truly want you dead? The answer is yes, you know that. But your heart whispers differently, telling you that you could be wrong on this. You’ve always trusted your whispers, the ghosts of the past. The only problem is that these aren’t Hellenid spirits now, they’re your own. Longings for what might have been, what you left behind. 

In the end, you retreat back inside the barn. When you sleep, you dream of a quartz-eyed boy, dark-haired and smiling before he thought to use you.

series tag list: fave @underc0vercryptid​, @hotleaf-juice​, @aleksanderwh0r3​, @kaqua​, @nemesis729​, @imma-too-many-fandoms​

[fallingforunrealisticromance]

I don't hate you - Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: Tried a different sort of style let me know what you think

Warnings: Brief mentions of controlling parents, slight mention of torture (nothing graphic)

***: time skip

Word count: 1262

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

Dealing with nightmares had become second nature to you by now. They essentially came hand in hand with the job of being an avenger. It’s like the universe grabbed a bunch of people and was like “Hey you guys are all gonna be able to do things normal people can’t like save the world and that, but you’ll also be ridiculed with crippling nightmares, your welcome.” Having lived in the Avengers compound for a few years, it wasn’t uncommon to find various members of the team sat in the kitchen or by a window after a particularly hard night. You had bonded with a lot of them over late-night chats and as much as it pained you to hear what they had gone through; you were grateful to form that connection with them. The only person who hadn’t warmed up to you was Bucky. He was a very guarded man, which was understandable considering everything Hydra had put him through. Every chance the super soldier got; he would avoid you. If you entered the room, he left. If you looked at him, he’d turn around. Even on missions, unless he had to talk to you, Bucky would ignore you. And even though Steve had explained to you how hard it was from him to trust people, part of you was still saddened by the fact he didn’t like you.

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You stumbled into the kitchen; your eyes still heavy with sleep. Tonight, wasn’t an easy night for you. It wasn’t so much a nightmare that was plaguing your mind, more reality creeping its way in. You’d never had a good relationship with your parents, they were too controlling and was constantly make you feel as if you were suffocating. You had cut any ties you had with them the minute you’d moved to new York and met the avengers. However, you’d just found out that they had been able to track you down and were now in town. The stress of it all had got too much causing your sleep to be disrupted but right now you didn’t want to think about it. Grabbing your favourite mug, you went about making yourself a hot chocolate before heading over and settling down on a chair next to the window. As you starred out across the skyline, you felt tears beginning to form in your eyes. The life you’d been living with the avengers had been amazing. It had been the most accepted you had ever felt. They made you feel loved and wanted, a feeling you weren’t used to. But now, the presence of your parents threatened that. You sat silently sobbing, allowing yourself to wallow in your pity for a moment.

Suddenly, a loud crash came from behind you, causing you to fall from your chair. You scrambled to your feet, scanning the room for something to defend yourself with. Settling on the chair you’d previously fell from, you grabbed it and begun creeping your way toward the kitchen in an attempt to locate the noise. You weren’t sure what you were expecting – a robber perhaps? – but a shirtless Bucky clutching the countertop, breathing rather rapidly, was not it. You slowly lowered the chair but kept a firm grip on it just in case. You weren’t sure he knew you were there, and you didn’t want to provoke him. Part of you wanted to leave him, but the other part convinced you to stay. He didn’t look right.

“Bucky?” You called tentatively.

He flinched at your voice, his head snapping round to look at you. His eyes were red and puffy as if he’d been crying.

“Are you okay?”

He stared silently at you. His face held a sort of torn expression, almost like he didn’t know how to answer. His chest was still heaving as he replied.

“I’m fine.”

Even if you had believed him, his voice was hoarse enough to give him away.

“I know you’re not.” You said softly.

You moved towards the counter opposite him, leaning against it. Bucky watched you cautiously.

“Is there anything I can do?”

He scoffed at your words. “Like what?”

The fact he was actually engaging in a conversation shocked you, but you tried your best to hide it.

“I don’t know. Listen I guess? Like if you wanted to talk about it?"

You felt pathetic for even offering. He had the ability to do that, make you feel so small and insignificant, even if he didn’t mean to. Bucky just rolled his eyes, turning away from you.

“Look I know you don’t like me, but I’m just trying to help you. I don’t want you to think your alone in this.”

“I don’t like you?” He questioned, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

You just stared at him, equally confused. “Um…yes?”

“What makes you think I don’t like you?”

“Well, I just sort of assumed. I mean you never really talk to me and whenever we’re put together on missions you act like it’s the worst news of your life” You replied, sounding braver than you felt.

Bucky leant back against the counter, now facing you entirely. He let your words hang in the air for a moment before responding.

“I had a nightmare.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, allowing him to continue.

“I was back at the Hydra base. They were testing all sorts of shit on me again. I saw Steve, Sam and you all walk in-”

Your breath faltered as he mentioned you.

“-and I felt okay. I thought you were going to free me. But you didn’t. All of you begun to torture me even further.”

Guilt consumed you. Even thought you knew it was a dream and you hadn’t done anything wrong, you couldn’t help but feel bad.

“I begged you to stop.” Bucky’s voice began to waver. “You ignored me. All of you. It just kept going and I felt it all and I just-“ He chocked on his words, tears now freely flowing down his face.

Your chest hurt. Knowing that you’d caused this pain, whether it was fictional or not, it broke you. You moved over to him.

“Can I hug you?” You asked in a hushed tone.

Without responding, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, his body shaking from the tears. You wrapped your arms around him, threading your fingers into his hair in an attempt to sooth him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You whispered. “I would never hurt you. Nor would Steve or Sam. I promise you; you are safe. I won’t let them take you away again.”

You had no idea if your words were having any effect, but you needed him to know. After a while, his breathing calmed and he pulled back slightly, his arms still settled by your waist. Once again, the eyes that stared back at you were red and worn. Slowly, you reached up and cupped his face in your hands. He flinched slightly, before easing into your touch. You gently brushed your thumbs across his face, clearing any tears that remained. The entire time, his eyes scanned your face as if he was trying to memorise every detail. Once you were done, you returned his gaze.

“You’re safe.” You said, offering him a small smile.

He returned it before pulling you back into a hug, this one a lot gentler and more heartfelt.

“I don’t hate you by the way.” He spoke.

You chuckled “I’m glad.”

[miyanom]

DEVILS PARADISE (part two)

MASTERLIST | JEAN KIRSTEIN X FEM!READER

synopsis: arriving in paradis, y/n slowly grows close to the devils she was taught to hate.

warnings: mentions of death, let me know if I need to add anything else!

notes: i feel like this chapter isn’t the best, but i wanted to write about y/n and jean a little and also write about y/n’s friendships with the people of Paradis before we head into trost arc.

word count: 2479

Shaky breaths fell from Y/N’s chapped lips as she held on tightly to Annie, keeping the unconscious girl from slipping off the Armoured Titan’s shoulder as he ran through the town beyond the wall.

Reiner had his hands raised to protect the others from the rubble of the gate as he crashed through, but as his hands moved to his sides once more, Y/N found her eyes widening.

Chaos. It was utter chaos.

Homes had been crushed from debris that went flying after the Colossal Titan kicked the gate, people had been crushed in attempts to escape, and mindless Titans were flooding into the city.

Y/N’s eyes continued to scan the area, only stopping as they fell onto a woman screaming for her husband who had been crushed beneath a Boulder.

With an arm still wrapped around Annie, Y/N used her other hand to pull them closer toward the armoured titan’s neck, fear coursing through her veins as the image of the crushed body weighed heavy in her mind.

The Marleyan’s words echoed through her head, reminding her of the sins of the Eldians; the sins that brought this destruction to them.

But Y/N couldn’t stop herself from questioning the things she had been taught as more screams filled the evening air.

Did they deserve it? Did they deserve it? Did they deserve it?

“Armin Arlert, from Shiganshina District, sir!” A blonde boy answered the training instructor.

If Y/N remembered correctly, it was Shiganshina that the warriors destroyed all those years ago. The day still weighed heavy on her heart, though she knew it was the only way.

What other choice did they have? If they were to go home to Marley without the Founding Titan, their terms would end prematurely.

“Yeah? That’s a stupid name. Your parents give you that?” Shadis questioned.

“My grandfather!”

“Arlert, what are you doing here?!”

“Trying to aid humanity’s victory!” Armin answered immediately.

When ordered to about face, Y/N’s eyes met Armin’s cerulean. Trying to aid humanity’s victory… humanity’s victory would only come when the devils were gone, that’s what Marley told them all.

The instructor passed by Y/N, barely sparing the girl even the smallest of glances as he moved down the row.

Jean Kirstein was the name Y/N heard as she tuned back into the initiation. His goal caused the girl to frown in distaste, and it took everything in her to not just roll her eyes.

To live a safe life in the interior, he had said.

The island devils truly were selfish, Y/N realised.

How could anyone hear about what happened in Shiganshina and choose to escape further into the walls? Do the devils not care about their own?

Would they rather save themselves than save the people they care for by ridding the world of Titans?

If Y/N were in their shoes, she knew what she would pick; the chance to save the people she cared about.

That’s why she was here, after all. It was why she went through the rigorous training of the warrior unit. All to make her family honorary Marleyans, to save them from the life of the Eldians.

She was here, pretending to be an island devil, pretending to be the thing she was taught to hate, all for her family.

The devils couldn’t say the same, they wanted to retreat further into the walls, into what they believed was safe.

If only they knew…

“Huh? You’re from Wall Maria, too?” Mina’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at Y/N, who sat across the table.

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly as she nodded. It was a cover story the warriors had come up with a while ago, it made it easier for them to blend in when the survivors of Wall Maria found refuge in Wall Rose.

A family had unexpectedly taken Y/N in just a few months after the attack. It wasn’t Y/N’s idea to take them up on their offer, they were devils, after all.

But Reiner had urged her, he told her it could help them with their mission, that perhaps this family could provide more insight into life inside the walls.

He had been right.

The family helped Y/N understand what life was like for the devils of Paradis, though she’d never tell Reiner and the others just how much she had come to pity these people.

The family had lost their son when the armoured Titan broke through the inner gate, apparently he was a soldier in the Garrison.

Y/N spent nights upon nights thinking about that. Each night giving her more and more reasons to think that maybe the devils didn’t deserve what the warriors had been brought here to do.

That family had shown her kindness, a kindness she never saw from own mother. So maybe-

No. This is the only way, Y/N repeated to herself. This is the only way…

“Y/N?” Mina spoke up again, staring at her with concern painted across her visage. “Are you alright?”

“Ye.. yeah.” Y/N nodded, averting her gaze nervously. “I just- it’s not easy to think about what happened.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Y/N hated thinking about the day she arrived inside the walls, whenever she remembered it, she remembered all those bodies she saw…

She remembered the screams and the blood, and the thought that maybe the Eldians were innocent and it was them who were the bad guys.

“That’s okay. I’m sorry for asking,” Mina let out a sigh, placing her hand over Y/N’s that rested on the table. “I’m-”

“It’s okay,” Y/N shook her head, quickly knocking Mina’s hand away as she stood up and grabbed her plate. “We should get going anyways, everyone’s cleaning up.”

As Y/N left the mess hall, she let out a frustrated sigh. No, that wasn’t suspicious at all…

Oddly enough, learning to use the odm gear the devils designed to kill Titans came fairly easy to Y/N. And before she knew it, they were moving onto hand-to-hand combat training.

When Y/N had been assigned to the mission to attack Paradis, she never expected she would join yet another military program. Not when the things they were learning for the first time here, were things she had known before she was even 10 years old.

“Go easy on the devils,” Reiner had warned them. “We don’t want suspicion to be drawn to us. Not now, we’re too close.”

Y/N hated to admit that he was right. Not about being close to the finish line, but about not wanting to draw suspicion to themselves.

But it was hard to remember his warning when she had been partnered with Jean Kirstein for training… She had known it on the day they met, and she knew it now, almost three years later.

Jean was a selfish, cocky bastard.

“Aw come on. You can do better than that.” His annoying laugh filled her ears as she quickly turned back to look at him, her eyes narrowing into a glare as her grip on the wooden knife tightened slightly. “By the time you take me down, I could’ve taken on at least eight people.”

“Yeah, why don’t you try testing that, Jean?” His name fell from her lips with venom as she chucked the knife in his direction, watching as he caught it with ease.

How much more annoying could he possibly get? Y/N asked herself.

Jean rolled his shoulders back in a stretch before getting into the correct stance, and within seconds, he was running at Y/N.

His eyes widened as the girl grabbed onto his arm, twisting herself around so her back was facing him as she kept pressure on his arm to keep the knife pointed away from her. This wasn’t a move they were taught by the trainers, he realised immediately.

He reached out for the knife with his other hand, though as soon as Y/N caught his movement, she kicked her left leg back, her foot slamming against his bottom calf causing his knee to buckle beneath him.

Putting all her strength into it, Y/N took advantage of Jean’s shaky footing, throwing him over her shoulder and watching as his back hit the dirt with a loud groan of pain falling from his lips.

With a smirk, she crouched down to pick up the knife, twirling it between her fingers as she glanced back at him.

He was still on the floor, staring up at her with wide eyes and a light blush painted across his cheeks. “Aw come on, Jean. You can do better than that,” she taunted.

Jean was ignoring her, Y/N realised as the trainees from the 104th settled down in the mess hall for dinner that night.

She didn’t blame him, she would be embarrassed too if she were in his shoes.

It wasn’t exactly his fault that she had been through this before, in a much harsher environment where the punishment for a failure like that was much worse than a simple comment made by their instructor.

Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her hand as her eyes scanned the dining hall, the sound of chatter filling the room. It wasn’t like this back in Marley, they would always eat in silence, in fear.

But in Paradis, those fears no longer weighed heavy on her shoulders. She no longer had to sleep with one eye open, terrified the Marleyans would decide to torch Liberio in the middle of the night.

She would never say it aloud, but maybe the devils were right to flee and hide here.

“-right, Y/N?” Christa’s voice snapped Y/N out of her thoughts, causing her to quickly turn around.

“Huh?”

“There she goes drifting off again,” Ymir commented, her arms crossed as she stared at Y/N. “With an attitude like that, you’ll become Titan chow the second you step outside these walls.”

Christa had quickly become Y/N’s friend within the first year of training, now that they were coming close to the end of the third and final year, Y/N realised that she had practically been inseparable from Ymir and Christa during training.

Maybe she had followed Reiner’s orders too quickly, he told them to blend in with the devils. Or maybe she had found peace within the unexpected kindness… it was wrong, that’s all she really knew.

She wasn’t supposed to be getting along with the island devils, she wasn’t supposed to call them her friends and wish they would be far away from Trost when the warriors plan comes to fruition.

But they were kind, they weren’t anything like how Marley described them to be.

A conflicted feeling settled in Y/N’s stomach once more as she averted her gaze, no longer able to look Christa and Ymir in the eyes without remembering what was to happen.

They didn’t deserve it, they didn’t deserve it.

Or did they? Their ancestors had committed atrocities against the entire world, after all.

But that was their ancestors, not them. Christa, Ymir, Mina, the family that had taken her in when they found out she was a so-called orphan from Wall Maria… they didn’t do what the Eldians of the past had done, they didn’t kill anyone, did they really deserve to pay for crimes they didn’t know about?

Y/N was snapped out of her thoughts once more as Ymir waved a hand in front of her face. “Sorry,” Y/N muttered, glancing at the girls who sat at the table with her.

Christa stared back with a look of concern, while Ymir seemed to not care that much at all.

“Anyways,” Ymir looked back at Christa. “I was just telling Christa here all about the tension between you and that cocky bastard when you knocked him on his ass in training today.” The girl seemed to smirk slightly as her eyes flickered back to Y/N. “I didn’t realise blockhead two had a crush on-”

“And I was telling Ymir that it’s not like that. You would’ve told me, right, Y/N?” Christa asked, looking back and forth between her and Ymir as she awaited an answer.

Y/N couldn’t tell how Ymir had come to the conclusion that she and Jean were crushing on each other, not when they had nothing but bicker constantly. Maybe almost as much as Eren and Jean did, and everyone knew how bad that was.

“It’s not like that,” Y/N confirmed, beginning to pick at her breadroll. “He was being his usual annoying self, and I put him in his place.”

“Yeah, well, looked like he enjoys being put in his place,” Ymir teased. “If you know what I-”

“Ymir!” Christa squeaked out, staring at the taller girl with wide eyes. “You’re going to embarrass them.”

I can’t like Jean, or anybody for that matter, Y/N wished she could tell them.

How could she let herself fall for an island devil? It would be enough to get her killed when she returns to Marley. Retrieving the Founding Titan wouldn’t make up for the sin of loving a devil.

No, befriending them for the sake of the mission was one thing, but loving them?

And Jean of all people? She would never love him. Even if he was from Marley and she was allowed to fall for him, she wouldn’t.

“An easy life, deep inside the walls?” Eren spoke up, his eyes narrowed in Jean’s direction.

The tone of his voice was enough to break Y/N out of her thoughts as she realised the boys would undoubtedly get into another fight.

Her eyes flickered toward Reiner, a frown tugging at her lips. It reminded her too much of how Porco was always fighting Reiner back in Marley.

“Until five years ago, this was considered deep inside the walls,” Eren continued.

“What’s your point, Eren?” Jean crossed his arms.

“You don’t need to go to the interior.” Eren placed his cup on the table. “You’ve gone soft enough in your own head, Jean.”

Y/N hid her smile by resting her head in the palm of her head, though her smile faltered for a moment when her eyes met Jean’s, who had turned to look in her direction.

As Jean turned back toward Eren, the boy began speaking again. “Don’t you think it’s strange that we’re training to fight Titans, just to end up farther away from them?”

“Who cares? For my own sake, I hope they keep this stupid system,” Jean told him.

Right, the island devils were selfish people.

And Y/N was definitely not going to fall for Jean Kirstein. Not in a million years.

[laurore-stormwitch]

The time Zoya saves Nikolai in the Fold. The time Nikolai asks her to be his general. And the times when they had win their battles and they can tell each other of those times. 

 This is dedicated to @tricewithaz because she specifically requested it and we came up with some nice hc. It’s so fun to explore how they met and how their relationship was built. the times we made a choice - ao3

word count: 10.417

“Do you plan on keeping some order on this desk or do I have to incinerate your work with a gust of fire?”, Zoya grunted, eyeing the absolute mess he had left after working in her sitting room all evening as he waited for her to come back from a private state dinner. She slumped beside him, huffing a tired breath and shutting her eyes. Nikolai closed the novel he had stolen from her nightstand, turning to her with a grin.

“I’m very glad to have your goodnight spite reserved for me, Nazyalensky.”

She turned to him, eyelids fluttering open, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. A wave of aching affection washed over him at the sight of her. His darkened fingers disappeared in her silky hair, skimming on the skin of her neck. A shiver went through her. 

Nazyalensky. The habit of using her name like this had turned from provoking her to scowl to getting himself an annoyed but affectionate look. It possessed a different power, now that he knew it was an identity she had chosen for herself so long ago. Nikolai had waited to see if she would desire to change it, but he had the sense she was attached to it. It was hers, it was the promise of a new life she had made to a little girl long ago, and this made her feel conflicted. She was slowly embracing the parts of her past that could finally complete her, wandering through what she had missed in denying a part of herself; yet, some ghosts were more haunting than others. 

“Do you remember the first time I called you that?”, Nikolai asked, if only for the sake of distracting her from another tiresome and tedious day of meetings. Zoya peered at him under her lashes. That was the look she wore when she was pondering whether to indulge his nonsense or just let him ramble her into sleep, with the engulfing solace of his voice frantically telling her about his new invention of the moment or the last thing they made explode at the Fabrikator’s lab. Her hand came to adjust his collar in an unconscious gesture. 

“I’m not sure”, she admitted. He traced the soft curve of her lips with his thumb, smirking. 

“It was when you saved me. I mean, the first of the many times you did that.”

Zoya looked dubious. “Was it though?”

“You remember something else?” 

He was positively sure. When it came to Zoya, his memory rarely failed him. Still, a part of him did want to hear what she remembered. Zoya being willing to talk was a treasured rare occurrence.

“I think it’s when you made me your General”, Zoya asserted, cushioning her head on his forearm. 

***

He was flying, and then he was falling. 

When the blade went through the Darkling heart and his blood soaked the Fold’s barren sands, Nikolai’s wings disappeared in an inconsistent smoke. 

He was fighting, and then he was surrendering. 

The world started drowning in darkness, the shadows curling around its outlines and growing like a monstrous tide that devoured every living being on its path. He remembered the clouded sky, the shrieks of the volcras, the stink of fire and gunpowder. If that was how the bastard prince’s fight was going to end, his mind thanked the Saints for giving him that one last moment as himself. The demon retracted, leaving Nikolai on his own as he dove toward his demise. Yet, it would be fine. They would win. And Nikolai would never see what could become of his country. 

He was dying. And then, without warning, he was floating. 

Or sort of. A sudden gust of wind slammed on his back, slowing his helpless fall on the ground. The prince had only a split moment of consciousness to be glad before crashing onto earth, the blow hard enough that he heard the sound of his ribs cracking, of the air forcefully snatched out his lungs. The world went dark. 

He was breathing. A strike of ravaging pain splitted his chest in two. He thought he had opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred as he forced his eyelids not to fall shut. Inhaling felt like a burning flame scorching his throat. He wanted to move, to get up, to take his weapon and resume the fight. He wanted to rest. He wanted.  

“Try and be still”, a distant voice murmured beside him. 

His vision sharpened, bolts of pain running through his battered body. Nikolai did not know how long he had passed out, if it was hours or mere seconds. Was he seeing the sea again? Was he coming back to the restless waters he loved with woeful neediness? For a brief moment, there was peace. He was home. 

Then, another breath tore his lungs, the searing ache canceling the blur. It wasn’t the sea; he found himself lost in a pair of impossible blue eyes, deep and dark as the oceans he had sailed with his wolf of the waves. He grasped at them. 

“Don’t move'', the voice whispered, shuddering.

A girl, with raven-black hair and blood smeared on her cheek. Her fingers tightened around his wrist, checking his pulse, while she held the back of his neck with the other arm. Her hold was firm, comforting; yet, Nikolai felt a tremor coming from her, her tone desperate. He knew her, something inside him told him as his consciousness slowly slid back into place. He knew her; he remembered her laugh, in the brief excitement David’s dishes for Alina had brought them before being shattered by the nichevo’ya. He knew her from dimly lit hallways made of rock under a mountain, where they had thought they could hide from the monsters lurking in the shadows. His lashes blinked away the mist and he gripped her arm, steadying himself; the girl startled, shifting her gaze and locking those unearthly eyes back on his again. Were his still black? Was he still the demon, or was he himself again? Another remembrance rushed as his mind finally cleared of the last strands of darkness, restoring all his awareness, all of himself. The squaller, the stubborn one, with that insanely acid tongue. Zoya. The grip on her arm grew stronger, he wanted to part his lips, to speak. He wanted. 

“Damn, stop moving. I need to make sure I saved you. No way I’m letting Ravka’s only hope die on me, are we clear?” 

Anguish cut through the edge of her tone, cracking it. Zoya, the proud one. The one he had overheard standing up for the Etherealki in the face of every disdain she had earned from them. Zoya, who had fought her way through their reckless warfare strategies with the grace and precision of a hawk diving for a prey. With the snarky words she had sent his way whenever they had crossed paths, her piercing gaze studying everyone around her, always surprising him with a biting response. Zoya Nazyalensky, the impossibly beautiful and equally mysterious summoner who all the other Grisha gossiped about. Kneeling on the dirt beside him right now with an endless well in her sight, full of sorrow and terror. It was the aftermath of the battle, probably. Probably. 

Zoya the soldier. Alina’s soldier, Ravka’s soldier, the king’s soldier. His soldier, now.

“Nazyalensky”, he rasped out, mustering all the strength he could find. Relief flooded her face, making her lips quiver. Not too gently, she shook his hand from her arm, her look hardening. Nikolai felt the horrifying moist consistency of blood on his hands; he could not dwell on where it was coming from, either his own wounds, the ones of the girl beside him, or the ones coming from the lives he had snatched with his infernal claws. 

“Good. The blow on your head did not shatter your brain.”

Cutting as a blade. As she scanned the ground around, he found her havoc-raging presence weirdly heartening. Nikolai was only dimly aware of the mayhem still breaking out. There was a muffled quiet around them; he realized that it was probably Zoya’s doing, hushing the sounds in the air. An unforgiving wind flowed, kicking up the grey sand; it seemed to reverberate directly from Zoya’s trembling body. The squaller ran a hand through her hair and her face, shoving dirt and red streams on her skin. She was shaken. It would take her a few more battles to get used to this. Maybe she never would. If he wasn’t lying half dead on the ground, he would have felt tempted to reach for her, to comfort her. The wind rose as she swore out, spreading her black mane around her, still frantically searching for help with her gaze. Saints, Nikolai thought, this girl is powerful. She snapped at him.

“For Saints sake are you capable of staying still? I have to fetch you a Healer”, Zoya barked. 

Nikolai tried to get himself up, ignoring the excruciating ache in his chest, steadying himself on her shoulder with his right arm. “This would be a perfect moment to indulge in regicide”, he tried, another burst of pain running through him and causing him to cough violently. 

“I might consider it if you don’t stop moving”, she murmured in response, scanning him for injuries other than his broken ribs and a likely dislocated shoulder, considering his other arm felt like it was catching on fire when he had tried to lift it. Nikolai caught a movement behind her, tried to gather the strength to get up, to follow the instinct to protect her. Zoya was faster, followed his eyes and threw her fist upward in that direction with a frustrated yell; a violent rush of air hit a soldier aiming at them, sending him toppling to the ground. “I’m trying to keep you alive, you idiot”, she raised her voice, and with it a thunder echoed in the field. Was it being called forth by her? Whatever she was doing, she did not seem aware of it. “You have a country to run. So don’t distract me.”

Someone else was rushing toward them, but this time she looked relieved, which meant whoever they were, they were on their side. That help was coming, that they were almost safe.

“Then you should handle me more gently”, Nikolai spoke again, voice unpleasantly screeching the walls of his throat like nails on a mirror. 

What was happening around them? Blinding rays were coming from upward as Alina’s power rumbled into the Fold in whistling sounds, shredding every inch of it into light. He heard muffled voices, Zoya barking commands. Nikolai reached for her again, he clenched his fingers in the folds of her kefta; the hold on her tied him to earth, tied his mind to a world that still felt too unreal and too far away, as it had felt when he had been looking at it with demon eyes. This time, she did not shove him away. A young boy with a red dusted kefta kneeled before him, placing his hands on his chest. Zoya unceremoniously slipped her arm away from below him, lowering him to the ground to let the Healer work. Nikolai hissed when his back hit the sand, shooting her a glare. She shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands in fighting stance to keep them safe, scanning the area for other enemies. 

“I hardly am gentle, prince”, Zoya spat out, alert.

"Did we win?"

Now she sent a swift gaze his way, drawing in an unsteady breath. "I think so", she answered with tentative hope. The Healer’s powers were doing their magic, a warmth flooding him and numbing his senses. He fought it, not wanting to lose consciousness again, to fall back into the unknown. 

"Then I'm fairly sure I'm going to be crowned. You should go with Your Highness."

Wit was his. Humour, brilliance, the might to find words when voice was failing you, when air was rare, was his. Not the demon. It was Sturmhond’s cocky attitude he had kept when he had been shot and nearly bled out, it was Nikolai’s charming attire when he had rode with Dominik through village fairs and then military encampments, the optimism he had tried to feed since when he had been just a boy. It was what provoked that shadow of an exasperated smile on the squaller’s face, the twitch in her lips promptly straightened again in a thin, severe line. 

"You’re a wretch”, she scolded him, turning her attention from their surroundings to the Healer that was sealing his wounds. “There’s little royalty in you right now.”

“Still a king.”

The Grisha boy cleared his throat and nodded to her. “I did the best I could, we need to get him to a tent and someone more trained”, he explained, his remark shaky. “But he is out of danger.”

Zoya exhaled, her eyelids falling shut for a mere instant. The wind slowed down; her hands were still trembling when she ran them again through her hair. 

“Do you want me to take care of - “, the boy tried to ask, pointing to her. Her eyes flew open then, firm determination in them. 

“We need to get going”, she cut him off. She got up with a swift movement; Nikolai caught the hand she extended to him, letting her help him to a standing position that made all of his muscles and bones howl in protest. He staggered, his knees failing to keep him up. Zoya looped an arm around his back and made him lean on her side; he gripped on her shoulders, hating himself for feeling so weak, for having to rely his weight on her. Her kefta was badly bloodied and ripped, she had a deep cut that ran over her hip and other bruises; it was difficult to assess how injured she was, yet there they were, her will tougher than the hell they had just been through. 

“Then you’re a King wretch”, she mumbled from under him. She barely reached up to his chin. What a tiny ball of spite and power she was. They started to make their way toward the outlines where the Fold ended once, when it still existed. “Better? Now let me save you. You have work to do.”

With another pang of relief Nikolai recognized Tolya in the distance, the flash of white of Alina’s hair lifting up from the ground. They were alive. He could not think of much else right now, not until they reached them, until they were safe. And all properly healed, he thought, checking Zoya’s limp and how she pressed on the gash in her flank with the hand that was not supporting him. 

“Are you hurt?”, he asked, winded from the effort of putting one foot in front of the other, unable to conceal his worry. Zoya startled and looked up to him, her blue irises wide and exhausted, vulnerable for the span of a flutter. 

“I’ll be fine”, she said, somehow softer than before. “Just keep walking.”

Nikolai put all of his remaining energy into subtly pulling away, relieving her from some of the weight. If she noticed his effort, she did not tell. His head emptied of anything but their cautious steps, Zoya’s ragged breathing beside him, her wind running with them, shielding them from harm. 

“King wretch. I like it”, he muttered back. 

Kings better not take themselves too seriously, after all. It was nice to have someone remind him of that.

***

Nikolai did not mind the paperwork that came with being a ruler. It felt almost comforting to see the slow improvements his country was making under his watch written on paper, sealed with ink and brought to life. He had decided to dedicate himself to the good news today, that maybe he had earned an afternoon of peace inside the quiet of his study. The wheels kept restlessly turning inside his brain, relieving the images of the tour they had taken across torn cities and miserable villages after his coronation, and for a couple of hours he just wanted to forget about them. Contrary to every concern he had held, the people travelling with him had made the grueling trip all the more bearable; they had run against time itself, wearing their horses down and getting little to no sleep at all, resting not more than one night at every stop to be back in Os Alta as soon as possible. He had felt even hopeful, at times. The same kind of jittery expectancy that made him check his time piece for the tenth time in a row and try to stop the rhythmic beating of his foot on the floor, without dwelling too much on the knot of eagerness in his stomach. When the pointer clicked on the chime of the hour, a knock resounded in the room. She was always almost eerily on time. 

“Come in”, called Nikolai to the door, folding the letter he was skimming through. A valet entered and cleared his throat. 

“Your Highness”, he bowed deeply,  “Miss Nazyalensky is here as you requested. Shall I let - “

The squaller marched in the room, surpassing the poor valet as if he was an inconsistent blur of annoyance. 

“Miss Nazyalensky”, she hissed under her breath, flicking her hair over her shoulder, ”I am no Miss, and I am perfectly able to let myself in.”

Nikolai arched an amused brow at her, kindly dismissing the servant. A disdainful glare was cast in the direction of the valet’s deferent curtsy as she strode in front of the king’s seat. Zoya never bowed. For anyone. He lounged in his chair, turning all of his focus on the gorgeous harpy that now stood before him, spine straight, chin high and defiant eyes pinned on him. She clasped her hand behind her back with her usual military countenance.

“You called for me, Your Highness?”

“I did”, he confirmed, straightening his legs before him and crossing them at the ankle. There constantly seemed to be a slight mockery in the way she indulged in his title. He folded his hands, still studying her. The vague nuisance with which she was eyeing him was clear enough to make him smirk at her. 

“I hear the Triumvirate has done some grand process in these first few weeks”, Nikolai stated, gesturing to the documents on his desk. “I’ve been informed that many Grisha are seeking refuge in the Little Palace. And I also hear you’ve been reconstructing. I do have hope we will be able to put the Second Army back into shape.”

Zoya did not answer, merely kept looking at him with the barest nod of her chin. The king was not used to people being so untouched by his presence, or to be that annoyingly silent around him. He would not admit he had spent part of the last weeks trying to catch her off guard with an astounding lack of results. 

“Would you agree with the reports?”

His question seemed to ignite a spark of interest through her immovability. He had noticed that while she had no issue in voicing her opinions strongly, she seemed not equally accustomed to people directly consulting her with a true interest in her point of view. Maybe he was reading too much into things, but he had guessed Zoya liked how he had started to value her input. 

“We are indeed making progress”, Zoya said, “but there is a lot of work to be done. We’re only starting.” She paused, seemingly pondering her words. “We need - “

“Before we start making requests”, his interruption earned himself an irritated glare, “I called you in because I have something to ask. To the whole three of you, actually; I asked Genya and David too.” Yet, somehow, her answer was the one he was most curious about. “Alina gave you the Triumvirate. You know what to expect from it now. And you’ve got just a mere taste; what’s to come will be tougher, tiresome. While I assume you have the motivation to keep your position, I do prefer to give people a choice when it comes to demanding tasks. So I’m asking: do you still want it?” 

“I do.” There was no hesitation, only urge in the way the answer rolled out of her. She took a step in his direction and cleared her throat. “Not just the Triumvirate. I want to train the new Grisha. And we need to speed up the process on the royal order stating Grisha’s rights. If we are to rally them, they need to feel truly safe here.”

Nikolai kept his expression neutral, although he was pleasantly impressed. He knew she had taken it upon herself to start working with the Grisha finding shelter in the Little Palace, and the kids being taken there. He would not have made her out to be someone who loved teaching; then again, it was hard to make her out for anything. As far as her initiative went, he had quickly understood how his status meant little to her. After all, they were kids themselves. She was a year younger than him, and she had seen him shift between his roles of privateer, prince and what someone might call usurper. Never failing to point the last one out to him, if one had to be precise; Saints forbid he could ever possibly forget he needed to earn a respect that was not freely given. Surely not by Zoya Nazyalensky. He would not expect from her the humble demeanor of a subject in front of a king. Thank the Saints for that, he found himself thinking. Her bracing self was almost soothing, after weeks of dealing with people smarming at his feet, and hers was the company he had found himself searching for more often than others, as wicked as she might be. Zoya never overstepped without a reason, apart from a common snarky energy that was profoundly her. What she did was to call him out on every dumb decision he leaned toward, and constantly remind him how to be worthy of his position and the love of his people. 

“We can arrange that”, he decided to answer, satisfied by how her pupils widened at his prompt concession. He got up and opened a bottle of brandy, pouring himself a glass. He glanced back at her, still planted in the middle of the room. 

“You were loyal to the Darkling.” Nikolai was sure he had not imagined the flash of anger that darkened the blue of her eyes, nor how her jaw clenched and her posture seemed to tense. “Pardon me for being so forthright, but I do feel like it’s better to deal with the tedious matter first.” Or rather the interesting ones you seem to keep an aura of secrecy around.

When she spoke, her voice was not as firm as before. “We’ve worked together for weeks and known each other for longer. I wonder if you have a suicidal strike or you are really questioning my loyalty now.”

“No suicidal strike, and I’m not questioning anything.” The heartfelt honesty in him seemed to reassure her. Her shoulders eased ever so slightly, yet her features remained strained. “As you dutifully pointed out, the time for that has long passed. However, since we’re getting to know each other, I guess you’ll find I like stories. This seems like a good one.”

“Stories are earned”, Zoya asserted, slitting eyes and matter of factly tone. 

“Fine point. You were, though”, Nikolai pressed. Her look never wavered from his. Unconsciously he leaned toward her, rolling his glass between his fingers.

“I was.”

“What changed?” 

“Everything.”

Silence stretched on. Nikolai decided he could wait a while, if it meant gaining some other insight. He did know part of the story, the part that was ushered by people when she strode beside them. Stories might need to be earned, but they also needed to be told by the ones who had lived them. Nikolai was not one to listen to gossip anyway. Sure enough, she resumed speaking, catching that he was not going to drop the subject. 

“It got personal. I was loyal to him because I craved power, then because I believed he could provide a home for us. Instead, he stripped from me the only one I had and slaughtered my friends. Enough of a reason?”

Zoya proudly lifted her chin even higher, her words back to being stinging as an icy wind, the anger burning in her seeping through the tremor in her hands. She moved closer. A slight breeze swept through the room, rustling the papers, called forth by her emotions in turmoil. He remembered when it happened in the Fold, when her despair had raised the wind around them and a thunder had boomed. 

They were no more than two steps apart, now; the gust she summoned carried a scent Nikolai struggled to place as her hair lifted up. It reminded him of the heat of a sunny day, of the field near Dominick's house when spring came, when his little sisters would run back into the kitchen with crowns made of daisies and golden ears of wheat. Was it the pressed corn caught in the evening mist? Was it flowers?

“I won’t beg for trust. Words are empty vessels, actions carry meaning. The choice is yours: either you let me prove myself, or you discard me now.”

She kept her fierce piercing eyes to his, every inch the warrior. Nikolai held her gaze, hazel melting into blue, a small smile tugging at his lips, struck by the force of her nature and her fuming reaction. 

“Here I thought I was the dramatic one”, he chuckled, ignoring her scowl and pulling his hands up in surrender. He slipped inside a reassuring attitude. “I was really not questioning you. Alina trusted you, she chose you. You fought for all of us. I’ve seen the way you stood up for your people, I’ve always agreed with Alina. This is your home; you already proved yourself, more than enough.”

The wind ceased to flow; Zoya flexed her fingers, a rage made of guilt and regret still paining her look. Nikolai knew the place from where those feelings came. Maybe picking at that was not a sensible idea after all. He would need to stop outright testing both her patience and his luck like this; the temptation she was brewing of roasting him alive right now was evident. He was still measuring his steps around her, how she seemed to dive into arguments that would make anyone on earth feel at least uncomfortable, or close right off when someone touched seemingly irrelevant nerves. 

“Besides”, Nikolai let the smile spread in her direction, “I am in dire need of allies.”

And friends, he thought sourly, yet a king can rarely ask for those. 

“Unnerving them sure seems a smart way to ensure your supposed allies’ support”, she clipped out, shaking her cuffs.

“I like to test my chances.” His words were accompanied by a shrug. The urge to take another step toward her pressed in the back of his brain. “You haven’t unleashed a storm on me yet, so I’d say we’re halfway through a steady relationship of trust and mutual forbearance.” 

“Mutual, sure.”

Nikolai tapped his finger on the desk. It seemed he could not stay still. “You’ll need to work together”, he advised, “with Genya and David.” 

“I do well on my own.” 

Like she has not made that abundantly clear in the last couple of months. 

“Oh, I have no issue in believing that. Still, it wasn’t a suggestion, I’m afraid.”

Zoya’s mouth curved in an honey smile; she fluttered her lashes, tilting her head in his direction, the dark waves of her hair falling on her shoulders. It could have been an almost convincing smile, if it had reached her eyes. Instead, it stood cold on her face, firm as a statue, a pretense of complacency with the clear intent to taunt. Nikolai had no doubt whatsoever that entire crowds of people had fallen on their knees for that feigned sweetness. To be completely truthful, she did throw him off balance. Now it would surely be a reasonable call to put a bit of distance between them. Not that he resorted to reason that often when making decisions. 

“I am well aware kings are not in the habit of making requests, Your Highness.” Her voice rippled like silk, delicate and musing, dripping sarcasm. “I was merely informing you.” 

“You’re not particularly easy, are you?”, he asked with a grin, leaning back on the desk and folding his arms. An apparently casual movement meant to regain the use of his lungs. The smile vanished as she adjusted her hair. 

“I am not easy, nor kind. And I lack the interest to make people search for these qualities in me.”

Nikolai had begun to understand in these weeks the stories around her, more than he had ever understood them before. He had also begun to nurture a sheer curiosity in her regard, for the complex mind she hid and the way she seemed careless to other people's thoughts on her. He tried not to let himself be distracted now, which always proved to be a strenuous task with this particular girl, when she waved that look at him and played the card of the ridiculously attractive and positively enchanting Grisha summoner she undoubtedly was. He did really need to get a grip, though. If they were to work together as closely as he had his mind set to, he had to find a way to make himself immune to her flair, constructed or natural that it was. 

Never seduce anyone prettier than I am, right? Or never even conceive to seduce anyone you’re attracted to if you had planned to offer that specific anyone one of the highest-ranking positions in the whole country. An equally wise rule to live by. If only her look was the only appeal he had found in her. Her edgy personality, which people tended to be almost scared of, had captivated him a great deal more; whatever beauty withered in the face of how capable and strong-spirited she was. Qualities that made her all the more desirable. The privateer in him had screamed at the top of his lungs to take on the improbable quest of conquering someone who seemed impervious to him as she did, someone that out of reach, that captivating. Shameful instinct, to say the least. And leaning on the worst-idea-ever side of things. 

Besides, he had a country to take care of now; he was no longer a privateer who could make reckless choices and chase after impossible girls. Nikolai Lantsov was a king, the king of a war-torn, desperate place. The challenge of earning her trust and admiration might turn out to be just as endearing; he could embark on that one, letting her bitter tongue put him back into place. 

Resorting to his decision, he got a small box out of a drawer, placing it on the desk beside him. 

“There’s something else I mean to offer you.” 

Zoya eyed the box, while Nikolai bobbed his chin at it, encouraging her to take it. She stood still, her look shifting back to observe him. Truly exasperating the lack of gratifications she offered. 

“Contrary to what you believe, I am no fool.” He decided to dive right into it, pushing through her silence. “As much as I hate to admit it, the Darkling was fairly good at reading people. You rose high in his favour because he considered you extremely resourceful and trustworthy, and valued you as a soldier.” Nikolai unfolded his arms and rested his hands on the wooden brink of the desk, pushing himself to her; he lowered his voice with a smirk. “And I know for a fact the reason for that has nothing to do with your very pleasant appearance, which I have no doubt is another weapon you know how to use.”

He backed up again. Life on the sea had taught him to turn weakness into brass. Thankfully, he had spent years practicing the art of acting. Zoya pursed her lips, biting a comeback and momentarily avoiding his gaze. Not that impervious after all. One had to catch on the details.

 “I am not blind. Nor do I have reasons to pretend to be. Still, I’m afraid I am far more interested in your wide arsenal of warfare talents.” He took a sip from his glass and hummed teatrichally, cocking his head to the side to assess her. “I do share the burden of being handsome, though. We can whine together about our fatigues.”

That mocking smile was back on her mouth, sparkling with mischief. She spoke with a casual tone, smoothing her kefta. “As much as you brag about it, your charm seems to fail you. Our Sun Saint did not look particularly impressed by it.” 

Ah, clever one. Nikolai mustered his composure to flash another grin at her, thoroughly impressed both by her boldness and by the precision of her strike. All right, that stung. Which to her credit only meant she had no fear to bite people where it hurt and a certain ability to find that spot. Useful skills for a General.  

“Luckily for me, she was one of a very few number of exceptions.”

“Charm our way through peace, then.” Zoya cast her eyes heavenward, crossing her arms. 

“Can I come back to praise you? I wasn’t finished.”

“By all means, do”, she gestured.

“As I was saying. Sadly for our favorite herald of darkness, he was also a prick. Not to mention manipulator and mass murderer, amongst other remarkable successes. He wholly under-estimated you: you are trustworthy and resourceful, along with a lot of other virtues he did not remotely understand nor properly paid attention to.”

 Nikolai paused. He put his glass down, yielding to the temptation at last and letting his feet stride toward her. Had she moved more near too? Now they were definitely closer than needed. He could see the darker slivers in her irises, the curls falling inside the fur collar of her uniform. 

The smell in the Grand Palace garden after a rainstorm, he thought of that scent. When he had laid in the grass and soaked his clothes in mud, just for the sake of feeling the earth below him and the water on his skin.

“I’ve watched you, these weeks. You are good. Not just at fighting, I believe that is a given. You are good at leading. Your mind is way sharper than your tongue. I’ve studied you with your Etherealki and the other Grisha, with the First Army representatives.``

He made a show of plucking a peck of invisible dust from his coat. Zoya did not move, keeping her attention on him. A sceptical frown appeared on her face.

“You do love to hear yourself talk.”

“I’ve watched you do that, too. You’re bold, in a good way. You tend to deliver neat blows.”

“Are you in the habit of examining all the people that come to work for you?”

“Just the powerful ones”, he admitted. 

She might have looked nothing but unimpressed by the string of praises he had just given, as if they were common known truths, nothing of importance to linger on. Her eyes had grown troubled though, then curious, they had softened in the glowing sunset light. They were assessing him with strong intent now, and Nikolai could only think they held the ocean inside. The ocean he had seen when he had thought he would never be back on the waves again, the one that had felt like hope gained with blood and shattered bones in those grey sands. 

“You saved me, in the Fold”, Nikolai abruptly said. The twitch in her breath made him understand just how much his demeanor had changed unconsciously, how much the mask of the ruler had slipped away and his unguarded voice betrayed him.

“Indeed.”

“I haven’t had the occasion to thank you properly.”

“It’s my job”, she briskly answered, almost annoyed. “You’re my king.”

You’re my king. Best to ignore the bolt of confidence and pleasure that spiked through his spine. 

“Apart from my gratitude, I kind of had in mind to make it your actual job”, the king considered.

Zoya Nazyalensky. Not kind, and not easy. Zoya shot him a suspicious look, but she held her ground.

“It just so happens that both me and the Second Army are in need of a General”, he declared, never shifting his focus from her face. “Would you care to consider taking the position?”

He caught the box in his hand, opening the lid and extending it to her. A medal was shining in it, the golden Ravka double eagle, wrought in in a pale blue sash. Zoya briefly lowered her gaze to it, turning to look at Nikolai with an intensity that was almost impossible to bear. Her look was unreadable, yet the tension in her stiff muscles unmistakable. Nikolai could hardly hide the painful want for her to accept, the thrill he felt at the chance of having someone to rely on, in time, to share some of the burden with. Someone who was not his father’s advisors, someone he could choose. Someone he felt a strange pull toward, a sort of twisted hidden affinity.

Alina chose you, he had told her. The choice is yours, she had told him.

I made the choice. I am the one choosing you now.

The thumping heart in his chest ached at the possibility of making things right for this cursed country with a person he could trust at his side. To ease the loneliness, even if it had to be a game of pretend to some degree. The moments dripped away, her eyes alight with a flame hard to understand. Nikolai restrained his own will to jump into that blazing chaos, knowing how easily he would have lost himself in it. 

“You’re making me your General?”, she said finally. The annoyance had disappeared, replaced with a hesitant falter, something that sounded both like disbelief and a flicker of cautious excitement. 

“I’m asking you to be my General, if you wish so. I would not force anything on you. The position comes with a lot of heavy responsibilities and long sleepless nights.” Zoya was still frozen in place. Slowly, her arms uncrossed, coming to rest at her sides. “On the brighter side, you’ll get to enjoy endless hours of my company.”

“I’d say the brighter side is the responsibilities one.” 

None of the previous snark was contained in her words. He could see how hard she was trying to keep her attitude on her, her own mask. 

“You can decide whether to direct your scowls at me or at people annoying you then.”

“You’re assuming you won’t be among the people annoying me. Bold take.” 

“I’d wager that’s what I’m mostly going to do”, Nikolai conceded. Zoya was trying to buy time, to ward off his attention. He just wasn’t sure if she needed it to regain her confident self or if she was considering how to refuse the offer. Nikolai did not like the last option, and it was better to rip the band aid off quickly. 

“With the prospect of this gain, would you accept?” She peered at him again. He could not hold back a grin. “Did I just surprise you?”

“Please”, she spat out, but it was a little too marked to not be forced. Nikolai fought the impulse to smile wider. “Who else would you choose? Genya, so she can tailor the enemies away? David, to bore them to death with science talks? I’m the most qualified for the job. It’s reasonable of you to ask me.”

“I am not asking you because it’s reasonable.”

Again, reason was not the prime source fueling his judgment. For Saints sake, would you take this damn medal? Nerve racking girl that she was. It was making him fancy her even more.

“I am asking you because you deserved it. I believe you are the right person for this task, in many different ways.”

The weariness in her was still there; he hoped she could see that was not empty flattery anymore, that he had meant it. Finally, finally Zoya reached for the medal. He heard her draw in a sharp breath, a crease appearing between her brows. Nikolai wondered how it would feel to make it disappear, to see her features smooth down. Zoya moved through the world like a soldier with an armor in place, one she kept up with the pure will of her steel spirit and hardened heart. Despite her stillness, power was radiating off of her, the wind once again carrying that distinctive scent. 

That small fishermen port they had docked in when the Volkvolny had arrived on the Wandering Isle, the one that was surrounded by pastures and a wide meadow in which an ocean of colourful wildflowers had just sprouted. Wildflowers. 

For once in life, Nikolai had hardly an idea of who the person standing in front of him was. The enigmatic, beautiful, fierce squaller. Was she happy? Excited for this chance to serve her country? Terrified by the prospect of what they still had to face? Considering smacking him for being out of his mind? There was something that lurked inside of her under that armor, something in those blue eyes that seemed too painful to be looked at, too intimate to know. It came in shadows, disappearing, as if she was fighting it to stay down, to get it under control. The same bottomless abyss he had seen when she had saved him.

Nikolai knew what it meant, to lose something, to fight for an ideal and see it broken, to finally have the power in your hands to fix what others had crushed. It felt terrifying and exhilarating, and maybe that was what was running in that head of hers now. Zoya brushed her fingers on the golden pin, pulling it up and wrapping it under her hand. She closed her fist, raising her gaze to him, locking their eyes together. The shadows had gone, replaced by a fearless light. 

“I’ll need to meet with the First Army generals”, the tone of a leader. “They won’t like this, and since I am fairly sure you don’t care one bit about it, I’ll need to handle them. And I’ll need that document drafted.”

He nodded, pushing down the towering joy that was flooding his chest. Practical. Ruthless, facing the issues head on, not shying away. He twisted and reached for another glass from the cabinet, turning inside his mind the fact that she had accepted, that he was looking at his General now. 

“To a long and fruitful partnership, then”, Nikolai offered her the brandy, “or rather to save this broken country and not getting killed in the meanwhile.” 

Zoya gave him a stern look. “I don’t drink on the job.”

Why does that not surprise me? He grinned excitedly and raised the glass to her, downing his drink.

“In time, I may teach you to have a little fun, too.”

Unscathed, she just tossed her hair. “Believe me, Your Highness, I am perfectly able to revel in fun. I am just highly selective of the people I allow to share it with me.”

The seducing part really would never be necessary, after all. He had a hunch they were immensely going to enjoy working together and drive each other crazy. I undoubtedly am. 

“You’ll teach me how you select those blessed souls, then.”

Before she could resume their banter, another call at the king’s chambers’ entrance interrupted them, bursting the quiet of this comfortable room. The sound seemed to snap Zoya back to herself, making her realize how close they were standing. Nikolai had already been all too aware of it. She quickly moved away from him, not leaving his eyes. Pride back in her expression, shoulders squared. In her silver threaded kefta, she already appeared like the able respected General she would soon grow into. Her medal was closed in her fist, the knuckles white from the force of the grip. 

“I will not fail Ravka”, she said, marking every word. I will not fail you, was the rest of the sentence, the part that hung unspoken between them. “I promise you that.”

Nikolai trusted her, without reservations. The king knew he had made the right choice. Both for the country, and, he selfishly thought, for himself. There was a hidden gratitude in her oath, the emotion she would not speak outright but nevertheless felt. 

“Brace yourself, Nazyalensky.” He felt positively giddy and already itching for the challenges that fate would throw their way. “It’s going to be one hell of a ride. Take the rest of the evening for yourself, I’m afraid it’s the last moment of peace you’ll have for a while.”

She exhaled, her eyes moving to the window and Os Alta’s pointed domes in the distance. 

“Ravka doesn’t consider rest as possible, that much I know.” 

She rang for the servant, ignoring they were in Nikolai’s study and he was the one probably supposed to do that. Already moving like she owned the place, deciding the conversation was over. Zoya gave him a long, deep look.

“Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Nikolai fell back on his chair, watching her go as one of the old king’s advisors was accompanied inside the study. Surely a less pleasurable company for the evening. Both for the eyes and for the soul, he thought, forcing himself to wave a welcoming expression to the white-bearded man and his ridiculously long mustaches.

“Miss Nazyalensky”, the advisor greeted her with a half bow as she passed beside him on her way to the hallway. Zoya simply rolled her eyes, strolling toward the door with a last nod at Nikolai. He was sorry to see her go. Before she got out, Nikolai took the impulse and called to the man before him. 

“General”, he corrected him, ignoring his shocked expression, “it’s General Nazyalensky now.”

Nikolai did not miss the slight misstep Zoya took at his words. Her kefta wirled as her gaze snapped to his. A beat passed. Without a sign of acknowledgment, Zoya looked away, that scent he had finally placed disappearing with her. Nikolai thought it best not to tell her that she hadn’t been quick enough to hide; he had seen her lashes lowering as she sighed, a smile tugging at her lips, one that was not feigned neither mocking, one that made her eyes sparkle with delight and was not meant to be noticed. If there was hope to make Zoya Nazyalensky brighten up like that, maybe Nikolai had it in himself to steer this country to safety after all.

Goodnight, General. 

***

“I thought we were past these poor attempts at wooing me”, she scoffed, playfully pushing him away. Nikolai chuckled, drawing her back to rest on his chest, circling her in his arms. He rested his chin on her head, listening to the warm huff of her breath on the cotton of his shirt. Deadly Zoya, who let herself curl in his hold almost easily. If someone had told him he would live to the feel of her lashes shutting on his heart, Nikolai would have probably sent the man to get his head checked by a Healer. Or paid him another drink.

“I am positively serious”, Nikolai assured her. Zoya blew a distrustful grunt. 

“Nikolai, you do realize you don’t need to flatter me to get me into your bed anymore?”

“I do like you in my bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter”, he considered, humming against her hair. Zoya leaned on his shoulder to prompt herself up, looking him straight in the eyes. He tried to keep a smooth expression. 

“So you’re saying I garnered your attention that soon? To me, you seemed a bit - “

She tilted her head to the side, shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes?”

“Distracted”, she pointed out, an overly amused grin perking her lips.

Nikolai knew she was referring both to Alina and to the apparently unscathed attitude he had kept around her in the years they had worked together. No doubt clueless to how quickly other forbidden images had replaced the Sun Summoner’s ones in his dreams or just how much commitment he had been forced to put into appearing unaffected by her presence. He had been distracted, at first, though even in distraction Zoya snatched the attention like a lightning. Then a quake in the ground had struck; Zoya had then made her way into his life like a ferociously fast tidal wave, rippling foam at first, raging and rumbling waters then.

“You distracted me a lot, Zoya. Working with you has been equally comforting and tiring. You distract me even more now”, he leaned closer, sliding one hand on her neck, preventing her from backing away, “that I get to do this”. Nikolai caught her lips with his, kissing away the disbelieving frown from her mouth. When the kiss broke, she looked halfway convinced of his candor. 

“You can’t possibly imagine how many dull meetings I have tuned out with you haunting my thoughts. The overactive mind I happen to be cursed with did not help my concentration.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, even though they both knew how truthful the statement was.

“You are diverting.”

“Is it working?”

“A bit”, she casually dismissed, tucking a strand of black curls on her finger. Nikolai sighed happily, slipping away in his thoughts. He wanted to tell her everything, he wanted her to take a stroll right into his mind to see it all. They had so much time now, and he had the constant urge of stocking it without letting a single instant slip, making up for all the years it had taken them to have each other.

 “Anyway, it’s nothing special. People are commonly struck by my beauty.” 

“I’ll admit you are kind of a breath-taking vision”, he snatched her hand away from her hair to press a kiss on her knuckles. “That’s not what really caught my attention, though.”

Of course he had noticed her. Then again, who did not? The vexing creature was hard not to notice, with dark waves framing a perfect figure, hiding an intricate enigma to solve. Since he was a boy, the prince had loved to unravel the puzzle of a person, he had proud himself of being able to do so with nearly everyone he had encountered. Zoya was another kind of riddle, one that had given him more headaches than victories. She made a point to hide; and Nikolai, well, he had always been an explorer at heart, hadn’t he? So he had noticed, and embarked on the journey drawn by the thrill of adventure. Every bitter word had been a wave to crash, every harsh reply a storm to weather to look under the surface. Every gust of wind, barked command and brisk political comment a sudden turn inside her convoluted mind.  

“I’m torn between accusing you of sweet-talking me as usual or just outright lying.”

Nikolai clenched his heart in a mock gesture, and a small laugh bubbled in his chest. Judging from the bright gleam in her eyes and the lightness with which she was messing with him, she had believed him.

“Enough about you then. Am I to truly believe I did not impress you at first sight?”

Zoya glared daggers at him, but did not answer right away, considering his question. He got lucky this evening. 

“You did impress me, albeit saying at first sight would be a huge overstatement”, she admitted, then exhaled a long breath and let herself fall on the cushion. “I was so happy when you asked me to be your General”, her eyes were distant, as if she was talking to herself more than him, seeing the rageful and determined girl she had been. “I went back to my room and could not stop smiling. My heart was so full, for the first time since what felt like forever. It never felt like a responsibility, it felt like an opportunity you gave me.”

“Tell me you waltzed alone in your room, please”, he teased, being the one who wanted to improvise a victory dance on the spot.

“I will not.”

“You will not tell me because it did not happen, or just to deprive me of the satisfaction?”

“Your ego does not need more encouragement”, she rested her chin on her hand, forcing her lips to stay pursed and fighting back a smile. So that was a yes, then. Zoya bursting with happiness was a sight he would have probably sold his soul to see, three years ago. 

“That was the first time I believed you may not be the overly chatty catastrophe I would have made you out to be.”

“You know, I’m not so sure”, Nikolai grinned at her, beaming with pride. “You were stunned when I shot the Darkling.” 

“You remember that?”, she gave him a surprised glance from her place on the cushion. They barely knew each other back then, but he had not forgotten. He pulled her back to him, brushed his mouth on her forehead. 

“I paid attention in these years, Zoya. To every inch of you.”

It had taken him a while to notice the other things. The stubborn tilt of her chin when she was being challenged and needed to hold her ground. How she shook the cuffs of her kefta before announcing something, or how it meant the argument was done on her part. The way she marked the first words of a sentence with a harder tone than usual when she was in distress, as if the very fact of lacing a syllable with spite could hold herself together. Her resting her head to the side when she was at ease, narrowing her eyes to the sunlight, allowing herself a surrender. The grief and hurt that peered through only when she was trying too hard to conceal it, only when the exhaustion was overwhelming and keeping this country together too tiring. The gleam she possessed when she was teaching the kids, how her gaze softened with care as soon as they turned their backs on her and she watched them laugh and toss each other around. Her laughter with Genya or Tamar when they had a glass too much in the evening and they gossiped around, basking in the illusion of being normal people with no weight on their shoulders. 

Zoya had been a story for Nikolai, one he had wanted to unfold, to slowly walk through the pages of it and discover her mysteries, her secrets, her wants. She had been the puzzle of his lifetime, and he knew he would never stop sorting through it. Whenever he thought he had put some sense in it, she uncovered a dark alley he had brushed past without noticing; her Suli heritage, her family’s past, her garden of sorrows. And then came the agony of sorting her feelings out, a line he had walked balancing his hopeless wishes and the reality of her gestures. Trying to piece together how deliberate or innocent had been the way she kept locking their gazes together through the opposite corner of a room, wondering how carefree when she lingered with her fingers on his skin a moment too long as they brushed their hands. If she was toying with him as he had heard in the stories about her, or if her restraint wavered under a desire he had not known he was hoping for. All the times the inevitable had almost happened, and they had strode past these occurrences with the shared silent pact of not voicing it out loud. Zoya’s look growing calm in the dim light of the countless rooms they had worked in, a warmth they had both longed for. 

Nikolai tightened his hold on her. He buried his nose in her hair.

The heat of a sunny day, the spring that came in Dominik’s fields, the crushed daisies under his sisters’ sticky fingers. The Grand Palace garden brought alive by rain around him, droplets running through his golden hair. A meadow near the sea in a foreign magical place where he would take her one day, the marvels he would show her. That damn wildflowers scent he had never been able to carve out of the bottom of his soul.

She had revealed herself in front of him, in irrelevant moments carrying with them a significance he had never been aware of. 

“I thought I knew myself”, Zoya started, barely audible over the crackling of the fire, “the rotten parts of me. My strengths.” She paused. “Seeing me through your eyes - you shattered everything I knew and built it back. I did not understand how soon you had started doing that.”

"Soulmates stuff, I guess”, he murmured in a wanton tone, ignoring the prick behind his eyes, startled by the sudden shift in her mood and the heartfelt openness she was displaying.

“I don’t believe in that nonsense”, Zoya huffed dismissively. Nikolai laughed.

“I share your disbelief, actually. Destiny has done nothing but put obstacles in our path, after all. If anything, we have defied it. I believe it’s more a matter of choices”, he said, pensive. Once again, he rested his cheek on her carefully brushed curls, inhaling deeply. “We did not happen to stumble upon each other and miraculously fall in love. We chose each other.”

The choice is yours.

I made the choice. I am the one choosing you now.

I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride.

The first one had gone unbelievably smoothly. The second, it had taken patience and effort and a certain resistance to disappointments. The third one, well - he was working on that. A ring did stand wrapped around her finger. Halfway there. 

Zoya must had been thinking of that, too. She seemed to ponder his statement before replying. “You did tell me you would choose me. When I thought no one would.”

“I think I chose you long before I knew I did. Then I hoped against all odds that when you’d make your own choice, you’d choose me in return. That you’d choose to stay.”

Zoya fell silent. He could not see her, but he imagined just as well her biting her lower lip, his words sinking into her heart. With Zoya, the quiet was comfortable, warm as the press of her body on his. The quiet was needed.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long”, a whisper at last, as she turned back up to look at him. Nikolai shook his head decisively.

“Don’t be.”

“You have waited for me.” There was just a knowing safety in her tone. It had mattered, for Nikolai, to let her choose. To let her know, and then let her decide. To give her a chance at love and stand by for her to take it, his trust in her never faltering. He gently took her face between his calloused hands, worn by battles and tight salty ropes.

“You were worth every second. Besides, time means nothing for demons and saints, right? We have a lot of it in our hands.”

This time she whole-heartedly smiled, adjusting his perfectly fine collar in that affectionate unaware gesture again. 

Being the unsuccessful poet he could have been in another lifetime, sometimes he wondered if the story they had lived would ever go on in ballad and poems, as he had once joked with her. If someone would tell of an open sky split by lightning in which a dragon had spread his wings and roared his heartache, never to be left alone to live in darkness again. If someone would hear of a wayward privateer finding the ocean in a person, tricking fate into conquering everything his battered heart had ever searched for. If there would ever be written the tale of a love waiting on the other side of a door, of the people brave enough to cross it. 

He had thought they would have just kept telling that tale to each other, through open mouthed kisses left on bare skin, tangled sheets and hushed confessions traded in the night. Then one day, he had heard the kids play in the Little Palace forest, a girl with golden brown skin splashing water on the others from the lake, calling herself the Suli queen who could turn into a legendary beast. He had seen a Fabrikator in the library draft sketches of pirates and mystical creatures fighting each other on a flying ship. To his amusement, he had watched and eavesdropped as one of his personal guards, a handsome young boy coming from Udova, had tried to woo a noble girl into walking with him to the garden, promising her to tell her the fable of how a king with a demon inside had won the attentions of a beautiful unattainable witch who commanded the storms.

Nikolai liked that. The idea that their struggles might turn into hope. One thing he loved, though, were the details that remained theirs. 

Zoya brushed a hand through his golden hair with a yearning look in her eyes, soft as a feather she kissed his jaw, adjusted herself in the space between his arms, played with the ring on her finger as she laced her hand with his. She still called him King wretch at times, he still called her his General. She had still eaten all of his herring that morning, they had still made time to work silently through papers together before dinner. At the end, there had never been a hierarchy between them, swept away in the matter of heartbeats since she had held a broken prince in the safety of her wind and he had given her a medal to cradle in her fingers: they had always fought alongside each other, as they were doing now. These details. 

That was the part of their story no one would ever earn to hear. The part they would keep writing in secret.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b. barnes

chapter nine- “to have or not to have indoor plumbing”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.3k

synopsis: no fallout shelter is perfect. sometimes you need to think outside the box... or outside the bunker, that is.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: what did you think of this chapter? what do you want to see next? PLS let me know! :))

Light did not shine through the windows and cast a bronze glow on the floor like it did in the castle quarters. He didn't hear the soft buzz of the cicadas like he usually did in the morning. He didn't wake to an empty room with familiar beautiful Wakandan tapestries.

This was because Bucky Barnes awoke in an underground shelter with no windows, stone reinforced walls, and a sleeping psychologist in the bed next to him. Somehow... this wasn't that bad.

He woke up before her, as to be expected. His body was pretty much programmed to be up in the early morning. That, and any time he slept for too long his mind conjured up remnants of horrors from the past.

The super soldier stood up from the bed and stretched his back and arm. It was quiet. A relaxed, enjoyable quiet. Y/N was still sleeping. He wondered what time it was. He didn't have a watch, and he didn't see any clocks in the bunker. He assumed she probably had her phone, but he wouldn't wake her just to ask the time.

He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on the panther key. Perhaps he could go outside for a bit, gauge the time, scope out the area, get some sun. He never was overly enthusiastic about the sun, but since being in Wakanda, he had grown to love the warmth.

Warmth was a welcome change from the brutalizing cold Hydra put in his bones. Cold was past agony and torment, but warmth. Warmth was the rich, golden promise of remedy that gleamed on his skin.

Just thinking about it made him yearn for the outside sun and the way it enveloped his skin in amber rays. It felt safe here.

Usually, he couldn't stop his mind from worrying and expecting all the good in his life to somehow crash down around him. However, he couldn’t help but feel safe in Wakanda, no matter what he did. He felt safe in Wakanda and with Y/N, even though they were in a bunker hiding from a country's takeover-

"Bucky?" A raspy voice called out.

He turned around, not realizing he had walked over to the table, where the panther key was sitting. It looked just as regal and ferocious as it did before.

"G'Morning," he smiled.

She sat up on her elbows, avoiding hitting her head on the top bunk.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked. "Nightmares still?"

"Last night wasn't bad," he shrugged. "Still... there, but I got some decent hours in."

"That's good," Y/N yawned. "I'd like to work more on the nightmares soon. See if we can find any improvement. But don't worry, no 'Interpretation of Dreams' shit because I refuse to dignify most Freudian theories."

He let out a breathy chuckle. Sometimes Y/N would go into what he, in his head, called her silly psychologist speech. She would momentarily forget that Bucky wasn't an academic, and use big words to talk about things he'd never even heard of. Sometimes she would slip into psychologist mode when she wasn't "on duty."

"Are we movin' the sessions out here now?" he joked.

"Damn," she snickered. "My bad. No more psych talk in here, I promise."

"It's alright, I don't mind," he shrugged. "S'just you bein' you."

"I guess. I don't know to be anyone else, so."

“I would expect nothing less of you.”

Y/N then moved the blanket off of her legs to stand up out of the bed, just before stopping short, staring at the bed she was sitting on. He could almost see the gears turning in her head.

"Did I make the bed last night in a frenzy of exhaustion and not remember it?"

He laughed. "No."

She furrowed her brows and cocked her head to the side, confused and waiting for an explanation.

"I made it - well, as best as I could... all things considered."

Her face changed, melting into an endearing look of gratitude.

"Thank you Buck," she smiled. "Way better than sleeping on the floor."

She didn't say anything else regarding it, and he was glad. What she didn't know was that he put her in the bed after he made it. She was so exhausted, he didn't want to wake her. The task proved itself exceptionally challenging with one arm. However, super soldier strength and determination was a worthy advantage.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"Umm," she dragged out, finally standing up from the bed. "Not sure, I'll have to find my phone and- oh shit"

"What?"

"I don't have a charger."

"Oh. I'll uh look around and see if there's one stored down here."

Y/N stood still and looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the space heater and her expression dropped.

"Bucky..."

"What's wrong?"

"Do you remember what I said yesterday about the heater?"

"Not... really. Jog my memory?"

She quoted herself. "I doubt they could get electric or plumbing out here."

"Oh yeah," he still wasn't following.

"There's no shower down here... or toilet..."

He looked around and it hit him. "Oh."

"That's..." she trailed off, "a bit inconvenient."

He saw her begin to fidget with her hands.

"What are we supposed to do?" she asked. "We can't like... pee in buckets or something."

Bucky scratched the stubble on his face, about to suggest something he knew she wouldn't like.

"Well, before you woke up, I was thinkin' about going outside to get an idea of the time and maybe get some sun. We can go out and see if we can find a fresh water source or something. It's not perfect, but it's better than buckets."

"Outside? Is that not dangerous?"

"Danger is a possibility, but we're pretty far out from the castle grounds. I doubt anyone comes out this far or even knows about the shelter."

She took a deep breathe in. "I don't know..."

He could hear the uncertainty and weariness in her voice.

"If you're not comfortable, I can just go look and come back, tell you if it's safe, if there's water nearby," he offered.

"No. I'm going with you."

"I thought-"

"You’re not going alone. I'll grab my shoes and we can go."

Well then.

"As you wish, oh wise one."

"Smartass."

He grabbed the panther key and tossed it to her with a smile.

-

"So... how does one locate a water source?" Y/N asked, her footsteps beside Bucky's.

The Wakandan sun beat down on them. They'd only been walking for a few minutes, and they were already sweating.

"Keep an eye out for mud. If the ground is wet, chances are there's water nearby."

She nodded.

"Hey," she smirked, "Have you ever heard of Bear Grylls?"

He could hear the smile in her voice.

"No, but I have a feeling whatever that is is being used to poke fun at me?"

She huffed in a fake gasp, feigning over-exaggerated shock. "I'd never do such a thing!"

"Hey! I'm doing this so we don't have to pee in buckets. A teeny tiny bit of gratitude would go a long way."

"Apologies. Please accept my most heartfelt thanks, my dear old friend."

"Who you callin' old?"

"I don't know, does a hundred seem old to you?"

"You know, it’s disrespectful to mock the elderly,” he fake scolded.

"Yeah, well don't disrespect your mental healthcare provider."

"I didn't! You started-"

"Water!" she shouted, cutting him off. “Look!”

In front of Y/N's pointed finger was the end of a tiny stream. The source was somewhere ahead of them. And so they followed, continuing their trek beneath the sun's sweltering rays. It really was oppressively hot.

-

"Holy..." Bucky muttered.

"Shit," Y/N finished.

He gave her a look and he she shrugged, fighting off a laugh.

They stood facing a beautiful scene: a modest waterfall flowed over mossy stone and poured out into a little pool of crystal clear water. It was quaint and secluded, surrounded by rocks and trees. This was wonderfully fortuitous for the two of them as they were still technically in hiding. The pool of water was relatively shallow; he could see the bottom, but it was still deep enough to submerge his whole body and them some. The pressure from the waterfall looked mild enough to go under; perhaps it could act as a makeshift shower.

"This definitely works. Much better than buckets," Y/N commented.

Then she began to untie her boots, take off her socks, and sit with her feet in the water.

"Holy hell it's hot," she groaned, wiping a hand across her forehead. He noticed that she had been squinting for the last couple of minutes. "Buck, do you know if the water is clean to drink or swim in?"

"Why don't you taste test it? Then we'll know for sure."

She turned her head to him, an emotionless expression on her face.

"I don't give a damn about the super serum, I can and will drown you, Barnes."

A laugh came from deep in his chest. "I'm just playin'. The water looks fine, you should be good."

She cupped her hands to scoop up some of the water and threw it at him.

"Hey!"

"Aw, you look so refreshed now," she cooed sarcastically.

"That was uncalled for."

"Perhaps. Hey, how long until we have to go back?"

"We're not really on a set schedule. Whenever you're ready, I guess. It's not like we have things to do."

"Do I have time to like dunk real quick? It's deathly hot and I don't wanna walk back in this heat."

Dunk in the water? There are no swim suits here...

"Oh-uh... uh y-yeah, do you want me to like... wait over there-or-“

"I’m goin’ in with my clothes on,” she deadpanned. Straight and to the point, like she didn’t want any type of confusion about the situation.

“Oh,” he breathed. “You’d rather walk back in soaked clothes?”

“Yes.”

"I mean sure, knock yourself out. But be careful, some parts look pretty deep."

"I'm know how to swim, Buck,” she smiled. “Don’t fret.”

He hummed an "okay," before looking around the entire waterfall area. Instinctively, he started walking the perimeter, making sure they would be safe. He didn't know how he hadn't done it sooner. He must've been distracted.

The soldier made his way through trees and over rocks until he returned to the spot facing the center of the waterfall pool. He watched as Y/N's head slowly ascended from the water. She opened her eyes, and as her gaze found him, confusion washed over her face.

"Bucky, aren't you hot?"

"I mean, it’s warm, but I think I'm more useful out keepin' watch."

"Are you sure?" she laughed, tossing more water at him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, clumsily trying to jump and dodge out of the way of the water flinging at him.

Y/N shamelessly continued. "The water's just fine! It's so refreshing and cooooool!"

Bucky's attempts at dodging the water were very much in vain. Soon enough his grey shirt had splatters of Wakandan waterfall water all over it.

He only laughed some more. "Come on! You're comprising our security!"

She stopped.

"Wait- I'm sorry. Am I actually?"

His breathing slowed, but his smile remained. "No, it's okay. I just think it's safer for at least one of us to stay out and be aware. I can go in next time."

"Okay," she frowned.

At the edge of the water, closest to grass, the ground descended into layers, creating a sort of makeshift staircase that sloped into the pool. Y/N floated over to the stairs, and leaned her elbows on the second highest step so that the water settled just below her shoulders. He watched as her legs floated straight up behind her, and each edge of her clothing moved up and down languidly in the water as if they were breathing with its movement.

In response, Bucky sat down at the waters edge, removing his own shoes and socks, rolling up his pant legs and resting his feet in the pool.

"There, now we're meetin' in the middle."

Y/N spared a gentle smile.

"Buck," she asked softly, "can I ask you a question?"

His brows furrowed at the sudden change in tone. "Mm hm."

He was expecting some kind of serious question, but instead, he watched yet another mischievous smirk grow across her face.

"Don't you have to pee?"

He rolled his eyes, and splashed her with as much water as he could cup in his hand. Y/N let out a burst of loud, boisterous laughter, wiping the water from her eyes.

"Why, do you?! Do I have to worry about feeling some warm water!!"

"No! I already went..."

"Oh, ew!" he howled with laughter.

"Not like that! I did it behind a tree while you were makin' your rounds."

"Well thank you for not christening our only clean water source."

"You are quite welcome, James Buchanan Barnes."

His brain slowed at the sound of his full name. He almost didn't feel the barely-there smile that turned the sides of his mouth up ever so slightly. Time became lazy, and his line of sight came to a leisurely stop directly at Y/N's face.

He got a good look at the reflective water droplets all over her skin, and the way some were falling off while others stayed perfectly still. He got a good look at how her waterlogged eye lashes stuck together in bigger clumps, making darker shades of black that contrasted her eye color, and how her wet hair was slicked back and flowed down her neck. He got a good look at the teeny tiny drops of waterfall that settled in her eyebrows, and how he had only been this close to her very few times before.

He couldn't tell why, but he wanted to take a mental snapshot of this moment. The charming imperfection of her was so genuine, so endearing, so alluring. He found himself having a hard time finding the motivation to look away. He must be tired or something.

He hadn’t noticed how still she was as well. But then, gradually, her smile went away, and her face was replaced with a neutral but poised expression. She slowly floated back from him, putting space between them.

"Can we go back now?" she asked. "I think the sun is giving me a headache."

"Y-Yeah, 'fcourse," he said, unprepared to do anything but fulfill her request.

[colossal-fallout]

First kiss 💋

With Reiner Braun

Notes: SFW. Smut of the smuttiest. More fluff than a prancing kitten. It switches between she/you/yn a lot I just edited it from a previous piece I'd made a little while ago and mobile Tumblr isn't the best for my fat thumbs.

As soon as my computer is fixed I'll tidy it up ✌️

It's year three of the cadets. Reiner finally has you all to himself as you browse the market stalls in the quaint town of the Trost District.

But a summer shower quickly dampens his already low spirits, knowing these feelings for you are strictly forbidden...

As the sky began to darken over Trost, Reiner glanced up at the gathering clouds and wondered if he should call it a day. He was reluctant to; it wasn’t very often he got to have you all to himself.

His golden eyes glanced at y/n as she pondered over the stall she was standing at – the vendor excited to show the wares. His eyes then fell to the pavement under his feet. She looked gorgeous as usual. Her white dress hugged her curves and it flowed right down to just above her ankles. He’d noticed the glances she gotten from men, of course he did. He also noticed the second looks he had gotten.

Eyes filled with envy.

Those men thought you were a couple and Reiner secretly loved it. What he wouldn’t give for that to be true.

“Reiner?” Your soft voice called out, snapping his attention.

“What do you think of these gloves for Mikasa? They’d definitely help with her training.”

Sweet y/n.

Whenever she had spare money, she would spend it on her friends. Mikasa had been getting blisters from her pairing blade hilts. They’d joked she takes out her frustration towards Eren’s behaviour out on her grip; pretending they were his neck.

“Uh, yeah. I think they’ll come in handy, sure.” He replied half dazed.

“Everything okay?” she asked as she handed the salesperson the cash. “You seem a bit out of it.”

He instantly pulled up his usual facade. “Me? I’m fine. Looks like it’s going to rain though. We should head back.”

“Okay.” She smiled slightly, taking the paper bag with the leather gloves inside. They began to walk down the street back towards the barracks.

He silently kicked himself.

He wanted to take each step as slowly as possible, trying to wring out as much alone time as he could.

When did it get so bad?

If she didn’t have her swarm of friends around her constantly, and Bertolt didn’t act as his shadow maybe he wouldn’t be so desperate to be alone with her in the first place.

Why did he even want that though?

He wasn’t dense. He knew he had a soft spot for her and despite his best friend’s warnings, he ignored his advice to stay away. It got worse and worse like an neglected cavity in a tooth. The longer he left it, the deeper she bore into him. He wondered if the pain of a toothache would be better than this constant yearning to be near her.

When did he become so pathetic? When did he become so... weak?

Reiner Braun was the strongest male in the 104th with the highest grades. Dedicated. Focused. Yet this H/C'd girl walking beside him with her sparkling e/c eyes could easily bring him to his knees.

He’d gone through the implications in his head over and over. His friends from back home wouldn’t approve. It’s not like they didn’t like y/n... In fact he was surprised how well she got along with them.

It was because they didn’t join cadets to fool around with beautiful women.

They were there to return home. Home... He wondered what his family would think of her. That was when he shook his head.

No.

There wasn’t any use in going down that trail.

“Oh no...” y/n winced as fat rain drops began to fall from the swollen clouds.

It was a summer day so they didn’t think to bring a jacket. In fact, none of their friends earlier had been wearing one.

Within seconds the heavy drops were crashing down all around them, people ran for cover and merchants began to hurriedly set up a canopy over their goods.

Reiner grabbed her wrist and began to run.

“Summer shower.” He explained. “It won’t last long, but it’ll be a soaker.” . Women around them let out a squeal as a loud rumble of thunder echoed out over the town. Puddles were already forming as Reiner hurriedly led her down the clearing street. As they ran, water splashed around their ankles from collecting on the road.

With his free hand, he began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“What are you doing?!” you called out over the loud crashing of water. “You’ll catch your death!” By the time she uttered the last word of her sentence he whipped around and lay his large shirt over her head before returning to pull her along.

“Dont want that pretty dress to be ruined, do we?” he joked, yet his face stayed serious. “Reiner...” you whispered in awe, inaudible due to the rain.

Not long after, you'd reached the stables where the transport horses were kept. It was deserted, being the cadets weekend off and were carting the soldiers to their home towns for the next couple of days.

Reiner pushed open the large wooden door of the hay storage barn, before ushering you inside.

“Are you crazy?” you laughed once they were tucked in away from the downpour.

Beads of rain rolled down his bare flesh, trailing down his pronounced pectorals and solid abs.

Reiner shrugged. “Didn’t want you getting cold and wet.”

Your eyes softened gorgeously as he turned to rub his hand over his hair, getting excess droplets off him.

His back muscles flexed with every small movement before he turned back around, Goosebumps raising on his skin and his nipples hardening from the chill.

The barn was filled with the relaxing sounds of the heavy pattering of rain on the wooden roof above their heads. This was the side of Reiner you'd been waiting to see.

You knew he had it in him, underneath the crude jokes and the flirting attempts. He was a gentleman through and through. He just liked to hide it for whatever reasons she didn’t know.

His shirt was warm and his scent rolled off it into her nose.

You hadn’t realised how much you actually enjoyed his smell until now. It sent waves of comfort over you, like the smell alone was his big strong arms wrapping around your body, ensuring your safety and comfort.

Yes.

You'd decided.

You had been pondering on your feelings towards your classmate for a little while now and wanted to be sure. The torment of professionalism as well as distractions from training had been hanging over your head.

But there was just something about him that you was pulled to.

He jumped a little when you placed your soft hand gently on his forearm. The skin across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes instantly heated up, turning a hue of pink.

You were so close to him and he got what he always yearns for – for your skin to be touching his.

The next thing he knew you were reaching up and planting a tender kiss on his cheek.

The breath caught in his throat and that pinkness burned more brightly. Every muscle in his body tensed and his eyes enlarged slightly. But what really sent his chest thudding was when you pulled the kiss away.

You kept your face close to his, now bearing the same pink hue. Your gorgeous eyes glistened, long lashes framing them beautifully. You smiled adorably, pulling at his shirt that was now draped across your shoulders.

“Thank you...”

Y/N spoke softly, her hair a little messed up from the shirt but it just made her look even more beautiful.

“For what...?” he replied in a haze.

“Being you...”

Those last words penetrated straight through his macho exterior and felt like they pierced into his heart, injecting some sort of warm fluid that quickly spread across his entire chest.

He didn’t even think.

It was like he went on auto pilot and his instincts just took over.

Placing the side of his index finger under her chin, he tilted her head up slightly and closed the gap between them, gently pressing his lips against hers.

His heart smashed against his solid barrel chest as she kissed him back, her lips softer than he had ever imagined them to be.

She ran her hands up his shoulders and hung them, opening her mouth a little wider as they kissed, giving him full permission to explore her mouth.

He did so without hesitation.

Sliding his tongue passed her sweet lips, he entwined it with hers.

It felt like fireworks and explosion were going off around him and he thought he could see stars behind his closed eyelids.

Having her kissing him and getting to be this close and intimate with her was the best feeling he’d ever had.

The adrenaline was richer and sweeter than any fight he’d been in or any training exercise.

It just felt perfect.

It began to get heated pretty quickly as their pace quickened slightly, deep exhales leaving his nose and his brow became furrowed and desperate.

She truly did make him feel weak.

He handled her gently. Although he knew she was strong, it she also felt delicate, like his big lumbering body could break her at any moment.

Her fingers ran through his hair and she pressed up against him, his arms wrapping around her in a sweet embrace.

Although he thought he was the luckiest man alive to be able to kiss her, his body quickly began needing more of her.

He battled with it, keeping it under control and letting her now take the lead of the kiss.

She gently pulled his pouty bottom lip with her teeth, making it that much harder for him to not throw her down and lift up her dress.

Instead, he settled for a please grunt, his brows creasing deeper as he became hungrier.

She slowly pulled away.

He pressed his forehead against hers, unable to hide the dumb grin that spread across his face as he caressed her hair with his right hand.

“What’s with that goofy grin?” she joked quietly; her sweet breath warm on his face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He replied, his grin stretching further.

Smiling, she lowered her head almost shyly at that titbit of information.

She then fixed her eyes on his. “Really?”

“Of course...” he looked genuinely surprised. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Oh stop.” She laughed.

He took her hand and placed it on his bare chest over his rapid heartbeat. His honey eyes not removing their gaze from hers. “I swear.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Well, you have awful taste.” Was what she settled for.

But having Reiner Braun, of whom didn’t really catch her eye at first, now she’d gotten to know him was extremely attractive; his chest bare and holding her close like this set a burning desire deep within her.

One that she would have to keep under control.

...For now.

She gently placed her hand on his jawline before replacing her mouth onto his.

He let out a small unintentional exhale from his nose, more than happy to slide his warm tongue back inside of her.

Her hands gently caressed his broad shoulders, her pace quickening and her teeth grazing his lip.

She didn’t want to let things get too heated too quickly, but battling her urges seemed like an uphill battle. He’d grown on her a hell of a lot over the last three years and having him hold her like this felt amazing.

As Reiner kissed her, he pushed away the little voice inside of his head that was telling him this was all a big mistake and he had just complicated things massively.

He didn’t care.

His feelings for her had always surpassed the doubts that swirled around in his mind. And now, knowing she had some reciprocating feelings it was incomprehensible that he would now turn his back on her.

He grazed his hand lightly up her arm as he slowly and almost gracefully devoured the inside of her mouth. Her skin was the softest thing he’d ever touched like some fine silk from a faraway land. He almost felt like he was ruining her just by having his unworthy hands upon her flesh.

She pulled away once again and he sealed their kiss with another gently peck.

“This is crazy...” she sighed taking a step back. “We’re training to be soldiers.”

“I know how you feel, believe me.” He muttered, a frown tugging at his mouth. “But I think life’s a little too short to be putting good things on the back burner.”

She pondered on that for a moment.

He began to feel desperate. Now that he had her affections within his grasp, he wasn’t about to let them slip through his fingers.

“I mean...” he took a step forward and held her hand into his large pair. “I know I joke around a lot but you...”

He paused for a moment, choosing his words.

“I didn’t kiss you with the intention of just having you then leaving. ...I want us to be together. Properly. Hell, if we weren’t in Cadets, I would be asking you to marry me right now.”

That blushing hue returned to his face as he shyly looked away, not used to spilling out his feelings like this.

But the humiliation and discomfort would be worth it if he managed to gain her as his own.

Again... When did I get so weak?

She did a better job than he at hiding the grin that was threatening to spread across her face.

Instead, her face matched his reddening tone.

“Are you saying... You love me, Reiner Braun?” she spoke softly.

He pushed away every instinct that told him to run and hide.

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I am.” He replied steadily.

Now it was her turn to ignore her instincts to run.

“R-Reiner. It’s not that I don’t care for you too, I do. But... Ah, it’s complicated.” She grimaced. “I don’t know when.. uh... I’ll be ready to...” her face was almost glowing at this point.

“Hey hey...” he soothed. “Its okay. I love you. I don’t care about waiting.” His face returned to the familiar serious soldier expression she was so used to seeing during training. “Even if you’d wanna wait until after marriage. I don’t mind.”

She squirmed uncomfortably. “Its not that. Maybe we can talk about it... Another time?”

It perplexed him but he didn’t mind. “Of course.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“So...?” He melted back into that cheeky smirk.

The classic Reiner grin. Mischievous and cunning.

“You wanna give this a shot?”

Y/N noticed the rain had slowed to a stop, the clouds had moved on and the sun was shining once again.

She’d known Reiner now for almost two years. Spent every single day pretty much in his presence. They’d worked together, laughed together and well... Now this.

She reminded herself how strong that urge was to kiss him only minutes ago. Why she initiated closeness in the first place. Her mind fluttered through the pages of her recent memories and how he had been making her feel these days and how her eyes have been lingering upon him a little longer than she’d like.

She let out a sigh before smirking back at him. “Sure. But don’t get comfortable now. Just because you have me doesn’t mean you can start slacking your charm.”

She playfully pushed his cheeks together with her index and thumb, resulting in a chuckle rumble from his broad chest.

“I swear it.” He grinned, kissing her.

“Come on. We’d better head back.” She smiled, handing him back his shirt.