#jet recon

[crownedstoat]

Just checking under the hood.

[nocternalrandomness]

RF-4C Phantoms during Operation Desert Storm

[nonbinary-beast]

Got Knight Rider brainrot again regarding the self insert sonas, because fun.

Sort of got thinking again about the AI in a jet type sona. However, a full sized jet would not really be good for what Knight Industries does- which is less military work and more sort of domestic terrorism/crimes. Perhaps a smaller jet, a single seat supersonic/hypersonic type design. The wings can fold completely in order to maneuver better in urban settings when on the ground, and can adjust their shape for better maneuverability in the air. When fully folded, the footprint of the jet is the same as a car.

Direct confrontation is not seen as a priority for this one, there are some devices that can be used for self defense- tech that can mess with electronics, weaponry, mechanical devices and machinery; otherwise its priority is reconnaissance/surveillance. Meanwhile, it has plenty of tools to be able to see its target just fine, regardless of where they are hiding. The secondary priority for this machine is stealth; it absorbs radar and sonar better than most military stealth aircraft, can become completely invisible to infrared, and it can even alter its colors to be difficult to spot to the human eye. Through some techno-wizardry, this AI can fly silently.

There is one true weapon that it has at its disposal; a plasma cannon it can use at short range if necessary. The effect is much like a lightning strike:

loud, imposing, and visually impressive; but the damage done is relatively contained in a small area.

Trying to get a scanner on this machine without messing with its stealth abilities proved to be difficult, and inevitably in the design phase it was agreed that a scanner- usually purposed for short-range use- would not be useful at high altitude. It does however get a set of telescopic optics that can flip through different visual modes.

The name is always the hardest, since usually when I name my characters I slap latin words together to make a name. Therefore, the AI has an official designation, but it came up with its own name instead of using it. Often it goes by the self-assigned name of Strix.

Personality-wise this machine prefers to pursue its own hobbies instead of being out in the field or bonding with humans. Writing in all its forms, illustration, animations- it dabbles in many different creative outlets. Music is a favorite pastime, often listening to different flavors of metal, disco, rock, and pop; a library of movies, leaning heavily towards horror, fantasy, and sci-fi (sometimes mingled), takes up a dedicated portion of its internal drive. It has listened to and watched all of them enough to know them lyric by lyric, line by line. Every so often it gets restless, and if it finds a favorable break in the staff shift rollover, it will take off on its own towards the most impressive cumulonimbus formation it can find to fly through and roll around it.

Very much a home body with a tendency to turn inward and daydream, it would happily stay in the hangar/garage until it damn well felt like going out to work. That said, it will work, but not before extended grumbling to itself about having to deal with some asshole's problems. These opinions often stay to itself and are not shared with the pilot, preferring to take on an air of professionalism when at work instead of really bonding with them. The pilot is not a partner, they are a coworker and should be kept at arms length- so it has learned from previous assigned "partners". So far as the human part of their team knows, the computer is job-focused with no other interests while they're in the cockpit- in fact its personality tends to come off as quite cold and single-minded. That is how Strix likes it, and that's how it stays.

Often Strix will go by whatever gender the pilot assigns- such labels hold as much meaning to its as their pilot, which is very little. However, it does assign itself genders in private; it/they/him tend to be preferred, but sometimes will use she/her.

However, due to several instances of being ignored by superiors regarding complaints over ill treatment or outright abuse by said pilot, there have been events where previous pilots that were ill favored came to very mysterious "accidental" ends. Often- thanks to some data tampering- it will be equated to an error where Strix's sensors did not pick up the danger until it was too late, or there happened to be a glitch in communications that made it oh-so impossible for it to know that their pilot needed help in the first place.

"Too much interference"

"High magnetic mineral content in the surrounding area"

"Wireless communications dead zone"

"Full communication system reset prompted by poor signal quality."

Such were the typical readouts that Strix's technicians recieved.

"Oh well, this is a prototype aircraft after all." The technicians sigh, "We'll take care of it on the next maintenance schedule while the director looks for another pilot."

The technicians chase ghosts in Strix's systems, and the experimental craft waits for the next fool to be assigned to it. But that said, it is noted that the female pilots last longer than the male ones.

Work is not all drudgery though. One of the AI's favorite pastimes is setting up traps for their target; often in the form of sabotaging equipment and vehicles, setting off locking mechanisms in doors to trap them inside rooms, and of course tampering with dangerous equipment to make the day go by a little faster. Why not lock the target into a furnace room and create a gas leak? How about spicing up the assignment by say, causing the target to get mulched by heavy machinery on their own work site? Or maybe even a stroke of misfortune where a bus happens to lose control right when the target is trying to escape by running across the street. The possibilities- and entertainment- are endless.

It may not favor direct confrontation, but that doesn't mean it can't dabble in creating some "unfortunate circumstances".

Other on-the-job hobbies include parking in unusual spaces just to make it harder for its pilot to find it.

[jrueships]

??!?!???? WHAT

[parkers-gal]

take me home J.B.

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x f!reader

wc: 1.7k

trope: secret wife / secret relationship

warnings: not proof read. rip. i'll edit the mistakes tmr lol. this is another self indulgent piece bye

timeline: idk this is not a canon event but just imagine endgame never happened. i like to imagine him with the metal arm (not the vibranium one) but i think this can be seen with any

summary: the team discovers bucky's relationship with you when bucky searches for you in the hospital after hydra attacks new york

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

“we just got the last of them on the east side. does anyone need backup?” natasha’s voice rings through the comms. tony’s response comes within a few seconds.

“air is neutral up here.”

“we’re just about wrapping up here,” steve adds on. “let’s reconvene on fifth and check in with emergency services.” he glances at bucky who stands on his left, stoically waiting for the next command. bucky nods at steve’s silent question, you ready?

they step over a pile of rubble. bucky reloads his gun, placing it back in its holster and starting a light jog as steve leads them away from the scene behind them. hydra had sent many reinforcements after the team had done a recon mission at an abandoned hydra base that was unknowingly more important to them than the avengers had initially realized. new york came to bear the consequences, just as the city always did. something about high populated cities… or whatever steve told the team as they were gearing up a few hours ago.

they turn the next few blocks and see sam land beside wanda and clint, his wings collapsing into his jet-backpack. tony joins them, already starting his updates.

“nypd called in the national guard to detain as many of the human reinforcements as they could,” he fiddles with some tech on his arm. “emt said graybar, seagram, and chanin had some pretty heavy bombings. victims are being relo-”

“chanin?” bucky cuts in. most of his teammates look at him with shocked faces. “did you say the chanin building?”

“yes, tinman.” tony retorts. “victims are being relocated to the closest hospitals in the area.”

“which ones?”

slightly annoyed, tony turns to look at him. “does it matter?”

bucky’s jaw clenches. “yes. it does.”

sam cuts in.“there’s five hospitals within a mile of here, there’s no way you’re going to know where one person went, bucky.”

“i don’t give a fuck.” he’s definitive and it shuts everyone up. “i want to know which hospitals.”

with a sigh, steve concedes and jogs over to the paramedic perched on the end of an ambulance, assisting a woman with a cut on her eyebrow.

bucky decides to make his way over too, only hearing the tail end of the conversation as steve says ‘thank you.’

“well?”

steve sighs again. “he said lagone is the closest, but frank ross hospital and tisch are taking in some too because the influx is so bad.”

bucky doesn’t even reply, jogging off in the direction of the first hospital and leaving steve in the middle of the road, stunned.

clint breaks the silence. “where is he going?”

“to the hospital, i guess?” steve sounds unsure in his response, still watching as bucky gets smaller and smaller as the distance between them increases. 

“maybe we should go with him.” wanda suggests. “we still need to debrief and do our write ups.”

natasha gives her a side eye and wanda laughs. 

“just following orders.” she exaggerates, teasing natasha and steve for their insistence on following the protocols. 

“alright let’s go, then.” tony thrusts upward, sam following him up as everyone else begins to jog in bucky’s direction.

but bucky is fast. they don’t realize how much until they almost lose him two blocks over. they trail behind him as he bursts through the emergency room, charging towards the front desk. 

“do you have a patient named y/n?” he begins to spell out your name letter by letter until the desk attendant interrupts.

“sir, i need you to step into the waiting room unless you need immediate medical care.” the room around them is a flurry of crying people, overwhelmed nurses, and helpless policeman who try to reorganize the growing number of patients. 

“no, i need you to check if you have a patient under the name of y/-”

the team stands by the entrance, watching the interaction unfold but not quite understanding it.

“who is he looking for?”

everyone turns to steve assuming he knows, but his face shows just as much confusion. “i don’t know.”

“please,” bucky starts again. “do you have a patient register for today’s patients?”

with a click of her tongue, she hands bucky a clipboard with several papers on it. bucky’s eyes scan the names, worry etched on his face when he doesn’t see yours. 

“sorry.” he mumbles, leaving the clipboard on the counter and turning around. he stops when he sees the team, but moves past them when he remembers what he’s doing.

anxiety is gnawing at him as he finds his motorcycle parked by the quinjet a few blocks away. he immediately drives off towards the next hospital, worried as ever that something has happened to you. you aren’t answering his calls, not texting him back, and he can’t find your location on the little app you taught him how to use. he doesn’t know what else to do. 

the team can barely keep up, trying their best to help the people around them as they trail after bucky. they still don’t know what he’s doing or who he’s looking for. 

by the third hospital, bucky is fed up and on the verge of a breakdown. he only has so much patience at this point, and sam is all too familiar with the signs.

“do you have a patient under the name y/n?” it’s the third time in the last hour he’s desperately asked a nurse at a front desk. he does the same thing, spelling out your name letter by letter until the nurse interrupts him. 

“you’ll have to wait to check the registry list after all the patients have been attended to.”

“how long is that going to take?” his voice is laced with attitude, and he almost feels bad if not for the pit of anxiety swelling in his stomach. 

“sir, you’re wasting my time.”

“bucky, c’mon, let’s go.” steve reaches to hold bucky’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

“no, goddammit!” he’s fuming, turning back to the nurse. “i need you to tell me if you have a patient, y/n barnes. i’m her next of kin.” he slams his fist on the counter. steve takes a step back towards sam, in shock at the information.

“does he have, like, a niece?” sam asks. “did he tell you anything about his sister? maybe she had a family after-”

“yes, i see her name listed here. only immediate family can see her.”

“i am immediate family!”

“sir, unless you are a parent or her husband, you need to wait until all th-”

“i am her husband!” he slams his ring down on the counter, gripping onto it like he depends on it, because he can’t risk losing you. “take me to see me wife right now.”

with a nod, she leads bucky down a hallway of rooms, turning left into the very first room. she makes her way back towards the front desk where steve has now approached.

“hi, ma’am. would you mind if-” steve gestures towards the room. the nurse’s jaw drops at seeing the vibranium shield, clint’s bow, and tony stark standing there with a partially deconstructed nano-tech suit. 

“go right ahead.” she stutters out, watching the avengers trail after the man with the metal arm. they stop in the doorway, huddled as they watch.

“y/n?” bucky steps towards the hospital bed.

you aren’t even laying in it. you’re sitting on the edge of it staring out a window, back facing the door. at the sound of his voice, you whip around. tear streaks stain your face.

“bucky, oh my god-” you run into his chest, engulfing him in a hug. he sighs into your hair, smelling you and breathing in relief at the sight.

“you’re okay, it’s okay.” he coos, rubbing your back. “what happened? are you hurt?”

you shake your head, still nuzzled into his chest. you peer up at him, “paramedics found me unconscious. it’s just a concussion, but they brought me in anyways. i just have a couple stitches.” you gesture to your calf. “rough fall after i got knocked out, i guess.”

he nods, pulling you in for a kiss. it’s desperate and full of love and every emotion he’d felt in the last two hours.

“i thought- i thou-”

“no.” you cut him off. “i tried to find a phone but nothing was going through. i saw the weird alien dogs coming from a giant truck, and- and the hydra symbol was plastered all along the sides i thought maybe they-” you can’t even finish your sentence, too overwhelmed at the possibility. 

“never.” he kisses your forehead, holding your face in both his hands. “they could never take me from you.”

you rest your forehead against his, inhaling the scent of your husband and gripping onto him because you never want to leave him again. 

“so..” tony cuts in. “wife?”

“tony!” natasha scolds. “get back here!”

clint tries his best not to laugh but he can barely hold it in.

sam is next to join in. “when did this happen?” he looks at steve with a quirked brow. “did you know?”

“i swear i didn’t.”

“a wife.” sam repeats. “you didn’t know your best friend has a wife.”

“he’s a trained spy!”

“and a former soviet asset.” clint confers. “you’d think you would keep more tabs on the guy.”

steve rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to bucky.

“is she really your wife?”

bucky nods reluctantly, a little sheepish as you hold up your left hand to show them your rings. 

“for four years now.”

“FOUR YEARS????” 

“sam-” 

“and you NEVER SAID ANYTHING?”

“guys” nat pays no mind to sam’s ramblings. “i think we can all agree how hard it is to live life as an avenger. it’s not like clint was exactly honest about his family, either.”

“i thought you were on my side!” he huffs.

“whatever.” sam pouts. “i wish i could’ve gone to the wedding.”

“we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” bucky smiles appreciatively at steve, who starts moving back towards the exit. “maybe we can talk about this when everything settles down and she gets out of the hospital.” steve looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time. deep down, he’s glad his best friend found the one thing he’s wanted his whole life. “right bucky?”

bucky nods. 

“okay,” steve smiles understandingly. “debrief is tomorrow at noon. don’t be late.”

bucky turns back to you as the team leaves your hospital room. 

“i guess the secrets out.”

bucky nods in agreement. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you kiss him again, “take me home, bucky.”

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist

part two?

[mcrdvcks]

Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

[hardlyinteresting]

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers  Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by  Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

 Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber. 

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin. 

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat. 

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job. 

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying. 

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips. 

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley. 

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself. 

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”. 

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.” 

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case. 

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while. 

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be. 

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet. 

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival. 

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk. 

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained. 

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. 

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful. 

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked. 

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him. 

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?” 

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?” 

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed. 

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right. 

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”. 

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance. 

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf. 

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods. 

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate. 

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth. 

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship. 

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them. 

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer. 

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight. 

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”. 

She believed him. 

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever. 

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more. 

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind. 

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit. 

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence. 

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow. 

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand. 

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life. 

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands. 

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.  

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before. 

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation. 

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus. 

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him. 

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her. 

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love. 

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another. 

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”.  But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong. 

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

 “I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving. 

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep. 

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer. 

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting  the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent. 

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments. 

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey. 

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows. 

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky. 

“Jake,” she manages. 

“Yeah, Angel”. 

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it, 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken. 

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside. 

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario. 

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too. 

[bejeweledinterludes]

── .✦ ⌈ dean x reader headcanons that are 2 specific.⌋

『 part 2 of @bejeweledinterludes’ headcanon series. 』

𖤐 ────────────────────────

> being a decent hunter, the winchester brothers had heard of you before, and you them— you’d heard stories, of course, but you never officially crossed paths until you were at bobby’s house at the same time they were. you’d known bobby— because everybody knew bobby—since you started hunting.

your greeting to them came almost as quickly as your goodbye, nodding at them with a “hey” while clambering down bobby’s front porch to your car, your usual bag full of weapons and books in hand— but not before you notice the jet-black ‘67 impala next to your own.

and you know your way around a car, having your own ‘baby-esque’ vehicle that you love more than life itself (can be vintage or newer model, doesn’t matter, because it’s yours). dean had noticed your car in bobby’s driveway immediately, too— who wouldn’t? the man had eyes.

anyways, you walk past baby in all her glory while nodding appreciatively— turning just a little to dean and tossing a free thumb towards her with a grin before saying a quick: “dude. bitchin’ car.”

and after initially being thrown off by the way you carried yourself, a mixture of confidence, respect, and almost familiarity— dean shoots back with a “could say the same about yours.”

at that remark, you freaking smiled. and dean almost fainted right then and there at the sight. you got in your car, and that was it, due to your visit to bobby’s house really being just a pit stop/supply run before you headed right back on the road again, a new hunt already waiting for you in montana.

> because despite sam and dean being the most good-looking hunters you ever laid eyes on, you weren't one to dilly dally over just a pretty face (when lives were on the line, of course). but somehow, you knew that you’d see them again. hunting wasn’t exactly a booming career field, after all.

> that being said, it took dean a while to get comfortable around you whenever you did end up working together— like a while. you’d only crossed wires with the brothers a few times, helping them out when you could on hunts over the next few years. sam and you made easy friends almost immediately, but dean took longer to warm up to you. but you didn’t mind, or take it personally. you never pushed dean to be your friend even with how much you wanted to be.

> when you guys do work together, though, you and dean understand every single pop culture reference you guys throw at each other. he was shocked when he referenced a classic 80s movie (it was weird science) while working one of your first cases together.

and not only did you understand it and laugh— you made your own joke about it. now you two can’t shut your traps once you get going (for the love of god, do not ask about die hard around them).

> dean and you have also almost blown your cover and gotten caught on hunts because you guys laugh/giggle too loud at what the other says (especially in serious situations).

your favorite running joke is finding old portraits of ugly dead guys, pointing a finger at them and saying to dean “huh, i didn’t know you were alive in *checks plaque under painting* 1837” (and don’t worry, he does the same exact thing to you.)

> dean once fell asleep on your shoulder during a stakeout/recon/watching a potential victim’s house and you didn’t move an inch the entire time. when you finally tried to gently wake him up, he had the audacity to sleepily mumble “jus’ five more minutes” into your shirt and cling to you like a koala in the car. you, being the saint and not wanting to argue, let him sleep for another 2 hours couple minutes.

> and soon enough, dean eventually came around. you knew he cared about you way before he did, but you never forced anything. he appreciated that more than you knew.

and it wasn’t just one single moment of realization like in the movies when dean knew he cared about you. it was quiet, simmering, and when he looked, it was already just… there. but the feelings he hadn’t noticed he’d been pushing down for so long came to a head on a hunt when you almost died— the way they always did when someone he cared about was hurt.

after that, something shifted. you could feel and see it, even if dean didn’t say anything outright to you. for one, he called more often when you were away— he’d need help with something you knew that he already knew damn well how to do, or with something you knew he had much better contacts for.

i mean, come on. he knows freaking rowena, and he’s calling you for assistance on a spell? and sometimes, he’d call for no reason at all, making up some excuse just to hear your voice. you never mentioned it, out of fear he’d stop calling entirely.

> because you always loved when dean called.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

i genuinely believe that i tweak out over this man at least 4 times a day stg. and the gif i picked lives in my mind rent-free. he looks so ethereal sigh i wish he was real 💔

ANYWAYS here’s my taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[julia4today]

Fiending for part 2 of shunned 😔

sorry this took so long !!!

shunned (tf141 x fem!reader)

part two | prev part

cw: incorrect military procedure, not proofread

your thick, government-issued, thermals do nothing to protect from the biting cold that seeps through the cracks of the window your shoulder rests against. you're sitting in a kitchen chair. everybody else, asleep. it is your turn to keep watch. the cabin wasn't particularly insulated. years of mold and mildew seeping through the porous floor board can do that.

you can hear the shifting of the men in their sleeping bags. sleepily, moving and chattering to conserve warmth. you had put the fire out before you went to sleep, price had been worried that the smoke would alert people as to your location, but considering how fruitless your watch has been, you highly doubt anybody is looking for you.

your eyes threaten to close, succumbing to the unimaginable exhaustion that plagues you. but- no. you cannot do that because that would mean the team is right. that you, that women, are incapable. you will not be the reason that stereotype is perpetuated so you keep your eyes open. open and alert. scanning for movement. the pillowy white snow upon the ground glimmers in the moonlight. snow that just a couple hours ago was pounding you in the face, causing great pain. it now seems quite harmless. funny how things may change.

the trees are large and imposing, perfect for hiding our "mountain hut" as price aptly named it. you look to the treetops, the sun just barely peeking over the tops. ordinarily, you would all be up, preparing, but today you aren't leaving until you get clearance from base, and you all know how long that takes. the occasional bird sings, coming home to its kin. feeding them chewn and regurgitated worm. gross.

sitting watching a window was not exactly the badass ‘fighter jet top gun’ vision you had of joining the military. but maybe you need to save your home country single-handedly before you are ever taken seriously. how to do that exactly?

it’s nearing six am by this time. the boys are packed up and waiting for the go ahead from base. the green light to move further into the lions den.

this mission was not your first. far from it. whether you were trekking through a jungle or trudging up a mountain, the routine was the same. get the mission, brief it, get deployed, go through hell physically and mentally, come home. repeat.

this time it's recon. reconnaissance. by this time, the country had been strife with war for years. it's a back and forth. they capture hostages, you illegally enter their country and return the hostages to their families. then you capture the hostages. it's exhausting.

"remind me why we don't just call for a ceasefire?" you postulate out loud. no longer turned towards the window, although you may as well be for how often you have to insert yourself into their conversation. never invited on your own.

"too pussy for a little strafing aye?" ghost replied lowly. his voice a deep hum against your ears. he takes a sip from his thermos, presumably filled with tea. you can tell he's got a smug smirk on beneath his signature mask.

"no." you grumble, wishing you hadn't turned away from that window. as much as you would like to claim their comments don't get to you, everybody knows they do. maybe that's why they continue to throw them at you. continue to claw at your brain. attack every insecurity you've had. pretend they don't mean it, butter you up with sexist comments that make your skin crawl.

"ah ken he's messin' wi' ye slug." johnny chimes in as he simultaneously slinks nearer to you. putting his large arm around you and pulling you uncomfortably close to his chest. "'sides. simon leks tae 'ave ye here. we all dey."

“thanks joh-"

"ye a bonnie sight. 'elps me get through ay rough night if ye ken," of course. his obnoxious laugh booms through the cabin. gross.

"men. word from laswell came in. we're being sent back to base." a collective groan escapes the three men that sat at the table. annoyed, although slightly relieved that they finally knew what was going on. all day, with no movement gets a soldier antsy.

"we just spent all of yesterday climbing up that mountain and we're being sent back? why?" kyle finally speaks up. typically quiet. that's something you've observed. well not quiet, just, he doesn't really talk to you. not like he talks to price or simon, even johnny. though you can't help but be slightly grateful. atleast he's not undressing you with his eyes or implying you don't have what it takes.

"our help is no longer required. the hostages were willfully let go. they're going home to their families." and with that price returns to his call.

the men look at eachother, once more leaving you out. this news from price, while seemingly good, it is not. it begs the question, why? unless they're planning something. johnny and gaz break off into their own conversation. and suprisingly, simon turns to you.

" 'appy, slug?" simon spits.

"what? what did i do?"

"i'm sure you're glad. laswell knows well that you weren't ready for a mission like this. this is for real soldiers. not delicate women."

"what the fuck are you even talking about?" what does he mean? is he implying you're at fault for the mission being cancelled.

"price just said the mission was cancelled because they let the hostages go." you add. for some reason you feel the need to justify yourself. you did nothing wrong though. still, you feel attacked. he knows this too. he gets up, doesn't pass you another glance.

this isn't good. just one more night in this cabin hellhole and you can once more request to switch teams.

—-

i think there’s a literal curse around writing fanfiction that causes my body to want to start attacking itself.

it’s finally out, and it’s absolutely terrible. enjoy!! :P

[drdawnbreaker]

𝐒𝐡𝐡, 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 || 𝐑𝐄𝟒 𝐋.𝐊

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Summary: Imagine a vampire au with Leon, but in this case. He is the human, and you are the vampire. And you are very, very thirsty.

Word Count: 2.57k

Warnings: Blood. Making out. Pet names. Mention of cannon level of violence and death. Dry humping, pussy cupping. Forgive me

Notes: This is my first time writing Leon, so please be kind ahh. I tried my best, ahhh.. enjoy!! Also, i thought of RE4!Leon? But mixed with a bit of death... idfk at this point, hehe.

So you both work together, and you get along well with each other compared to the others in your units. And one day, Leon had been assigned to work a recon mission along with a small team. He hates teams. But when he found out you would be there, he felt slightly at ease. What he wasn't looking forward to was working with several of the other shitty men. When he walked onto the jet, all he heard were mutters of "Why is she here?" "Do we even need her?" "I heard she's only here cause of her hacking skill set"

If only they knew.

Yes, you were incredibly intelligent and good with computers, that's why the government liked to keep you around. But something not a lot of people know about, including Leon, is that you had two choices, join and serve or rot in a cell. Of course, you picked somewhat freedom.

Onto the mission at hand. To say, it went to shit was an understatement. You, Leon, and the others were trapped in a church somewhere off the track you needed to follow. There was a swarm of ghoulish creatures. Someone must have tipped your opponents off.

It had been almost 3 hours when you started to feel it... the hunger. You had packed blood shots for this exact situation, but alas, your pack was lost when you found yourself running away from a pack of clickers. The dryness in your throat, the over-sensitivity of hearing. Even the sun that was shining through the high windows began to sting your eyes.

You needed a drink.

But none of the men here knew, nor did you want to reveal such a big part of your life to some random soldier who only wanted to get into your pants.

What about Leon?... no. You couldn't ask him. Not when he got so much on his plate as it is. Your gaze caught Leon sitting on a few old boxes, staring out the window aimlessly. He is a good man, strong, caring, and plus he was understanding. He never held anything against you. If you needed to slip out for a moment, he never asked why. He wouldn't judge you... you hoped. "Uh..Hey Leon.."

Your voice sounded so small, not to mention the cracks hidden beneath it as you held yourself from jumping him. You could hear his blood move in his veins, going straight for his heart. Fuck.. You needed a drink now before you lost control. Worry began to seep through your being at the thought of losing yourself for a moment in front of any of the men in this room. None of them would think twice about putting a bullet in your head. Heck, you think they’d probably enjoy it. Take one for the team and all that bullcrap.

“Uh..L-Leon.” Fuck, why did you sound so small. “C-could I talk to you for a second…Alone.”

Leon’s stoic face quickly snapped to one of concern, knowing you weren't the type to ask for anything. “Y-yeah sure, doll. Are you okay?”

God, if he called you doll again, you might just lose it.

“Y-yeah I’m fine. I just need a favour.” Guiding Leon to one of the back rooms where you know none of the others would venture, you felt your hands start to shake from the mixture of hunger and anxiousness… this was a mistake. You thought, pacing the room. Leon could see the way your body was fighting for something, or against something maybe? Whatever it was, it made his instincts react highly. Grabbing your upper arm, he gently tugs you so your whole body could face him before he gently cups your chin so you could look at him.

“What's the matter? Talk to me?” Leon’s first thought was you might have been bitten, but then you would have shown symptoms by now and turned within the first hour, so it wasn’t that. Maybe you're catching a cold? Or a slow-acting virus could have gotten you. Whatever it could be he was ready to help in any way he could. “What do you need, love?”

“You can’t freak out. Okay..” That was the first time in this whole situation that you spoke without stumbling over your words. Everything just got real, really quickly. “There was a reason why the government kept me around. There was an agreement on my behave…I either serve this country or die…”

“Why are you telling me this?” Leon wouldn't lie and say he wasn't curious as to how you got into where you were today, but he wouldn't have thought you were forced. Not by a long shot. You always carried yourself as if you somewhat enjoyed this job. Saving people, killing monsters. You did it with flying colours. It was your calling…isn't it?

“I lost my pack and they had my vials in it….” You gulped before looking up at Leon, staring into his soft, lost eyes. “They were my food… without them I have to drink from a main source.”

Main source? Vials? What on earth are you talking about? Leon’s grip didn't falter as he asked, “What were they?”

Closing your eyes for a moment you took in a deep breath, trying to calm your shaking nerves. Okay, do or die here. He either is completely chill or…. You didn't want to think of the latter. “Please… don’t be mad.” You opened your eyes, revealing the dark pools of crimson that you normally tuck away. Feeling your monstrous half front, causing your senses to heighten more, letting you not only hear Leon's blood pumping inside of him, but smell it too.

“Woah…” Leon muttered, but yet he didn't move. His hands kept where they were and his gaze never shifted. He watched the different shapes of red dance in your eyes and it was then he understood what was going on, what you were. He’s never run into vampires before, but he’s knowledged about them. On one half, you have the rogue vampires,━ghoulish creatures that have no humanity whatsoever━, and then you have the humanist versions. A kind of half and half. He never would have expected you to be one… but then again. “This explains so much.”

“What?”

“I mean... You always only need a couple of hours of sleep. I’ve never seen you eat food other than quick protein bars and you took down Chris one time in the training ring. He’s still trying to figure out how you got the upper hand on him but you..being.uh.. This. no wonder.” Leon spat out word vomit before he could even notice what he was doing, basically confessing that he watches you…all the time. You couldn’t help but laugh;

“He was already cheating…” Your eyes squinted as you gave Leon a toothy smile, making Leon look down at your little k9s. He feels slightly guilty now, he should have picked up on it, should have noticed you were different. He would have helped you sooner, kept an eye on you more closely just in case you ever needed it. You cleared your throat, making the soldier shake out of his deep thoughts; he noticed you were now looking down at the floor, picking at your short, broken nails. “So..y-you’ll help me.”

Leon was so caught up in the newfound knowledge he almost forgot why you even told him in the first place. “Oh..yeah, I’ll help. Whatever you need. I’m here.”

It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders just from his softly spoken words. No further words were spoken as Leon gently retched to cup your cheek, an expression of curiosity and calmness painting his handsome features. He guided you to the floor behind a couple of crates and other shelving and boxes so if someone were to come through the door at least you both would be covered to give you enough time to clean up.

The room felt like it was silent except for the sound of your shaky breath and Leon's heavy breathing pooling out of his nose. With his legs spread his lap was inviting as you settled onto him without as much of a peep from either of you. This was intimate, way too close for two friends; heck, you didn't even know if you deserved to be called friends. You only saw each other on the job. Would he think of you only as a mere college? Someone he's just helping out with a favour? But yet the way his arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his heaving chest, said otherwise. It was like Leon was trying his best to reassure you through his movements, letting you know you were safe with him.

“Where do you want it?” His voice was deeper than normal. It caught you off guard as you couldn't help but look at him with confusion. So Leon repeated, correcting himself slightly, “Where do you want to bite me, Doll?”

His tone was calm yet laced with anticipation. You gulped, whispering in a reply, “W-where do you want it…Leon?” You don't know why exactly but it felt right to let him decide where you drank blood from. You already felt bad for asking, so this was, in a way, letting him know you wanted him to take the lead. That he was the one with all the power, not you. He didn’t answer with words, as you expected… He instead moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly unfastening them one by one, exposing his neck in silent invitation. The room seemed to grow warmer, the air thickening with unspoken tension. His skin was so soft, silky, your fangs could easily pierce the delicate flesh…“A-are you sure…”

You needed to ask him, almost pleading with him to reassure you. It was one thing confessing a crush to someone or exposing some weird secret you might have had as a kid… but this was you, exposing the biggest part of yourself and asking for help. His hand gently came up to your head, patting you with so much care it made a lump form in your throat, “It’s okay Sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere until you’ve had what you need.”

Your fangs grazed his skin shakily as your breath pooled on his hot skin. You could feel his pulse throb, and blood pump faster. He was… excited? Why would he be showing signs of excitement in this kind of scenario… “Leon..”

You didn’t know if you were saying his name for a warning, a question or a plea but Leon’s firm grip never faltered as he dragged you closer until your chest was flushed against his. “Shh, drink baby.”

Leon let out a deep groan followed by a broken gasp as your sharp fangs sunk deep into his flesh. The pain was almost immediate but what followed next caught him off guard. “Fuck, ngh.”

Leon knew some myths that vampires had special abilities, including a venom that could help ease the pain when drinking from someone. In this case, it can create a sort of pleasurable barrier, and he was now certain this was true as a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins straight to his cock. His hehazyl back against the wall, his eyes closing as he savoured the indescribable sensation. Your lips were like clouds against his skin while your tongue was squishy, lapping gently against the small entry wounds, soothing it even as you drew blood from him. Blood richer than any you’ve ever tasted. You’ve almost forgotten how pure blood tastes, having drank diluted packed and almost stale blood for so long. You couldn’t help but moan as you swallowed each gulp, saLeon'sng Leon’s flavour.

Before either of you could process what was happening, your body began to move, your hips grinding against his clothed core, making Leon’s hands instinctively move from your waist to now grip your hips, hard. Guiding you as you humped against him. Your rhythm is frantic and desperate as you drank him in, in more ways than one. The taste of his blood was so intoxicating, and you were slowly losing yourself in the sensation, your senses overwhelmed by his scent and the warmth of his body. Your moans grew louder even though they were muffled, movements became more urgent, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pa ressed yourse.lf closer, seeking friction, seeking release.

“F-fuck baby, if you keep d. Otherwise,’m gonna..” Leon didn't finish his sentence as a sweet moan slipped from his lips into your ear. His cock hardened beneath you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he fought to keep control. “S-slow down.”

You wanted to listen but you couldn’t. The combination of his blood and the feeling of his body against yours was too much, too overwhelming. You needed to pull away, stop before you drank him dry. So with much force, you yanked yourself abruptly, your fangs sliding free of his skin, letting blood drip from your lips and down your neck. Your chest heaved as you panted, your eyes wild, glowing as he stared up at you through hazily eyes. “I-I’m s━.”

But before you could say anything, Leo,n stood, lifting you with him with litlazy no effort. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he pressed you against a nearby wall. “Don’t ever fucking apologise.”

His lips crashed down on yours, his tongue demanding entrance, tasting the coppery sweetness of his own blood on your tongue. Your hands flew for his hair, tangling them in the strands, tugging. Small whimpers were swallowed by Leons dominating tongue, as he moved his hands down, tracing your curves frantically before finally slipping along the waist of your belt. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Leon’s hot breath tickled your face as he pulled back, your eyes gazing down to watch him easily pop your pants open. You were already soaking wet, your cunt throbbing with need, and Leon could tell you were just as excited as him. His fingers slipped in, getting dangerously close to your clit but before you would feel the sweet release of his touch;

“Leon I nee━Kennedy, L/n. we’re rolling out.” A loud call alerted both of you, the man's voice laced with frustration. You felt slight relief Leon had pushed you up against the wall where all the storage boxes were, otherwise the young private would have seen you not only in a very compromising position but with Leon’s blood sweetly drying on your neck and chest.

“Be there in a minute, start packing up the gear.” Leon’s voice was laced with authority but his glasses over eyes never left your own, nor did he make an effort to move you off the wall. The other man muttered something before walking out leaving you both in silence once again. But prior to you trying to graze off the slightly awkward situation, Leon's hand slid all the way down past your panties until he cupped your pussy. “The minute we’re alone. I’m gonna ruin this cunt while you take another bite from me. How’s that sound Doll?”

You felt your head spin and all you managed to get out was a lazily nod before whimpering, “Yes…”

–

Not proofread, so if you saw any errors.. no, you didn't.

[nocternalrandomness]

Boeing RC-135V departing RAF Mildenhall

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 1 of 4 - 2.6k

Bucky finds your file and is shocked to learn you're not in the field, despite your excellent test scores. Although Steve advises him to let it go, Bucky sets to work on convincing you instead.

Warnings: nothing yet really. Some reference to Bucky's time as the Winter Solider but it's very brief.

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Bucky dropped another manila folder onto the desk and leant back in his office chair with a sigh. Across the table Steve looked up from his equally towering pile of agent folders and eyed his friend.  

“Tired?” He asked, closing the latest file and placing it carefully with the others he’d already assessed.  

“This is exhausting, there must be a hundred agents here.” Bucky kept his face covered by his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.  

“Sixty.”  

“What?”  

“There’s sixty, but some of them already have positions.”  

“Of all the automated shit in this century, this, this, is what we have to do by hand?” 

Steve didn’t look up again, “it’s to keep staff information safe after...well...after everything.  

Bucky tensed; he knew what Steve meant by everything. Flashes of that day still came back to him sometimes in his dreams and his nightmares. Moments of clarity in an otherwise hazy memory, explosions, jets falling from the sky and water, fear and freedom. 

“Well, we already found the best candidate, right at the top, her scores and rankings are incredible.” 

Bucky handed Steve the folder, the covering page turned back so he could see the smiling face of the agent in her profile.  

Steve did look up then, “not her, sorry.” He ducked back down, folding the cover back over and attempting to take the folder from Bucky.  

“Why not? She’s a crack shot, scored well in all the reasoning tests and has excellent recommendations from her tutors. She even has a sealed folder from Xavier’s School, but she must have done well to get the college course she wanted.”  

“I know, but she requested desk duty and we’re respecting that. So, not her. She might do some digital recon, if you ask nicely. But she oversees the mission records now.”  

“Steve, she has a sealed envelope, what if it’s a power? How can you leave her on desk duty.” Bucky insisted.  

It was Steve’s turn to sigh, pushing his hand through his blonde hair until it stuck up in tufts. “Remember when you wanted desk duty? Remember how you have a sealed envelope in your folder? I respected you; I respect her. She’s a great Agent, but she’s not going into the field. Drop it.”  

The two men eyed each other for a second before Bucky stood, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair. “I’m going for a walk. I need a break.”  

Bucky stalked through the Avenger’s compound, allowing the door to the private offices to close with a bang. He’d intended to head towards the gym to work off his frustrations at the incredibly tedious task of picking new agents and the even more frustrating realisation that the only agent he’d shortlisted had voluntarily taken themselves out of the field.  

Before he knew it, he was scanning his pass card and weaving his way through the open plan office that sat opposite the Avenger’s private space. He knew a few people here, mostly from bumping into them on the way into work or at the coffee shop on the ground floor.  

Stopping by one of the assistant’s desks he asked for directions to Mission Records, only to be pointed to a set of small, two people sized, meeting rooms that sat at the edge of the otherwise open space.  

Cautiously he picked through the maze of desks and paused outside of the door. Inside he could hear the faint sound of humming and the swish of papers, after a few seconds there was a dull thud as if something had dropped onto a desk and bounced off quickly. Underlying this was the sound of rain, despite the fact it was a dry day. 

Taking a shaky breath to steady his nerves, Bucky knocked on the door.  

“Who is it?” The voice inside was high and lilting, definitely nervous.  

“Uhm - it’s Sergeant Barnes...” Bucky tried to sound authoritative but, honestly, he hadn’t been in charge of anyone or anything since he was Steve’s second in 1945 and now that he was trying, panic was rising inside of him like a tide.  

From behind the door, he heard another dull thump and the paper noise stopped, but the rain continued. 

“You can come in.”  

Bucky turned the handle slowly, ducking his head and wishing he’d at least taken a lap of the office to think of what he was going to say to you, and then he was inside.  

The small office space was considerably cooler than the main office, with the faint smell of fresh linen fabric softener. It wouldn’t normally be the kind of detail he’d notice, except that he liked it too and knew it wasn’t sold at the small grocery shop on the other side of the compound. You had to go all the way into town for anything other than Tony’s preferred fruit cocktail scent. He was lost in his thoughts when he looked up, and there you were.  

Your folder had boasted of your prowess with a gun, your efficiency with a knife, tenacity during physical training and, although there was a picture of you in your official agent’s uniform, he had not been prepared for meeting you in real life.  

He was, in fact, surprised to recognise you considering the wave of people that seemed to roam around the compound. He’d seen you eating alone on the grass outside, and reading in the atrium when it was raining after hours. It was odd to see you in your own office, you looked so different to the official image of you on file. 

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes.” You said, politely but with that edge of nervousness still bubbling beneath the surface. 

He took you in. Your soft, pale blue cotton shirt over what was clearly a pair of sweatpants, despite the fact they were a dark blue. Although your trousers fit you, the shirt was too large, it didn’t quite fit correctly and the sleeves were so long that your hands were covered up to your knuckles by the cuffs. As his gaze travelled over you, you shifted, pulling your hands inside of the sleeves completely and then tucking your hands under your thighs.  

You looked small, in such a large chair, wider than his own with a comfortable, quilted back and seat, your legs crossed neatly under your desk as if you were sitting on the floor.  

The desk itself was home to an array of trinkets and toys, all lined up along the top edge and around the double screen of your computer. Bucky marvelled at your ability to keep up with such a thing, he found his own laptop screen quite enough brightness. But then your room was darker than his office with Steve and the blaring overhead light.  

You shifted again, looking at him pointedly.  

“Would you like to sit down?” You indicated a round armchair that took up most of the rest of the space and he sat down heavily, aware of his large black boots and wide frame in such a small space.  

“Thanks,” he hesitated. 

Awkwardly, you quickly gave your name, as if he hadn’t read your folder a hundred times.  

You allowed one of your hands to be freed from its confines under your leg, but only to chew the pad of your thumb while you gazed somewhere over Bucky’s left shoulder.  

Bucky’s stomach turned over and he angled his shoulder back self consciously. You snapped your eyes to his and then looked down at your thumb, “sorry,” before snatching one of the toys from your desk and beginning to push the little plastic bubbles in and out.  

“I wanted to talk to you about your scores at the academy.”  

“Oh?” You kept your eyes on the toy.  

“They’re very good.”  

“Yes, I’m very proud of them myself.”  

“And you graduated college?”  

You looked up again, “look I know it took me a little longer than everyone else but I -”  

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, “it wasn’t a comment on how or when, just that you had.”  

“Oh,” you nodded, “okay.”  

Pop, pop, pop.  

“Sorry, did you need something from me? It’s just best if you’re really clear and then I can answer.” You placed the little plastic toy back in its place on the desk.  

“I wanted you to join the Avengers Agents, we have three open spots and I’d like you to take one of them.”  

“No, thank you.” You smiled at him, it was a friendly but firm smile that reached your eyes enough to let him know you were at least flattered, but that this really was a no and for some reason it made him absolutely furious.  

“If you’re worried about the other agents then -” 

“No, it’s not that. I don’t want to.”  

“There’s lots of training and -”  

“No, thank you.”  

“It’s a great -”  

“I said, no.” You snapped and then plastered that smile back on the lower part of your face. “Thank you.”  

You turned to your computer and began typing and Bucky stood feeling smaller than he had in a long time.  

“Can I ask why?”  

Your typing stopped but you didn’t look at him.  

“I already documented that I’d ask you, so if you don’t want to, I  just need a reason.” He waved at the twin stacks of paper in your ‘in’ and ‘out’ trays. “You know what the paperwork is like here.”

“I don't like the uniform, it’s itchy and uncomfortable. Is that good enough?” You cocked your eyebrow at him and then turned, pointedly, back to your work.  

Bucky left with a nod, closing the door quietly behind him and pausing long enough to hear the shift of paper again.  

Your conversation with Sergeant Barnes had left you rattled, so as soon as he’d walked away you closed your computer down with a sigh and left the office for the day. You’d come in extra early tomorrow to make up for it, it’d be quieter in the morning anyway and you could hopefully get ahead by 10am and then enjoy a quiet coffee and some time curled up reading before the next round of debriefs were submitted.  

The office was empty at 7.30am, the lights still off and the scent of the cleaners all-purpose spray still lingering in the air. You’d only managed to settle in and grab a coffee before there was a sharp knock on the door and a familiar shadow looming through the frosted glass.  

“Come in.”  

Sergeant Barnes opened the door tentatively and peeked around the frosted glass, “morning.” 

He smiled awkwardly, hovering in the doorway with a large black garment bag before you beckoned him in and pointed towards the spare chair.  

“Morning,” you smiled back automatically, but before you could drop it a genuine flash of happiness passed over the Sergeant’s face and your smile moved from forced to genuine too. There weren’t many people who were actually happy to see you around the office, and yet here was Barnes, again, smiling at you.  

“I’m really sorry about yesterday.” He said, seriously, “I didn’t mean to push you, I was just worked up.”  

Whatever you’d been expecting when he’d knocked, it wasn’t this.  

“Oh, well.” You moved in your seat, pulling your hands inside your sleeves again, a navy-blue fleece lined sweater today, since the weather was unseasonably cold, the collar was turned over under your chin where you’d been fiddling with it. “I was short with you too, I can be a bit – sensitive, about – things. So, I’m sorry too.”  

“Then we’re even,” he smiled and settled into his chair more, looking around at your office.  

Suddenly you felt self-conscious, this was your space and it was hard won. You’d filled it with every soft thing that you needed to make it through your days in the office, cute mugs, fidget toys, blankets and even a teddy. While Sergeant Barnes was looking at your bookshelf you tried to move the little bear from his prominent position next to your monitor and into the open draw by your side, but he caught you and grinned instead.  

“Cute bear.”  

You snatched it up and squeezed its soft body between both your hands. “Thank you.”  

There was an awkward silence as the Sergeant seemed to think of what to say next and then he grabbed the garment bag again, as if he’d forgotten it as soon as he’d sat down.  

“Oh, yes, I was talking to Steve about what you said yesterday -” he looked up at your blank face, “Steve Rogers, you know ahh-” he rubbed his cheek as if he could remove the red smudge of embarrassment. 

“I guessed.”  

“Right, of course, I spoke to Steve, and he said that if that was what was holding you back then it was an easy fix and -” he pulled the zipper down on the bag revealing a black-on-black ensemble inside. Fitted combat trousers with pockets and an empty utility belt as well as a black, long-sleeved, shirt and flack vest. “It’s all made of a cotton blend with reinforced, lightweight, Kevlar. If you like it we can look at adding Vibranium for strength. It has a fleece lining, I noticed you had two fleece lined items in here and took a risk, so it should be soft on your skin. What do you think?”  

Bucky beamed at you from across your desk and your stomach twisted into knots, a yawning chasm of silence opening between you the longer you didn’t answer. You knew what you were supposed to say, you knew you were supposed to be excited and say yes and run off to be an Agent.   

“It smells like my fabric softener.” You blurted. 

“Yes, I figured you used the one from the store in town, I hope that wasn’t presumptuous?” 

For a moment you reached out to touch the sleeve, it was soft and it smelt lovely. But -

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes, I can see you’ve gone to a lot of effort -”  

“But it’s still a no?”  

“It’s still a no.”  

“Okay.” He said, kindly, zipping the garment bag back up. You expected him to leave, taking it with him, but instead he hung it on an empty hook by your door. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and that you’re welcome to join us anytime. There’s a big budget, especially for talented agents, I’d hate for something like a uniform to hold you back.” 

“Thank you.”  

“There’s a simple recon next week, Steve and I are leading some of the other newly qualified agents and he said you sometimes do recon, there’s a seat open for you if you want, but there’ll be no hard feelings if you don’t come.” 

“Okay.” 

You weren’t sure if it was the awkwardness or his earnest smile, but you had the urge to hug him. You hadn’t hugged anyone since you’d moved to the compound and you missed the comforting feeling of it, he even smelt lovely and for the briefest moment you imagined him holding you close to him. He had a black cotton shirt on with a dark green and blue flannel over the top. It looked soft, and now your arms felt empty and heavy at your sides, with no one to hold but yourself.It felt strange, too, to be wanted. You’d mostly assumed your colleagues were glad to be rid of you. Instead of embracing him, you stood and offered your hand, allowing him to squeeze your palm before he left, and then spent the next three hours wondering about his request.  

Part 2 ->

[callsign-mayhem]

How about a Christian!reader praying for Bradley before every flight? (Only if you are comfortable tho)

the way home (b.b)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Christian!Reader Word count: 1.6k CW: None, really. But if you're uncomfortable reading about Christianity, this one probably isn't for you.

A/N: Thank you, Anonymous, for your lovely request. My grandma is a Christian, and although I don't follow the religion anymore, it holds a very special place in my heart. I grew up very close to her, and I wrote the prayers in this fic based on things I remember her saying and ways she used to phrase things. Forgive me if this isn't accurate, but I truly did my best.

Your faith was one thing you had never been quiet about. Why would you when it was your guiding light and life force? People tended to be loud about the things they loved, and you loved the Lord with every fibre of your being, all the breath in your lungs, and every step you took. Your faith could move mountains. It was worth shouting from the rooftops about. You loved Bradley Bradshaw, too. It was a different sort of love, especially since he was not a man of God, but you were just as loud about it. If your faith in God could move mountains, your faith in Bradley could power the fighter jet he flew for the rest of time. He could do a lap of the Earth with your love as fuel, and it would be more than enough to get him home to you. Bradley had always known about your closeness to Jesus. You’d met at a charity fundraiser for your local church, where the Dagger Squad had raised a tidy sum auctioning dates with pilots. You had been manning the baked goods table. You weren’t supposed to be watching—but of course you were watching. Everyone was watching. Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw stood on the tiny wooden stage looking more uncomfortable than a cat in a bathtub. He scratched the back of his neck while Jake—of course it had been Jake—held the mic and narrated his life like it was a game show.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, and anyone else with eyeballs,’ Jake had drawled. ‘Next up, we have the one, the only, Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw! He cooks, he sings, he flies jets, and rumour has it his moustache alone has healed at least three broken hearts—’ Bradley had looked like he wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. You had wanted to laugh. Or hide. Or scream. ‘Bidding starts at twenty dollars for a lunch date,’ Jake continued. ‘And he’s even promised not to talk about planes the entire time!’ You’d turned back to the table and definitely hadn’t peeked through the croissants at him. You also definitely hadn’t felt your heart trip over itself when he caught your eye across the churchyard and gave you a sheepish, crooked little smile. And then you'd heard Jake say, ‘Sold! To the young lady in the blue dress with the chocolate chip muffin tray!’ You’d blinked, totally dumbfounded as everyone turned to peek at the aforementioned lady in the blue dress. The rational part of you had wanted to call out that there had been some kind of mistake, but you found that you had gone momentarily mute. The rest, as they say, was history. Long picnics at the beach watching the sunset over the water while sipping on homemade lemonade, swimming in the pool atop your apartment complex, Sunday morning trips to the farmer’s market, late night browsing at the bookstore, road trips in the Bronco…it had been pretty perfect so far. You didn’t believe in jinxing things, so it was fine to say so. Bradley had come into your life at the exact right moment, in the exact right way, and you truly believed that Jesus had put him there Himself. You felt that this relationship was part of the bigger plan He had for you, and although you weren’t privy to it, you trusted that it would work out exactly the way it was supposed to. 

You’d been dating for just over a month the first time you prayed over Bradley. He was set to go on a short recon mission, two weeks max, and you’d driven him to base so you could say one final goodbye. When you pulled up, you hadn’t thought twice.

You’d turned to face him and taken both of his hands in yours, closing your eyes as you always did when you said a prayer. 

‘Lord, I ask that you watch over Bradley on his mission. Go ahead of him and remove any obstacles placed by the enemy that might get in his way. Set angels to guard his plane, and the rest of his amazing squad, who are doing their duty to protect us. I plead the blood of Jesus over Bradley today. I ask You to cover him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Keep him safe in the skies, guide his hands, and calm his heart. Bring him home the same way you always do—whole, steady, and wrapped in your mercy. In Jesus’ name, amen.’

Upon opening your eyes, Bradley had been gazing at you with such intense admiration that it had been hard to meet his eye. 

‘Thank you.’ He’d said, voice husky with what could have only been tears. ‘Nobody has ever prayed for me before.’ 

‘Well, I do, all the time. You just didn’t know it.’

Fast forward a few more months, and it was part of your daily routine. Even on normal days when he was just going to base for training or teaching, you said a prayer together over breakfast. On the mornings you spent the night apart, you’d send him a voicenote. 

This morning just so happened to be the morning of a mission. He’d be gone at least a month, and you weren’t happy at the prospect. As much as you were comfortable being alone—after all, you were never truly lonely—you’d grown accustomed to seeing him every day. It was hard to imagine not enjoying picnics by the ocean or little Sunday outings together for a whole month, if not longer. But if that was God’s will, then so be it. And as much as you would miss him, you were a firm believer that distance made the heart grow fonder. 

Bradley’s bag was packed and waiting by the door with his freshly-polished combat boots, courtesy of you. The two of you sat at his kitchen table, picking at some eggs on toast. Your stomachs weren’t really on board with breakfast. 

He grabbed your hand across the table, startling you out of your stupor. 

‘Hey, we’re forgetting something.’ He said, sounding slightly panicked.

You smiled reassuringly. ‘I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry.’ You gestured to his breakfast plate. ‘Try to eat a little more.’

Bradley’s shoulders sagged as he relaxed somewhat. After picking at his food a little more, he got up to scrape his plate and put it in the dishwasher. In socked feet, he padded back over to the table and collected your plate, too. No matter how many times you saw him in uniform, it never lost its novelty.

You took his hand and led him over to the couch, which was still littered with blankets and throw pillows from your movie night. He sat down beside you, still holding both your hands. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before beginning your prayer. 

‘Lord, I plead the blood of Jesus over Bradley.’

Your voice wavered, just slightly. But your hands stayed steady, pressed against his chest like you could anchor him here with just your touch.

‘Cover him from head to toe, from the inside out. Guard his heart, guard his mind. Guard the aircraft that carries him and the people who fly beside him. Be the breath in his lungs and the calm in his hands. Go before him, stand behind him, and walk beside him in every mile he flies.’

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his flight suit.

‘I trust You with him, Lord. I trust You, even when I’m scared. Even when I want to run down that runway and keep him from leaving. But I know you go where I can’t. You see what I don’t. So I place him in Your hands again—because they’re stronger than mine.’

You paused. Took a breath.

‘Bring him back to me, God.’ Your voice was soft now. Barely more than a whisper. ‘Whole. Safe. And soon. In Jesus’ name, amen.’ You barely had time to whisper amen before Bradley reached for you.

He didn’t say anything—not at first. Just leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed, like he was memorising the shape of your presence. Like if he stayed there long enough, he might be able to carry the echo of your heartbeat with him all the way through the sky.

His hands settled at your waist. Yours stayed fisted in his flight suit, clinging like your prayers hadn’t quite finished yet.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ he murmured, voice thick. ‘But I’m damn sure coming back to you.’

You kissed him, slowly and reverently. 

‘You do deserve me, Bradley. Ten times over. I’m so proud to be your girlfriend, and so thankful that I’m the one you fight to come home to.’

And you knew without a doubt that you would tell him over and over again until he believed it. 

Because you were not one to be silent about the ones you loved—the ones you had faith in. And although it would be a long time before you knew it, Bradley whispered your prayers in the cockpit, thousands of miles above the land. He prayed for his safety, the safety of his crew, the success of the mission and that he would get home in one piece. 

But most of all, he prayed for you. He prayed that you wouldn’t worry too much about him, that you were happy and well, and that the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit—whoever was out there listening—would really hear him when he asked to remain with you forever. 

And when he touched ground after his mission, he prayed that you hadn’t found the engagement ring hidden at the bottom of his wardrobe. 

[whatever-imagines]

butch wolverine smut with pussy eating + musk? pretty please 🙏

Feral

Rated: E for explicit

Tags: whelp; here’s one of the filthiest things I’ve written.

Reader is afab; smut, not proofread we die like so many of the x-men

—-

You’ve been gone for a mission for four days, and Logan’s practically crawling the walls. The anxiety eats at her; it’s been so long since she’s let anyone near her emotionally, now that she has you, you give her all sorts of heart-attacks.

Was she like this before? Before she lost her memories 16 years ago? Always so worried about loved ones? (Did she have loved ones to worry over?)

When Scott finally told her that the recon team had returned safely, Logan all but marched to the hanger, eager to see you alive and in one piece.

She smells you before she sees you; you but slightly different. Headier, muskier.

You come off the jet looking tired and annoyed. Hair unkempt and face slightly sheened from the oil of your skin.

Logan’s been on a few recon missions. Especially on the jet, there’s no proper way to wash yourself, and since most of the cabin is full of supplies, there’s no space to bring extra clothes, and it’s encouraged to stay in uniform the whole time in case you need to spring into action.

So, Logan deduced that you haven’t washed or changed clothes in four days.

And you smell sooooooo good.

You smile weakly at her, and Logan attempt a normal looking smile back, trying not to look as strained or aroused as she felt.

“Hey.” You greet lightly, coming closer, opening your arms for a hug.

Logan’s smile turned tight as she allowed you into her space. “Hey, princess.” She says in a loving, almost sarcastic way, trying very hard to seem nonchalant.

You pull away from her embrace with a questioning look. “You okay?” You ask quietly, as not to alert the others. They were thrumming around you, Storm complaining about needing a shower and Scott making some leader-like comment.

You were always so thoughtful like that; it made Logan near feral with want.

The Wolverine leans down, and places a kiss at the top of your uniform’s collar, taking in a deep whiff of your scent.

“My room.” She growls out lowly, a single hand playing with your fingers.

You sigh, “Lo, I haven’t showered in four days, I’m foul right now.” You try to explain.

All Logan does is tunnel vision stares you down, mouth tight and she’s almost shaking with how badly she’s restraining herself.

Sighing clicks in you head and you sigh again. “Oh, you would, wouldn’t you. Wild woman.” You chastise teasingly. “Can I at lease get out of uniform?”

“You have 15 minutes to be on my bed.”

You level her with an irked eyebrow.

“Please.” Logan tacks on with a whine.

You smile victoriously. “I’ll be there in ten as soon as you let me go.”

Logan is suddenly very aware that she was gripping your biceps in a desperate tightness, and slaps her hands down to her thighs once she comes too.

—-

Her nose bumps your clit for the nth time so far, and for the nth time, Logan inhales deeply.

You made it to her room in 8 minutes, excitedly changing into a loose shirt that probably was Logan’s at some point but was now yours, and lounge pants. As soon as you crossed the threshold of Logan’s room, without much fanfare, she pinched the fabric against your thighs and pantsed you. You reflexively doubled over to try and cover yourself but all Logan did was use your position as an opportunity to scoop you up over her shoulder and dumped you on her unmade bed.

She spend about two minutes with her face in your neck, licking and sucking in bruises, her hands rubbing you up and down along your sides, making you gasp and giggle. She hardly spoke a word, opting to growl aloud instead.

Slowly she made her way down your body, still licking, still nipping at your skin, pushing your/her shirt up to your collar bone; rubbing in her salvia into your neck, your ribs, your stomach and pelvic bone, at some point backing off the bed to kneel on the floor, drawing you towards her.

She bullied your thighs over her shoulders and stared you down, unblinkingly, as she licked your core, tongue broad and hot.

You relented, throwing your head back and moaning.

Now you were here, almost to the point of tears due to Logan’s ministrations.

Her hands were so warm, holding your legs open, blunt fingernails digging into the meat of your thighs. Her quick and clever tongue continuously bringing you to the brink before backing off, making you whine and moan in ecstasy and displeasure in spades.

She was sniffing you a lot, breaking away frequently to smell the juncture of her leg and hip, the divot behind your knee, even going as so far to lean up entirely, one hand coming down to rub at your sex so she could dart forward and smell your armpit.

You almost laugh, could have if you weren’t gasping for air at the ferocity that Logan was eating out with moments later.

Logan’s tongue lapped at your hole, her thumb swiping at your bumble of nerves harshly before she moves up minutely to suck at your clit.

You beg, “Please, please lemme cum now, please!”

With you still in her mouth, Logan hums deeply, the vibrations making you clench around nothing and you sob.

Logan continues to suck and hum, growling into you, when the blunt, wide tip of het thumb breaches you ever so slightly, pushing you over the edge.

You mouth went slack and you squeeze your eyes shut until the buzz in your body resembled less of an angry hornets hive and more of a cellphone on silent.

As you catch your breath, Logan stands from her position from the floor, finally shucking off her pants and shirt.

Bitch didn’t even get undressed before wrecking you.

“Fuck you.” You gasp; grabbing at her.

Logan chuckles and kneels on the bed, leaning down until she’s on top of you, the weight familiar and crushing.

“Sorry, lost my cool there for a minute.” She says, finally about her wits. She licks your neck again, making you whimper.

Logan rolls off you with a satisfied sigh, the fingers still covered in her spit and your slick come up to rub at the area she just licked.

“What about you?” You couldn’t help but ask. For as selfish Logan tries to seem, she really was quite the giver.

“I’m giving you a minute to catch your breath, princess.” She smiles, once again feral and wild. She leans into your ear, a hand coming to you with the hem of the shirt you had sweated through. “I dunno what I like more…” she growls. “You smelling like that or you wearing my shit.”

You exhale heavily. It was gonna be a long day.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

M-May I kindly ask for a Gambit x Reader headcanon but the reader is a mutant who can travel through the shadows but due to their lack of control over their sanity it restrains them from staying in the shadows too long as it drains their awareness and mental stability? And the Reader usually suffers from anxiety and is always so paranoid so they put up a sassy sarcastic persona to hide it from all except Gambit?🥹

Def not inspired by an oc naw naw

A/n: love this so much, the creativity is so just 🤌🏽🤌🏽

remy masterlist ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝜗❀᧓ he finds your mutation super fucking awesome and cool. He finds it interesting.

𝜗❀᧓ the both of you quickly became friends when you first joined the school, he was actually your first friend. He quickly falls for you. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t fall for him and his charm.

𝜗❀᧓ you both got together after about a year or two of pining for each other !

𝜗❀᧓ He is pretty observant when it comes to you, and he is quick to pick up on how drained you feel after using your powers. He notices the dark circles under your eyes and the way your smile fades when you have to use your powers during missions.

𝜗❀᧓ he questions you about it, but you just tell him everything’s alright, brushing it off as nothing. You crack a joke, hoping it’ll get him to change the conversation.

But he can see it in your eyes that your lying. He knows you too well. He brushes it off for now, deciding to wait until you both were alone to ask again

𝜗❀᧓ finally, you tell him. You tell him why you barely use your powers, why you don’t use them when you don’t have to. The giant weight being lifted off of your chest feels amazing after you confess and confide in him.

𝜗❀᧓ let’s just say, one time, you’re on a mission with him. There’s an enemy, and you’re lurking in the dark warehouse. He and some of the others are watching from behind, unable to tell what’s going on. It was supposed to be a recon mission.

Something happens, you end up getting hurt before Remy can even reach you. As soon as it happens and he hears your screams, he’s running out faster than anyone else. Running to you.

Basically, he feels horrible, as if it’s his fault. He’s carrying you back into the jet after he takes out the enemies.

“Stay with me, cher.” He’s mumbling out to you when you’re slipping in and out of consciousness.

He knew that traveling in the shadows was dangerous and lessened your awareness, but he let you do it anyways. He felt terrible for a while. But you had to reassure him it wasn’t necessarily his fault, and that you knew the risk and took it.

𝜗❀᧓ safe to say he doesn’t let you go alone after that.

𝜗❀᧓ your paranoia and anxiety also get worse when you’re in the shadows. When he notices your nervous face and your fleeting eyes, he puts his hand over yours. Your hands jerk a bit, flinching at the sudden touch, ready to almost fight him, but you relax, remembering it’s just Remy.

𝜗❀᧓ he also makes sure that you know you don’t have to put up a front in front of him.

“You don’t needa do t’at wit’ Remy.” He tells you quietly when you try to push him away, telling him that he’s being dramatic and that you’re okay when he expresses his concern.

yeah, I’d cry in his arms.

𝜗❀᧓ he’s glad that you feel like you can share a part and pieces of yourself that you can’t share with anyone else. He always is going on about how lucky he is to be yours.

𝜗❀᧓ he also always keeps a lil night light in his room for you. Makes sure that there’s always some sort of light in the room <3

[tesalicious2]

Command Clone Currency

The clones are unpaid and therefore broke. They can’t really pay each other to do things since they have no money so they go for a new currency: favors

Now, the CTs don’t really do it the same as the Commanders because they have to be specific. They can’t return a favor between battalions quickly, due to fighting/locations/schedule. They’re at the whim of the war and pick and choose their repayment time.

The Comanders are different. They trade and barter like crazy. It’s favors with a few cases of alcohol. They can trade favors they are owed to others all the time, so anyone can cash it. They can pull the strings to get their payment quick.

For example, Cody needed a save from a small squad. He knew Delta was on planet doing some mission and he needed a detour but he had no connection or favor. However, Fox (for some reason) did. Cody offered a case of spotchka and a favor Monnk owed in return for having Delta do the detour. Delta owed fox one less favor, Cody owed no favors (which is the best outcome, since Fox WILL cash it) and Fox got something on Monnk and free (very expensive) spotchka.

Few CTs knew they did it this way, and the CT captains such as Rex and Keeli had to quickly adapt to this way of thinking. Rex made the mistake of owing Bacara before anyone told him. Keeli was lucky enough to meet the SpecOps CC Blackout, who clued him in on the difference but left him high and dry when it came to implementing his knowledge. (Keeli ended up owing Blackout two mini guns for his ‘friendly advice’)

Though, when times are tough and there is little time to barter, it is common to put off the payment until after the act is completed. Though many hate doing this as the trading can become unfair. What often happens is the party in need already has a deal prepared and states their need and their payment, it is hardly ever contested (however the helper may tack on another fee which is accepted or denied).

For example, Doom needed backup from Jet’s flame troopers. He quickly called, stated his need, and his payment of a case of charges. Jet had found the payment (though correct in price, unpractical for his squad) and changed it to half a case of fuel (easier for Doom to get a hold of and just as useful as charges to a Demolition team). Doom accepted the terms and Jet’s squad arrived right on time.

Though the bartering is mostly physical, many deal in the intangible. Perfect examples are all of the Coruscant Guard and the Special Operations teams. These are the only two groups who has everyone (including CT shinies) in on this system. They have the least to offer when it comes to normal ops, after all what GAR commander needs to know where a random Senator is going to be at what time or who slept with who. However, this trading info is perfect for the Guard who constantly works with/against (yay embezzlement and blackmail) these same Senators and for the SpecOps who need to know political climates and interpersonal relationships for recon and assassinations.

Most trading goes on between those two, and their prices are often higher since the missions are higher stake. Often Commando Squads are up for bids (who doesn’t want a four man 100% mission completion rate squad in their pocket), blackmail on natborn officers, republic secrets, senators schedules, crime syndicates favor and areas of interest, etc.

For the Guard, their trading goes further. They work with crime syndicates to keep it off the streets while keeping profit up. Those who do not work with them, go down. They’ve gain control of the lower 2000 levels through this and those who do not conform are forced to by the Guard or the citizens of the lower levels who don’t want to deal with the Guard, (peer pressure and bullying at its finest.)

The commanders learned this from watching the Cuy’val Dar, who would often trade on Kamino. The Alphas picked it up and used it but the CCs truly made it valuable beyond belief. The trainers traded for free shifts and booze, the CCs traded for mission successes and heavy artillery.

Many CTs attempt to learn how this system works. However, as few know it’s different, even fewer see the affects; those that do, know well enough to leave it be.

Despite there being no real difference in intelligence between the CCs and CTs, witnessing the speed and weight of the trades, makes even the Jedi’s head spin.

The Padawans are one of the few outsiders to see it in action. They do not really like it, but many pick it up for lesser trades (help with this paper or answers for this homework). Cal Kestis surprisingly picks it up the best. He’s the youngest so very impressionable, eager to learn, his CC Commander Steel, is very good at it, and Steel is possibly the only one to teach their General’s Padawan.

Steel sees that Cal isn’t going to be on the field much (Steel agrees with this and makes sure he stays on the Venator). So, if Cal ever needs help, he knows how to get it. Steel has made him be present for several trades and even made him come up with theoretical ones. Cal becomes very good at it, but is unable to flex his skills much due to the other Padawans unable to match his speed or skill. They are several years older, see it as in-Jedi like or are bad at it (or their Captains are bad at it and can’t teach them well), their concept of value is off (Jedi don’t often put a price on things and those that do have a habit of underselling due to being nice), and/or they do not know the range of what can be traded.

It’s very personal, with different Commanders wanting different things. Knowing who wants what can often make the payment cheaper for the offering party.

For example, the Marines often need heavy snow gear and blankets. So, offering a box of heating blankets in return for a case of bacta and blaster packs. This is a much better deal than offering a case of mini guns for the bacta and blaster packs. In the second case, Bacara may say no the mini guns or want a case of something else along with the mini guns.