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majestyeverlasting · 25 days ago

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Nello! I have a request/suggestion for a Bucky drabble-y something if you'd like it. Maybe he's on a mission or there's an attack and it's going *very* poorly for him but he gets saved by a sweet civilian who's probably hopped up on a LOT of adrenaline

𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 | 𝐛.𝐛.

A/N Thank you so much for this request, anon! Bucky isn’t on a mission, per se, more like he ends up making a certain situation his “mission.”

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary After an unexpected and intense fight, you’re the kind stranger who comes to Bucky’s aid. Except, you can’t shake the pressing feeling that you’ve seen each other once before. [fluff, angst, firing of a weapon, 2.6k]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Darkness hangs over Hell’s Kitchen as the heavy beat of Bucky’s heart drums on. The high-pitched ringing in his ears nearly drowns out the trudge of his boots against the sidewalk. Each labored step sends another wave of pain radiating through his ribcage. By now, he’s far enough away from Nicolo’s Bistro to be seen, where police and ambulances are finally pulling up with glaring halos of red and blue, sirens wailing.

As Bucky turns into a dingy alleyway, he finally allows himself to release the pathetic grunts that have been attempting to claw out of throat since the moment he left the establishment. The pungent smell of garbage rides on the breeze as he presses his back up against the cool brick wall, sliding down until he hits the pebbled ground.

He can’t remember the last time being off his feet felt so good. That’s all he’d wanted upon entering the bistro earlier. To sit down and have a meal before venturing back to Brooklyn.

𝟷 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚁

The table he’s given along the front windows gives sight to the evening bustle outside. There’s a dim ambience to that place that’s homey and charming. Basil and garlic linger in the air. A waitress with a long jet-black ponytail takes his order of carbonara and the house red. Just as she leaves, three men in fedoras enter, with hard eyes and strong noses.

A wary feeling flutters in his gut.

Rather than being seated in the main dining room, they’re escorted into the back by a worker. Nicolo, the broad-shouldered owner of the restaurant, is no sooner notified of their arrival. The look of dread that washes over his face is Bucky’s second clue that something is amiss. But there’s an eerie calm that follows.

Halfway into his meal, hushed, angry voices finally emit from the back room. The only reason Bucky can hear them is the serum’s heightening of his senses:

Nicolo’s voice registers first, “Sobrini, please, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s well past time,” comes a gruff, thickly accented voice. “I invested in this shithole and haven’t seen anywhere near what I’m owed.”

“It’s coming—please, there has to be a better way,” Nicolo reasons. “There are customers out there.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck.”

That’s when a lone warning shot rings out.

A few patrons jolt in shock, heads whipping around. You startle as you take a sip from your bubbling glass of champagne, sending the liquid running down your chin.

Bucky's on his feet in an instant, “Everybody out!”

The moment you slip out of your booth, the confrontation spills out into the main dining area as Nicolo backs out of the room with his hands held up in surrender. All three men are stalking towards him, and the bulkier one—undeniably Sobrini—has a revolver drawn.

“Now they all get to see your brains being blown out,” he quips.

Bucky wastes no time rushing to the owner's defense, sprinting over to Sobrini, and using his vibranium hand to block a bullet when he pulls the trigger. Nicolo's face flushes with relief as he gratefully runs for the door, steering other frantic patrons out along the way.

With Nicolo gone, the group of mobsters redirect their anger to Bucky and his daring boldness.

“And who the hell are you?” Before Sobrini can pull the trigger again, Bucky disarms him with a few swift swipes and blows, bending the gun out of shape before letting it clink to the ground.

“Mikey, Vinny!” Sobrini growls.

Like two mad dogs given attack orders, the other men launch forward to gang up on Bucky. They’re stronger than he’s expecting—too strong. Super soldiers. Glasses and plates crash from the tables as Vinny, the taller of the two, kicks Bucky square in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. He’s quick to recover, promptly delivering his own series of strikes in retaliation.

Heart hammering in your ears, you help usher the last of the patrons and employees outside. When you dare to look back in, Mikey has managed to get Bucky in a chokehold from behind. Only then do you notice the glint of his vibranium hand as he pries at the man’s thick forearm.

As Bucky coughs for air, realization dawns on you like a rushing tide. For a flicker of a second, he catches your eyes in the doorway before managing to free himself from the hold.

A second wind finds him as the brawl becomes a fierce three-on-one ordeal.

Nicolo pulls you away from the door for your own safety.

It’d been two years since Bucky’s last fight, and he hated that this made a part of him feel alive again.

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃

Just as his eyes begin to flutter closed with exertion, he hears a soft, urgent voice that he thinks he’s imagining. It prompts him to remember that he’s seated in a dirty alleyway, propped against a wall.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes dart over his bruised face, split lip, and bloodied knuckles. “Don’t close your eyes, stay with me.” You gently pat your hand against his stubbled cheek. Some of his long, dark hair is matted to the sweat on his face.

The only reason you knew where to find him is because you’d watched him stagger from the scene after neutralizing the three intruders in a feat of athleticism if you ever saw one. Your own hands are still buzzing with adrenaline.

He manages to meet your gaze, but his bloodshot blue eyes never focus. You can see that he’s trying, which only makes concern swell in your chest all the more.

“You need to go to the ER,” you say, brows furrowing. That seems to shake him a bit.

“No…” he trails off, then coughs, wincing. “No doctors. Please.”

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as if debating to heed his request. Looking out to the street, you see that nobody has taken notice of the two of you.

You then say, “Can you walk? My place isn’t far.”

•••

Climbing the stairs is the hardest part. Despite your offer to lean his weight on you, Bucky stubbornly relies on the railing for all four floors. By the time you unlock your apartment door and usher him inside, he realizes he’s made a mistake. He should’ve insisted he’d be fine, that after the initial shock wore off, his body would begin to mend itself back to wholeness.

Except, he can’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him so sweetly.

As selfish as it was, it felt good to be on the receiving end of genuine concern. Nowadays, people just assumed he was okay because he was the Winter Soldier, and that’s what the Winter Soldier was supposed to do—dust himself off and get back up. Yet here you were acting like he was someone worth being taken care of.

He all but collapses onto the couch once you lead him over to it. In the back of his mind, he worries about getting it dirty, but you don’t seem to care as you flutter out of the living room.

The air smells faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, and small decorative pumpkins sit on the windowsill. Pain pulses in his neck as he takes a better look around, but he does it anyway. The entire space is modest and cozy, clearly lived-in and well-loved.

By the time you come back, he’s dozed off, thick thighs spread and chin tucked down to his chest. This happens sometimes—his body crashes into sleep to facilitate healing. It only occurs when he feels safe. Otherwise, the rush of adrenaline keeps him wide awake.

He can just barely register the gentleness of your movements as you tilt his head up to dab away the blood with a cool towel. You continue on like that, cleaning up the wounds that broke the skin, which thankfully aren’t too plentiful. Occasionally, his eyes flutter open, but you never ask him any questions or force him to talk. A comfortable silence settles between you until all the dried blood is gone.

An hour later, he wakes up, finding that he’s stretched along the entirety of the couch with a blanket draped over his frame. His pain has subsided immensely. As he sits upright, he notices that you’re curled up in the accent chair. A special news report drones low on the TV.

“All the men have been taken into custody,” you tell him. Bucky eyes flitter over your face as you speak, realizing that his mind is finally clear enough to welcome the whispers of recognition.

He’d seen many people over the course of his long life, and your face was among those he’d never be able to forget.

You continue as his heart rises into his throat, “They don’t know it was you who saved everyone,” you say, toying with the hem of your sweater. “If they do, they haven’t said your name.”

The air goes dead silent for a fleeting moment.

“You know my name?” It’s a question he already knows the answer to.

You study his face, handsome even with the bruises. “James Buchanan Barnes, the Asset, the Winter Soldier…”

He swallows thickly, abruptly standing to his feet as guilt and shame churn in his stomach. “Thank you for your help, but—”

“Please don’t go,” you insist. It feels like you’re staring straight through him.

“I have to. I’m sorry.” He weaves towards the door, heat rising to his cheeks.

The events of an afternoon from many moons ago come rushing into the forefront of his mind. First, a group of suited men barking orders as he listened with emotionless eyes. Then the glint of his metal arm wrapped around the neck of a S.H.I.E.L.D. contractor on Park Avenue. As the man strangled out pleas, your cries joined in, begging for the life of your friend to be spared—

Bucky thinks back to earlier when he was being choked, the sense of helplessness.

You stand from the chair but don’t follow after him. “Did you want to take a shower at least?” you offer, hope infused into your words. It only made sense considering the sweat and grime still lingering on his skin.

The thought of a shower sounds too good. But not here, not now. He never should’ve come.

—As the contractor had gripped at his Bucky’s arm for mercy, he remembered glaring over at you. The mask concealing the lower half of his face hid his snarl, but his glare could cut stone. Except, you weren’t made of stone. You were skin, and bone, and desperation. It ended up being your fear-ridden eyes that did all the cutting.

It was as if you were wordlessly pleading, please, you don’t have to do this. Like you could see that he was trapped inside the prison of his own being.

But by the time his hold went slack around the man’s neck, it was already too late. His body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

“I forgive you," you call out right as Bucky steps into the hallway and is seconds away from closing the door.

That stops him in his tracks and sends a chill through his bones.

“Please don’t go,” you say, much softer.

•••

Tucked away in an old journal, was a list of amends Bucky was supposed to make. He’d managed to cross off all those names. But there’s no way he’d ever be able to account for every life he changed, every friend and family member he snatched away from people he would never even come to know.

This reality weighs heavy on him as he stands in the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Faint knocking sounds at the door.

He clears the thickness from his throat, “Yes?”

“Special delivery,” you say lightly. “My neighbor had some clothes to spare.”

When he opens the door, your eyes flick to his torso, the bruising along his ribcage. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest, and a line of it that leads down from his bellybutton. It takes a second for you to register that he isn’t wearing his vibranium arm. Maybe it's because of the steady, broad way he’s standing there as if the limb isn’t gone at all.

He accepts the clothes, “Thank you.”

Bucky doesn’t close the door as he turns to set them on the sink. In the process, you notice there are old scars on his back with dark new bruises mixed amongst them. Before you can stop yourself, you step forward, brushing over his shoulder blades with tentative fingers. He straightens, briefly closing his eyes at the tenderness.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begin to back out of the room. “I have painkillers if they’d help.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“I’ll let you get dressed then.”

Moments later, Bucky finds you in your room seated on the side of your bed. Your startle, swiping at the tears beneath your eyes before turning to look at him. When he sees that you’ve been crying, he feels like the worst person in the world again, an awful feeling resettling in his gut.

“I can go,” he says.

You shake your head and pat the space beside you.

Bucky lingers in the doorway until giving in. The mattress dips as he sits, making sure to leave ample space between you. Even then you can feel the warmth of his proximity, smell your body wash on his skin. Neither of you say anything for a while.

“Why are you doing all this?” For such an imposing man, his voice comes out small.

“Because I see you.” Bucky swallows at your words, gaze remaining on the floor. “I saw you eight years ago, and I see you now.”

He realizes then, that if he truly wanted to, he would’ve left already. He didn’t know what he wanted, what more he was expecting. He’d already taken enough—your friend, your resources, your time.

“You know what I believe?” Bucky waits for you to continue. “That you’re a good person,” you say solemnly.

“You didn’t even hesitate back at Nicolo’s. You stepped right up.”

“It was nothing,” he lightly dismisses.

“Nothing?”

Bucky looks over at you, and you raise your brows. “It was the right thing to do,” he finally says.

“And you easily could’ve just walked away.”

He gets your point then. The plates of his arm whir softly.

“I was angry at you for a long time,” you admit. “Even though I knew who you were, the control you were under.”

“I’m sorry—”

“And the more time that passed, the more I realized my anger wasn’t entirely fair,” you say. “Life’s not fair. But staying rooted to the same spot doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Bucky doesn’t pull away when you reach over and take his hand in yours, gently running your fingers over his bruised knuckles in a mix of sympathy and wonder. He watches as you flip his palm face-up, tracing the lines with a delicate touch. He feels it all the way up his arm, the gesture painfully intimate. Having seen each other at your lowest, most vulnerable moments has a way of knocking down walls.

“Ask me why I’m doing all this again,” you say.

Bucky meets your gaze. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Outside, distant sirens wail into the Manhattan night.

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female yn #sebastian stan

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daemonchainz · 2 months ago

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I would like to elaborate even more because the Ana and Pharah thing really irks me. Like they are the literal Egyptian heroes.

Pharah literally has the Eye of Horus as a tattoo and I’m pretty sure her original design is inspired by Horus. Her helmet in her default skin does look like a falcon.

I have also read that Isis is usually depicted with a headdress, and this is evident in the statue. What does Ana wear?

Also about Doom, he could have gotten a skin based off of Rameses. A Pharaoh would be such a good idea for him!

And just for funsies

Orisa could have had a Sphinx skin. I’d give her a voice line that has 3 versions and they are all riddles.

Oh and …..

VENTURE DIDN’T GET AN ARCHAEOLOGIST SKIN

As someone who favors Widowmaker over Hanzo

Hanzo fans deserved to have this World of Warcraft skin. Hanzo would have ate that crop top bra thing up!

Ignoring the lore is one thing but ignoring the characters literal hero weapons is insane.

Sill angry Ram didn’t get the mythic. Also upset Illiari doesn’t have a Ra skin and instead has a god of war.

Ana and Pharah didn’t Isis and Horus skins, literal mother/healing and god of the sky. I would rather Ana got this than the mythic weapon.

Venture didn’t get an archaeologist skin and still doesn’t have ANYTHING

Doomfist getting a skin of Bast, a goddess of fertility, is literally so laughable when they could have given him Thoth. The skin is really nice tho.

#overwatch 2 #overwatch #overwatch season 12 #rant #ana main #ana amari #pharah #doomfist #venture overwatch #ow orisa #battle pass

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peachdues · 11 months ago

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COALESCENCE — RANDOM SNIPPETS

Levi x F!Reader • secret pregnancy AU

I feel bad I haven’t updated anything for Coalescence recently — so have some random snippets from Part I. I will return to Coalescence once Part III of my Demon Slayer fic, In the Netherwood, is complete.

CW: MDNI • mentions of injury • pregnancy • NSFW sneak peek at the end • Hange being Hange • Hange also finds out that Levi x Reader have been fucking and Reader is now pregnant • Levi eats pussy like a god

Death was far quieter than you’d imagined. It was dark, perhaps even peaceful. An endless oblivion amidst which you floated without form; weightless.

When you’d lost unconsciousness against the rubble that was once the Main Street of Trost, you’d accepted the very real — and likely — possibility that you would not wake up again.

In your youth, death had been nothing more than an abstract concept; something that happened only to the elderly or those who caught illnesses that could not be treated, or even to those who ventured beyond the Walls.

As a soldier within the Survey Corps, however, you’d learned that death was as certain as the sun even if you might not live long enough to see it rise.

And, having spent the last eight years of your life fighting on behalf of the Corps even as your comrades dropped like flies around you, you knew you’d long overstayed your welcome in this world overrun by titans.

So when everything had begun to fade to black as you laid broken on chunks of stone and brick, you thought death had finally come to collect on the debt you owed. You supposed you were grateful that your final moments were not spent struggling in the grip of a titan as it brought you to its open, salivating mouth.

Really, it wasn’t such a bad way to go, dying from injuries sustained in an explosion — even if the explosion had been caused by the stupidity of one of your own. You could make peace with it; you almost had.

Almost.

The one, nagging thought you’d had as the world around you melted into dark oblivion had been of him — of your dark-haired, brooding boyfriend, who was likely miles away from Trost and utterly unaware of the disaster that had befallen the district; that had befallen you.

Levi, you’d known, was going to be pissed when he found out you’d gotten yourself killed, after he’d told you, so many times, to avoid doing exactly that.

As much as you’d hoped he could find it within himself to forgive you, you knew he wouldn’t, and truthfully, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. You knew how every face of your fallen comrades haunted the Captain’s waking hours — how their screams plagued his precious few hours of sleep.

And now, it seemed, you would only be adding yourself to the festering wound he carried on his heart; so no, you probably didn’t deserve his forgiveness anyways.

It would’ve been nice to see him, one last time — you would’ve taken one of his fierce verbal lashings, if it meant hearing his voice one last time.

There was nothing you could do, however but resign yourself to death’s beckoning embrace, to fade into the nether and dissolve among the stars —

A buzz broke the quiet black of your oblivion.

You frowned; the buzz seemed to grow louder with each dull thud of your heart. You wanted to bat it away, make the silence come back and sink into the calm stupor you’d been floating in once more.

But the buzz was incessant, growing louder until you realized it was not a buzz at all, but voices. Many voices, speaking over one another in hissed, urgent tones.

“Get me a sponge, I can’t see where all this blood is coming from —“

“— Did you see her bloodwork? She’s at least ten weeks along, she’ll need to be discharged immediately —“

“That’s assuming the fetus has even survived —“

“Shush, I think she’s coming to; someone get Squad Leader Hange —

The voices melted together above you, their grate making the ache in your head grow steadily more piecing with each passing breath.

With far more effort than you wanted to believe it would take, your eyes slowly opened, struggling to adjust against the harsh overhead light of the Trost infirmary.

That light, however, was quickly blocked out by a shadowy figure leaning over you, far too close to your face for you own comfort. Your eyelids fluttered as the figure above you sharpened into focus, revealing a pair of large brown eyes blinking owlishly down at you.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, soldier!” The unmistakable voice of your Squad Leader chirped. “Glad to have you with us!”

Your lips, dry and cracked parted to answer her, but you could do no more than respond with a strangled, pained groan.

The surface upon which you’d been lain — a cot, by the feel of it — dipped as Hange Zoe climbed atop it, legs carefully straddling your hips to keep their weight off you, as the Squad Leader leaned in close to your face.

“Squad Leader — you can’t —“ a nurse tried.

Her admonition fell on deaf ears. “You had me worried there, Y/N,” Hange’s began, fingers peeling back your eyelids to check the dilation of your pupils.

“You were in rough shape when Braus and another cadet pulled you free from that toppled building.”

You tried to ask how long you’d been out, but your mouth struggled to form around the shape of the words. Instead, all that came out was a garbled string of nonsense.

“You have a concussion, that’s for sure,” Hange said smoothly, fingers prodding at a tender spot against your temple.

“But that’s not the most important thing — Y/N, did you know you’re pregnant?”

That single word broke through the addled fog clogging your head.

“Preg—?” You managed, your tongue thick in your mouth.

Hange appeared to interpret the furrow of your eyebrows as a lack of comprehension rather than shock. “Yes, preg-nant. There is a small clump of cells growing inside you that will become a child —“

You grimaced. “N-no,” you tried. “I had — an implant —“

You heard the nurses desperately plea with your Squad Leader to get them down from where they’d perched upon your cot, but Hange paid them no mind.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, doll, but they aren’t always one hundred percent effective. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Under normal circumstances, you would have cursed your luck. Of course you’d end up being the exception.

“I can’t say I’m excited for you,” Hange continued, though it appeared they had been finally persuaded to remove themselves from your cot. The Squad Leader deftly stepped away from you, coming around the edge of your bed to take a clipboard from one of the nurses.

“You’re my best Scout; your pregnancy means I have to discharge you. No exceptions.”

You struggled to keep your eyes open, unconsciousness creeping in once more. “Is — am I still —?”

Hange looked up from your medical sheet, eyes softening. “Yes, Y/N, though you’re not entirely out of the clear, yet.”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or not; part of you relaxed at the assurance, but until you could talk to Levi —

Levi.

Fuck, Levi.

You hadn’t known of your — condition — until mere seconds before, which meant Levi sure as hell had no clue that your birth control had failed, and you were now carrying irrefutable proof of the relationship the two of you had concealed for the last year.

Levi.

You needed to tell him, and fast; before it was too late to address the problem.

Levi.

There was nothing you could do at that moment as the world around you began to dim once more. Try as you might, your body was unable to fight off the sleep that crept in and began to tug you under, despite the urgency with which you thought of your need to get in contact with the Captain as soon as possible.

Levi. You needed to talk to Levi.

But the Trost infirmary slipped away, the voices of nurses and of Hange fading to the same buzz which had brought you back to consciousness the first time.

Before you slipped below the waves of sleep, you heard your Squad Leader’s lone gasp.

“Motherfucker-“

—-

(Levi’s POV)

Levi’s eccentric comrade emerged from the small examination room, a pensive look on their face.

Levi hadn’t given much thought as to what he would do if he ran into any of his colleagues among the upper ranks of the Scouts. His mind had been exclusively focused on her, and the news that had shaken him to his core.

He remained pressed against the corridor wall, for once uncertain whether he should make his presence known or stay still until Hange wandered away, leaving him to slip into the examination room unseen.

But the section leader had always had a peculiar sense as to when he was near, and so with a slight sense of foreboding, Levi watched as Hange’s head turned towards him, eyes as round and as bright as an owl’s.

“What a surprise it is to see you here, Levi.”

Levi kept his features neutral. “Is it?”

Hange’s expression was inscrutable. “What a day, huh?” They folded their arms across their chest and leaned against the doorway leading to her — to Y/N.

“A titan breach, gross incompetence by the Garrison causing even more casualties and destruction,” Hange counted off the day’s events on her fingers. “And to top it all off, the best scout on my squad not only got injured because of said incompetence, but she’s also pregnant.”

It took everything in him to keep his voice even and monotone. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the headache. The paperwork to discharge a scout is tedious at best.”

Levi brushed imaginary lint off the shoulder of his cape. “Better go get a move on.”

A strange smirk tugged at the corner of Hange’s mouth.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about who the prospective father is, have you?”

There was a beat. “No.”

Hange’s smirk turned into a grin. “Poor thing has a concussion — it’s small, don’t worry,” and Levi knew his face must have tightened. “But the funniest thing happened while the poor girl was coming in and out of consciousness.”

Levi’s fists clenched slightly at the feral glint in their eye.

“It was almost hard to hear what she was muttering, the poor dear,” Hange finally kicked off the door jam and moved to saunter past her raven-haired comrade.

“I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with my scout, Levi.”

Levi��s voice dropped to a near whisper as they brushed by him. “Hange.”

“It seems the pregnancy is still viable,” the section commander said quietly.

He couldn’t stifle the faint exhale of relief which left him at their reassurance. For as shocking as the news of her pregnancy was, Levindidnt want to think about the mental toll a miscarriage could have wrought upon you.

Or himself, for that matter.

“You can go in,” Hange’s voice interrupted is slight reprieve. “I’ll make sure no one comes this way for at least a few minutes. But you can’t stay long — Erwin wants to see us.”

—-

“Well, congratulations!” Hange boomed, clapping the Captain sharply on the shoulder. “Good on you for working to restore the human race!”

A muscle in Levi’s jaw ticked. “Hange—“

“I guess the moniker ‘humanity’s strongest’ doesn’t just apply to your combat skills —“

“Hange.”

“— I’m talking super swimmers —“

“Oi. Four-eyes.” Levi pulled on the eccentric squad leader’s ponytail to command their attention. “Enough.”

—-

(NSFW bonus)

“You’ve gotta speak up, sweetheart,” Levi mocked between teasing kitten licks against your outer folds. his breath was hot as he exhaled against your damp core. “I’m waiting.”

You felt frustrated tears gather in the corners of your eyes. With an impatient whine, you rolled your hips towards him desperately, eyes wide and pleading for him to do something to fill the empty ache you felt within.

“Not good enough,” Levi growled, tongue lazily circling your entrance, twitching away every time you jerked your hips towards his mouth.

“Levi, please, I—,” you choked off with a frustrated whine. “You’re not being nice — I’m pregnant —,”

The stoic Captain pulled his mouth away from you entirely, rocking back on his heels. From between your thighs, Levi studied you, a renewed heat flaring to life in his steely eyes.

“You are, aren’t you?” He conceded, his eyes locking in on your mouth as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip and mewled. “And all because of me.”

Levi’s eyes dropped back down to your core, slick and aching, ready to take him however he wanted.

“And what kind of father would I be if I made the mother of my child suffer unnecessarily?”

Any response or yearning plea you may have answered him with died in your throat as Levi surged forward, his tongue plunging deep within your entrance, his nose pressing right against that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

You just managed to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the scream he pulled from you as the Captain began to fuck you with his tongue.

You considered yourself to be somewhat an expert on the eccentricities of Levi Ackerman. You knew he preferred two scoops of leaves for his morning cup of tea, but only one and a half in the evenings. You knew when he bathed he followed a precise routine, always washing himself twice before his hair, and that he always used two towels to dry off because he hated trailing water beyond the washroom.

You knew that he was dust and dirt’s greatest nemesis, and that even the slightest bit of clutter or disarray set his teeth on edge. You knew he loathed sharing any space with the cadets because no matter how many times he threatened them, they never seemed to remember to clean up after themselves properly.

You’d learned all of these quirks slowly, over years of proximity and tentative friendship with the brooding captain. You’d coveted each new discovery like some precious jewel, squirreling it away in a mental folder labeled “Levi,” that you periodically turned to whenever he was stressed or on his last nerve.

But there had been one attribute of his that you hadn’t learned about until after your relationship escalated — after he’d hauled you up onto his desk for the very first time and fucked you stupid.

And that insight was this: Levi, Captain of the Survey Corps’ Special Operations Squad and Commander Erwin’s right-hand soldier, ate pussy like a man possessed.

“You’re doing so good, doll,” he groaned between lewd smacks of his mouth against your syrupy folds, his lips and teeth alternating in their ministrations against your clit. “You’re so damn good, giving me a baby, making a father out of me.”

Hearing Levi not only acknowledge your pregnancy but speak as though he were excited the pair of you were venturing into parenthood together made the coil in your belly tighten.

Levi’s hands clamped down around your shins, guiding your legs until they bent at your knees before pushing them up and level with your hips. His fingers splayed around your calves, he used his grip to rock you back and forth against his face, allowing your juices to smear across his lips and jaw until his skin was shiny with your arousal.

He hummed in response to the staccato of “oh fuck, oh fuck — Levi —“ which fell from your lips until you could no longer remember how to form words.

His eyes remained open and fixed pointedly on your face, those gray irises tracking every twitch of your mouth and pinch of your brow. The louder your strangled whimpers became, the harder he moved you, until you were nearly sobbing for him to let you come apart on his tongue.

more levi content soon, babies!

#attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot smut #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #snk fanfiction #snk levi #captain levi #levi aot #levi attack on titan

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nephtheless · 3 months ago

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My latest work, The Founders.

Decided to take a break from the OWID Project and draw something fun ::)

This was inspired by the movie "October Sky", which, while watching, I was like, 'yeah, this is basically the Outer Wilds Ventures origin story.' Definitely recommend OW fans go watch it.

I was trying to go for a punchier colour balance in this one (not sure that I got it right in the end -_-).

I have 3 main weaknesses in art: anatomy, colour, and backgrounds *grinds teeth* . I'm trying to work on it

My tablet also seems to have died as soon as I was done with this one, sooooo might not post too much for a while *sobs*

#outer wilds art #outer wilds #outer wilds fanart #outer wilds feldspar #outer wilds slate #outer wilds gossan #outer wilds hornfels

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starshipsofstarlord · 10 months ago

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Cuddle Bunny

summary - all you can do is reflect on the past as you sit by a tired and bedridden daryl, hellbent on not leaving his side. It seems he doesn’t want you to leave either, as you are the only person that sees him for who he is, in every light (1.3k)

warnings - daryl getting shot, mentions of violence, parental abuse (mental and physical) and death, slight angst, fluff, cuddly daryl, sophia being missing

daryl dixon + norman reedus works main masterlist

You had never experienced the fear that was currently combusting your entire being - Andrea had shot Daryl in the head. Sure, it was ‘just a scrape’, however you were furious, and ovulating a circus of panic within your veins.

Hershel was allowing the archer to rest, insisting that it was necessary in order to regain his strength, despite the veterinarian being displeased with him borrowing one of his horses without permission.

And you sat beside him, watching over him on a chair that you had pulled from the corner of the room. He seemed exhausted, and with a shaky hand, you reached across his forehead and brushed his hair out of his face.

He was beautiful, and you wished that he would acknowledge it more, rather than feeling insecure within the ranks of your group, always being made to feel by the others that he wasn’t good enough - that he was just like his brother.

To them, as his frugal search for the lost little girl had made such as Shane think further, he was a tragic liability, that was reckless, risking their uphold of temporary residency on the farmland. But he was the only one willing to venture out into the wild where the dead walked to find Sophia, having to believe deep down that despite being out there by her lonesome that she had to be alive.

Daryl had made it his mission, using himself as a pawn in the process, taking an arrow in the side and a bullet across the outside layering of skin at his temple all to strive on, and undermine the cruel evil that the world had evolved into.

You envied his loyal pursuit, neither of you owed these people anything, but nevertheless he found a role in which he could be responsible for, other than being the hand that kept them fed. The two of you were more like outsiders to the tight knit group, they all had varying opinions of you both, assuming the events in your pasts considering your closeness with Merle prior to him disappearing from the rooftop, abandoning his right hand on his untimely escape.

They knew nothing of importance when it concerned you and Daryl, you weren’t the proudest when it came to your past, but you weren’t ashamed either. There was nothing that they could perceive that was undoubtedly true, you remembered everything, both the good and bad that you had gone through before the world had gone to shit.

But none of it was as terrifying as seeing Daryl bedridden with stitches in his head, whilst you were trapped in a reality where everything wanted to kill you. If you could go back and just live in the memories that you had with him, you would, without a second thought. You and he were far away from any threats that would separate you in life, concocted in a mundane and happily bland routine.

You had a little house, on the outskirts of a rocky and small town in Georgia, and it wasn’t perfect but it was the roof that you and Daryl called your home. And all you needed to get by was each other, and whilst thing seemed perfect you still hadn’t got by without judgement. Merle and Daryl’s father was an obsolete rival to your relationship, he resented that his son had found happiness, brewing with cryptic resentment at the fact he had no physical control over his life.

But the mental aspect still remained, he was scorned within his brain from the impact that William Dixon had plagued into every scar that he invisibly wore, and you could see it on his face within the very moment he winced as he readjusted his head against the pillow beneath. Pain, it ran through his nerves, decaying him as though it was just another walker that Andrea had unloaded her misaimed shell towards.

She deserved your rationalised anger imploded upon her, and she’d be a sitting duck for the meanwhile, Daryl’s health was far more important than your yet to be unleashed rage. If you allowed all hell to be let loose, then you would never stop seeing the vivid colour of red, and there was no time to waste on yet to be salvaged conflict just yet, she could wait for the vengeance that she had earned to suffer from. Tending to the emotional instability that Daryl was floundering in was upmost priority, and that was one thing that hadn’t changed from before the constantly spreading apocalypse.

“Why ya starin’ at me, it’s gettin’ creepy?” His gravelly, smoke worn voice enquired, his eyes fluttered drowsily in your direction, the tight corners of his mouth uplifting at the sight of you. You felt exhausted as well, overwhelmed with emotions of despair and from the lack of much needed sleep due to your addictive worry.

“You say somethin’ similar every time you wake up.” You glowed as you spoke to the man that you loved, the raging sun illuminating your silhouette through the drawn curtains, brightening the focus in which Daryl had of you. Reaching across, you braced your adoring palm against the cusp of his cheek, brushing your thumb across his supple skin, relishing in the very touch of his flesh. Something so simple felt so intimate with him, everything did. After existing in a life felt as though it had no meaning, Daryl was the only constant, and the purpose for which you remained. And nothing had changed, and you knew that it wouldn’t for as long as you lived.

“Usually yer in the sleeping’ bag next ter me, a bed ain’t gonna make a difference.” He quirked his brow, wincing and allowing himself to be vulnerable as it stretched the tautness of his wound. His face creased in momentary pain, and you felt unbelievably lucky that the bullet wasn’t a millimetre to the right, as there was a chance that he wouldn’t be here, attempting to seduce you in an innocent and lustre fashion.

“Is that you inviting me to lay beside you Mr Dixon?” You corresponded with his portrayal of your early routine, unable to remember a morning to which he wasn’t a part of. He was a staple, a permanency that rendered you into a bathing of peace, and you both felt desired when sharing any type of company. Daryl meaninglessly rolled his oceanic eyes, tugging at your hand that was upon him to pull you closer, and beside him.

And his efforts became successful as you needed no convincing, and you rested atop of the mattress that was indeed much more comfortable than the makeshift bed, however your head in fact ended up laying on his chest, listening to his calm and steady heartbeat. “This is better than the meds the farmer gave me.” His words enforced you to laugh into his chest, addicted to the cheesy platter of jokes that he would share with you, and you alone.

Nobody saw this side of him, he was himself. And the world had turned into a massacring mess, the brutality shattering every ounce of soul that a person had. But you and Daryl never changed, you were adjoined to surviving the trauma that had tainted you both from birth, and nothing would change with the infected having the thirst to rip you apart.

“Well,” you dragged your word out, looking up at his face which was filled with adoration and surprisingly comfortability, “at least there’s no limit on the dosage you can take.” You leaned up, pressing your lips that had become chapped from the staring hue in the sky that was beating down on you in the passing daytimes upon his own. His arms tugged around the circumference of your waist, pulling you closer, him having the intention of using his time to rest to lay with you within his very grip.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fluff #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus imagine

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oldhalloweentape · 7 months ago

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🪨Venture (OW II) x (gn) reader headcanons⛏️

(Start of Romantic Relationship Pt. III Edition!)

(Not my picture!)

(Finally on Pt. 3!!! It’s only been a couple of days since I first started this but I digress— Anyways a friend of mine, @goohts helped me figure out some ideas for this one, and I’m extremely thankful to her for it!)

Warning!: A small nsfw mention!

(Pt. I) (Pt. II)

- To start things off, baking, everyone likes to bake right? Well uh, if you decide to bake with Sloane, you obviously have to handle the oven part… And the ingredient part.

- If you don’t, things may get… Messy, you see they don’t really know a whole lot about baking at first, so they’ll try to wing it and assume crap. Bites y’all in the ass if you don’t thwart it in time.

- Imagine having to stop them from dumping a whole cup (not even a measuring cup, a drinking cup) of baking soda into the mixture, trying to protest against this, claiming that, “It’s called baking soda— so, there should be a lot of it right?” No.

- Besides that, they’re a great helper nonetheless, quickly learning from their mistakes and even getting pretty good at it the more you guys do it.

- I can imagine them making a cake like the mud cake Max, from Max & Ruby, makes but with crushed up Oreos, gummy worms, rock candy, etc.

- Looks a little frumpy cause they’re just too excited to take the time to decorate it, tastes great nonetheless.

- Also, a serial batter licker, you have to stop them from doing it almost every single time you have to give them a spoon or a whisk.

- Don’t want them getting salmonella after all, though they probably think it’d be a thing they’d die honorably for, that or between your thighs but like—

- I think they’d consider baking as a personal bonding activity between the two of you, and even if you don’t know how to— That’s cool! They don’t know either! You can learn together!!

- They definitely devour everything you make for them, if you char it— They’re used to eating rough stuff anyways, and leave NOTHING on that plate, that goes for more than just baking.

- Prefers sugary things, if that wasn’t obvious already. Brings a little baggy of candy with them wherever they go, preferring gummies.

- If you ever made them gummies yourself? They're already planning where to propose to you in their the second you give them the bag and tell them they’re homemade.

- Anyways, outdoor dates again with this one, cave exploring. Oh they’d just love to do that with you, probably suggests such a date like that when you both are celebrating your 6th month anniversary together.

- To say they’re excited is an understatement, traversing underground, being in the presence of rock various and unique rock formations that took years upon years to be where they are today and see it with you?? Oh yeah they’re living the dream.

- They’re constantly fighting the urge to break away from the group and run around, see everything the cave has to offer. It’s like seeing a kid in a candy shop and be given unlimited access to it I swear.

- Excitement aside, they make a point to make sure you’re ok all through out the trip, giving you whatever you request. Just making sure you’re well hydrated or comforting you if you start feelings a bit cramped in there.

- Always makes sure you’re up for it beforehand, wanting you to have as much fun as they are.

- They take so many pictures in sections where it’s permitted, and a lot of them have you as the main focus or in the sidelines, naturally.

- That scrapbook I mentioned earlier is jammed full of so many photos, you have to get another one or two in like a year after getting the first one, can’t properly close by the time they’re finished with it.

- Again, they genuinely want your relationship to work, and they just want you to reciprocate. I mean, what is a serious relationship without that after all?

(Sorry that this came out a bit later than it usually does, just going through some life junk.)

#overwatch x reader #venture overwatch #venture x reader #venture ow2 #overwatch 2

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dokidokitsuna · 2 months ago

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A Girl and her Faerie

Gonna expand on this universe character by character, I guess. ^^; But before I begin, I'd just like to thank everyone for all their interest in the project so far. I really didn't expect many people to look at that Chapter 1 Preview, let alone 'like' it...my takeaway is, magical girls are the universal language~

So anyway, this is actually old artwork, the first 'official illustration' I did for this concept back before I re-designed Anno's Dream Dress (more on that later). As much as I loved that giant butterfly-bow and the winged gloves, they just kept getting in the way when I started drafting the comic...which may explain why it took me so long to do those first two pages. ^^; Nevertheless, I kinda like the drawing itself, so I decided to use it here.

Armitage Age: ??? Species: Faerie Likes: Money, Alcohol, Bribery Dislikes: The consequences of his actions

Faeries are a special type of magical creature that specializes in dealings with human beings-- these days, they're most famous for acting as 'handlers' for magical girls, helping them use their powers to protect their worlds...most of the time. Armitage sought out Anno not to help her fulfill her destiny, but primarily to line his pockets with the fruits of her labor-- the magical currency known as Heart Mints. With these, he (allegedly) pays for all her magical dresses and tools, and puts the remainder towards the astronomical debt she owes him, as outlined in the contract she signed at the beginning of their 'partnership'. Despite being a self-proclaimed "businessman", Armitage doesn't seem to have any other ventures-- he spends most of his time lounging around Anno's house, eating her food and driving her crazy. He's not entirely useless, however, and will take steps to 'protect his investment' if the situation calls for it.

Anno sees Armitage as a heartless ball of greed, who seems to take pleasure in feeding her transparent lies and whittling away at her self-esteem...unfortunately, if she wants to continue as a magical girl, she'll just have to put up with him. Later on, however, when she and her 'partner' are finally separated, she'll have to decide for herself what her job really means to her without his influence...and also whether she really wants him back...

Anno Age: 15 Species: Magical Girl Likes: PC gaming, Protecting the hearts of humanity Dislikes: Armitage's constant lies

In the greater community of magic creatures, Magical Girls are considered separate from normal human beings, due to their connection to a special power called the Heart of the Universe. This is the emotional center of all living beings in their universe, enshrined within their atomic makeup...unless they are told of this power and trained to use it, the average magical girl will live and die without ever knowing it exists. Anno is unfortunately somewhere in the middle-- because Armitage himself is uneducated on the subject, she was never taught about the Heart of the Universe, or the greater power she might hold. All she knows of magical-girlhood is switching between her two Concept Dresses-- the Dream Dress and Darkness Dress-- depending on her state of mind, and using their powers to destroy her foes. She takes her work very seriously...but also finds it genuinely fulfilling, even if it doesn't always show on her face. ^^; Her main job is to rescue Heart Concepts, the lost feelings and dreams of humanity, from creatures called Heart Weevils, while extracting Heart Mints from the shells they leave behind to pay off her debt. At the start of her story, she's also working hard to save up for a Love Dress, hoping to use its unrivaled power for a special side mission.

Armitage appreciates that Anno always seems to have her mind on her work (when she's not playing video games), despite rarely passing up an opportunity to mock her for not having a life outside of it. To him she's a walking contradiction-- at once a valuable employee and a fungible asset; a gullible mark and a dependable ally. It's unclear where his recognition of her usefulness ends and any concern for her as an actual friend begins...even he himself isn't sure, until much, much later...

#magical girl no. 1

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artingabout · 10 months ago

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Boromir's bracers from The Fellowship of the Ring

Behind the scenes:

This was my first venture into real leatherworking so there are a lot of basics included in the materials list, but now that I have them, I won't run out for a while :)

My materials:

2mm thick scrap leather

a full basic leatherworking tool kit including metal thimble, skiving knife, edge-trimmers, diamond punches and burnishing tools

leather needles

waxed thread

swivel knife for cutting the pattern in

rubber mallet

cutting boards

leather dye and scrap cloth for applying it

sewing pony

contact adhesive

four buckles

nickel studs

I'd made the bracers before, 10 years ago, for a costume party but had made them out of craft foam because lack of time/space/money for leather-working.

Since I had some time to kill over the holidays, I decided it was time to give things a go. First stage was redrawing my original pattern then cutting the leather to shape/size:

Next up was marking out the patterns onto the main body of the leather. Lessons have been learned. I foolishly decided to freehand it. It still looks nice, but now I know how I could have done it better.

Once both sets of patterns were down, I tooled the leather with the swivel knife. Learned very quickly that I should have got a slightly thicker leather to make the pattern stand out more, but for a first attempt, very happy.

Punched the main stitching holes and then did the staining to get the red-brown colouring. Took a couple of layers and several attempts to get to the right and consistent shade.

Once the dye dried overnight, burnished the edges of the smaller piece to make them smooth and shiny, then attached the two sections together with contact adhesive and started the stitching (ow my fingies)

The trickiest part of the whole thing was adding the buckles and trying to work out the best length for both of them, taking into account that the bracers are meant to be worn on top of several layers, including a quilted arm-guard.

Thankfully, I found a lovely batch of buckles that also had the pin on a separate rod from the rod that the buckle loop went around, which simplified putting it all together. I've done buckles before, but never with material this thick.

Once the straps were on, fastened with stud and stitching, it was just a matter of giving the entire thing a polish with beeswax to give it a smooth sheen all over and then adding the silver details. I did attempt foil, but it ended badly, so I switched to silver paint instead.

My Boromir-by-installments is coming together, little by little :)

#leatherwork #leather #lord of the rings #boromir #arting about

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mercurygray · 8 months ago

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Apologies Owing

Well, they're finally here - the pilots, that is. The base's WACs have some opinions they'd like to share.

A follow up to this piece - and an announcement! I'll be trying to post all of Cord's drabbles on AO3 at Pavilioned In the Fields.

The talk over dinner was about nothing but the officers.

There was no consensus yet, it seemed, over who was the handsomest. Netta was stumping for Brady, the one who'd ridden his fort straight into a rut in the middle of the airfield and had walked away without a scratch, but Anita and Mary Dacre both wanted to speak of no one but DeMarco - or rather, the dog he'd brought with him, who had kindly consented to pets and treats and much crooning while his owner stood by and beamed at himself for the genius idea of getting the husky to find his Friday night dates for him. (Mae, too, seemed taken by the idea of the dog, though she was a little too world-wise to let the pup's gorgeous blue eyes win her over to his owner.)

"I liked the one that blew us a kiss," Nina said, almost loyally, still mooning into her soup about it nearly three hours later, elbow firmly planted on the table while she started wistfully into space. "What'd you say his name was, Phoebe?"

"Biddick," Phoebe said, wisely taking the middle road and saying nothing about anything apart from name, rank and serial number, reaching around Nina's elbow for the salt. "Curtis Biddick. Flies with Richard Snyder."

"The one who looks like Leslie Howard?" Becky looked like that was more her speed. "Now there's a man I'd let do a few close maneuvers."

"Curtis Biddick," Nina smiled dreamily, staring off into space obviously having heard nothing Becky had said. "It was so romantic."

"You gotta watch out for boys like that, Nina, they're usually more trouble than they're worth," Mae said, locking eyes with Phoebe across the table and exchanging abbreviated smiles.

"You all can have fun with the squaddies, but I feel like aiming a little higher," Ethel said with a cutthroat grin, inspecting the arch of her brow in the convex of her soup spoon. "That blonde who drove in with Major Egan looks like he really could be in pictures."

"Cleven," Phoebe supplied, before anyone could ask. "Major Gale Cleven. He's Egan's best friend, apparently. He came up to tower, didn't he, Cord? With Major Egan and Demarco?"

"He did," Cord said, non-committal while she wiped some sauce off the corner of her mouth and considered whether she wanted to try chasing down the last of her peas. "Seemed nice enough."

"Hmmm." Ethel looked unimpressed, and perhaps a little put out that Cord, of all people, had gotten an eye in to the main chance that she clearly couldn't appreciate properly. "Nice enough to have a girl at home?"

But no one ventured an answer for her - the half of the table that was facing the doorway all clammed up at same time as the man himself approached the table, uniform immaculate and blond hair swept just so over his very handsome face. The table stood up as one, Nina accidentally flinging her spoon into her bowl with a clatter.

"Ladies. Was wondering if I might have a word alone with Lieutenant Callaway." His voice was all gravitas and gravel, and Ethel looked like she'd die of envy the way she was glaring across the table at her lieutenant.

Mae's eyes, on the other hand, flashed with delight, and Cord looked around the table to see that nearly everyone else was smiling the way girls smiled when they thought you had something to keep a secret about. She felt hot with betrayal. Now just what do you all think - "I think we're all finished, Major, we can leave," Mae offered, gesturing to the rest of the table to get going. "We'll catch you up, Cord." Mae promised, beaming back at her friend, following the rest of the group out the door and back to barracks.

Cord took a breath and studied her shoes for a moment, hoping that none of that heat had made it to her face, and Cleven hadn't seen any of their hinting smiles - or heard what Ethel had just said. She waited until the crowd cleared the door to speak. "Sir?"

"Seems I owe you an apology, Lieutenant."

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say ...wasn't that. "…What for, sir?"

Cleven's gaze was patient, though it looked like that patience was being tested a little at the moment. "Whatever John's done here for the last month."

It took Cord more than a moment to realize he was talking about Bucky Egan. She'd plumb forgotten his first name was John, if she'd ever known it at all. He introduced himself to everyone as Bucky. "…that's very kind of you, Major Cleven, but I'm not sure that's your apology to make, sir."

"Well, a fellow can try." He smiled - a brief thing - and Cord realized why Ethel thought he'd do well in movies. Underneath those baby blue eyes ran some very, very still waters. Well, they'd have to be, to have Egan for a friend. "He - he means well, usually. He's just not…real good at thinking things through sometimes."

You can say that again. "That's…not a quality one looks for in an executive officer, if you don't mind me saying, sir."

Cleven chuckled - a sound Cord was getting the impression most people didn't hear very often. "No, it most certainly is not. But he has others - a damn fine flyer, a good man to have with you in a fight, and a - a good friend."

The quiet fortitude was growing on her - a strong contrast to Egan's boisterous take-all-comers antics. And he'd come here, when he didn't have to, when nothing said he even needed to, to apologize, on the sole basis of one meeting this morning where she'd stood her ground and been short with his friend. He noticed things, Major Cleven did - and that counted for something. "He must be, to have you making apologies for him on your first day here."

Again, the smallest of smiles. "He'd do the same, if it had been me that had stepped wrong. I'm just trying to…pay the favor forward." He took a breath, and looked at his shoes. "He, ah - he mentioned you were from Ohio."

"Dayton," Cord supplied, wondering when this had turned from an apology into an interview.

"Pretty prime flying country out there at Wright-Patterson," Cleven said quietly, glancing at her with softly curious eyes.

"Yes, sir, it is. I practically grew up there - my dad worked on the base, as an engineer. Worked pretty close with the test pilots."

"Is that how you got into the tower?"

"More or less, sir."

"Heard Brady say you were the calmest voice alive, talking him in today."

The 'for a woman' that had doubtless followed the original comment went unsaid, and Cord measured out her own smile. "Well, there's two types of pilots, sir - those who've had a belly landing, and -"

"-those who will." Cleven finished the old chestnut with a smile. "They teach you a lot about belly landings in Dayton, Lieutenant?"

Cord took a deep breath, remembering the rumbling, skating feeling of the plane underneath her, the nameless terror that the brakes no longer worked and her steering was in God's hands, waiting endlessly while the machine skidded heavily to a halt and she planned her exits, preparing to make a run for it. "A fair bit, sir."

"Hopefully we won't give you any more." He caught her gaze and held it. "Let me know, if he gives you any more trouble? We can't have our controller off her game."

She looked him in the eye and knew, instinctively, that he meant that, and if she said something, he would take her at her word - something not too many men on this base would do. That counted for something, too. "You'll be the first person I tell, Major."

He nodded, glad to be heard and understood, and turned to leave, before thinking of one last thing. "And maybe you'll let your friend know the girl at home is named Marge?" His smile was nearly imperceptible, and Cord almost laughed to see it. So he had heard. That's a very dry sense of humor you have there, sir. "Wouldn't want anyone …getting the wrong idea."

She nodded, happy that there was something here she could do for him. Oh, we're going to get along so well. "Of course, sir." Well, Ethel, serves you right. She could just see the other woman's face when she told her that Cleven was definitely off the market.

The understanding, it seemed, was mutual - Cleven gave a little nod and put his hand in his pocket. "Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant."

"And you, Major."

He went back outside, and Cord's eye followed him through the windows to the group of pilots joking and laughing in the road outside, probably getting ready to go into town. What reason could he have given for stopping in the mess hall? Or maybe he didn't need one. Egan hooked his arm around his friend's shoulders, and Cord caught a glimpse, again, of Cleven's fleeting smile - wider now, laughing with his friends as they set off for the village and the pub. And they're best friends? Well, they do say opposites attract.

Cord tidied her seat and exited the mess, surprised to see Mae was sitting on the bench outside the mess, apparently waiting. She got up as Cord stepped outside, grinning from ear to ear. "A word alone with Lieutenant Callaway, huh? You got something you want to share with the class, Cord?"

"Oh, buzz off, Mae. He just wanted to -" She paused, feeling, suddenly, that the apology was not for public consumption. "To thank me, for helping Brady land."

Mae nodded, a little impressed with the new Major. "The way she's going, I think Netta's gonna thank you too."

You can read more of Cord here on tumblr at her tag.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #cordelia callaway #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air fanfic #john egan x oc #stop the presses everyone i have written gale cleven

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